#indistinct series

[tv-moments]

Clipped

“Keep Smiling”

Director: Michael Blieden

DoP: Bryce Fortner

[wqnsho]

second chance | hwang in-ho x fem! reader

*.✧ synopsis: hwang in-ho joined the games with one goal: to monitor and manipulate seong gi-hun. but everything changed the moment he saw his childhood friend among the players—a face he never expected to see again. *.✧ word count: 21.7k (are you even surprised) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, choking, guns, explicit depictions of injuries, panic attacks (reader experiences one) usage korean words and suffixes, mentions of cho sang-woo, reader moved from in-ho's place to gi-hun's place (gyeonggi-do to ssangmun-dong), softie in-ho because its you, angst :D *.✧ note: I ACTUALLY THOUGHT CROSSROADS WILL BE THE LONGEST THING I WRITE, SURPRISE SURPRISE SECOND CHANCE IS HERE. hope you guys love it!! masterlist | request here

Your life wasn't supposed to go in this direction. 

Ever since you were small, people knew great things would come to you. You were talented and smart in every way, shape, or form. Teachers would gush about how bright your future was, and neighbors would brag to their kids about your achievements as if they were their own. So why were you here now, standing in a room surrounded by strangers for a chance of winning some money? 

Currently, all of you watched as the screen displayed various people getting slapped left and right. Announcing their player numbers, names, and how much money they owe. The sheer amount of debt displayed beside each name was staggering—hundreds of millions, even billions.

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the whispers around you. People were muttering under their breath, some recognizing names and faces, others lamenting their own debt in comparison. The tension in the room was suffocating, a shared humiliation that weighed heavy on everyone.

Player 132. [Last Name] [Name]. 562 million.

The words echoed in your ears like a slap to your face. Your own name, your own shame, displayed for everyone to see. A few heads turned toward you, but you refused to meet their eyes. You scratched the back of your head in shame, keeping your eyes on the ceiling as if you could avoid the weight of judgment all around you.

'Well... at least it wasn't from that stupid crypto bullshit,' you mumbled under your breath, though the bitter smile on your lips faded as quickly as it appeared. As the guard moved to another person, the crowd around you blurred into an indistinct mass of voices. You didn’t care to listen. You let yourself drown in your thoughts, tuning out the chaos.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Life was supposed to be a series of steady steps upward, not a freefall into the abyss. When your family moved from Gyeonggi-do to Ssangmun-dong, everything changed. 

Your father, once the pillar of the family, walked out one day without a backward glance. Which left you and your mother to fend for yourselves. He left for some woman he barely knew. Someone who didn’t have to deal with the mess he’d left behind. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, your mother decided she had better things to do than raise a child. 

One morning, you woke up to an empty house and a note on the dining table. The words were hurried, impersonal, as if she didn’t pushed you out and raised you. Worst of all, she didn’t even spell your name right!

The pain of abandonment never left you. It festered, growing into a heavyweight you carried everywhere. You tried to survive, piecing together odd jobs and small victories, but it was never enough. Debt piled up faster than you could manage, dragging you into this nightmare.

The first game was announced— Red Light, Green Light. 

You had doubts. The game seemed too simple, almost childish, like something even teens could survive without breaking a sweat—just a game, right? But as soon as the first shot rang out, you realized how wrong you were. Bodies fell like dominoes, blood staining the grass in vivid red. The sound of death was deafening, and the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. You froze, your breath caught in your throat, as the world around you erupted into chaos. People screamed, some running, others collapsing in terror. You couldn’t move. The simplicity of the game suddenly made sense—it wasn’t without cost.

Death was suddenly real, closer than it had ever been before. Your entire life flashed before your eyes—every mistake, every regret, every moment you had taken for granted. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not here, not now.

Luckily, a player stepped up and took charge. Player 456. He was calm and collected, advising everyone to hide behind the larger players, claiming that the robot wouldn’t be able to see you if you stayed out of its line of sight. His plan was simple yet effective, and with his guidance, you managed to survive the round.

As you returned to the main area, the tension from the first game clung to the air like a thick fog. Every breath felt heavy, and the adrenaline that had pushed you through the chaos now left your limbs trembling. Despite it all, a deep sense of gratitude toward him lingered in your chest. You wanted to stay close, to follow his lead. There was security in his presence, a grounding force that kept the worst of your fears at bay.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the room. Guards entered in perfect formation, their masks as eerie as the silence that fell over the crowd. The sight of them sent a shiver down your spine. One by one, people began to plead for their lives, collapsing to their knees, their voices breaking with desperation as tears streamed down their faces.

“There must be a misunderstanding,” the main guard, marked by a square on his mask, said in a monotone voice. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

Before he could continue, the same player who had spoken during the first game—Player 456—interrupted with a sharp shout.

“Clause three of the consent form!” The room froze, all eyes, including yours, turning to him.

His words were sharp, filled with a sense of urgency and strength “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. Correct?” he demanded, his voice firm.

“That is correct,” the guard replied, his tone unwavering, as though the question had been anticipated.

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 said, his words igniting a spark of hope in the crowd. It was as if a door to freedom had cracked open, and everyone could almost taste the possibility of escape.

“Of course. We respect your right to freedom of choice.”

A collective sigh of relief spread through the crowd, a fleeting moment where fear was momentarily pushed aside by a glimmer of hope. For the first time, you felt something that resembled a shift in the balance of power. They weren’t in control—at least, not entirely.

“But first,” the guard continued, “let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.” He pressed a button on his device, and the room suddenly dimmed.

A low hum filled the air, followed by the descending of a massive glass piggy bank from the ceiling. It gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, casting eerie reflections across the players’ faces. The sound of wads of cash clinking together echoed through the room, loud and clear, like the jarring noise of a twisted casino jackpot.

The players stared, wide-eyed, as the money poured into the glass bank. It was hypnotic—the sound, the sight, the overwhelming promise of wealth. Some players instinctively stepped forward, as if drawn by an invisible force, while others lingered at the back, still fearful but unable to resist the allure of the prize.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard announced, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you quit the games now, the remaining 365 of you can equally divide this amount and leave.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Player 100, who was standing near you, called out, his voice filled with disbelief. “How much is that?”

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard replied without hesitation.

The words hung in the air, heavy and cold, as a wave of murmurs spread across the room. There was a mix of disbelief, anger, and confusion.

“Twenty-four million? We almost died for that?” Player 124 scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. You couldn’t help but feel the sting of it too. Twenty-four million wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the terror, the near-death experience, the trauma of the first game. Yet, at the same time, the number was hard to ignore. It was money. A lot of it. Enough to make you forget the panic, at least for a while.

“You said the prize was 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice rising with frustration.

The guard’s response was calm, almost detached. “The rule states that 100 million won is added for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

There was a brief silence as everyone processed the implications of this. The numbers didn’t seem to add up at first. But as the calculation sank in, the possibility of even more money stirred the crowd.

“How much will it be if someone survives until the very end?” someone asked, their voice trembling with hope.

The guard, unbothered by the growing tension, simply stated, “As I already told you, the total amount of prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. If you are the sole survivor, you will receive the full amount.”

The room erupted into a chorus of gasps, whispers, and shouts. Some players looked at each other, their expressions shifting as greed began to seep into their eyes. Others remained still, haunted by the terror of the first game. The promise of so much money was a heady temptation, but it came at the price of their lives.

“So, we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, their voice tinged with hope, as if the very idea of escape was now within reach.

“Yes,” the guard confirmed. “As outlined in the consent form, you may vote after each game and decide whether to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point. We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

You stood there, torn. The terror you��d felt during the first game still clung to you, wrapping around your chest. But the temptation of the prize money—of being free from the crushing debt that had haunted you for so long—was overwhelming. This could be your only chance to escape. A chance to climb out of the pit you’d been stuck in, buried under mountains of bills and threats. If you walked away now, you’d return to the same miserable existence, drowning in debt, with no way out in sight.

Your mind raced. You had fought so hard just to survive, and now, standing in this room, you were faced with a decision that could change everything. The terror from the first game still gripped your chest, but the lure of the money was almost impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just about survival—it was the chance to escape the suffocating weight of your debt, the years spent trying to climb out of a hole you’d fallen into.

The voting started with Player 456. You watched as he cast his vote, the air thick with tension. The red light from the voting machine flickered for a brief moment as he pressed his choice, a clear "X." One by one, others followed, some hesitating, while others quickly made their decision. The chaos of it all felt overwhelming. You couldn’t help but wonder if they had already made up their minds, whether they were giving in to the temptation of the money or if they were too afraid to continue.

When your number was called, your legs felt like lead as you approached the voting machine. Each step was agonizingly slow, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. The room seemed to shrink, and you could feel every eye on you, even as you tried to ignore them.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the button. The thought of pressing it, of choosing to continue, made your stomach twist in knots. For just a moment, you hesitated, feeling the weight of your decision crushing you from all sides.

Then, with a deep breath, you pressed the circle.

The blue light illuminated your face, a cold reminder of the choice you’d just made. A guard stepped forward, handing you a blue patch marked with the same symbol as your vote. You accepted it with shaky hands, bowing slightly before pinning it to your jacket. As you returned to your spot in line, your heart pounded in your chest.

God, why did it come to this? What could have gone so wrong? Had you done something to upset the gods? Or were you simply born unlucky, destined to live a life riddled with hardships?

You couldn’t stop questioning yourself—your decisions, your choices, the countless crossroads where you might’ve taken a different turn. You missed the early moments in your life when everything felt so simple, so light. Back then, there were no looming debts, no sleepless nights spent worrying about survival, no constant weight pressing down on your shoulders.

You had it all once—a lovely family with successful parents who made sure money was never an issue. You had good grades, a tight-knit circle of friends, and a future that seemed full of promise. You were happy, truly happy.

And you weren’t always alone. Aside from your parents and friends, there was someone else—someone who had been a constant in your life, a steady presence you could always count on. He wasn’t just a friend; he was the friend. The one who stood by you no matter what, even when the world seemed to turn its back on you.

When the bullies in school targeted you for reasons you never understood, he was the one who stepped in without hesitation. You still remembered the way he’d square his shoulders, his voice firm and unwavering as he told them to back off. He never cared if he got in trouble for standing up for you; all that mattered to him was that you were safe.

He wasn’t just your protector, though. He was the person who could make you laugh when you were seconds away from tears. He had this knack for knowing exactly what to say or do to lighten your mood, whether it was pulling a silly face, cracking a joke, or nudging you with that mischievous grin that always made you roll your eyes but secretly smile.

He was the one who stayed up late with you when you were cramming for exams, even though he wasn’t the most studious person himself. He’d throw pencils at you when you started to drift off, only to shove snacks in your face the next moment and tell you to take a break. He had this way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, as if just being around him made everything a little brighter.

And as much as you tried to deny it back then, he had become your everything. Your safe haven, the person you trusted more than anyone else. He was the one you turned to when life felt too heavy to bear, the one who never made you feel like a burden for leaning on him.

He was your partner in crime, the one who’d sneak off with you during boring school events, laughing as the two of you got caught and had to face detention together. He made life feel like an adventure, even in the quiet, simple moments.

But above all, he was your first love. Though you never said it out loud, it was there—in the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled at you, in the way you found yourself searching for him in every room you walked into. It was in the way you felt safe and seen in a way no one else could make you feel.

He didn’t know, of course. How could he? You were just kids, too shy to even admit it to yourself most of the time. But looking back now, it was clear as day: he wasn’t just your best friend. He was the boy who had stolen your heart, even if he never realized it.

You paused. The faint buzz of the voting machines around you barely registered as you froze in place. Why were you thinking about him now, of all times? You clenched your fists, trying to will the memories away, but they pushed their way into your mind regardless.

You remembered the way he shouted at you, his voice filled with anger and frustration. The argument had been sharp, the words he threw at you cutting deeper than you ever thought possible. He had been upset that you were leaving, but instead of asking you to stay, instead of saying goodbye, he stormed off.

It didn’t matter how much time had passed; the wound was still raw. He was your best friend, the boy you loved so deeply you couldn’t even bring yourself to admit it back then. And he let you leave without so much as a goodbye.

Your chest tightened as the memories overwhelmed you, crashing over you like waves. You had convinced yourself that you were over it—that it didn’t matter anymore. But clearly, that wasn’t true. The emotions you had buried deep, the hurt and the unanswered questions, all clawed their way back to the surface.

Did he hate me? The thought stung, even now. Did I mean so little to him that he couldn’t even say goodbye?

The pain lingered, sharp and vivid despite the years that had passed. You could still see it, like a scene burned into your memory—the moment he walked past you on your last day of school. His face had been a mask of cold indifference, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours as though looking at you would cost him something precious.

You had called his name, your voice trembling with desperation and a plea you couldn’t quite voice. You just wanted him to stop, to look at you, to give you a reason, a sign that he cared. Anything to make the ache in your chest a little less unbearable.

But he didn’t.

He just kept walking, his steps steady and unyielding, leaving you standing there. The knot in your throat had tightened until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. He left without a word, without even a glance. And in that silence, you were left with nothing but heartbreak and questions that would never be answered.

And now, here you were, those same feelings dragging you down as the votes continued. The sound of faint button presses and shuffling feet filled the air, each vote drawing everyone closer to an answer.

You hadn’t been paying attention to the numbers flashing on the screen, but the tension in the room was suffocating. The votes were neck and neck—X and O, tied. A deuce. The final vote could change everything. You could feel the unease creeping over the room like a storm cloud ready to burst. The fate of the game rested in the hands of the last player.

The tension was unbearable. Everyone held their breath. It felt as if time itself had come to a standstill, the anticipation hanging in the air.

You forced yourself to look up, to see who the final person would be. Your heart pounded louder in your chest with every second, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on you. Your gaze fell on the figure walking toward the voting station. You couldn’t immediately register who it was—your mind too wrapped in the urgency of the moment. The final decision.

 But then something hit you. A familiarity. A sinking feeling in your chest.

And then your breath hitched.

It was him—.

In-ho.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis as you watched him. It was like a punch to your gut. Your chest tightened painfully, and your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. You had spent years trying to push him out of your mind, trying to move forward, but in that moment, it all came rushing back with a force you weren’t prepared for. The ache in your chest deepened, and you realized just how much you had never really healed.

Your mind swirled with the years you’d spent without him. The countless nights you had stayed awake, wondering what had gone wrong, why your friendship ended that way.

He was standing there now, in front of you, like a ghost of your past. He was so close, yet you couldn’t reach him. You couldn’t understand what you were seeing. Was this a dream? Was this some cruel twist of fate?

You watched his every move as if in slow motion. There was no hesitation in his actions. His hand reached out to press the button with a deliberate, practiced motion.

And then, he voted. O.

The cheers erupted around you, but they felt distant, muffled, like they were happening in another world. You could hear the excitement rising from the others around you, the shift in the air as the vote swung in favor of continuing the game. 182 to 183.

But none of that mattered to you.

All you could think about was how the boy who had once meant everything to you was here, in the same room, playing the same dangerous game. The same boy who had walked away from you all those years ago, leaving you in silence. 

You stared at him, unable to move, to speak. It was as if time had stopped, like the world around you had turned to static. Your mind was racing, a torrent of emotions swirling inside you. The hurt you had pushed down for so long had exploded back to the surface.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, your body frozen in disbelief. All you could do was stand there, feeling the weight of the past, the weight of everything that had happened between you two. The questions that you had carried for so long—about why he left, about why he never said goodbye—pushed their way to the surface, raw and painful.

Your mind raced, but your body refused to move. You were trapped in this moment, unable to escape the overwhelming emotions that came with it. There was no easy way out.

The past was alive in front of you, and it had never felt so real.

Hwang In-ho was a man who prided himself on always being in control. Every move he made was deliberate, calculated, and designed to maintain his upper hand. He wasn’t one to take risks without knowing the outcome, nor did he leave anything to chance. His sharp intellect and knack for strategy had always kept him one step ahead of everyone else, whether it was in the games or in life outside of them.

So when he learned that Seong Gi-hun, the man who had also escaped the game’s clutches once, was coming back—not as a desperate participant, but as a threat to everything the games stood for. In-ho knew he had to act. It wasn’t just about the rules or the money; it was about protecting the intricate system he had helped sustain, the foundation he had sacrificed everything to uphold.

The idea of Gi-hun winning was infuriating. He wouldn’t allow it. Not because he believed in the games' morality, but because their collapse would mean his own failure. It would mean admitting that he, the one who always stayed ahead, had lost control.

And In-ho did not lose. Not to anyone. Certainly not to Seong Gi-hun.

The solution was clear: he had to join the game.

Adopting the alias "Young-il," In-ho entered as Player 001, his plan meticulously calculated. Every detail was accounted for—his presence would be unassuming, his actions deliberate. The goal was simple: get close to Gi-hun, observe his every move, and ensure the game remained firmly under his control.

It wasn’t just about safeguarding the system he had come to embody; it was about reaffirming his dominance. To In-ho, this was more than strategy—it was a statement. A test to prove that no matter the odds, no matter who opposed him, he would remain two steps ahead.

That was his purpose. His only focus.

Or so he thought.

Everything changed the moment he saw you.

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him breathless and disoriented. In-ho’s steps faltered, his carefully calculated composure slipping for the first time in years. His eyes locked onto your figure amidst the sea of players, and for a fleeting moment, he thought it was a cruel trick of his mind—a phantom conjured by guilt and memory.

But no. The wide, shocked eyes staring back at him were unmistakably yours.

The realization struck him like a physical blow, an ache spreading through his chest that he couldn’t ignore. You were here. You were really here.

You shouldn’t be here.

He froze, his usually sharp mind scrambling to piece together an explanation. What were you doing here? What had happened in your life to bring you to this place of desperation and death? He remembered you as you once were—bright, warm, full of life—and now, the thought of you standing on this stage of horrors felt wrong in every conceivable way.

Memories of you came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. The way you used to laugh, how you’d pull him out of his brooding silences with a simple touch, the way you always seemed to bring light into his otherwise shadowed world. Those memories clashed violently with the reality before him. You didn’t belong here. Not in this uniform. Not in this nightmare.

He felt his mask of indifference. The armor he’d built over years of pain and regret started to crack. For so long, he had mastered the art of detachment, burying every emotion deep beneath a layer of control. But now, with you standing there, all of it came flooding back. Guilt. Regret. Anger.

And something else. Something he couldn’t name but had tried to bury long ago.

The look on your face gutted him. Recognition, confusion, hurt—it was all there, as raw and unguarded as the day he’d last seen you. You looked at him like he was a ghost, like you couldn’t believe he was standing in front of you. That look shattered something in him, something he hadn’t realized was still breakable.

For the first time in years, In-ho felt unsteady. His carefully constructed walls, the ones that had kept him in control, in power—shook under the weight of your stare.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

He clenched his fists at his sides, a desperate attempt to regain control, to force himself back into the cold, calculating mindset he’d mastered. He couldn’t let you see how much this affected him. Not here. Not now. This was a game—a deadly one—and emotions were dangerous, liabilities he couldn’t afford.

Even as he tried to steady himself, forcing his gaze away and focusing on the task at hand, something inside him rose above the chaos. He knew, without a doubt, that he had to protect you.

It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t part of his plan. But it was undeniable. Seeing you here, dressed in the same uniform, facing the same deadly stakes, ignited something in him that he couldn’t ignore. He had joined the game to regain control, to manipulate the outcome, to ensure Gi-hun wouldn’t tear everything apart. But because the one person he never wanted to see in this hell was standing right in front of him, the thought of sticking to that plan seemed impossible.

And no matter what it cost him—his control, his plan, his very life—he couldn’t let you die.

It was time for the second game: the Six-Legged Pentathlon.

You walked hand in hand with another player—Player 222, Kim Jun-hee, as she had introduced herself earlier. Together, the two of you moved through the crowded room, searching for three more players to form a team. Your eyes flicked down to the frail figure beside you, her grip on your hand trembling slightly, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of protectiveness.

Earlier, before the announcement of the next game, you had found her curled up in the corner of the bathroom, clutching her stomach with a pained look on her face. She had been trying to hide her tears, but they slipped through anyway, leaving tracks down her pale cheeks. The image of her broken composure stuck with you, and even now, the weight of it hadn’t lessened.

The look on your face as you crouched beside her was indescribable. When you asked her what was wrong, she was silent at first, her gaze vacant and lost as if the weight of the world was too much to carry. Slowly, her shoulders sagged, and she spoke in a low, quiet voice, each word heavy with the burden she was trying to carry. It wasn’t just about the game anymore—it was everything. Her words were a confession, a painful release of all the fears that had built up inside of her. She spoke of being alone, of how no one wanted to team up with her, and the overwhelming worry that constantly gnawed at her. But it wasn’t just that.

She talked about her child. The one thing in this nightmare that kept her going, even if only by the thinnest thread. Her mind was consumed by the thought of them. She wondered if they would survive. But what hurt the most was the months of silence from the man she thought she would spend the rest of her life with. Her fiancé, who had disappeared without a trace, left her to wonder if he was dead or alive, only to learn he was in the same hellish game. She never imagined she would have to face this—alone, scared, with no one to lean on.

Something in her tone, the hopelessness wrapped in every syllable, struck a chord deep within you. For a moment, it wasn’t Jun-hee you saw—it was yourself. 

You had been there before. You knew what it was like to feel abandoned, to watch everything you had built slowly crumble, to be left in a world where trust was a distant memory. The same fears she voiced were the ones that had haunted you—the fear of losing your loved ones, the dread of facing a future where you had nothing, and the overwhelming loneliness that seemed to suffocate every hope you had left.

Her pain was your pain, her desperation mirrored your own. You had been there—fighting for survival, clinging to any hope that things could get better, even when the world felt like it was falling apart. It wasn’t just empathy you felt for her; it was the haunting reminder of your own struggle, a shadow of the darkness that had once consumed you. You didn’t want her to experience the same isolation, the same crushing hopelessness that had almost broken you. You knew too well how it felt to be lost, to question whether you’d ever make it out alive, to wonder if there was anything left to fight for.

As you looked at her, a quiet resolve settled deep within you. You wouldn’t let her walk this road alone. You wouldn’t let her fall into the same despair that had once threatened to swallow you whole. You could no longer stand by and watch someone else go through the torment you had endured alone. You would be her strength, her anchor—just as you had longed for someone to do for you when everything seemed to be slipping out of your grasp.

Without hesitation, you reached out, your hand finding hers, cold and trembling. You squeezed it gently, offering a steadying warmth that you both needed. “Then you’ll come with me,” you said. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You weren’t going to let her face this nightmare by herself—not when you knew the crushing weight of solitude so well. You wouldn’t let her fall down the same painful path you’d been on. From that moment on, you refused to leave her side.

You were supposed to focus on your own survival, you know that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave her behind. Something about her reminded you of someone else, someone you had been a long time ago. You couldn’t save everyone here, but maybe, just maybe, you could save her.

Meanwhile, In-ho’s plan was progressing smoothly. He had successfully gained Gi-hun’s trust and joined his team. Together with two others—Player 388 and Player 390—they were only one person short of completing their group. In-ho kept his head down, maintaining his facade as the amiable and harmless Player 001. He had positioned himself perfectly, right where he needed to be.

Until he heard your voice.

“Hello, excuse me. Do you have space for two more?”

His head snapped up instinctively. There you were, standing just a few feet away, holding player 222’s hand as you looked at Gi-hun and the others, avoiding him altogether.

In-ho couldn’t help but stare.

“We’re sorry, miss,” Gi-hun replied apologetically. “We already have four members.”

You didn’t falter, keeping your small smile. “That’s not a problem,” you said firmly. “Would you be willing to have her instead?”

Before anyone could respond, you gently nudged Jun-hee forward. She hesitated, glancing nervously between you and the group, but you gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

In-ho stayed silent, watching the interaction unfold. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Irritation bubbled under the surface. Of course, you would do something like this. Even in a place like this, where survival meant looking out for yourself, you were still thinking about someone else. Always putting others before yourself, even when it didn’t make sense to do so.

You never change.

And yet, despite the frustration clawing at him, He couldn’t stop the flicker of warmth in his chest. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there. A part of him—a part he didn’t want to acknowledge—was happy.

Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much this place had changed the both of you, there were still parts of you that remained the same. That stubborn kindness, that fierce determination to protect others—it was one of the things he had always admired about you.

It was one of the things that terrified him.

You still carried that same hope, that same belief that people could be better, that kindness had a place even in a place like this. It made his stomach twist. The fact that you hadn’t hardened, hadn’t become cynical like everyone else—it was both a relief and a danger. You couldn’t afford to trust anyone here, not without consequence.

What if you trusted the wrong person? What if you let your guard down just once and someone used that against you? He had seen it happen before, in a way that made his insides tighten with dread. People here weren’t to be trusted, and you were too pure, too unguarded. He’d seen how quickly things could turn, how easily alliances could break, how one wrong move could be the end of someone’s life.

It made him want to reach out, to warn you, to pull you away from the people who might betray you. But instead, he stayed silent, his heart racing faster than his thoughts could keep up with.

His gaze shifted to the girl you had taken under your wing. She was trembling, showing a strong facade. In-ho couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness for her too—though he would never admit it out loud. She was vulnerable. She didn’t belong here. But you were giving her a chance. You were always giving people chances, even when they didn't deserve them.

He tore his gaze away, looking anywhere but at you. He hated the way you made him feel, even after all those years. Torn between wanting to protect you and wanting to pull away, he couldn’t reconcile the two. He had built walls for a reason—so that no one could get too close, so that no one could hurt him again. And yet, there you were, slipping through those cracks, reminding him that even after all this time, even after all the distance, he still cared.

“What about you?” Player 388 asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay. I’ll find a group somewhere.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his brow furrowing with worry.

You nodded, your tone firm but kind. “Of course. If you want, you can help me?” you offered, though it wasn’t a question so much as a gentle suggestion.

The male nodded without hesitation, as though it was the most natural thing to do. He saluted you with a small smile, his expression brightening as he turned to lead the way. You followed quietly, walking side by side as the two of you engaged in light, casual conversation. The sound of your voices seemed almost out of place in the tense atmosphere of the game, but for a moment, it was just the two of you, navigating the chaos in your own way.

In-ho watched the interaction unfold from a distance, his gaze fixed on you. His chest tightened as he observed the way you interacted with Player 388, the ease with which you formed connections, the comfort you seemed to give others despite the grim situation. For a fleeting moment, he found himself wishing it was him walking beside you instead of that other player. He longed to be the one you relied on again, the one you trusted in a world where trust felt like a luxury.

He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides, trying to suppress the emotions that stirred inside him. It wasn’t supposed to matter. You had your own path to walk, and he had his. But the feeling gnawed at him, more intense than he liked to admit. A part of him wanted to be the one to keep you safe, to be the one to stand by your side. To be the one you turned to, the one who could offer you something real in the midst of all the chaos. But another part of him feels like that’s impossible to achieve now.

Busy with his inner battle, he didn’t notice the curious watchful eyes of the female beside him.

Luckily, you and Player 388—Dae-ho, as he introduced himself—found a group of four not long after starting your search. Players 149, 007, 120, and 095 stood in a tight circle, whispering among themselves as they looked around for their missing fifth member. Their faces were a mix of tension and determination, but they didn’t seem hostile, which was more than you could ask for in this environment.

Dae-ho, ever the confident one, strode forward with an easy smile. “Excuse me… do you need more members?” he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

All four turned to face you both, their eyes scanning you up and down. There was an unmistakable wariness in their expressions; trust wasn’t exactly in abundant supply here. Finally, Player 120 spoke, her voice measured. “I’m sorry, but we only need one more.”

Dae-ho didn’t even flinch at the rejection. Instead, his grin widened, his tone growing more playful. “Well, you’re in luck! You see, [Name]nim here is a master at spinning tops. Quick hands, sharp focus—everything you’d need for precision games like these. How could you possibly pass on a deal like that?”

You blinked at him, both amused and exasperated. Was he seriously pitching you like you were a product at an auction? Despite the absurdity of it, his tone was so casual, so confident, that it managed to disarm the tension in the air, even if just a little.

You gave Dae-ho a small shake of your head before stepping forward yourself, bowing politely to the group. “I may not be a master,” you began, sending a pointed but amused glance toward Dae-ho, “but I’ll do my best to contribute. Please, if you’ll have me, I’ll work hard.”

The group exchanged glances, their hesitation apparent. It was weird for them, hearing a casual and almost teasing tone in an environment where death is prominent. Still, after a moment, Player 120 gave a curt nod. “Alright. You’re in.”

Relief flooded through you, and you turned to Dae-ho, a small smile breaking across your face. “Thank you,” you said, your tone filled with genuine gratitude.

Dae-ho gave a casual wave of his hand, as if dismissing your thanks. “Thank me after you survive this game [Name]nim.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at his unshakable confidence. “Alright Dae-ho, see you later.”

As you turned back to your new team, introductions were exchanged before quickly discussing strategies. Despite the palpable tension in the air, they seemed cooperative enough. Each player carried their own air of quiet determination, though the stress of the situation was evident in the tightness of their voices and the stiffness in their movements.

Your team was one of the teams to go first. When it was your turn, you grabbed the top and string with trembling hands, whispering a small prayer under your breath. Slowly, you began winding the string tightly around the body of the top, starting from the bottom and wrapping upwards. But as you reached the middle, the string suddenly slipped free, unraveling entirely. You froze, your shaky hands betraying you further as you fumbled to pick up the loose string.

A lump rose in your throat as panic surged through you. You knew you were good at this. Spinning tops was your childhood talent, something you had always taken pride in. But now, in the most critical moment, your nerves were getting the best of you. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you looked at Player 120, your voice trembling. “I… I’m sorry. I swear I’m good at this. I’m just… really scared.”

Player 120’s expression softened, and she knelt beside you. Her voice was calm, reassuring. “It’s okay. You just need to take a deep breath and focus, alright? You’ve got this.”

Her words anchored you, and you nodded, inhaling deeply. As you exhaled slowly, a memory surfaced—something that always helped you when you were scared. Turning to 120, you asked hesitantly, “Could you… could you cover my eyes?”

She blinked at you, puzzled. “Cover your eyes? Why?”

You offered a nervous smile. “I promise it’ll help. It’s… just something I do.”

With a shrug, she moved behind you and placed her hands gently over your eyes. As darkness enveloped your vision, you felt a strange but comforting familiarity take over.

“What’s up with this weird ritual you do?” In-ho’s voice was teasing, his hands warm as they covered your eyes back then. “You’re always doing this!”

“It’s not weird!” your younger self had retorted, pouting.

“Is too!” he laughed. “Nobody else does this, you know.”

“Well, I get really scared when I see what I’m doing, okay?” you’d replied stubbornly. “So I thought, ‘What if I just don’t look?’ It helps me focus.”

You smiled softly at the memory, your hands finally steady as you began winding the string again. This time, it wrapped perfectly around the top, tight and precise.

When 120 uncovered your eyes, you felt a renewed sense of determination. But before you could proceed, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“To effectively spin the top, first, you must hold the loose end of the string firmly in your hand,” In-ho called out, his voice carrying an authoritative tone. He paced in front of you like a drill sergeant, his arms folded behind his back. “Next, throw the top onto the ground with a flicking motion. Pull the string sharply to make it spin. Understood?”

You straighten your posture, snapping a salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

The two of you broke into laughter, a sound so pure and unexpected that it momentarily dissolved the tension in the air. When he handed you the fully wound top, his fingers brushed yours lightly. “Alright, [Name],” he said, his smile softening, “show me what you can do.”

Gripping the top tightly, you turned to him one last time, your eyes filled with uncertainty. He gave you a reassuring thumbs-up and a wide smile, and somehow, it was enough to calm your racing heart.

With all your might, you threw the top onto the ground, pulling the string sharply. It spun perfectly, steady and unwavering. Relief washed over you as you watched it spin continuously.

The cheers erupted so suddenly that it startled you out of your thoughts. Your teammates—149 and 120—rushed to your side, shaking your shoulders in celebration. Their excitement was infectious, and soon you found yourself smiling, laughing, and letting the moment sink in.

“Alright, alright, let’s calm down!” 120 said, her voice mixed with happiness and haste. She led the group to the next station, the victory fueling your collective determination.

In-ho watched from a distance, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one he hadn’t let himself indulge in for years—a flicker of joy, the kind that came from something genuine. Seeing your face light up with relief and triumph stirred something buried deep inside him, something he thought was long gone. He couldn’t stop himself from cheering along with the others, maybe louder than necessary. Perhaps it was his way of masking the whirlwind of emotions inside him, or maybe it was just his heart acting on its own. Either way, he didn’t care to stop.

As your group crossed the finish line. The room became lively again. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound pure and unrestrained, even as the adrenaline still coursed through your veins. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel it: pride, joy, and the simple relief of success.

Amidst the commotion, your eyes instinctively searched the crowd—and then you saw him, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight made your breath catch, your smile faltering for a second before returning, softer this time.

And then it happened. Your eyes locked. Everything else seemed to fall away—the noise, the crowd, the weight of the game itself. It was just the two of you in that moment, a silent conversation unfolding in the space between your gazes.

His dark eyes, cold and guarded the first time you saw them, were now filled with longing, happiness, maybe even a glimmer of pride. It was as though he was telling you, I knew you could do it. I’m proud of you. But there was something deeper, too—something unspoken. His gaze held a vulnerability that he wouldn’t dare put into words, a quiet hope that you might still see him the way you once did.

You felt it, too. A warmth spreading through you, unexpected and disarming. The wall between you, built by years of distance and unspoken words, seemed to crack ever so slightly. For a brief moment, you forgot the tension, the pain, and the uncertainty. You saw him—not as an enemyl, not as someone you had grown apart from—but as the In-ho you once knew.

His lips twitched into a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still held a quiet sincerity. He wanted to say something, you could feel it. But words were unnecessary. The way his gaze softened, the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his presence seemed to pull you closer—it was enough.

The moment passed as quickly as it came, but it left something behind. A spark. A fragile yet undeniable hope.

As you were all escorted back to the main area, you found yourself glancing back at him one last time. He was still there, watching, his expression unreadable now. But you saw the faintest nod, as if to say, Please, let’s talk soon.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance. A chance to fix what had been broken. A chance to bridge the gap that had grown between you. A chance to reconcile, to find your way back to each other in a world that had done everything to pull you apart.

Your eyes remained locked with his until the door behind you closed.

Player 149 invited you to join them for a chat, a way to pass the time as the second game continued. With a small nod, you followed them to their little corner, settling on the stairs just behind Player 120. The group was warm and welcoming, and soon you were learning their names, hobbies, and bits of their lives outside the games.

Player 149 introduced herself as Jang Geum-ja, a kind but sharp woman who spoke with unwavering pride about her son, Player 007, Park Yong-sik. Her love for him was evident in every word and action—she had joined the games solely to pay off her son’s debt, determined to give him a better future despite the grim odds.

Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju, exuded a quiet yet approachable aura. A transgender woman with dreams of starting fresh, she joined the games not only to clear her debt but also to complete her medical treatments. Her plan was to move to Thailand and begin a new chapter in her life, one filled with hope and authenticity.

Finally, there was Player 095, Kim Young-mi, a soft-spoken woman with a warm, unshakable belief in the goodness of others. She and Hyun-ju had formed a close bond, their friendship blossoming into a dynamic partnership that made them inseparable—like two peas in a pod, finding strength in each other amidst the chaos.

As the room began to fill with players returning from the game, your eyes instinctively darted to the doors each time they opened. Your stomach twisted with worry, though you tried to stay composed. You were searching for Jun-hee and her group, your concern growing with each passing minute.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you spotted familiar faces walking through the doors. Relief surged through you as you quickly excused yourself from the group and descended the stairs. Without hesitation, you rushed straight to Jun-hee.

"Are you okay? How are you? How’s the baby? Did you feel nauseous? Do you want me to massage your back? Or your feet? Need to go to the bathroom? Pee? Puke?—"

Jun-hee's face turned bright red as she raised a hand to shush you. “Stop, [Name]nim, you’re embarrassing me,” she whispered, glancing nervously at her group. Despite her words, a small smile tugged at her lips, her eyes soft with gratitude.

“Hey! It’s [Name]nim!” Dae-ho’s cheerful voice cut through the moment as he jogged over to you.

“Dae-ho! Looks like I owe you a proper thank-you now, huh?” you said with a laugh, the tension in your chest finally easing.

The three of you exchanged warm words, laughter breaking through the otherwise somber atmosphere. Nearby, the rest of Jun-hee’s group—456, 390, and In-ho—watched the scene unfold. As 456 and 390 moved away to sit down at their spot, In-ho lingered, his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer before he turned to follow the others.

Moments later, you found yourself joining the group, introducing yourself properly. 390, a man with a friendly demeanor, grinned and replied, “Ah, how could we forget you? Thank you for giving Jun-hee to us. She’s really skilled in ddjaki! The name’s Park Jung-bae by the way.”

Your eyes widened. “Jung-bae? Are you Young-sun’s husband?” You asked, pointing a finger at him.

Jung-bae blinked in surprise. “Huh? How’d you know my ex wife?”

“I live in Ssangmun-dong! I visit your pub often. Young-sun would always keep me company when I stopped by.”

Recognition dawned on his face. “Ah! I remember now! You’re the one who splurged like crazy that one night. You even had to crash at our place because you were too wasted to leave! Young-sun told me you were whispering someone’s name... what was it... In-h—”

Panic shot through you as you clamped a hand over his mouth, heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t. You. Dare,” you hissed, glaring at him.

Jung-bae’s eyes widened, and with a nervous nod, he raised his hands in surrender. You slowly released him, muttering an apology under your breath as you tried to regain your composure.

Dae-ho and Jun-hee, however, were staring at you, their mouths slightly agape. Who knew the kind person they looked up to was a raging alcoholic? Behind them, In-ho’s expression shifted subtly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Was it anger? Hurt? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell, and the uncertainty only made your heart race faster.

Breaking the awkward silence, Jung-bae cleared his throat. “W-well, speaking of Ssangmun-dong, my buddy here also lives there. We’re best of friends!” He gestured toward Player 456, who waved at you with a sheepish smile.

You bowed politely, offering a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Seong Gi-hun,” he introduced himself with a nod.

“What a small world,” you said, grateful for the distraction as the three of you fell into an animated conversation about your shared hometown.

From a short distance away, In-ho watched the scene unfold, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on you, his mind racing. Why were you talking about Ssangmun-dong like it was the greatest place in the world? What about Gyeonggi-do? What about the memories you shared there? What about him?

He paused, a flicker of something he refused to name surfacing in his mind. Was it jealousy? No, it couldn’t be—he wasn’t allowed to feel that way, not after everything he’d done to you. The very thought felt absurd. Yet, the knot tightening in his chest as you spoke to others wasn’t easy to ignore.

A nudge from Dae-ho jolted him out of his thoughts. He blinked, realizing all eyes, including yours, were on him, waiting for his introduction. Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture and forced a polite smile.

“My name’s Oh Young-il. Young-il sounds like ‘zero one’, and that’s my number, see?” He gestured to the 001 embroidered on his jacket. Dae-ho raised his brows, impressed by the coincidence, but your gaze lingered on him, a storm of confusion hidden behind your composed expression.

You knew his real name. You knew that he was Hwang In-ho, not Oh Young-il. So why was he lying? The thought gnawed at you. Had he changed his name after getting married? But there was no wedding ring on his finger. Maybe he’d taken it off? No, no. The contradictions piled up, yet a part of you didn’t want to accept the truth. He wasn’t meeting your gaze, deliberately avoiding you. He was hiding something, and you wanted to know what it was.

The moment was interrupted as the heavy boots echoed across the room. Guards marched in, their presence commanding silence. The atmosphere shifted instantly as the square-masked guard stepped forward.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game,” the guard began, his voice monotone yet eerily loud. He pressed a button on a remote, and the massive piggy bank descended from the ceiling once again. Wads of cash began to tumble into the glass container, the sound of bills hitting each other. Eyes across the room were glued to the spectacle, greed and desperation lighting up every face.

“The results of the second game are as follows: 110 players were eliminated. Therefore the total prize money accumulated is now 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person’s share is 78,823,530 won.”

Despite the staggering amount, you couldn’t shake the pit forming in your stomach. 78.8 million won. It was a fortune—more money than you could have ever imagined—but instead of relief, all you felt was disgust.

How could you be thinking about the money when 110 people had just died? Faces flashed in your mind, the terrified screams, the sight of bodies collapsing. And yet, here you were, wondering if it was enough to pay off your debts. The thought sickened you, and your throat tightened as bile threatened to rise. When did I become this person? You had stepped into the games for survival, for a better future, but now you couldn’t tell where desperation ended and greed began. The numbers on the screen blurred as hot tears welled in your eyes, your breaths coming quicker. I’m no better than the ones who created this place. Am I even human anymore? You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you tried to silence the spiraling thoughts, but they refused to stop.

You felt your body tremble, your vision narrowing as the room seemed to tilt around you. The walls felt closer, the hum of voices blurring into a distant buzz that drummed in your ears. Every blink brought a sting to your eyes, tears welling and threatening to spill over. You tried to focus—on the floor beneath your feet, the faint pattern of the tiles, anything—but it all blurred together, a haze of shapes and colors you couldn’t ground yourself in. Deep breaths came shallow, catching in your throat, each inhale fighting against the tightness in your chest. Your hands twitched at your sides, desperate for something to hold onto, but all they found was empty air. You whispered to yourself, hollow words of comfort you couldn’t even hear over the pounding of your heart. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, drowning out everything else. All you could feel was the weight of guilt pressing down on you, the silent judgment of the room—even if it existed only in your mind. You were spiraling, untethered, a storm of shame and helplessness that swallowed everything in its path.

Suddenly, a hand gently rested on your shoulder. The warmth startled you, and you whipped your head around to find its source. It was him. In-ho. Or Young-il, as he’d introduced himself. But he wasn’t looking at you; his head was turned toward the commotion among the players, who were now arguing loudly about the rules. His hand, though, remained on your shoulder, steady and deliberate.

Before you could process it, he began to rub your shoulder in slow, soothing circles. His fingers worked gently, almost instinctively, massaging the tension from your stiff muscles. You stared at him, stunned into silence. His expression remained neutral, his attention seemingly elsewhere, but his touch told a different story.

After all these years, he remembered. He remembered how you used to freeze up during moments of intense stress, how just a simple touch—steady and grounding—could help you calm down. You hadn’t needed to explain it to him back then; it was something he’d noticed, something he’d done instinctively. And now, after everything, he was still the same. His hand stayed on your shoulder, firm yet gentle, just like before.

He remembered how you hated when people stared at you in moments of weakness, so he kept his eyes elsewhere. He knew you felt exposed, ashamed even, as if everyone was silently judging you, so he never let that happen. 

He remembered how you felt guilty for needing comfort, for drawing attention to yourself, so he never made a big deal of it. No words, no questions—just a quiet, unwavering presence that said, I’m here.

And you were thankful for that, more than you could ever put into words. It gave you hope. Hope that maybe, after all these years, there is still something left between you. 

With a grateful nod, you looked away as his hand left your shoulder, already missing his warmth. The commotion around you had ended, and people were drifting back into small groups, discussing their next move. You knew you had to focus, to think through the decision, but your mind felt like it was breaking into pieces. Should I vote X? If it wins, you’d leave with 78 million won—not nearly enough to erase your debt, but at least it would mean you were alive. Or should I vote O? That meant continuing the games. No guarantee of survival, but a chance at something greater—a chance to fix everything.

You tilted your head to gaze at the piggy bank hanging above, its glowing light taunting you. Before you could fully weigh your options, a conversation behind you caught your attention.

“Oh, don’t worry. I want to stop here,” In-ho’s voice said casually.

You froze, listening.

“I should go and be with my wife at the hospital,” he added.

Oh.

It was like someone had snuffed out the flicker of hope you’d just found. The energy drained from your body in one cruel wave as the words settled in. A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you swallowed it down, shaking your head. Of course, he has a wife. How could you have thought otherwise? You felt like a fool for hoping, for thinking even for a second that those small moments meant something more.

Dae-ho’s voice broke your spiraling thoughts. “I’m telling you, we’ll get out this time,” he said with determination, tugging at the patch on his jacket like it was the source of all his problems. “A marine should think strategically and know when to retreat,” he added, giving Jung-bae a playful shake.

Jung-bae, looking utterly rattled, nodded weakly. “R-right… that’s true,” he muttered, though his nervous glances betrayed his doubts.

“We have to end the games here,” Gi-hun said firmly, stepping into the circle of your group. His eyes met yours briefly, and you nodded. It was a silent agreement, one that seemed to lift his spirits slightly.

In-ho, standing off to the side, watched the exchange with something that could only be described as malice.

Dae-ho clapped his hands, calling everyone back to attention. “Alright, let’s huddle up!” he said with a grin, thrusting his hand into the middle.

One by one, everyone joined in. Your hand landed just below In-ho’s, and you tried not to think about it, about how the warmth of his hands made you feel .

“In one, two, three… Victory at all costs!”

“Victory at all costs!”

“This time the vote will begin with Player 001. Please cast your vote.”

All eyes turned to him, including yours. In-ho met your group’s collective gaze with a calm, unreadable expression before walking up to the platform. Without hesitation, he pressed the X button. The distinct chime echoed in the room as the counter for X increased by one.

The next player—Player 006—stepped forward. Without much deliberation, they also pressed X, their vote adding another mark to the tally.

“Player 007.”

Your eyes flicked upward at the familiar number. It was one of your teammates from the second game, Yong-sik. You spotted him in the crowd, watching him lean down to exchange hushed words with his mother. Her expression was tight, desperate, begging him to vote X but he simply nodded before walking to the machine. His hesitation was visible as he stood there, torn between his choices. Then, the sound of O being chosen played, the button glowing bright blue as his vote was registered.

Your heart sank as you saw his mother’s face fall, her grief and disbelief plain for everyone to see. You averted your eyes, unable to look at either of them any longer. You understood both sides of the story—the desperate hope of a mother to save her child so they can go home and the equally desperate desire of a child to pay his debt fully, leaving his mom with no more worries.

The votes continued, each press of a button punctuating the room like a drumbeat of tension. Finally, your turn came. You felt the weight of the decision like a physical burden pressing on your shoulders. Part of you wanted to vote O, to take the gamble, to fight for a chance to win enough to pay off your crushing debt. But the thought of your group—the first people in years who had truly accepted you—stopped you. You had promised yourself that you would protect them, that they would go home safe to their families.

You stepped forward and pressed X. The red glow of the button reflected on your face as the counter ticked up. You removed your blue patch as a guard gave you a red one. You stuck it to your jacket before, giving a small bow to them before retreating to your spot.

As you walked back, you felt In-ho’s gaze following your every step. His eyes burned with intensity, but you didn’t look his way. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not when you knew the truth now. He had a wife—a life far removed from you. Whatever feelings you might have clung to in the past didn’t matter anymore. You would not degrade yourself into becoming a mistress in someone else’s story.

The voting continued until suddenly, a commotion broke out. Gi-hun stormed to the center of the room, shouting for people to vote X and urging them to end the games. His words rang out with desperation, but before he could fully plead his case, In-ho cut him off.

In-ho’s voice carried an edge of anger as he stepped forward, his composure cracking. “There’s no guarantee you’ll survive the next game! Do you really want to risk your lives for a few more million won?”

The room fell silent for a moment, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then Player 100 stepped forward, shaking his head with disdain. “And what if we don’t risk it? We leave here with nothing but debt and regret. One more game, and we’re looking at at least 240 million each. That’s life-changing money!”

His argument ignited the room, and chaos erupted. Voices clashed, some siding with In-ho, others with Player 100. It spiraled into a shouting match, each side growing louder, more frantic.

You stood still, detached from the chaos. As much as you wanted to support your friends, you couldn’t bring yourself to intervene. This wasn’t a debate to be won; it was simply another game of chance, with lives hanging in the balance. The outcome wasn’t up to persuasion or reason. It was up to luck.

Finally, the vote was tallied. O won against X by a wide margin, 139 to 115.

Your stomach churned, fear creeping in as you processed what it meant. You weren’t scared for yourself but for Jun-hee, her kind heart too soft for the brutality of these games. You weren’t worried about your own safety but for Dae-ho, whose unwavering faith in others had been betrayed as Jung-bae—someone he admired and respected—voted O.

When the vote ended, your group regrouped, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions. You found yourself behind Jun-hee as she ate her portion of the day’s dinner. Her small frame trembled, though she tried to hide it, her hands shaking as she clutched the bread's wrapper.

Without a word, you placed your hands on her shoulders, massaging gently to ease her tension. You moved to her lower back, your fingers pressing lightly, offering what little comfort you could in such a bleak moment. She didn’t say anything, but the way her breathing slowed told you that it helped, even just a little.

Without a second thought, Dae-ho stood up, his face conflicted as he grabbed Jung-bae by the arm and dragged him over to your group. His eyes darted nervously between you, Jun-hee, Young-il, and Gi-hun before his gaze softened, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, [Name], Jun-hee, Young-il,” he started, his voice low, his words laced with guilt. “Gi-hun, I’m sorry…” His apology hung in the air, sincere but laced with discomfort.

He went on to explain his decision to vote O, his voice shaky but determined. “You see, I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors have been harassing my ex-wife and kid. They’re threatening them, and if I play one more game, I think I’ll be able to settle the debt. So…” His words trailed off, the weight of his decision clear in his eyes.

Before you could speak up in defense of Jung-bae, In-ho cut him off, his frustration still fresh from the earlier commotion. His tone was cold, a sharp edge beneath the calm exterior. “Jung-bae,” he started, his voice low but heavy with disappointment. “You of all people shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t twice as righteous.”

You felt a twinge of sympathy for Jung-bae, but In-ho’s words were true. Deep down, you understood why In-ho was so disappointed.

In-ho’s gaze flicked back to Jung-bae as he continued, his words almost regretful. “But looking at the results, even if you two voted against it, we would still have been outvoted.”

“Right? So it’s not really our fault,” Jung-bae quickly added, eager to find any shred of justification. He seemed relieved, like the pressure had been lifted slightly, but his eyes flickered nervously to the others, waiting for confirmation.

Dae-ho, who had been silently observing, scratched his head and gave Jung-bae a comforting pat on the shoulder. His movements were casual, though his eyes were thoughtful. “Honestly, I get why you did it. 78 million won isn’t enough. So when I went to vote, I really thought about going for ‘O’ too.”

You nodded in agreement, a soft murmur of approval escaping you. You understood the temptation, the overwhelming urge to fight for more when it felt like everything was slipping away. The money was too much to ignore.

Seeing the subtle nods of agreement from the group, Jung-bae’s confidence grew. He straightened his posture, eager to make up for his earlier decision. “Next game, I promise. I’ll—”

“Next game?” Gi-hun’s voice cut through the air, sharp and filled with a quiet intensity. “Next game, we might have to kill each other.”

The room went completely still. Everyone froze, the silence thick and suffocating. Gi-hun’s words hung in the air, their weight sinking into each of you. He was right, and the grim truth of it was enough to stop all conversation. There was no sugarcoating it. The next round could very well be the end, and the thought was unbearable.

The quiet that followed was heavy, the dread and uncertainty sinking into your bones. You couldn’t help but feel a cold shiver run down your spine, the magnitude of what was to come settling over you like a thick fog.

Annoyed by the uncomfortable pause, you spoke up, your voice cutting through the tension. “Gi-hun, that’s a bit much. We all know there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s just stay focused. We need to eat, get ourselves together, and prepare for the next round.”

The group seemed to agree with your statement, the momentary discomfort fading as they all began to refocus.

In-ho, ever the quiet observer, handed his milk carton to Jun-hee without a word, his gaze flicking to her briefly before he looked away. “I don’t drink plain milk,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the gesture was nothing more than a small, unnoticed act.

Jung-bae, following suit, offered his bread to Jun-hee as well, his eyes shadowed with guilt. “I don’t deserve to eat,” he said with an awkward chuckle, trying to mask the heaviness of his words with forced humor.

You watched the exchange, your heart twisting slightly, but before you could speak, Dae-ho leaned in, his voice light but with an edge of concern. “I’ll take the milk carton?”

When Jung-bae shot him a glare, Dae-ho hesitated, then pulled back, not wanting to push it further.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but feel the heavy weight of what was ahead. The uncertainty, the danger—it all felt too much. But in this moment, you focused on your meal, knowing it was the only thing you could control for now.

You found yourself sitting beside Dae-ho, your bread in hand, chewing quietly as you both took a brief moment of respite. Dae-ho seemed lost in thought, his eyes darting toward you, hesitant yet full of unasked questions.

“If you have any questions, just ask me, Dae-ho,” you said, offering a small smile. “I’m not gonna bite, you know?”

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, caught off guard by your casual invitation. But he took a deep breath, calm now, and turned to face you fully. “Do you have kids at home, [Name]nim?” he asked, his voice low but sincere. “It’s just... whenever I see you with Jun-heesii, it reminds me of my mother taking care of me and my four sisters.”

You hesitated, feeling a slight pang of discomfort as you realized the question would require a vulnerable answer. In-ho, sitting nearby, seemed to listen in, his curiosity piqued. Part of him, though, wished you didn’t have any children, that you weren’t settled in on with somebody, a selfish thought he quickly pushed away.

“Ah, this is embarrassing,” you murmured, a soft laugh escaping you as you fidgeted with your bread. “I actually don’t have any kids or a husband... I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Boys don’t really look at me like that, if you know what I mean. Life wasn’t that nice to me, especially after we moved. I didn’t have the time or luck for any of that…”

Dae-ho’s expression softened with guilt. He immediately regretted asking the question, but when he saw the faint longing in your eyes, he paused. There was something more behind your words—something unspoken, something that told him you longed for a family, for the chance to live that dream.

In-ho, overhearing, felt a pang in his chest. What had happened to you? He knew things had ended badly between the two of you, but he never expected life to treat you so harshly. You were kind, generous, and had always believed in the goodness of people. He couldn’t understand why life had been so difficult for you. You didn’t deserve that.

Before the silence could grow any heavier, Jung-bae mischievously broke it with a suggestion. “Well, if you like, I can set you up with someone back in Ssangmun-dong. Right, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun, who had been quiet up until then, blinked in surprise, his confusion evident. “Huh? Who?”

“You know! Sang-woo! The Pride of Ssangmun-dong!” Jung-bae grinned, clearly amused by his own suggestion. “I think he and [Name] would make a great couple, don’t you think?”

At the mention of Sang-woo, Gi-hun’s face shifted. His expression faltered, a wave of guilt and sadness clouding his features. A pained smile tugged at his lips as he nodded absently. “Yeah... I think so too,” he murmured, his mind clearly elsewhere as he drifted off into his own thoughts.

The sudden change in Gi-hun’s demeanor caught your attention. His usual angry and tense self had been replaced with something quieter, a deep sadness that seemed to pull at him. You looked to Jung-bae for an explanation, your brows furrowed in concern.

In a soft voice, Jung-bae filled in the blanks. “Gi-hun and Sang-woo were childhood friends, but... he’s been missing for years.”

You nodded, understanding the pain behind Gi-hun’s words. You could relate to that feeling—the ache of a long-lost connection. You couldn’t help but feel a pang in your own heart as well. Even though the lost connection was right in front of you, and he still felt so far away.

Gi-hun’s sadness wasn’t a good look on him. He was always either grumpy or happy, never in between. You wanted to change that. You thought back to when you missed In-ho so much, you’d drown your sorrows in alcohol and chatter to Young-sun about him. Maybe, just maybe, getting Gi-hun to talk about Sang-woo could help him, even if it was just for a little while.

“Hey, Gi-hun,” you called softly, breaking the silence. “Tell me more about this Sang-woo guy. Who knows, maybe we’d click together, you know?”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your question. But something in his gaze softened as he began to talk. He recounted bits and pieces of his childhood with Sang-woo, his voice lighting up with nostalgia. His eyes shined as he described his friend’s strengths, quirks, and all the little memories they shared.

From the way Gi-hun spoke, you could see how much Sang-woo meant to him. The same way you felt about In-ho, the weight of love and loss behind every word. You silently prayed for their reunion. Gi-hun deserved happiness, and you wished for him to find it—whether through Sang-woo or another way.

In-ho’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes. If they were going to give you a partner, they should give you someone who can protect you—someone who knows you, your likes and dislikes, your type... His thoughts were possessive— jealous. His hands clenched into fists, though he forced himself to stay composed. He wasn’t sure why the thought of you with someone else hurt so much, but it did. It hurt more than he was willing to admit.

As the conversation shifted and laughter filled the space, In-ho stayed silent, the weight of his unspoken emotions heavy in the air. The conversation ended when they all went to the bathroom, leaving you and Jun-hee alone. She wasted no time asking a question that had been bothering her ever since she noticed something strange.

“[Name]nim, do you know Young-ilnim? Like, before the games?”

You were taken aback, your surprise evident in the way your eyes widened. What prompted her to ask such a thing?

“No, not that I remember,” you replied, a small ache tugging at your chest. It was hard to say those words. “Why do you ask?”

Jun-hee hesitated, her gaze flickering down to her hands. “It’s just that… I always see Young-ilnim looking at you, or staring at you. Especially when you helped me during the second game. His stare... it was like there was something there.” She trailed off, her voice quiet, unsure if she had crossed a line. “I thought you two might know each other. Sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, no... don’t apologize, Jun-hee. You didn’t do anything wrong,” you reassured her with a small smile. “Maybe I just remind him of someone?”

The conversation shifted, and though the topic ended there, you couldn’t help but linger on what Jun-hee said. In-ho, looking at you? Your mind spun with questions that you couldn't quite answer. But before you could dive deeper into your thoughts, the group returned from the bathroom, and the moment was gone.

Gi-hun gathered everyone, asking them to bring their mattresses and bedding to your designated spot. You all exchanged confused looks but did as instructed, gathering pillows and blankets. It was clear there was something important going on, and it wasn’t lost on anyone.

As you and Jun-hee handed out the bedding, the tension in the air grew. Jung-bae spoke up. “Hey, is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under here.”

Gi-hun continued setting down blankets without looking up. “Once the lights go out, someone might attack us.”

His words grabbed everyone's attention, and you paused, glancing around. Dae-ho, curiosity now evident in his eyes, asked, “Why would anyone do that?”

“The prize money goes up every time someone dies. It’s part of the game they designed,” Gi-hun explained, his voice tense with the weight of the situation.

You frowned, the idea feeling far-fetched at first. But as you thought about the desperation you’d seen in people—and the way some of the others eyed the prize board with hunger—it started to make a disturbing kind of sense. Gi-hun’s words seemed to settle over the group like a cold shiver, but In-ho wasn’t convinced. “Gi-hun, I think you're overreacting,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if that were true, people wouldn’t do that.”

Gi-hun turned to him sharply, fury in his eyes. “In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here, you have no idea how people can change in a place like this…”

In-ho trailed off, looking away, clearly uncomfortable. “I see… I guess I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m sorry.”

The tension between the two men was palpable, but Gi-hun, though still angry, nodded with some understanding. “We need to take turns keeping watch after the lights go out.”

“I’ll take the first watch. You should decide the order for the rest,” Gi-hun added, continuing to spread the last of the blankets.

It wasn’t long after that you found yourself lying on the bottom bed, the silence in the room heavy. You couldn’t tell what time it was, but sleep seemed distant. With your eyes closed, you tried to rest, but your mind kept wandering. You couldn’t shake the thoughts of Jun-hee’s question, of In-ho’s gaze, and of all the tension in the air.

After what felt like an eternity, you couldn’t stay still any longer. You quietly rolled out of the bed, careful not to disturb Jun-hee beside you. As you stood, you rubbed your eyes, still groggy but wide awake. You walked over to the one who was supposed to be keeping watch.

“Hey... get some sleep. I’ve got it from here,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the darkness.

When no response came, you paused, your heart beating a little faster. Had you imagined it? You slapped your cheek lightly, half-expecting to wake up from a dream, but the sting was real. This was no dream. You were still in the game. But who was supposed to be guarding?

As you glanced toward the guard, your breath caught in your throat. There, in the dim light, stood In-ho, staring at you with wide, almost startled eyes.

“In-ho...” you whispered, the name escaping before you could stop it.

He blinked, his expression unreadable. “[Name]... sit down, will you?” His voice was quiet, laced with an undercurrent of tension. You did as he asked, your body moving on its own, though the atmosphere between the two of you felt thick with unspoken words.

You sat there, your knees pressed together. The silence stretched, heavy and thick. There were so many things unsaid between you, so many apologies left unspoken, so many reasons left unexplained. Neither of you seemed to know where to start, but the distance between you had never felt more real. You had shared a bond once, and now it was hard to find the words to bridge the gap that had formed.

In-ho shifted slightly, as if searching for something to say, but still, nothing came. Neither of you moved for what felt like hours, both of you stuck in a place neither knew how to navigate.

The silence between you and In-ho lingered, thick and suffocating, each of you carrying the weight of the years since you’d last spoken. Finally, In-ho shifted, breaking the stillness, his voice low and tight.

"[Name], I—I'm sorry," he started, his words hesitant, as though testing the waters.

"I shouldn't have acted like that, not when you were leaving. On our last day together, I—" He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours, searching for the right words in the dim light. "I was so angry, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t mean to push you away. I never should have let my emotions control me like that, especially when I knew you were going away."

Your chest tightened at his words. The apology you’d waited for, yet feared to hear, was finally being spoken, but the bitterness still clung to you. You swallowed hard, forcing the anger down, trying not to let it rise again. It felt like you were walking a fine line, torn between the hurt and the understanding you wished you could give him.

"You know," you said softly, voice wavering, "I was angry, too. You pushed me away, In-ho. I never got to explain myself, to tell you why I had to leave. It hurt so much that you didn’t even give me a chance." You paused, trying to steady yourself. "I don’t know what you thought, but I wasn’t running away from you. I... I never wanted to hurt you."

In-ho’s eyes flickered, regret and guilt tugging at his expression. His hand tightened into a fist, then relaxed at his side, as if searching for the right words but struggling to find them.

"I thought you were just... leaving, leaving me, leaving us." he said quietly, his voice strained with emotion. "I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know if I could let you go. But you were going, and it felt like I was losing you, like you’d be gone for good. I was angry that you didn’t even try to stay. I thought you had already made your choice." He swallowed hard, his gaze still on the floor. "I thought you didn’t care about me the way I cared about you."

Tears threatened at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. This was it. The truth you’d wanted to hear, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. The anger you’d carried for so long still clung to you, but in this moment, it was tinged with understanding.

"I didn’t know you felt that way," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I thought you hated me for leaving. I thought I’d ruined everything, and you’d never forgive me for it." You took a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking in your chest. A tremor crept into your voice as you fought to hold back the emotions welling up inside you. 

"I understood why you did it," you said, voice cracking slightly. "I understood it at the time. You were scared, just like I was. But it didn’t make it hurt any less." Your voice dropped. "I didn’t know how to feel. You were the one person I thought I could rely on, and then you turned away without a word. And I had no choice but to carry that weight with me."

Your eyes locked onto his, your heart aching at the sight of the guilt in his expression. “I spent so much time angry at you, blaming you for leaving me like that. But now... now I know we were both just lost. I didn’t know how to handle it, and neither did you.”

In-ho’s face softened, his expression full of regret. "I wish I had known how to handle it better. I wish I had been braver... for you, for us. I should’ve told you how I felt, instead of shutting myself off."

The words hung in the air for a long moment, both of you silently processing what had been said. Then, as if a dam had broken, you continued, feeling a rush of emotions that you hadn’t been able to express before.

"All those years... I kept wondering if I could’ve done something different. If I could have convinced my parents to stay. But I was too proud, too scared. And when we left, it felt like the world just... stopped. I couldn't move forward, not without you. I didn’t know how to move on. And I don’t know if I ever truly did." Your voice cracked, the weight of it all coming crashing down in that moment.

In-ho’s breath hitched as you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. “I was scared, too. I didn’t know how to handle the idea of losing you. But I realize now... that by pushing you away, I was only making it worse. I’m sorry, [Name]. I’m so sorry for everything.”

You both sat there in the quiet, the weight of the past hanging heavily in the air between you. In-ho’s voice broke through the silence again, softer this time. “I should’ve been better for you. I should’ve told you how I felt, not let my fear take over.”

Your heart ached hearing the sincerity in his words. He was so close now, but there was still a lingering distance between you. His hand hovered near yours, unsure if you’d let him in. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing his. The touch was like a lifeline, pulling you both back from the uncertainty.

In-ho’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his hand finally resting on top of yours. He shifted slightly, moving a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze now, something you hadn’t seen in him before. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to swallow hard to keep them from spilling over. For so long, you’d carried this burden of unspoken words, of lost time. But now, sitting here beside him, it felt like the weight was lifting, bit by bit.

In-ho seemed to sense your struggle, his hand gently squeezing yours. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I never wanted you to feel abandoned or alone.”

The words were all you needed. With a shaky breath, you leaned toward him, resting your head on his shoulder. The closeness between you felt like a reunion, a connection rediscovered after years apart. In-ho’s arm slipped around you, pulling you just a little closer, as though he never wanted to let go again.

He ran his hand through your hair, slowly, gently, as if trying to calm the storm inside you. The motion was soothing, and for the first time in so long, you felt at peace. The anger and the hurt slowly started to fade, replaced by something new—something warm.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

In-ho paused, his breath hitching as he processed your words. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his face inches from yours. “I’ve missed you, too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

You both sat there in the quiet, letting the words hang in the air, surrounded by the unspoken promise of a new beginning. The past wasn’t something that could be erased, but it didn’t have to define you anymore. What mattered now was that you were here, together, in this moment.

In-ho held you close as you let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything you’d kept inside for so long. You felt his chest rise and fall against you, steady and warm, as his presence grounded you. After a long moment of silence, he pulled back just enough to look at your face, his expression filled with concern and curiosity.

“What happened to you, [Name]?” he asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. “What happened all of this? I’ve been wondering for years.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as the memories threatened to spill out. But, in his embrace, it felt safer to finally speak the truth. Slowly, you opened your mouth, your voice a whisper against his chest.

“I didn’t want to leave, In-ho,” you murmured. “But I had no choice.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, the weight of your past pressing down on you. “My parents... My father left for someone else, and my mother... she just disappeared. One day she was there, and the next, she was gone. I was... alone.”

You felt In-ho’s grip tighten around you as you spoke, but he said nothing. He just listened, offering his silent support.

“I tried to hold it together,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “But the bills kept piling up, and I couldn’t see a way out. I was working non-stop, just trying to keep up, but it never seemed to end. So, I thought, maybe a small loan would help... just to get by for a little while. But it only made things worse. I kept borrowing, and the interest kept stacking up. Eventually, I couldn’t keep up at all. To cope with everything, I started drinking. I just needed something to numb the pain.”

You paused, trying to steady your breathing. It felt like the floodgates had opened, and now there was no stopping it.

“After a while, it became a habit,” you said, your voice shaking. “I couldn’t face the world without it. And... I lost everything. My job, my sense of myself. I kept pushing people away because I didn’t know how to fix anything. I didn’t even know how to fix myself.”

In-ho’s hand gently cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer against his shoulder as if to shield you from the weight of your own words. He didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence settle between you. Then, his voice broke through the stillness.

“I’m sorry, [Name], I wish I was there with you during those times,” In-ho murmured, his voice filled with regret, each word heavy, like it carried all the years of silence and distance between you.

You let out a quiet sigh, the ache in your chest growing as you tried to push back against the weight of the past. The pain, the loss—it was all there, hovering just beneath the surface, but you chose to focus on what was right in front of you now. You chose the present. “It’s okay, In-ho,” you said softly, trying to steady your voice, but your heart was louder than it had been in years. “What matters now is you’re here with me, just like before.”

He was still so close to you, your bodies pressed together in the embrace, his breath uneven against your shoulder. His hand traced the back of your neck, his touch gentle, as though trying to reassure you, to hold you together. But there was more to it—something unspoken, a pull between you that neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence, felt so right, and yet, it stirred something deeper, something dangerous.

His fingers grazed your cheek, his touch soft and hesitant, like he was testing the waters. He lingered, his thumb tracing the outline of your jaw. The tension between you was palpable, and you could feel that silent question in the air, one you had both ignored for so long. Could you finally give in? Could you finally let go of the years that had kept you apart?

You wanted to lean in. You wanted to close that distance, to feel his lips against yours and forget everything else. All the pain, the years apart, the weight of the world—it could disappear, just for a moment. But your mind raced with doubts. What if this wasn’t real? What if it was just a fleeting feeling? What if you were getting swept up in the moment, in the desperation of it all?

And then, In-ho’s lips brushed against your forehead, his kiss tender and almost like a promise. You didn’t hesitate this time. The distance between you seemed to disappear, and without thinking, you leaned in. Your lips parted, and your breath mingled with his as you slowly closed the gap, inch by inch. Your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears. It was all so familiar, yet so new. You could feel everything—the pain, the longing, the need. You wanted to erase the distance, to bridge the gap that had haunted you both for so long.

But just as you were about to close the distance completely, just as you were about to feel his lips against yours, something flashed through your mind. The memory of him speaking of his wife, of the woman who was supposedly ill in the hospital, came crashing back. Your chest tightened. He was already married. You pulled back suddenly, your breath caught in your throat.

“What about your wife, In-ho?” Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. The words had been building inside you, but you couldn’t stop them. The questions came rushing to the surface. The connection, the closeness—it felt so real, but how could it be? How could you trust this moment when he had a sick wife waiting for his return?

In-ho froze, his eyes widening for a brief moment. Then, as though realizing the weight of what he’d said, his expression softened. He reached for you immediately, his hands cupping your face gently, almost desperately, like he couldn’t bear the space between you now.

“No,” he said, his voice low and strained. “You don’t understand. I lied to them. The wife... the illness... even my name. I did it for safety.” He explained as fast as he could.

“I swear to you, [Name], I wanted you. I always have. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve been waiting... waiting for you. All these years.”

The words hit you like a wave, sweeping over everything you had believed. The confession shattered your doubt. The years apart, the silence, the feelings that had never gone away. You had thought he was moving on, that he had a life without you, but now he was telling you that it had always been you. That he had always wanted you.

You looked into his eyes, searching for the truth, and for the first time in years, you saw it—his vulnerability, his sincerity. He had waited for you. He wasn’t lying now. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, and in that moment, you whispered, almost to yourself, “I never stopped thinking about you, either.”

That was it. Your hands, almost on their own, moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The hesitation, the doubt, all of it was gone. You leaned in again, this time with no fear, no second-guessing. You could feel his lips, just inches from yours, and this time, it was going to happen. There was no turning back.

But just as you closed your eyes, just as you felt the warmth of his lips moving toward yours, the room suddenly lit up. The loudspeaker crackled to life, its cold, mechanical voice slicing through the moment like a knife.

“Third game will begin momentarily. All players, please get out of bed and get ready.”

The announcement shattered the moment like glass and reality rushed in. You pulled away quickly, both of you flustered, eyes wide as reality snapped back into place. In-ho let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. His gaze, still soft from the moment, quickly shifted into irritation.

You, too, felt your cheeks burn with the sudden shift. You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, the absurdity of it all washing over you. “Of course,” you muttered, voice a little shaky. “Couldn’t be that easy, huh?”

In-ho shot you a look, a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “I swear, they have the worst timing.” He shook his head, clearly irritated by how things had unfolded, but there was a trace of humor in his voice that made the tension feel lighter.

You both sat there for a moment, the awkwardness of the interruption still hanging in the air but somehow feeling less heavy. It was like you’d both just come back from the edge of something important—and the abrupt break made you laugh despite the weight of everything. In-ho let out a short chuckle too, the irritation in his eyes still there but fading, replaced by a sense of shared frustration with the situation.

You glanced at him, eyes still lingering as you both realized how close you'd come to crossing that line. But there was no point in lingering on it now—not with the game calling you back to reality.

“Guess the universe isn’t ready for us yet,” you said, shaking your head.

In-ho gave a soft, exasperated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. “Yeah, well, it never really was on our side before,” he muttered, then stood, adjusting his clothes and brushing off the frustration like it was nothing.

You nodded, taking a deep breath before turning your back, to tend to the pregnant girl you had been caring for. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t feel quite as impossible as it had before. In-ho followed suit, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary. For a moment, the room felt like it belonged to just the two of you again. But the third game was calling, and you both knew you had to face it. Together, this time.

The third game was Mingle. A game where you had to form pairs based on a number assigned and get into a room within 30 seconds. As the platform spun beneath your feet, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you. It reminded you of times spent playing this game with friends back in Gyeonggi-do. You remembered one time in particular, when he had gotten into a fight with a common friend, because of the said game. You laughed softly at the memory, causing In-ho to glance over at you, curiosity in his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice low but still full of interest.

“Nothing,” you said with a soft chuckle. “I just remembered how Byung-hun was angry when you pulled him off of me, so you and I could be partners instead. Didn’t peg you to be a jealous kid.”

In-ho immediately bristled, though there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Hey, I wasn’t jealous. He was hurting you by gripping you so hard.”

“It didn’t even hurt!” you teased, but the corner of your lips twitched upward, unable to keep a smile off your face. “You’re just jealous.”

“Whatever you say…” In-ho muttered, stepping onto the platform. You followed him, shaking your head but smiling at the same time.

After four rounds, you all began preparing for the final one. The rounds were nerve-wracking, the tension palpable, but you had made it this far with the help of your amazing group. The platform began to spin, the music creating a frantic rhythm as it played in the background. You found yourself standing beside Jun-hee, instinctively holding her steady to keep her from stumbling as the platform jerked beneath your feet.

“What do you think the next number will be?” Jung-bae asked, his voice alert as he looked around.

Without hesitation, In-ho spoke up. “Two.”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, glancing at In-ho, silently asking him to explain.

“There are 50 rooms, and 126 people still alive. Everyone will need a partner, but there won’t be enough rooms. This is how they conduct these games.” In-ho’s eyes were sharp, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of awe at how quickly he had figured it out.

And as it turned out, he was right.

2.

Everyone paused, looking around at each other, wondering who would pair up with whom. Before you could grab Jun-hee to pair up, In-ho suddenly grabbed your arm, pulling you along with him. The rest of your group—Dae-ho with Jun-hee, Gi-hun with Jung-bae—quickly followed, all of you rushing to find a room.

You spotted an open door and, without thinking, you shouted. “Over there!” You both sprinted toward it, but before you could step inside, a man suddenly tackled you to the ground. Your head slammed hard against the floor, and for a moment, everything spun.

In-ho’s face twisted with fury as he watched the man try to crawl into the room you had been aiming for, disregarding you entirely. Without thinking, he reached for the man, grabbing him by the neck and shoving him away from you.

“Get in the room!” In-ho shouted, his voice sharp and commanding. You were dizzy and nauseous, the world spinning around you, but you didn’t hesitate. You stumbled to your feet, still feeling the lingering effects of the impact, and forced yourself into the room, fighting through the haze in your head.

But as soon as you entered, something coiled around your neck, a vice-like grip tightening with brutal force. You gasped, your throat constricting as you tried to draw in a breath, but the air seemed to vanish. Your vision blurred, dark edges creeping into the periphery of your sight. Panic surged like a tidal wave, and you clawed at the hands choking you, but they were relentless. Your breath came in short, desperate gasps, each one feeling more like a plea for life than a simple breath.

The world around you was fading, your chest tightening, your limbs growing heavier. You struggled harder, your body thrashing, trying to free yourself, but the darkness was swallowing you whole.

And then—just when you thought you would lose consciousness—there was a shift. The grip loosened. The constriction around your throat vanished in an instant, and you gasped, desperately drawing in the breath you had been fighting for. The air tasted sharp, bitter, as if the world itself was trying to punish you for the terror you had just experienced.

And there he was—In-ho.

He stood over you, his face a mask of fury, eyes wild and unrecognizable with the force of his anger. His knuckles were white, gripping his fist tightly, as though the act of hitting the man who had attacked you had only just begun to settle in. His face was twisted in a way you’d never seen before. Something inside him was unraveling—breaking.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned on the man who had attacked you, and the sound of his fist meeting the man’s face was deafening. A sickening crack echoed through the room, sharp and cruel, as In-ho’s punch sent the man crashing to the floor. But In-ho wasn’t done. The fury inside him was a beast, a monster he couldn’t control. He grabbed the man by the neck, his fingers tightening with savage force, twisting, until there was an awful snap.

The sound of a life being crushed, broken beyond repair, sent a shockwave through your body. Your stomach turned violently, and your chest tightened, as though you could feel the man’s life draining out of him, just like your own hope of ever seeing In-ho as you once had. It wasn’t just the man who had died. In-ho had killed, and something inside him had died, too.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. You stared at him, frozen by what he had just done, your heart racing as the gravity of the moment began to settle in. His chest heaved, each breath coming out ragged and uneven. But it wasn’t the man’s blood on his hands that terrified you the most. It was the look in his eyes. Dark. Soulless. As though he was searching for something—anything—to bring him back to the man he once was. But it was gone. That warmth. That kindness. All of it.

"In-ho..." you whispered, your voice cracking as you reached for him, but he wouldn’t look at you.

His gaze was distant, bloodshot, as though he couldn’t even recognize the person standing in front of him. For a brief moment, you feared you were losing him—losing the man you thought you knew.

And you couldn’t let that happen.

“In-ho,” you whispered again, more urgently this time, your voice thick with unshed tears. “Thank you. For saving my life. Again.”

His jaw clenched, the guilt settling into every line of his face. “I’m sorry, [Name],” he said, his voice breaking, and you could hear the remorse in every word, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, your heart hammering as you let out a shaky breath. “What are you sorry for?” Your voice was stronger now, fueled by a strange mixture of anger and desperation. “That bastard almost killed me, and I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad he’s dead. What’s there to apologize for, In-ho? You saved me. You did what had to be done.”

But In-ho’s gaze softened for only a moment before it hardened again, his hands curling into fists. He was still haunted by what he had done. You could see it in the tight set of his shoulders, in the way he stood, as though he was trying to hold himself together. But the cracks were showing, and you couldn’t let him fall apart in front of you. Not when you needed him most.

Before you could say anything else, the adrenaline that had kept you both on edge began to fade, and the weight of everything—the violence, the pain, the fear—settled into the pit of your stomach. You threw your arms around him, not caring about anything else. Not the blood, not the death, not the mess that surrounded you.

You held him tight, pressing your face into his chest as sobs wracked your body, uncontrollable and raw. “I thought I was going to die…” you whispered between breaths, your voice trembling with the weight of the fear you had felt. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know what was going to happen...”

In-ho didn’t say anything at first. He just held you, his arms coming around you in a protective, desperate way, like he was trying to shield you from the madness, from the horrors that were closing in on you both. His chest was shaking with the same unspoken terror, his breath ragged in your hair as he held you closer, as though afraid you might slip away if he let go.

You closed your eyes, pressing harder into him, the weight of his words sinking into your heart. But no matter how tightly he held you, there was a part of you that was already broken, already afraid that the man you had just seen—the man who had crossed a line he never should’ve had to—was never going to come back.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered, barely audible. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

You both stood there in silence for a long moment, caught in the aftermath of what had just unfolded, the weight of the violence and the fear finally catching up to you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, you knew—no matter what happened next, you weren’t alone.

After the third game, the group gathered in the makeshift fort Gi-hun had set up, each player lost in their own thoughts. The atmosphere was heavy as they processed the brutal reality of the games. Gi-hun asked Jung-bae to report the number of players who had voted to continue. The tally revealed 56 players had voted O, while the X team remained outnumbered by twelve votes.

In-ho suggested that if six players switched their votes, it would result in a tie, and seven switches would tip the scales in their favor. The tension was palpable as everyone prepared for the vote. When the results were announced, it was a tie. Relief spread through the group, prompting cheers, but their celebration was short-lived.

The guards announced that a tie meant another vote would take place the following day. Dinner was served, and while the group shared light moments to ease their nerves, the tension lingered, a silent reminder of the stakes.

That night, chaos erupted when a fight broke out in the bathroom between the two sides. The O team accused the X team of initiating the attack, while the X team retaliated with their own accusations. The conflict escalated quickly, spreading through the room like wildfire. By the time order was restored, Team X had gained an advantage, now numbering 48 players compared to Team O's 47.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said grimly, sitting down. “We lost three overall, but we’re still ahead by one vote.”

Jung-bae tried to remain optimistic, his voice steady. “As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win tomorrow.”

Suddenly, the announcement broke the silence.

“Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 turned to the group, his voice firm. “Listen, no one can change their mind, okay? We’ll win tomorrow. Stay strong, and we’ll make it through.”

The group murmured their agreement, but Gi-hun’s expression remained tense.

Dae-ho leaned in, glancing toward the opposing team. “Those guys are acting really suspicious. They’re planning something—I can feel it.”

Jung-bae waved him off. “Whatever. Once we win tomorrow’s vote, it’ll all be over.”

“No. Once the lights go out, they’ll attack us.” Gi-hun spoke, his voice calm but filled with tension.

The room went silent. Player 007’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, They know we’re at an advantage,” He said, voice steady despite the situation. “They’ll try to kill some of us tonight to even the odds and raise the prize money.”

“Then we should attack first. We need to take them by surprise,” In-ho suggested, his tone firm. His words were met with agreement from Player 047, who nodded and added, “We have the women and elderly on our side. If they attack first, we’ll be at a huge disadvantage.”

But Gi-hun raised a hand, his expression grim. “No. We can’t start a fight like that.”

The group turned to him, confused by his sudden objection. Gi-hun’s voice cut through the growing tension, calm yet weighted. “We need to stay calm. If we kill each other, that’s exactly what they want.”

“Who are they? Who are you talking about?”

“The makers of the game,” Gi-hun said bitterly, his eyes burning with anger. His words hung heavy in the air, silencing the murmurs around the room. “They’re the ones who want us to kill each other. They’re watching us right now.”

A chill ran down your spine as you processed his words. The room fell silent, each player lost in thought. Dae-ho broke the quiet, his voice tight. “Where are they?” 

Gi-hun slowly looked up, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Up there,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but filled with conviction. You all follow. His eyes seemed to pierce the walls as though he could see straight into them. “The control rooms are above us. Their leader wears a black mask. If we capture him, we’ll have leverage.”

In-ho scoffed slightly, though there was no mockery in his tone. “How are you going to fight them? They’ve got guns.”

“We’ll take their guns.”

“From the masked men?” Player 246 asked, his disbelief evident.

Gi-hun nodded resolutely. “Yes. We’ll catch them off guard. They won’t expect it.”

“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho said, shaking his head. “Even if we manage to steal their guns, we’ll be outnumbered.”

Gi-hun’s gaze hardened. “What’s your plan, then? Sit around and wait to die? Watch as they pick us off, one by one? Is that your idea of survival?” His voice rose slightly, the desperation in his tone cutting through the tension.

The silence that followed was suffocating, each player wrestling with the grim reality of their situation. You could see some heads nodding in reluctant agreement, while others remained still, their fear paralyzing them.

Player 120 spoke up hesitantly, her voice trembling. “Do we even stand a chance?”

“We do,” Gi-hun said, his voice unwavering. “If we strike first, we catch them off guard. They’ll never see it coming. The people running this game think we’re powerless, but we have the upper hand now. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“How do you plan to take their guns?” In-ho asked again, his skepticism still evident.

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate. His determination was clear, as if he had already played the scenario out in his head. “Once the lights go out, we’ll have our chance.”

Lights out in ten.

The countdown began, the numbers pounding in your skull like the beat of a war drum. You lay stiffly on your bed, your muscles tense and ready to spring. Your heart raced as Gi-hun’s instructions echoed in your mind—Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quickly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us.

You clutched the edge of the bed, your nails digging into the rough wood. The seconds dragged, each one stretching impossibly long, amplifying the terror building in your chest.

One.

The lights flickered violently before plunging the room into suffocating darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. You could hear every breath you took, each one louder than the last, as if your own body was betraying you.

For a brief, terrible moment, the room was still.

The silence was suffocating, a heavy void pressing down on you as though the darkness itself were alive. You held your breath, every muscle locked in place, straining to catch the faintest sound.

Then the chaos began.

Screams erupted, raw and animalistic, tearing through the suffocating silence like claws raking through flesh. Heavy footsteps thundered across the room as bodies scrambled and collided in the dark. The sound of someone slamming into a metal bed reverberated like a gunshot, followed by the sickening, wet crunch of bone meeting steel.

The sharp clang of makeshift weapons rang out, chaotic and dissonant, punctuated by the grotesque, unmistakable sound of flesh being pierced. It was chaos, raw and brutal, an orchestra of horror conducted by desperation.

You didn’t think—there wasn’t time to think. Instinct took over as you dove to the floor, crawling under the bed as Gi-hun had warned. Your breath came in short, panicked bursts, and you pressed yourself flat against the cold floor, willing the shadows to swallow you whole.

The room was a nightmare brought to life. The desperate shrieks of the dying mingled with the guttural grunts of attackers. Somewhere close, you heard a chilling, high-pitched laugh—a sound that sent icy needles of fear racing up your spine. The stench of sweat, blood, and raw terror filled your nose, a nauseating cocktail that made your stomach churn.

A body hit the ground nearby with a sickening thud, so close you could feel the vibrations reverberate through the floor. You froze, every nerve in your body screaming as you listened to their gasping breaths turn into choking, gurgling sounds.

You wanted to turn away, to block out the awful noise, but there was nowhere to go. Even pressing your hands over your ears couldn’t drown out the terrible symphony of suffering.

The screams were getting closer. You clenched your jaw, biting back a whimper as you pressed yourself tighter against the floor, your trembling fingers digging into the cold metal beneath the bed.

Your heart stopped when you felt it—a hand clamping down on your shoulder, strong and unyielding.

Your blood turned to ice, the chill spreading through your veins. Panic seized you, and you thrashed instinctively, your mind consumed by the singular thought that someone had found you. You opened your mouth to scream, but a second hand covered it before a sound could escape.

For a moment, terror blinded you, until a familiar face appeared as the lights flickered.

It was In-ho.

His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the room with laser focus. “Quiet,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent, barely audible over the chaos.

Relief swept over you, so sudden and overwhelming that it left you momentarily breathless. But it didn’t last. 

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air, followed by the sickening sound of someone being dragged across the floor. You flinched violently, but In-ho’s hand tightened on your shoulder, grounding you. His grip was firm, steadying you even as your body shook uncontrollably.

The two of you stayed motionless, his presence the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the violence raged around you. Every scream, every thud, every awful, wet crunch seemed amplified in the darkness, etching itself into your mind. You wanted to shut your eyes, to block it all out, but the terror kept them wide open, unblinking.

Gradually, the chaos began to subside. The screams turned into weak sobs, the sounds of struggle fading into an eerie, oppressive silence. Then came the mechanical hiss of the doors opening, cold and detached, signaling that the nightmare was over.

But you knew better. It was far from over.

In-ho’s hand finally relaxed on your shoulder, and you turned to him. His face was unreadable in the dim light, but there was something in his eyes—something fleeting, unspoken. Before you could say a word, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Stay safe,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. Then, without waiting for a response, he crawled out from under the bed, disappearing into the shadows.

You stared after him, your mind struggling to process what had just happened. The display of affection, so sudden and unexpected, left you reeling. By the time you snapped out of your stupor, he was already gone.

The sound of gunfire shattered your thoughts, sharp and jarring, each shot echoing like a death knell in the enclosed space. You curled into yourself, covering your ears as tears pricked at your eyes.

Please let them be safe, you prayed silently, over and over again, the words a desperate mantra. Please let them succeed.

After a while, Gi-hun’s voice finally rang out—calm but commanding—it felt like the first breath after being submerged underwater. “Hold fire!”

The gunfire stopped.

Slowly, you crawled out from under the bed, your limbs trembling so violently it was a struggle to move. The room was a battlefield, littered with bodies and soaked in blood. Your eyes darted frantically, searching for one face, one person who mattered more than anything in that moment.

Your heart leapt when you spotted Jun-hee crouched nearby, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Jun-hee,” you whispered hoarsely, stumbling toward her. You dropped to your knees, pulling her into a tight embrace. She clung to you like a lifeline, her body trembling against yours.

The two of you stayed huddled together, finding solace in each other’s presence, until Gi-hun’s voice called out again.

“It’s safe to come out now.”

When everyone was told to gather in the middle of the room, you lingered, pretending to adjust your shoes. Jun-hee gave you a worried glance, but you waved her off with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right there. Just... something I need to do.”

She hesitated before nodding, her small frame disappearing into the growing crowd.

Your heart raced as you scanned the room, the chaos of bloodied survivors and flickering lights making it harder to find him. But then you saw him—a familiar silhouette, half-hidden in the shadows of a secluded corner.

In-ho.

He was focused, his movements precise as he disarmed a fallen attacker, slipping the weapon into his grasp. His stoic expression didn’t falter as he worked. Even now, in the aftermath of chaos, he was calculating, steadfast, and unshaken.

Your breath hitched. You knew this wasn’t necessary. You knew you should be with the others in the middle of the room like you’d been instructed. But the ache in your chest, the fear gnawing at your sanity, pushed you forward. You couldn’t leave without speaking to him—without feeling the warmth of his presence one last time.

When you spotted him in a secluded corner, hunched over a stash of weapons he was collecting from fallen players, your resolve solidified. Silently, you crossed the chaotic room, weaving past overturned beds and scattered bodies. Your heart thundered in your chest, not from fear, but from the weight of what you needed to say.

Without a second thought, you ran towards him, your steps quick and silent. When you reached him, you didn’t wait for him to notice you. You immediately threw yourself into his arms, catching him off guard.

“[Name]!” he gasped, his voice sharp with surprise as he caught you. He always caught you. His hands steadied you automatically, even as confusion flashed across his face. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be with the others. It’s not—”

Before he could finish, you cupped his face and kissed him deeply. The movement was so sudden, so full of everything you’d kept locked away, that it caught him off guard. He froze, his lips still against yours, the cold metal of the gun slipping from his grip and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you thought your heart might shatter. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he kissed you back. His hands moved to your waist, holding you as though you might slip away if he let go. The kiss deepened, his lips trembling against yours, and you could feel the war inside him—the pull of his duty against the part of him that wanted to stay here forever.

His lips moved against yours, his hands gripping your waist as though anchoring himself to you. The kiss was messy, desperate, and full of everything you couldn’t say out loud.

When you finally pulled away, your breath mingling with his, your voice broke. “In-ho…” You could barely get his name out.

“[Name],” he murmured, his voice low and trembling. “You shouldn’t be here, you know that.”

“I don’t care.” You gripped the front of his jacket, your tears spilling freely now. “I don’t care about any of that. I needed to see you. I needed to know you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice cracked, betraying the lie. His hands shook where they rested on your waist. “But you—you need to go back. You need to stay safe. I can’t…” He trailed off, his eyes darting away, as if meeting your gaze might break him completely.

“In-ho,” you choked out, clutching his jacket tightly. “Won’t you stay, In-ho? For me?” your voice crackled with desperation.

His breath hitched, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. For a second, you thought he might say yes. But then, his face crumpled, and he shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking. “I want to—I want to so badly. But I can’t. I have to help them, [Name]. I have to make sure they have a chance.”

You tried to hold back the tears, tried to be strong for him, but the floodgates opened anyway. A sob tore from your throat as you buried your face against his chest. His arms wrapped around you fully now, steady and grounding, even as your world fell apart.

Of course, this was In-ho. The one who always puts others before himself. The one who bore every burden silently, who carried the weight of guilt and responsibility like it was the only thing keeping him alive. This was In-ho—your In-ho. The man who had always been so much more than you deserved.

And yet, even if it hurt, you loved him for it. You always would.

“What about me?” you whispered, tears streaming freely down your face. “What about us? Don’t we matter?”

His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears even as his own filled his eyes. “You matter,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’ve always mattered. More than anything. More than anyone. But if I don’t do this… none of us will make it out of here.”

“In-ho…” Your voice broke, and he pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered into your hair, his voice unsteady but full of resolve. “I swear, I’ll come back to you.”

“Please,” you choked out, clinging to him like your life depended on it. “Please, In-ho, don’t make me lose you again. I can’t—I can’t do this… not without you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his own uncertainty. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if trying to memorize the feel of you. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

Deep down, you both knew his promise was a fragile thing, held together by hope.

He leaned down, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His lips met yours once more, this time in a lingering kiss, slow and deep, filled with everything he couldn’t bring himself to say. For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. The chaos around you faded into a distant hum, and the weight of the moment lightened just enough for you to feel the depth of his love. A love as desperate and fleeting as the seconds you shared.

When he pulled away, his lips brushed against your forehead, a soft sigh escaping him as if the kiss had stolen the last of his strength. “I’ll be extra safe,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his eyes betrayed the agony tearing him apart. “I promise, [Name].”

The promise felt hollow, like a brittle shell barely holding together.

You nodded weakly, though every fiber of your being screamed at you to pull him close, to make him stay. But you knew. You knew who he was—knew that In-ho was the kind of man who always put others first, and there was nothing you could say or do to change that.

“I’ll come back to you,” he said, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as you. “You have to believe that.”

Your voice wavered as you whispered, “I believe you, In-ho.” But the ache in your chest said otherwise.

He took a step back, his hands lingering on your arms before they fell away entirely. The warmth of his touch disappeared as he turned, moving toward the shadows with quiet determination.

Your heart shattered as you stood there, frozen in place, watching him walk away. It felt like every part of you was being ripped apart, your chest heaving with silent sobs. You wanted to scream his name, to demand he turn around, to beg him not to go. But the words caught in your throat, strangled by the raw, suffocating pain of letting him go.

As his figure grew smaller and smaller, the reality of what just happened sank in. The promise he made, the kiss he gave, the pain in his eyes—they all felt like goodbyes masquerading as hope.

As the silence closed in, the thought struck you with brutal clarity. This was the last time you would ever see him.

And it broke you, how painfully right you were.

[vagabond-umlaut]

you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry

only the sun has come this close, only the sun

gojo satoru x wife!reader; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; gojo LOVERBOY™️ satoru; you aren't any better than him [but less poetic abt the predicament]; tw: pregnancy, 1 tiny mention of throwing up; satoru calls you 'cookie'; and he redefines the word besotted here; his thoughts are also a little yandere-ish but tht's cute, methinks; 2.3k wc; i just wish satoru was real and in my arms rn T-T

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit both satoru's & reader's characters in this series to a tee ^_^

fic title and summary from 'gps' by shauna barbosa // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

you are clingy.

always have been, in fact, now that gojo thinks about it. long before the two of you were married. long before you were engaged. quite a long time before the two of you were anything apart from friends at best, acquaintances at worst.

yet now, as he feels a pair of arms squeeze tighter around his middle, not really still very much squeezing the air out of him— your husband reckons you've grown loads clingier now—

and he loves you for this. loving you even more when he feels kisses being pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.

soft lips, a tad chapped. not without the shy grazing of your teeth.

just how he likes it.

very much how he adores you.

affection, settled deeper than should be feasible into the hollow of his chest, flutters a little when you nuzzle into his back; that pleased little hum of yours quick to follow it. smiling, gojo turns his head a touch to catch a glimpse of you. it takes a beat before you remove your face to lock eyes with him, before returning your face to his back.

he huffs a chuckle, sounding incredibly fond all the same. his feelings for you can never be suppressed anyway. time has proved this to him enough number of times.

he runs a finger down the length of your arm, relishing how it leaves a line of goosebumps in its wake—

"you wanna tell me something, cookie?" your husband finally asks.

your reply doesn't come immediately. and when it does, it is nothing more than a noncommittal noise. too spoiled. too stubborn. a bit too satisfied as well, the emotion further expressed when you nuzzle his back yet again.

gojo's smile grows bigger. his cheeks hurt a little.

he thinks he can live forever with this kind of pain, not even a sigh of complaint ever leaving him.

"aha—" he exclaims loudly, still soft enough to keep the quiet of this sweet bubble you've pulled you both into, "so it's just my irresistible charm that's making you so clingy tonight, hm?"

another beat passes.

and just when he thinks he might have to do with another one of your indistinct sounds for an answer, you speak. to be more precise, whine and grumble, everything so sweet in your adorable voice.

"it's not me being clingy, 'toru— it's the baby— the baby is making me so clingy. making me feel as if i can't live even for one second without squishing you like thisss!!!"

the first reaction your tightening grasp brings out is the wind getting knocked out of his lungs— the second reaction being all that oxygen, nitrogen and carbon dioxide being replaced by a feeling so fierce and so tender— the strongest thinks his knees would have buckled under its weight had he not been lying down but standing—

not that he really minds that, though.

for you, he's always on his knees. whether you ask it of him or not. the only light in this world he is willing to bow his eyes before.

it takes him not too much effort but gojo makes a point of struggling whilst he shifts in your hold. and grins when he finally comes face-to-face with you, drinking in the way your brows are puckered and lips a little parted in an incredulous expression.

his grin simmers down however, when his six eyes notice the spark in your tummy. so tiny. so blinding. so priceless— to him and you both— he knows this, surer than he is of the scars on his palms.

thumbing the hem of your t-shirt, he hums, dragging his eyes back to be drowned in yours, "how many weeks along are you, wifey?"

"satoru," you start, voice turning sharper and just as skeptical as your face was, still is— only to be shushed by a finger to your lips. the man addressed feels his heart skip a beat at your confused big scowl— it's got to be a crime to be as cute as you— really!!!

he pinches your cheek lightly.

"it isn't like i don't remember that, cookie. i just wanted you to say it— c'mon, tell me quickly!" he presses, noting then utilising the moment your face begins to lose its cynical hue over his words.

the scowl lingers there however, twisting your delectably pretty lips—

"nine weeks," you say, hooking a leg over his waist to pull him closer. can he be any closer to you, though? your answer is always a yes, he knows you well enough to know this.

"thirty-one weeks more before we meet our baby."

it's not exactly thirty-one weeks; it's thirty weeks and five days before either of you can meet the baby, but gojo decides not to point out the error. you always hate it when he points out your tiny errors and make a point of snarking about it every time he opens his mouth to speak a word next— the man is wary not to upset his wife, yes, thank you very much.

he offers a sage "hm" in response, one he observes you accept slowly. the scowl lifts itself into a curve so fond— gojo thinks once before he vaults his next query your way. not wanting to see that smile vanish in front of him—

the ask won't cause anything so. but he can never be too sure. he has read too many books and articles to not grasp how fragile pregnancy hormones can make one be.

he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear.

fingers tarrying there when he sees you lean into his touch— not akin a moth to a bright flame, no. he can never hurt you. not even for once in his wildest dreams—

but how the north pole of a magnet hurries towards the south pole of another magnet. so different in their nature, a perfect pair of opposite crafted by the nature— maybe that's why nothing can ever stop them from rushing to each other once they're proximated, the lines of their mutual attraction existing even when thousands of miles apart.

just like you and him.

contrasting, complementing, completing each other every instant, in every facet of life.

he lets his fingers dance through the tangles in your hair, unravelling the knots in there. that pleased little hum of yours reaches him once again.

stowing the sound away, later to be placed on a pedestal in an ornate glass case as the most valuable praise ever given to him for his effort, he runs a gentle hand, nails scratching your scalp carefully.

"and at nine weeks old, just how big might our baby be?"

"i think there is a chart comparing our baby's size to fruits..." syllables unhurried and a pinch mumbled, you press your heel to draw him in a little more. "i did not really read that too attentively— oh. but. yeah!" a grin forms on your features, sleepy still twinkling in excitement.

"shoko sent me a link to this website earlier today— any ideas, 'toru, what it might be about?"

gojo does have an idea. he has a very, very good idea.

but he chooses not to say that aloud. you look so extremely adorable when you are being this excited. he would hate nothing more than to see your amped up self getting interrupted by him.

he shakes his head. your grin brightens. eyes crinkling with a glint, he can tell even without looking, is knowing.

the tips of your fingers caress his bare back, softer than a breath. "it's about when our baby forms which organs— our baby's eyes are being formed now!!! isn't that too cute, 'toru?"

"it is, cookie," he hums without any hesitation, six eyes activating one more time to zero in on that teeny-tiny spark. then deactivating when he looks back up to your sleepy eyes. a terribly tickled, equally wicked glimmer creeps into his grin. "so our baby is just like a tiny ball of cells with two big blue eyes, huh? they must look so scary, heh— ouch!"

your pinch did not really pain him, but gojo does his best to mimic an awfully wounded puppy, sogging wet from the rain and waiting at the doorstep with his moving blue eyes— it takes less than three seconds before you let go of your glare with a sigh.

you massaging the sore spot on his arm, your husband watches you give yet another sigh.

"first of all, there's no guarantee our baby will have your eye color and not mine, 'toru," you explain, pinning him under your drowsy stare, "it is very difficult to predict that for sure— and secondly: i'll punch you if you ever call our baby scary— sure, they don't really look like a human in this moment, but they'll slowly get there in forty weeks— as per the website, their face, hands and feet are forming in the ninth—"

"okay, alright!! i get your point, my insanely smart, insanely beautiful, insanely sexy wife," gojo cuts in, smiling while warning bells chime in his head at the faintest gloss in your eyes—

but maybe they weren't noisy enough. that is why he doesn't bite his tongue, rather continuing, "but you weren't actually blaming our poor human-ey baby for your clinginess, were you? it's not like they have a telepathic communication set up with you— hell, maybe they haven't even started forming their brain!"

"the baby's brain starts forming by the fifth week, satoru," your quiet reply reaches him exactly when he gets his last giggle out. the moist sheen in your eyes grows more prominent.

and his insides begin to twist—

one-third helpless. two-thirds contrite.

you don't stop talking, tone lower than he has heard you use in nearly forever, "and you better not comment on my bond with our baby— i'll punch you twice if you—"

"i wasn't doing that and i promise to never make you feel that way, my cutie-pie cookie," gojo interrupts, voice far gentler than earlier, just as low as yours, "but feel free to throw me out the house if i ever do that, even accidentally. okay?"

you're not okay.

you never are, when it comes to you being actually harsh to him, even when he's the one asking you to be— shakespeare once called love to be blind— your husband doesn't think you're blind, however. it is your well-contemplated decision to see his mistakes and see each of them as excusable, perfectly pardonable, no matter how silly or serious the world might regard them to be—

you make a noise. somewhat annoyed. unhappy too, yeah. before you push your face into the crook of his neck, nose nuzzling into the flesh there.

you would have bitten him by now. but he reckons you might be a bit too tired for all that. you couldn't even finish your dinner before facing the urge to throw up tonight, yet again.

feeling sorry, almost, gojo resumes his ministrations to your hair, half because you need to fall asleep now; the hands on the clock are close to striking midnight. the other half because he just loves playing with your hair— only to still when you suddenly pull your head back.

brows furrowed as you peer at him, eyes big and earnest.

"you don't really mind when i hug you like this, do you, 'toru?"

"no, cookie!! of course not!!" the man wastes not even a breath before he rushes to explain— because seriously, what!??

sure, he wasn't the first one to fall between you two. but ever since he did fall, he has never not expressed how every second away from you, every fraction of an instant away from you, causes him pain.

and yeah, he might have been a tad too dramatic whilst doing so, but you've always been so good at reading him— then why on earth can't you read him now? why don't you read, he loves it when you seek him out, he loves you more than anyone and anything else??

"good," your satisfied little chirp gives him a light shove away from his frantic thoughts. something tells him he should be put on alert by the way your lips curve into a smug smile next.

but gojo finds himself uncaring. just immensely relieved as he trails his fingers from the back of your head to your chin. thumb reaching out to brush the corner of your infectious smile. you continue.

"but even if you did mind, sorry not sorry— you were the one who put the ring on my finger, so you have to deal with everything i'm, mister!! no refunds nor complaints can be filed here, gojo-san~"

and neither refunds nor complaints he wishes to file, satoru muses to himself as he cups your cheek in one hand. bending down to steal the taste of your beam, your tease, your love for him on his tongue—

not when he has received the world in exchange for letting go of that poor splintered mess of a heart, he used to call his, but is now yours.

and will always stay yours—

"hey 'toru— what will you do if i chomp on your fingers right now, like really hard? will you yell? or will you be the freak that you're and enjoy it, huh?"

gojo pauses.

and wonders.

is there any binding vow one can make to secure oneself to another in every lifetime, for all eternity?

he hopes there is.

your husband really, seriously hopes there is—

'cause no way in heaven, earth or hell, does gojo satoru want to let go of you— and he will not let go of you.

this idea was ROTTING in my brain for ages, but wht gave me the spark– the boost to write this was the wonderful sukuna fic written by ari @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat ❤️❤️❤️ i seriously love u & ur writings sm, babes 🥹🥹 everyone pls go check their masterlist out. it's studded w diamonds and pearls 😌😌🥰

and this is also for my sweet & sour bestie mimi @avatarofstars 🤭🤭— u 🤝 me in being clingy af towards our fictional hubbies 😂😂🥰

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[st4ringlow]

SECRET SANTA DILEMMA — atsumu miya

pairing; atsumu miya x reader wordcount; 1,116 [rewritten fics]

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in the hallowed halls of inarizaki high school, the onset of december brought with it a flurry of festive activities. among them was the annual secret santa exchange, a cherished tradition that turned the mundane routine of academia into a delicate dance of anticipation and surprise.

you found yourself contemplating the small slip of paper you had drawn from the hat earlier. and you swore your luck is toying with you right now.

'atsumu miya'

the name inscribed on it was none other than atsumu miya, the charismatic and enigmatic setter of the school's renowned volleyball team. the wrinkle on your forehead could have stick permanently with the way you furrowed your brow to the extent. you can't do this, you thought.

though your paths often crossed in the shared spaces of your classroom, you and atsumu had scarcely exchanged words, existing in the silent proximity of parallel lines. yeah, you're not doing this. maybe you could exchange it with someone else, maybe even charge them while you do so! which crazy person gonna let this chance of spoiling atsumu miya with their gifts fly away? a sly smile crept across your lips as the idea formed in your mind.

however, a part of you is greedy. you felt a sense of victory, having atsumu miya all to yourself—not quite, but close. that part of you wanted to boast about how fortunate you are, but you quickly discarded the feelings as you folded the piece of paper back into your pocket.

you just hope you dont make a fool of yourself in front of him.

the days leading up to the exchange were marked by a series of clandestine observations and subtle inquiries. you hoped he hadn't noticed, because you sure do feel like a creep. throughout your 'observations for pertinent analysis', you are able to conclude one conclusion, that is— atsumu miya is so different than what people (and you) perceived him to be.

how do you even explain this?

well, firstly, you thought he was just some common typical rowdy teenage boy. but you were proved wrong the moment you noticed atsumu's affinity for unique stationery, often catching glimpses of his meticulously organized notebook adorned with vibrant colors and intricate designs. you think its adorable.

secondly, you thought he's a player. being famous means having a lot of fangirls and having a lot of fangirls means he has a lot of options to choose and date. hence, he's a player— according to your logic. but the wrong buzzer shrieks inside your head, loud and deafening. he doesn't even have a girlfriend! you feel guilty for eavesdropping, but you just happen to be there at the same time as the girl confesses to atsumu, in which he turned her down with politeness utmost to the girl.

" 'm sorry, i appreciate the admiration ya have for me, but i wouldnt be able to return the feelings for ya," he said, the softness in his voice was like a balm, soothing and calming, so tender yet so heavy with emotion. if sincerity were visible to the eye, you would likely be dazzled at this.

holy shit, you can't even be mad if atsumu talks to you like that.

lastly, you thought of atsumu as tough, inside and out— but in a negative way. like lacking compassions and have an unyielding stubbornness. but oh boy the 'wrong' streak doesn't break. you were really questioning if you're the bad guy here for making false assumption about someone you barely know.

you didn't mean to eavesdrop (again). really, you just happened to be there. you can hear atsumu's voice, soft and wavering but laced with choked sobs. and you can't lie that your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability of his tone. "ma... pa... 'm really trying my best," atsumu's voice trembled, barely audible. "but it's so hard, no matter how much i study, the effort just doesn't seem to be paying off,"

you heard atsumu's parents' soothing voices through the phone, though the words were indistinct. gradually, atsumu's sobs subsided, replaced by deep, steadying breaths.

you'll leave him alone for now.

on the day of exchange, mark the end of the operation of observing your gift receiver— or who you call atsumu. you had hoped he doesn't shame your gifts infront of everyone— not that he would, but just in case. during the last few days of analysing atsumu, you had slipped something so crucial out of your mind, and that is atsumu comes from an affluent family. seriously, you really hope he didnt throw your gift away, because you sure did spend a whopping money on it.

as the gift were distributed, the classroom buzzed with excitement and curiousity. you were getting anxious; you couldn't even stay still. what you didn't expect was you and atsumu exchanged presents, a moment of recognition passed between the two of you, a silent acknowledgement of the effort and though each had invested. so that means he's your secret santa too. you don't know what deity blessed you with this luck, but you think you probably has used all your fortunes for this occasion.

"thank you.." you said softly, eyes sparkling with genuine appreciation as you unwrapped a ridiculously beautiful, knitted cardigan. the cardigan was a cozy embrace, its soft, knitted fabric woven with intricate pattern and in your favorite colors too. "you- did you- made this?" you asked, noticing how everything about the cardigan hinted at the craftsmanship behind it.

atsumu looks away, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah... i hope its... not bad to ya,"

"are you crazy? this is the best thing ever!" you exclaimed in happiness, a big smile etched on your face.

atsumu's lips curved into a warm smile. "im glad ya like it. i figured it might be something ya would enjoy," he says, tone delicate yet earnest. as he spoke, his voice wrapped around you like a tender embrace, making you feel cherished and deeply appreciated. "and these are perfect," atsumu added, admiring the aesthetically pleasing journal book with some sticker packs. "i've been needing something like this,"

what began as a simple exchange of gifts, blossomed into a feeling you never thought you'd have for atsumu. it was as fate had gently woven your hearts together with the delicate threads of serendipity. your eyes found atsumu's, and it was like as winter gave way to spring, and the world around you blossomed anew, so did your feelings for atsumu.

you hoped the glimmer of love in your eyes went unnoticed, for fear that atsumu would think you were peculiar— just as atsumu silently prayed you wouldn't notice the same in his.

[earthchica]

Right My Wrongs | 2

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: You attempt to move on from Terry and explore a new relationship, but Terry discovers this and refuses to let you go.

warning: ANGST, a little fluff, emotions, heartache, new character, pleading, complicated situation, co-parenting, six-year-old daughter, name calling &, etc.

note: thank you so much for the love on the first part. This might be a little mini-series; I have a whole lot to write. <3

series masterlist

It's been three months, and you were doing much better than before, but a sense of loss and longing remained in your heart.

Terry has respected your wishes, kept his distance, and is cordial with you when Jasmine is around.

You wish things were different between you and him, but it aren't, so you need to move on.

You've been on multiple dates with a few guys, but unfortunately, none have sparked your interest.

Jasmine asked about these dates and wondered what happened with you and Terry.

She hoped you two would finally get togather since Terry wasn't seeing Olivia anymore.

Yet, she noticed a difference in the way you two behaved towards each other.

You attempted to explain the situation to her as clearly as possible, but it only made her feel sadder.

Jasmine expressed her true feelings on the matter, leaving you feeling disappointed for making your daughter feel that way.

Because of that, you almost abandoned the idea of dating again until your friend Bri convinced you to go on a date with her brother.

His name was Marcus, and you've met him once or twice, and he was always sweet.

So there you stood, next to him, in a sexy, form-fitting black dress that highlighted your curves.

Your hair was styled in a slicked-back ponytail, and your makeup was subtle.

This had to be your fifth date with Marcus, and it's been going pretty great so far.

Marcus was a tall, slender man with a deep brown complexion and brown hooded eyes.

He was not only handsome and sweet, but he also dedicated his life to saving lives as a firefighter.

Marcus radiated an irresistible charm and sweet bliss that truly captivated you.

You might say he was the perfect guy, but you longed for someone else, and that was Terry.

Maybe you could settle for Marcus, and down the line, you fall in love with him.

"Hey, you good? " He asked, cutting you out of your thoughts with his husky voice.

Marcus smirked when you made eye contact, shuffling and coming closer to you.

You nodded "Yeah...."

"Do ya want to get out of here?" His voice dripped with a lustful tone that sent a shiver down your spine, leaving you intrigued.

"And go where?" you replied. Maybe you could also have fun with him first, but you had to be careful.

Marcus rested his hands on your lower back, and his lips drew closer to your ears.

You could feel the warmth of his breath trailing on you, straightening your back a little.

"Somewhere private. What do ya say, beautiful?" Marcus whispered, moving away to gaze into your eyes.

That night ended with you two having hot, wild, rough sex, which you really needed.

You, of course, used protection and were totally satisfied; Marcus knew how to dick a girl down.

The sudden ringing of your phone disrupted the peace, prompting a groan out of you.

You reached for your phone, checked the time, and noticed it was almost noon.

You answer the call.

"Hello?" You spoke in a low, indistinct voice, and there was a brief silence before the sound of a familiar voice reached your ears.

"Hey, baby girl," Terry answered.

"Uh, hey, Terry," You said, clearing your throat. You sat up slowly so as not to wake Marcus up.

"I was just calling to see if you were alright. And are you still coming to pick up Jazzy,"

"Shit...uh, yeah," You replied, gently releasing yourself from Marcus's hold before rising from the bed to make your way to the bathroom.

"Hey, beautiful, come back to bed!" Marcus mumbled in a drowsy state; you gestured for him to lower his voice.

He winked at you with a lazy smirk, and in response, you rolled your eyes and returned your attention to your phone.

"Who the hell was that? Are-are you seeing someone?" Terry asked in a tone filled with aggravation and panic.

"It's none of your business, Terry. I'll be over there to pick up Jazzy. Okay?" You uttered coldly and abruptly hung up the phone before he could respond.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror; your makeup was messy, and your hair was frizzy and wild, but nothing you couldn't fix.

You began your morning routine while Marcus was still sleeping in your bed.

Once you walk out of the bathroom fully dressed. You sighed, seeing him still asleep.

You wake him up, and he groans and turns over his side to look at you.

"Time to go?" Marcus asked, a slight smirk on his face while sitting on his back.

"Yeah, I have to pick my daughter I'm sor-" You started, and he cut you off.

"No, no, it's fine. I was just hoping to have lunch with you, but I get it," He says with a playful smirk, then gets out of bed to get dressed.

You waited for him downstairs. As he walked towards you, you turned and gazed at him, and he greeted you with a smile.

You laced your hands behind his neck and pulled him closer to your face; his hands found your sides.

"Marcus, you're a great guy, and I like you, and I want something out of this than just sex, if that makes sense."

"Hey, it's okay. I want something more, too, sugar," He says before leaning in and kissing your cheek.

"For real?" You asked with a slight smile, which made him grow a much bigger one.

"For real, beautiful," he said with a nod. You smiled and kissed him passionately.

-

Meanwhile, Terry felt his heart sink as he realized you might be with another man.

Terry couldn't shake the thought from his mind: "You were with another man." 

The words echoed in his head until he flinched out of it when he heard the voice of his daughter calling him.

"Daddy, are you okay?" she asked, confused while gazing at him from where she stood.

"Yeah, princess. Shouldn't you be getting ready?; your mom will be here soon," he said, quickly putting his phone down and tucking it away.

"Daddy, I can tell when you're lying. I know something happened between you and Mommy; she's been going on dates," she said, sighing.

Her eyes filled with concern as she sat beside him on the couch. Terry heaved a sigh, the weight of his mistakes.

"Yeah, figure that. I messed up really bad, Jazzy; she's upset with me and probably hates my guts."

"She doesn't, Daddy. You can fix it, and you can make her happy again. You both need each other; I need you together, I-I" she stopped, looking down at her hands.

"What is it, Jazzy?" Terry asked, gently placing his hand on her tiny shoulder, conveying his worry and care for her.

"I don't like going back and forth between houses. I wish we could all be together and live as a family—I told mommy...that's all the kids at my school have. I always wanted that. I don't like you and Mommy not talking and being happy like you used to," she explains.

Terry felt a deep pang of sorrow as he listened to his daughter's words.

He tenderly drew her into his embrace, comforting her as she shed a few tears.

"It's okay, baby. I'm so sorry; we've tried to make this work as best as possible."

"You can try harder, Daddy. Fix it with Mommy. Don't you love her?" She asked, looking up at him with her light eyes that matched his.

At that moment, Terry found himself wrestling with a tangle of emotions.

He was in love with you, but his fear and foolishness prevented him from acknowledging his true feelings.

The idea of you being with another man was too much for him to handle.

"I do, princess. I love her so much." Terry felt a profound sense of relief as he finally confessed his feelings.

There was something incredibly liberating about sharing this with his daughter.

"You have to tell her then; I'm sure she'll find it in her heart to forgive you…She loves you; she always has," she says, her eyes sparkling with hope as she smiles.

"Okay, Jazzy. I'll try," Terry said softly, with a warm smile. She nodded with an even more radiant smile.

-

You arrived at Terry's apartment door and were about to knock when it swung open, revealing your daughter, Jasmine.

"Mommy, can we please stay for dinner with Daddy? He made pasta and garlic bread," Jasmine begged without saying hello to you.

"Wow, no, hi, hello, mommy. I missed you, nothing?" you asked in a playful tone.

"Sorry," She giggled joyfully and wrapped her arms tightly around your waist.

"Hi, Mommy. I missed you so much," she exclaimed with genuine warmth.

"That's more like it, and I missed you too, baby. Were you good for your dad?" You asked with a slight chuckle.

You both enter Terry's apartment, greeted by the aroma of a home-cooked meal.

"Yeah, I was good. So...Is that a yes?" Jasmine asked, crossing her fingers with a hopeful smile.

You briefly looked down at her, then shifted your gaze to the big window, lost in thought for a moment.

"I don't know, Jazzy. Did you ask your dad if it was ok?" You asked, looking back at her.

"No need. I would love for you two to stay for dinner, only if you want to," Terry says, adding to the conversation.

His intense gaze met yours as he stood before you, clad in a snug gray T-shirt and jeans accentuating his muscular form.

"Just do it for Jazzy," you repeat these words, reassuring yourself that everything will be okay.

"I guess we can stay for dinner," You said with a small smile, shifting your gaze to your daughter, who looked so joyful.

"YAYYY!!! Thank you, Mommy," Jasmine yelled joyfully and enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around your waist once more.

You reciprocated her hug with a warm chuckle, and said, "You're welcome, baby."

"Come on," With a gentle tug, she beckons you into the quaint dining room while Terry quietly follows suit and graciously pulls out your chair.

"Thank you," you murmured, feeling a bit shy, and he nodded in response.

Terry proceeded to carry the steaming, appetizing food to the table. The dish looked and smelled absolutely delightful.

"That looks good, Daddy," Jasmine smiles, getting garlic bread with her pasta on her plate.

You nodded in agreement with Jasmine, expressing your approval to Terry.

"Yeah, Terry, this dish looks really appetizing. I'm sure it's going to taste amazing."

"Thanks, girls, I really appreciate both of you," Terry says warmly, flashing a charming smile.

Terry blessed the food, and you all began to eat and engage in light, casual conversation.

"Mommy, can we stay and watch TV?" Jasmine asked, her eyes filled with hope.

"No, Jazzy. You only asked to stay for dinner, and I'm pretty sure your dad has company coming over," you said, rolling your eyes.

"He doesn't, mommy. I promise...It's gonna just be three of us, right, Daddy?" Jasmine asked with a little grin.

You were keenly aware of her intentions, and you were certain her little plan would not work.

You shot a quick look at Terry, who had a slightly nervous expression on his face.

"Yeah, come on, baby girl. Just one show, and that's it," Terry says with a small smile.

You just gave him a hesitant look, and then there was a knock on the door.

Terry sighed and politely excused himself, reaching the door to answer it.

Once he disappeared from view, you turned your attention to Jasmine.

"Okay, Jazzy. What's going on?" You asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest and looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"What do you mean, Mommy? " she asked, looking at you innocently and shrugging shortly.

"You know what I'm talking about, little girl. We talked about this," you told her, uncrossing your arms.

"Just wait and see, Mommy," Jasmine says sassily. You look at her shock and wonder where she got that from. *you silly*

Terry returned with a large bouquet containing a mixture of your three favorite flowers.

"Woah, Daddy! Who are those for?" Jasmine asked with a giggle as she watched the expression on your face.

The delicate beauty of flowers always captivated you, and receiving them never failed to fill you with an indescribable sense of joy and warmth.

"These are for your mother. It looks like she's got a secret admirer," Terry said, giving you the flowers.

You took the flowers from Terry's hands, feeling his fingers brush against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

You cleared your throat and moved away, giving Terry and Jasmine both a look before smelling the flower.

"Hmm, I guess we can stay and watch a show," you said with a shrug while rolling your eyes.

You three were cozied up on the couch, engrossed in an episode of Family Feud.

Jasmine gradually drifted into a peaceful slumber as the show progressed, finding comfort in Terry's embrace.

Terry took her to the other room, and when he came, you two discussed watching another episode.

"Oh shit, is it really three pounds?" You inquired, glancing over at Terry, who was chuckling and shaking his head in amusement.

"I am unsure," he says nonchalantly, lifting and dropping his broad shoulders in a casual shrug.

Steve Harvey on TV: Name a salad dressing that you see at a salad bar.

Both you and Terry simultaneously exclaimed, "Ranch," but then you quickly added, "I said it first."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did," you playfully remarked, jabbing your finger into his chest, teasingly referring to him as "applehead."

Terry chuckled as he gestured toward the TV screen. "Well, even if you did, they've already said 'Ranch,' he remarked.

"Mmm, whatever," you said, playfully rolling your eyes at him with a hint of amusement.

Steve Harvey on TV: Name something that happens in April.

The phrase "April Fools" echoed in unison from both of you once more.

A brief moment of shared laughter passed as you exchanged glances before refocusing on the television.

"I guess you can say I won," you said, rising from the plush couch, gracefully bowed and waved, silently mouthing "thank you" with a grateful smile.

"I didn't know it was a competition, baby girl." Terry lets out a hearty laugh as he rises to his feet and positions himself before you.

"Well, it was, so I won! What you gotta say to that, applehead," You said with a giggle, moving closer to him.

"You betta stop calling that," he said gently, tickling you, making you laugh.

Terry's heart couldn't help but flutter joyfully as your laughter filled the air.

You abruptly ceased laughing, feeling captivated as you shifted your gaze back and forth between his pretty eyes and his luscious, plump lips.

Terry leaned in, and you gave in to the kiss despite wanting to stop him.

The electric sensation you felt during the kiss, the comforting strength of his embrace, you shake your head before pulling away.

"Um...thanks for dinner, Terry. I know It means a lot to Jasmine. It's time to go. Yeah, it's time," You were about to leave, but Terry quickly intervened and stopped you."

"Hey, you can't just walk away after that," Terry's voice trembled with emotion as he reached out to hold both of your hands.

"Terry-" You began speaking, but he silenced you with a gentle touch on your lips.

"Please just listen. I'm sorry for a lot of shit I put you through; you never deserved it. You've been the best thing ever to me, and I've taken you for granted. I want to right my wrongs; I want to fix them. I'm tired of this tension between you and me. I want us to move past this and become like we used to be but different; I want us to be a family, for real this time." Terry said, a few tears streaming down his face as he continued.

"You love me, I know you do, and I love you, and I always have; I know it may be hard to believe, but I do love you, baby girl. I'm in love with you and don't want to lose you to someone else; give me a chance, baby. I know actions speak louder than words, but I just....need you to tell me it's okay," Terry said, his eyes searching yours for hope.

His words were sincere and borne the weight of his emotions, and you longed to hear that from him.

Though your simmering anger and stubborn pride obstructed your way, you didn't know if you could let go of the hurt.

"You must think I'm a damn fool, huh? You had plenty of opportunities to tell me how you felt, but you waited until Imma trying to move on to confess your feelings, huh? No, Terry." You said, shaking your head.

"No...I don't. I'm the damn fool, really...I know, I know. Come on...baby girl, you don't even want to try to give me a chance. Let me fix it; let's try to fix it. I want you, and only you, baby girl; I fucking love you, please," Terry pleaded, dropping down on both knees.

"Terry, stop. Please get up." You said, tightly gripped his shirt and yanked him upward, but he clutched onto your legs, pleading with you.

"Please," He whispered lowly. You are getting a little overwhelmed with emotions.

"I can't, I just can't," you said, harshly pushing him away before rushing to get Jasmine from the other room. "She can, but she is afraid."

You gently awakened her, whispering that it was time to say bye and go home.

As you gathered her belongings and prepared the car, you waited patiently for her to join you.

"Bye, Daddy," She said, kissing his cheek before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Bye, princess. See you next week," Terry said in a low voice, desperately trying to hold back his emotions to shield his daughter from noticing his heartache.

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.10): get a room - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

warning/an; kinda? implied smut/sexual content. i think real real smut is coming in ch.12... AFTER midsummers

part 9 - part 10 - part 11

you pull into tannyhill, the headlights cutting through the driveway as you park. the drive from the chateau was quiet, the kind of calm you didn’t realize you needed until you finally had it, especially after almost being caught with jj.

sarah’s already out of the car and heading toward the front door, phone in hand. "need to grab a few things before dinner," she says without looking up. you just follow her inside, not even bothering to answer. you can hear her moving around in the kitchen as you take off your shoes and toss your bag onto the couch.

it’s quieter than usual. too quiet. you glance around, the house emptier than you’re used to.

"where’s everyone?" you ask, scanning the room.

sarah doesn’t even glance up. "wheezie day. ward and rose took her out."

you nod, not needing any further details. you’ve learned enough to know the deal with wheezie and her little trips.

you don’t ask about rafe, though. "oh, i think he’s with topper at the club," sarah adds, clearly not caring enough to offer anything else.

you just shrug. it’s whatever. not like you’d want to hear any more about them tonight.

dinner’s laid-back, comfortable. nothing extraordinary, just easy chatter and the usual back-and-forth. it’s simple. you laugh, maybe share some stories. by the time you finish eating, you're full and content, ready to crash.

you drop sarah back off at tannyhill after dinner, settling into your bed as soon as you get home, scrolling through your phone. the house stays quiet, though you can hear the crashing waves outside and the occasional sound of footsteps outside. at some point, you hear the front door open. voices—muffled, indistinct. you figure topper and ruthie are back, a little earlier than usual— 10 pm. maybe drunk and stumbling, but then the voices fade, and you don’t think much of it.

until you hear it.

a sound. a very specific sound.

your brow furrows. you sit up, listening closer.

moaning.

you immediately groan, flopping back onto your bed. ugh. topper. gross.

it wouldn’t be the first time. he and ruthie were shameless, and unfortunately, the walls in this house weren’t soundproof. you sigh and grab your phone, fingers already moving before you can think twice.

you put your phone down, staring at the ceiling.

it’s fine. you don't care. it’s just rafe. and sofia.

it shouldn’t piss you off as much as it does.

you do not care that rafe is here. you do not care that he’s with sofia. you are completely indifferent.

that’s why you go about your normal night. that’s why you act completely normal as you brush your teeth, change into your pj's, and definitely don't press your ear against the wall to see if you can still hear them.

(you can. you hate it.)

when you get into bed, you try to go to sleep, but your brain is racing. you grab your phone.

sarah doesn't text back after that, probably falling asleep.

you should do the same. but you don't.

the next morning, you wake up early, which is unusual for you. but you refuse to let last night make you weird. you go downstairs to get coffee and pretend nothing happened.

and then you see them.

rafe is sitting at the counter, staring into the void, looking like he didn’t sleep at all. sofia is standing in front of him, digging through the fridge like she owns the place, casually sipping from his water bottle.

topper and ruthie are there too, sitting at the kitchen table, lost in their own world as they eat breakfast. topper’s half-asleep, shoveling eggs into his mouth like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, while ruthie scrolls through her phone, nudging him every so often to show him something. they don’t even glance at you when you walk in.

which is fine. you don’t need them to. you just need to get your coffee and go.

you grab something from the fridge, acting casual, pretending that nothing about this morning is off—that nothing about this bothers you. you brace yourself for something nauseating, some gross display that’ll make you want to walk into the ocean. but then you actually watch them.

sofia’s hand trails over rafe’s shoulder. he doesn’t even react.

she leans in, saying something in his ear, probably something flirty, and he just nods absently, barely paying attention.

when she kisses him, he doesn’t even move forward. it’s all her.

you shouldn’t be, but you are. you’re happy. overjoyed that he could care less about sofia—but it feels so wrong to think like that.

you snap out of it, grab your drink, and practically skip out of the kitchen, knowing sofia is just a stand in. for who? you don't know. but some part of you, a feeling buried deep inside, wishes for it to be you.

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy @starsval @hypnotizedstarkey

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 13: The Regrets Are Useless] [Series Finale]

A/N: Below are your final predictions. Let's see how you did... 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Whatsername” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Rain pours outside the cabin, mist-shrouded pine trees and still dark water, a place in southern Oregon called Lake of the Woods. The twin-sized bed with a thin foam mattress was once used by kids attending summer camp, capture the flag and s’mores, hikes and scary stories, but now the children are ghosts and the monsters are real, stumbling down streets and lurking in dark places, licking blood from what’s left of their lips.

Aemond is here but he’s also not, a castaway on an island where the world never ended, his hands in your hair as you straddle him, your hips moving tentatively, his lips and teeth at your throat, the sharp points of his canines like fangs.

“Am I doing this right?” you murmur doubtfully. “I feel like I’m definitely not doing this right…”

“Shh, you’re great, you’re incredible.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know how to do everything already, I’m sorry you have to teach me—”

“Stop,” Aemond commands, a sharp sigh through your hair. “I love this. I love you. I want to teach you things until the day I die.”

The nervous tension in your muscles unravels—peddles thrown into water, campfire smoke vanishing into indigo night—and now his hands are on your hips, steadying you, guiding you. You link your fingers around the back of his neck and try to find a cadence that isn’t uncomfortable, ungainly, effortful. You wanted to try this. You want to experience everything with him.

“Take your time,” Aemond is saying like it’s difficult for him to keep a train of thought, his eye closed, his cheeks flushed, blood-colored blooms like a dusk sky. “I’m fine down here, don’t worry about me…”

Rain drums against the windows; lightning flashes in the sky and thunder growls. From the front porch of one of the other cabins, you can hear the indistinct droning of conversations and Aegon strumming the acoustic guitar he brought from the beach house. It’s something you’ve overheard him singing before, one of his strange midcentury darlings, a song that should be too old for him to know the words to.

“All you big and burly men who roll the trucks along

Better listen, you’ll be thankful when you hear my song

You have really got it made if you’re haulin’ goods

Any place on earth but those Haynesville Woods…”

Your skin gleams with a cool sheen of sweat; there is a draft through the cabin walls that makes you shiver as you cling to Aemond. You roll your hips a certain way and he moans—suddenly, involuntarily—and you know you’ve found the right rhythm.

“It’s a stretch of road up north in Maine

That’s never ever ever seen a smile

If they’d buried all them truckers lost in them woods

There’d be a tombstone every mile

Count ‘em off, there’d be a tombstone every mile…”

Aemond is kissing you deeply, desperately, trembling hands and gasping shallow breaths. And there is not just euphoria written into the lines of his face; there is disorientation, there is wonder. He barely manages: “Alright…um…if you want me to last longer than about thirty more seconds, you should probably slow down…”

“No,” you tease, grinning as you bite at his full lips.

“When you’re loaded with potatoes and you’re headed down

You’ve got to drive the woods to get to Boston town

When it’s winter up in Maine, better check it over twice

That Haynesville road is just a ribbon of ice…”

Aemond cries out, louder than you’ve ever heard him before—you’ve never had privacy, you’ve never truly been alone—and then again, a helpless ecstatic sound, pleasure so overwhelming it almost starts to feel like pain.

“Quiet!” you whisper, giggling, touching two fingers to his mouth. “Everyone’s going to hear you.”

“Oh my God,” Aemond says. He falls back onto the mattress and brings you with him, his arms wrapped around you, kissing your cheeks and your forehead as the two of you lie there panting and entangled, his blue eye astonished. “Okay, okay, I need a minute. I think I just burst an aneurysm.”

“I killed you?” you purr with feigned distress, basking in your conquest.

“You can kill me whenever you want. You can kill me five times a day.”

“When you’re talking to a trucker that’s been haulin’ goods

Down that stretch of road in Maine they call the Haynesville Woods

He’ll tell you that dying and going down below

Won’t be half as bad as driving on that road of ice and snow…”

Aemond stares up at the ceiling—a steep gable roof, a motionless fan—and now you can tell he’s thinking about his family again, discorporate screams, misplaced trust. Otto Hightower’s bones were found in the shower, meaning he likely died before or not long after their power failed and water would have run out in the municipal system. They were probably killed before you and Aemond ever met, distant galaxies lightyears away, remote long-dead stars. And so all the blood you paid to get to California was wasted.

“Do you ever think about the people you have saved?” you ask gently as your fingertips trace the ridge of his scar. “You stitched yourself back together. You healed Aegon’s burns. You sutured Cregan’s arm. You got me and Rio down from that transmission tower.”

“I guess I did,” Aemond says, but his voice is ambivalent, as if none of these things count. He has not found someplace safe for you yet. His job is not finished; his triumphs may only be temporary.

“Aemond…back in Pennsylvania…why did you decide to help us?”

“Luke spotted you guys, and we all talked it over. If it had just been Rio, honestly, I wouldn’t have taken the chance. A man his size, and possibly armed…could be trouble, you know? But I figured since he was traveling with a woman and you seemed to be with him by choice, he was probably okay. And then when we first met, he was so protective of you…didn’t want me touching you, didn’t leave you alone…I realized he had to be a good guy.”

“He was,” you say solemnly. I was supposed to remind him about the racks. I was supposed to warn him. But you didn’t warn Rio about what was waiting to kill him in that sand-swept grocery store in Winnemucca, just like you didn’t warn Jace about radiation or Baela about the way the rungs of the ladder that ran up the side of the grain bin were rusted and creaking, and maybe there is more than enough blame to go around.

“And then after Battle Mountain, as soon as we found the gasoline and ammo, I knew we had to go back for you. It hit me all at once. I couldn’t protect you by leaving you with Rio and Cregan. And I couldn’t let you go. I’ve never had something like this before. I didn’t know it existed. I told the others we were turning around, and Aegon said: Thank fucking God. Rhaena took off sprinting towards the car.” Then Aemond kisses you again, but tenderly this time, slowly, like you’ll have forever and there’s no need to rush. “I’m going to get you to Odessa. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

The rain is stopping; there are still a few hours of daylight left.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Chip Skylark. Check it out,” Aegon says, grinning at you from where he’s sprawled on the wet dock and smoking a cigarette, wearing his neon green plastic sunglasses, his left leg finally freed from its bandages and on full display. You’re all wearing the same things, stolen t-shirts and shorts, sweatshirts at night when it gets cold, sneakers you can walk hundreds of miles in; but Aegon won’t give up his Sperry Bahamas. “It’s nature’s tattoo.”

You sit down beside him and admire the scar tissue, red knots and white cords, jagged terrain like a mountain range, organic highways and bridges and trails. “It’s a roadmap.”

“That’s appropriate.”

You’ve been traveling on foot for two weeks since Criston’s white Tahoe ran out of gas and was abandoned in the town of Mad River, California. Now you are only about ten miles from Odessa, close enough to reach in half a day but too far to get into town before nightfall. This time tomorrow you’ll be there, and it will either be a haven or a wasteland, and if Rio’s parents’ community in Odessa has disappeared then so has your last idea for where to go. Absentmindedly, you skate your fingerprints over the bumps and grooves of Aegon’s leg like a blind man reading braille. He shifts and clears his throat; you’ve made him uncomfortable somehow. You lift your hand away.

“I’m sorry, does that hurt?”

“Nah. I can’t really feel anything besides pressure. The nerve endings got fried.”

“Oh.” But now you don’t know what you did to upset him. Aegon doesn’t provide an explanation. Down the dock a ways towards the shore, Rhaena is reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and listening to the pink Sony Walkman formerly owned by a little girl named Ava. Inside whirls Green Day’s 2004 album American Idiot, which Aegon took from his bedroom at the beach house to add to his CD collection, a cultural archive, a gift for posterity. Cregan is teaching Daeron to fish with poles he found in one of the cabins; Helaena is bringing them worms. Aemond and Luke are gathering things dry enough to burn—books and wooden chairs from inside the cabins—and piling them up so Cregan can cook dinner once it’s caught.

“So,” Aegon says, changing the subject, scrutinizing you as he puffs on a Marlboro Gold. “Everything going okay?”

You know what he means; he must have heard Aemond earlier. “Yup.”

“Got it all figured out?”

“Sure did.”

“Great. I’m happy for you,” Aegon says, and yet there’s a twinge of melancholy he’s trying to hide. It must be hard for him; he and Daeron are the only single ones.

“We’ll find you some suitable candidates for your harem when we get to Odessa.”

He chuckles. “Oh, come on.”

“Guys, girls? Do you have a preference?”

He’s smiling wistfully down into the water, a dark rippling mirror. “I have too specific a preference, that’s the problem.”

“Yacht girls in bikinis. Golf cheerleaders.”

“There are no cheerleaders in golf, you yokel.”

“Okay, well…I’m sure you’ll be very popular with the lonely, traumatized, widowed women of the apocalypse.”

Aegon gazes morosely out over the lake. He pitches the end of his cigarette into the water, and your eyes catch briefly on the black ink of the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. “I don’t know. I’ve been sober for two weeks and now everything is annoyingly clear.”

“What’s bothering you?”

He waits a while before he answers, evasive. “I’ve never been good at anything.”

“Everyone feels that way sometimes. Luke thinks he’s not good at anything either.”

“But Luke’s nice. I’m a rat bastard.”

You laugh. “You’re kind of nice, Aegon.”

“Yeah right.”

“No, seriously. I like being around you. You make me feel better. You’re like…” You ponder how to word it. “I feel like I could tell you whatever and not worry about being judged for it.”

He snorts. “As if you’ve ever done anything judgeable.”

You shrug, peering out over the lake. “I abandoned my family. I stopped sending them money, I stopped calling. And when everything happened…the zombies, the world ending…I didn’t even consider going back to Kentucky to try to help them. I went west with Rio instead. And now they’re probably all dead and it’s my fault. That’s evil. I couldn’t have gotten away with that level of betrayal. I must be cursed.”

Aegon is watching you, eyebrows raised. He has never heard this before. “But your family sucked, right?”

“Yeah,” you admit. “I think it would be hard to argue they didn’t.”

“So fuck ‘em,” Aegon says simply.

You smile at him, touched, grateful. “Okay. Fuck ‘em.”

“I’m relieved my family’s gone,” Aegon confesses, something so brutal he’d never tell anyone else. “I mean…I feel kind of bad about my mom and Criston. But as long as they were alive, I’d always be the person they raised. And if I could bring someone back, it wouldn’t be any of them. I’d pick Rio.”

“I would too,” you say softly, staring down at the faint burn marks on your palms from when you were stranded on that transmission tower with him, talking him out of suicide, so adamant that both of you were going to make it to Oregon. And you were wrong.

“So if you’re cursed, Pita Chips, sign me up because I’m right there with you.”

Rhaena pulls out an earbud and says to Aegon: “I don’t get this album.”

“What?!” he exclaims.

“It’s so good!” you concur. On the shore, Cregan is spearing several gutted rainbow trout on sticks so they can be roasted over the fire. Ice is gleefully gulping down fish organs.

Aegon continues: “Whatsername! St. Jimmy! Jesus of Suburbia!”

Rhaena blinks, glancing between you and Aegon. “But neither of you grew up in the suburbs.”

“It’s not about the suburbs, Rhaena!” Aegon replies with frenetic hand gestures. “It’s about being disillusioned and angry and failed by all the adults in your life, and self-medicating, and losing love every time you get a taste of it, and wanting to burn everything down and start over. It’s about hating the world and the world hating you back.”

“Okay, sure. I still don’t get it.”

You say: “You might have had too happy a childhood.” And you and Aegon burst out laughing.

“You guys are so weird,” Rhaena says, but she’s smiling. She stands up, gives Aegon back his Walkman, and walks to the end of the dock where Cregan is cooking the rainbow trout. Aemond and Daeron are gathering up the aluminum buckets found at the campground and set outside earlier today to collect rainwater. There is one five-pound bag of trail mix left to share, and then all the food is gone. If Cregan doesn’t kill something, you won’t eat.

“We should go help them with dinner,” you tell Aegon.

He groans. “Should we really?”

“Yeah. We should.”

“Fine.” He takes your hand when you offer it and struggles to his feet. Then you inhale a lungful of the scent of roasting trout, and startlingly powerful nausea punches through your stomach, so repellant you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from retching.

There has to be something wrong with the fish. It’s never smelled like that before.

Aegon seems baffled. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Does the trout smell right to you?”

Aegon sniffs the air like a labrador. “I guess…? I barely smell anything.”

“Well you probably destroyed your nose cells with all the coke.”

“That’s discriminatory. Addiction is a disease.” But his brow is furrowed with concern. “Seriously, are you okay? You look awful. Not like that. You know what I mean.”

“I’m fine.” You don’t feel fine; but everyone down by the fire is chatting and joking around nonchalantly, and surely if there actually was something wrong they would have noticed. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perplexed.

You hurry past the others and take refuge in the cabin you’re sharing with Aemond. Inside the trout smell isn’t so strong. You sit at the edge of the bed and suck in several deep breaths, trying to calm down, willing the confounding wave of nausea to pass.

Did I eat something bad, did I get bit by a spider or something…?

You are checking your arms and legs for little raised bitemarks when Helaena enters the cabin and shuts the door behind her. When she opens her burlap messenger bag to root around inside, you glimpse photographs she must have taken from the beach house, the frames left empty on the mantle of the fireplace. Then Helaena pulls out a pregnancy test, just one, Clearblue.

You gawk at it. “What are you doing?”

“You look sick,” Helaena says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s that.”

She is puzzled, wide innocent blue eyes. “Why not?”

“Well…I mean…that would be freakishly quick, wouldn’t it? Like…quick as in immediately. People can’t get pregnant the first time they have sex, right?”

“Huh. They really don’t have sex ed in Kentucky,” Helaena says, and leaves you alone with your pregnancy test. You don’t feel so nauseous anymore, but you sneak around the back of the cabin to take it anyway, because now you’re thinking about the possibility with a vividness you’ve never experienced before: a round blossoming belly and tiny handprints and Aemond cradling his child in his arms. And by the time you get the result, you aren’t even shocked. It feels like something that’s supposed to happen.

You and Aemond don’t have a moment alone together until after dark, sitting on the porch swing outside your cabin for first watch, everyone else asleep, Ice dozing serenely by your feet. The only sounds are the breeze through the pine trees, cool and damp, and the hoots of owls, and the chirping of crickets and cicadas.

“So guess what,” you say casually as moonbeams float rippling and fractured on the surface of the black-glass lake.

Aemond smiles drowsily, not expecting anything. “What?”

“In approximately eight months, I might be having your baby.”

At first, he doesn’t speak; he only studies the test when you hand it to him, and then looks at you like he’s not convinced you aren’t angry, like he can’t quite bring himself to believe that you’d want this with someone like him. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” you answer honestly. Maybe you should be, but you aren’t. “I’m hopeful. I feel like as soon as I realized it, everything got brighter. And now I’m thinking about the future instead of the past.” They’re not going to grow up like I did. They’re never going to think they aren’t loved. “What should we name it?”

“Not Otter.”

You laugh, trying to muffle it so you don’t wake anyone. Ice lifts her head and stares at you curiously, her shaggy grey ears straight up.

“I don’t know, I’m terrible with names,” Aemond says; and now he’s smiling again, a wide radiant smile, and you know he’s thinking about the future too. “Hope or Peace or something. Something happy. Something about starting over.”

You take his hand. “I can’t wait to start over with you.”

“Just one more day,” Aemond says.

One more day.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So what am I going to do in Odessa?” Luke asks as the eight of you—nine, if you count Ice—trek eastbound on Route 140. You are about five miles from Lake of the Woods and halfway to your destination. It’s only 80 degrees and overcast, good walking weather, although there is a looming threat of rain, occasional rogue drops and far-off rumbles of thunder. “Everyone has valuable skills except me. Chips has great aim and can build things, Daeron has his compound bow, Aemond is basically a doctor, Rhaena is learning how to shoot guns and treat injuries…”

“Aegon has skills?” Cregan jokes, casting him a good-natured grin. Aegon acts like he’s going to whack Cregan with his golf club, which he’s spinning around haphazardly. Both his Marlin .22 and acoustic guitar are slung across his back. There aren’t many bullets left, but everyone has a few.

“Aegon can navigate,” Luke says. “And probably impregnate ten women a day. Very useful during a population crisis.”

“We don’t need that in the gene pool,” Rhaena notes.

“You wrote stories in college, right?” you ask Luke.

“Screenplays, yeah,” he says hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t say I was super talented or anything.”

Aegon claps him on the shoulder “Well I’ve got good news for you, kid. A big chunk of the world’s screenwriters are probably dead now. So you’ll look so much better in comparison!”

“Thanks…?” Luke says.

“What I mean is,” you continue. “You could write books for people to read, since there aren’t really libraries or Barnes & Nobles anymore. And you could interview people to get their life stories and then record them so they aren’t lost forever. The next generation should know what the world was like before the zombies.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says as he pets Ice. “Someone has to tell them about blue raspberry Icees, right Blue Raspberry Icee?”

“Maybe,” Luke says thoughtfully, and you notice that he’s smiling a little.

Ice begins whining, and there is a rustling in the woods to the north, low-hanging branches of bigleaf maple and dogwood and Douglas fir trees being forced aside. “Zombie!” Aegon announces, pointing. Immediately, Daeron nocks an arrow and then releases it, and the figure draped in the shifting shadows of foliage drops to the ground.

“Hey Aegon,” Daeron says after a few seconds.

“Yeah?”

“That was actually a zombie, right?”

“Totally,” Aegon replies, but he doesn’t sound certain.

Aemond turns to his older brother accusingly. “How sure are you?”

“Like…50%.”

“Aegon!” Rhaena cries, petrified, and everyone rushes off the road to investigate.

Blessedly, the felled creature is long-dead, a former park ranger whose tan uniform hangs in gore-stained tatters. The nametag reads: Underwood. The arrow pierced its soft rotting skull and remains lodged there until Daeron pulls it out to be used again, giving Aegon an impatient scowl as he does.

“Close call,” Aegon tells him. “Think they would have charged you as an adult?”

“Lord almighty, that gave me a scare,” Cregan says, chuckling. Helaena spies a blackberry bush and begins picking a handful, and Cregan goes over to join her. Rhaena and Luke are telling Aegon that he needs to be more responsible and should have waited for Luke to confirm it was a zombie with his binoculars. You exchange a glance with Aegon: he rolls his eyes, you offer a smirk of commiseration. Ice is already trotting back towards Oregon Route 140.

You haven’t told anyone else that you’re pregnant yet, but eventually they’re going to notice that Aemond won’t leave your side. He sighs and asks you: “Have you had enough of this little field trip?”

“Definitely.” You head for the road. Aemond walks with you, placing you not on his left side but on his right where he can see you. You ask, smiling: “You don’t trust me to watch your blind side anymore, huh?”

“I prefer the view the way it is.”

You are only a few steps from the black artery of pavement that cuts through the Cascade-Siskiyou National Monument, a 114,000-acre preserve of wilderness that somehow—although it is 2,500 miles away—reminds you a bit of eastern Kentucky, endless emerald forests, the omnipotent shadows of mountains. And because you are on Aemond’s right side, he can look down and see something just in front of you on the earth strewn with knobby roots and pine needles and dead leaves.

“Don’t!” he shouts, snatching your forearm and yanking you backwards, and he’s never touched you like this before—so forcefully, so violently—and you stumble and almost fall, and your arm burns and aches where he grabbed you, and people are asking what’s going on, and you peer up at Aemond with confusion, fear, mistrust.

“Why…?”

And then you hear it rustling from the same place where you were standing a moment ago. The others yelp and dash out of the way as the snake escapes into the woods, a drab spotted olive green, a rattling tail, an angular skull like an arrowhead.

“Aemond?” you say, because he hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound. He looks down, and your gaze follows his. On his right calf, just a few inches above his ankle, are two small puncture wounds from the snake’s fangs, each dribbling a thin river of blood.

“Northern Pacific rattlesnake,” Helaena says, her voice shaking, tears welling up in her horrified eyes. “Venomous.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has one arm draped across Cregan’s shoulders, the other over Aegon’s. He’s moving slower, or is that just your imagination? His steps are less steady, his breathing more labored. His leg is swelling, a deep blue phantom of a bruise spreading beneath his skin, so tight it looks like it might split open.

“We’re almost there,” you say; you keep saying it, because hopefully that will make it true. “We’re only a few miles from Odessa, and we’ll find people who can help us.”

“Aemond, you’re a doctor,” Luke says.

Aemond’s voice is weak, pained, hazy. “I’m not a doctor.”

“You know what I mean!” Luke yells, frantic. “How do we fix you? What can we do?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says listlessly. “There’s nothing you can do without a hospital. I’ll either get better or I won’t.”

“People in Odessa will know how to help,” you insist. “They’re outside all the time, they hike, they hunt, they fish, they’ve seen snakebites before. They must have. They’ll have treatments.”

“Aemond,” Rhaena breathes, and you turn to see there is blood running from his nostrils. You scream, and Aemond touches his fingers to his face and then watches as they come away bloody.

“Put me down,” he tells Cregan and Aegon.

“No—” you begin, but then his knees buckle and he’s on the pavement anyway, blood pouring from his nose and his lips, blood filling up his right eye. Cregan walks to the shoulder of the highway, his head in his hands. Aegon stays beside Aemond, and you’re kneeling there with him, both of you using anything you have to clean the blood from Aemond’s face: the corners of your shirts, your bare hands.

He’s covered in blood, you think. Just like Jace, Baela, Rio.

“Can’t clot,” Aemond is murmuring. “The venom causes coagulotoxicity. Internal bleeding too. I feel like…like there’s all this pressure inside…”

Rhaena is taking Aemond’s pulse like he taught her to, fingers on the underside of his wrist. “It’s really faint,” she says quietly.

You grab a plastic Gatorade bottle filled with rainwater out of your backpack and tilt it against Aemond’s crimson-stained lips. He manages to swallow some of it. “Aemond, listen to me,” you say as calmly as you can. “You’re so close. We’re almost there. I need you to hang on a little longer.”

He shakes his head, slow dizzy motions. “It doesn’t matter.”

“They might have doctors in Odessa.” This is a fantasy, but you can’t resist it.

“Even if they do, there won’t be any antivenom. And it’s too late anyway.”

“No,” you say savagely, a sob ripping through your throat. “We didn’t cross 3,000 miles so you could die here. I won’t let you. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not fair.”

“Aegon,” Aemond says, reaching for him, drained and fumbling.

Aegon catches his hand. “I’m here.”

His eye—crystalline blue corrupted with red, blood in clear water—drifts to his brother. “You have to get her to Odessa. You have to help take care of everyone.”

Aegon is weeping. “Man, it’s supposed to be you. How can I still be here if you aren’t?”

“You can do this,” Aemond says.

“I’ll try.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, Aemond,” Aegon says, then crawls away on his hands and knees and collapses on the pavement, gutted, inconsolable, hemorrhaging grief instead of gore.

Everyone is crying and touching Aemond—his face, his hands—saying goodbye, accepting tasks, and they come away stained with red, and rain has begun to fall from a dark sky growling with thunder. Rhaena takes his medical kit. Helaena takes his Glock and stows it away in her messenger mag. Then Aemond looks for you, and now you are alone with him here in the middle of the highway, two golden lines on black asphalt, and with your thumbprint you whisk away the rivulet of blood that is spilling from his eye.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers as his heart fails, as his lungs fill with blood instead of air, as his pores leak rust and ruin. “Odessa will be everything we hoped for. I just won’t be there with you.”

“You can’t leave me,” you’re saying as rain patters against the road. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Love,” he sighs, almost too softly to hear. “I don’t want to.”

You lie down on the pavement with him and rest your head on his chest, feel it rise and fall beneath you as the rain descends in sheets. And then Aemond exhales, deep and rattling, and he never tastes oxygen again, never speaks, never touches you. You don’t move from where you’re lying. You’re there until you’re drenched to the bones with rain and the world is a cold mist of pine trees, of wilderness, and you can never go back to any of the places you’ve been before, you can never get back the people you’ve left there.

Aegon is shaking you. “We have to keep moving,” he chokes out through tears.

You reply without looking at him. “I’m giving up now.”

“No you’re fucking not. We have to walk to Odessa.”

“Everyone’s dead in Odessa. Everyone’s dead everywhere. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to stay in a world like this.”

On the periphery of your vision, you can see Aegon glancing at the others, standing just off the highway and under the canopy of the pine trees. He seems defeated, he seems lost.

Then suddenly Aegon turns back to you. “Hey!” he screams, so loudly you jolt upright, your palms on wet pavement, rain dripping from your hair. “I’m still alive. You’re still alive. This isn’t over yet. I said I would get you to Odessa, so that’s where we’re going. Stand up. Right now.”

Aegon holds out his hand. Thunder booms, lightning strobes, and then you take it. He pulls you to your feet and hesitates, as if he didn’t think he would get this far. Then he throws his arms around you, a crushing desperate embrace, a wordless devotion, a silent vow, sobbing into the curve of your neck, tasting the copper and iron of his brother’s blood on your skin.

“We have to keep moving,” he says again, like an apology, like he understands how impossible it feels. “The storm’s getting worse. It’ll be too dark to see soon.”

“We can’t leave him alone like this.”

“That’s not Aemond anymore,” Aegon pleads. “Aemond’s gone. And he would want us to live.”

Now the others are here on the road too: Daeron, Helaena, Cregan, Rhaena, Luke, Ice whimpering and licking scarlet stains of blood off your hands. You’re all holding each other; you’re all any of you have left. Cregan carries Aemond off the pavement and on a patch of grass alongside Route 140, the seven of you cover his body with branches of pine needles and white petals from dogwood trees. Rhaena is the first person to begin walking again, heading east. One by one you follow her. The downpour is torrential; if you are attacked now, you are nearly blind. Aegon stays beside you no matter how slow your steps are. You think if he disappears, you will too; the strings that tie you to the earth will fray and unweave and your bones will turn to mist, your voice will only be the wind howling down mountainsides. You have no way of knowing how long you’ve been walking or how many miles are left. You wonder what will happen to Aemond’s child if there is nothing for you in Odessa.

The rain is stopping. Now you can hear crows, woodpeckers, formations of geese honking in a foggy sky and squirrels scrabbling up tree trunks. Falcons perch watchfully on dead power lines. Rare aisles of sunlight are breaking through dissipating clouds.

They rise up out of the verdant jungle, a tangle of Pacific ninebark and blue elderberry: four figures in green camouflage, two men and two women, all wearing tactical sunglasses and wielding assault rifles, M16s you’re fairly sure, automatic and with 20-round magazines. Daeron moves to nock an arrow and then stops when he sees you’ve put up your hands. The others follow your lead: palms empty, willingly surrendering.

It’s them, you think dazedly. The people in Odessa. They’re alive, they’re real.

“Please cooperate and hand over all your weapons,” one of the women says, fifties, muscular, alert hawkish eyes.

No one moves. Then you unholster your Beretta M9—received from the U.S. Navy almost exactly five years ago, a different lifetime, a different world—and hold it out to the woman in your open palm. And now everybody else is giving their weapons over too: Aegon and Luke’s .22s, Rhaena’s Ruger, the spare Ruger and Aemond’s Glock hidden in Helaena’s burlap messenger bag, Daeron’s compound bow, Cregan’s axe. Ice peers up at Cregan anxiously, her yellowish eyes wide, but she wags her tail when he runs one of his large, calloused hands over her rain-soaked fur.

Aegon is still clutching his golf club. One of the men stares at him, incredulous. “You can keep that, son,” he says.

The woman nods to the men. “Nick and Glen will escort you five miles up the road, and then return your weapons. We ask that you keep moving and do not turn around. We don’t want trouble, but we can defend ourselves. Don’t think you can double back tomorrow and try to loot us or anything. This is your only warning. Do you understand?”

Aegon nudges your hand with his knuckles, then taps you harder when at first you’re too shellshocked to notice. You have to explain. You have to tell them why you’re here.

“I…I…” You begin, unable to make the words leave your lips, rats from a sinking ship, plummeting bodies from a burning building. Here you stand on a precipice, and with so many other people to save. “I served in the Navy with Bryan Osorio. We left Saratoga Springs together. He told me it would be safe here.”

Now they are interested. Slowly, the woman lowers her M16. “You know the Osorios?”

“I do.” I’ve known them for half a decade.

“Could any of them identify you and verify what you’re saying?”

“His wife, Sophie. She’s blonde, and she likes elephants, and she had a baby recently.”

The woman is scanning the faces behind you. “And where’s Bryan?”

“He’s not here anymore,” you say, and now you’re sobbing again. Aegon is squeezing your shoulder, his head bowed. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help him get home. I was supposed to warn him, I was supposed to stop it from biting him, but I didn’t and now he’s gone—”

“Okay, okay.” The woman motions for you to calm down, but her voice is kind. “Who are these guys? Your colleagues, your friends?”

“They’re my family.”

“You can vouch for them?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll all submit to searches for bitemarks?”

“Yes.”

The woman turns to the men she called Nick and Glen. “Take them inside, will you? Get the ID verified and then we’ll process everyone.”

“Got it,” the older man says. And then, to you and your companions: “Follow me.”

Nick and Glen lead you into the forest, the canopy of pine needles so thick the daylight turns to dusk, and you think of lightning bugs, of firelight, of drinking Guinness on the beach with Rio on Diego Garcia. There are several patrols, groups of four or five, that approach to stop you until they see Nick and Glen and wave you through. Then the trees open into a meadow of buttercups and daisies and pink fawn lilies, and beyond that an immense village, some houses decades old, others currently being constructed with logs from pine trees. There are hundreds of people tending to livestock, hanging up laundry to dry on clotheslines, digging in gardens, making candles and soap and butter. There are children playing without fear, giggling as they chase after scampering dogs, challenging each other to games of kickball and Uno.

In front of one of the houses that predates the apocalypse, brick with a screened-in porch, there is a small blonde woman standing in a garden, smiling and chatting with a middle-aged couple. The baby she carries against her chest in a blue sling has dark curly hair like Rio’s.

Sophie and the baby are here. They’ve been alive the whole time.

You rest a palm on your belly without realizing you’re doing it. “What happens now?” you ask Aegon.

“The rest of our lives.”

It is unimaginable, it is impossible, it is so full of luminous potential you feel like the light will spill out of your pores like blood, it’s an oasis, it’s a second chance, it’s an island in the vast lethal untamed blue of the Indian Ocean.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says softly, taking your hand and leading you across the field of wildflowers, kaleidoscopic blooms in the last days of summer.

[saintsenara]

What parts of canon do you find the most frustrating/that you are dissatisfied with/wished that was handled better/explored more? Mine is the inconsistency of Voldemort as a character. How he is described as being perhaps the most talented student that Hogwarts has ever seen and so powerful and intelligent but regularly made such dumb decisions e.g. in the final battle where he still uses Avada Kedavra despite seeing it not work before. I like the explanation that Horcruxes rotted his brain

thank you very much for the ask, @sarafina-sincerity!

the parts of canon which i find the least satisfying all have the same thing in common: their morality is individualist.

the harry potter series has - at its core - a really profound and very black-and-white belief that good and evil not only exist but are rooted in the individual. and while i understand why this is the case - the later books in the series are governed by the genre conventions of folkloric epic and, especially, of christian folkloric epic, which means that the whole seven-book narrative arc ending in a battle between christ and satan after which all is well is only to be expected - i don't like it.

so here we are... ten things i hate about canon, for fanfic writers to win my heart by interrogating in their work...

i hate the series' insistence that everything is fine once voldemort is dead

the middle books in the series - especially goblet of fire - do a really interesting job at hinting at the endemic rot in the ministry of magic, and the ways that the state and its enforcers perpetuated harm during the first war that was indistinct from that perpetuated by the death eaters - above all the use of internment without trial for suspected death eaters [which is a reference to something the british state actually did in the 1970s!].

they show how widespread blood-supremacy and magic-supremacy is, even among people who don't openly support voldemort; how the wizarding population is kept deliberately ignorant by what appears to be state-controlled media; and how no serious efforts have been made to eradicate the conditions which enabled voldemort to attain such power.

this is then forgotten completely in deathly hallows, where the fact that almost the entire civil service keeps working for a government which is committing genocide is hand-waved away with "oh, people are scared", and both the epilogue and jkr's post-series writing take the view that kingsley manages, as minister, to preside over a government which easily sheds all its old prejudices and starts working properly.

i don't like this! i think it's just much more interesting for corruption to be impossible to fully eradicate from the government, for blood-supremacy to have long-standing causes which actually take a lot of very hard work to untangled [especially the fact that the wizarding world not appearing to have a welfare state means that those whose lives are poor or unstable are prime targets for radicalisation], and for kingsley to have the same capacity for leaning on the prophet and worrying about his polling numbers as any other politician...

i hate that the series changes how the death eaters are written between half-blood prince and deathly hallows

connected to this shift from the series hinting at the broader issues in the wizarding world to a flat battle between good and evil is that the death eaters, their aims, and their modus operandi are written very different between half-blood prince and deathly hallows. in the former, the death eaters can be situated very easily as anti-state sectarian terrorists who have all sorts of complex analogies within british history and politics. in the latter, they're just caricatures of pure evil - which is why the death eaters introduced from the latter stages of half-blood prince onwards, especially the carrows, are considerably less interesting as characters than those, such as lucius malfoy, barty crouch jr. and bellatrix lestrange, who are introduced earlier.

it's also why the voldemort of deathly hallows feels so uninteresting. i don't like the fanon that the horcruxes render him insane at all - when he's shown outside of the epic battle between good and evil in that book, he's shown to be as lucid and cunning as always - but he ends up having to flop because his only purpose in the overarching narrative is to be killed. in the earlier books, in which he's a paramilitary kingpin poisoning and corrupting a society which was designed to exclude him because of the fact of his birth in revenge for its treatment of him, rather than satan and hitler's lovechild, he is so much more interesting.

i hate the series' belief that slavery is fine

obviously, one of the biggest examples of state malevolence in the series is that wizards own slaves. like many readers, i loathe that the house elf plotline ends up being reduced from its potential for radicalism in chamber of secrets - in which dobby mentions whisper-networks of elves who decry their treatment at wizards' hands - to what we see from goblet of fire onwards - in which elves love being enslaved and think that any attempts to free them from their subjugation is cruel.

i also hate that elves' freedom is then hand-waved away as part of the general race towards "all was well" with the implication that hermione found it easy to undo what appears to be centuries of state-sanctioned oppression without any pushback at all.

the house elf plotline is one of the clearest distillations of the series' individualistic morality. harry abhors the treatment of dobby at the malfoys' hands entirely and only because he doesn't like the malfoys. he abhors voldemort's treatment of kreacher, but sees absolutely no issue with sirius' because he likes sirius - and he clearly sees no issue at all with his own legal mastery of kreacher, seeing as, literally minutes after the end of a war in which the good guys fought for the rights of muggles and muggleborns to be seen as fully human... he is considering ordering his slave to make him a sandwich.

i hate that the series doesn't show the realities of resistance

the reason i think the whole "why does voldemort keep using avada kedavra, isn't he supposed to be clever?" question arises is because the series is incredibly resistant to the idea that the good guys must have to kill as well, which makes it look like it's only the death eaters using it while the order use lots of clever magic that the stupid terrorists are too thick to think of.

this is idiotic - not only because the killing curse is canonically flawless unless the thing you're blasting is your own horcrux and so the order would use it for efficiency's sake alone, but because the reality of being a resistance fighter is that, even if you're on the "right" side, you are going to have kill people or they will kill you.

lupin is completely right in deathly hallows that harry is breathtakingly naive to avoid shooting to kill and that - without the protection of genre conventions allowing him to be preternaturally merciful - his resistance to killing is going to result in him being destroyed by the enemy. it is inconceivable that the rest of the order don't using the killing curse - and the question of what this does to their souls [is it murder if you believe yourself to be justified in your actions?] and their senses of self post-war is so interesting to think about - and i wish we were shown this in the text.

especially because molly absolutely blasted bellatrix with it.

but i also hate that the series thinks that violence is fine when the good guys do it

this is primarily another example of the black-and-white "this is fine because harry's good" theme which runs through the series, which we see in things like harry using sectumsempra on draco malfoy in half-blood prince or the cruciatus curse on amycus carrow in deathly hallows. harry's overarching response to committing attempted murder is to sulk that the incredibly minor punishment he receives is reducing the time he could spend hitting on ginny, and his response to torturing amycus is "lol. lmao."

the series thinks - again and again - that cruelty and violence are completely fine when the person they are perpetuated against "deserves" it, and it does not bang.

and that the series allows the good guys more complexity in characterisation

the role played by the house system in the story - and, above all, the fact that our heroes are all connected to one particular house with straightforwardly admirable associated characteristics - means that the villains receive less opportunity to also have positive traits intermingled with their negative ones - and, therefore, complex and interesting personalities.

i also dislike that when non-gryffindor characters - especially slytherins - do reveal themselves to be brave and loyal etc., instead of recognising that this is because bravery can be multi-faceted the series suggests that they should be recategorised as "belonging" to a "good" house.

or, in other words, me and dumbledore's "i think we sort too soon" line in deathly hallows are enemies for life.

i hate that the series blames merope gaunt for dying

and - of course - the main way a villain isn't allowed as much complexity as a hero is that the series never examines the impact of voldemort's childhood on his adult self. while we see hints throughout canon of just how profoundly affected he is by his institutionalised childhood and the weight of his grief over his parents [his mother especially] - such as him learning as a baby never to cry for attention because it's futile - this is hand-waved away throughout the series by dumbledore-as-the-voice-of-god as irrelevant. the eleven-year-old tom riddle is straightforwardly evil, that he grows up in an orphanage is used as nothing more than narrative colour to underline how creepy he is, and dumbledore's spectacular mishandling of their relationship is viewed by the series as undeniably correct right up to the very last moment [when harry imitates dumbledore by - and we should call it what it is - deadnaming voldemort in their final confrontation].

but the most egregious thing that dumbledore does when discussing the course voldemort's life takes is blame merope gaunt for her own death in childbirth, by implying that witches are immune to one of the most common causes of death throughout human history if they just try hard enough and then saying that a nineteen-year-old girl whose life appears to have been nothing more than unrelenting abuse and misery [perpetuated both against her and by her] lacked the moral fibre to try hard enough.

and this infuriates me.

i hate how the series treats female characters who don't fit its narrow spectrum of "correct" womanhood

merope is but one victim of the series' general issues with treating women who aren't its heroes - all of whom are exactly feminine and beautiful and clever and talented enough that we know they're good people, but not any of these things in an extreme which could make them vapid or arrogant or defiant of social norms or so on.

the series takes a very low view of women who exist outside of narrow boxes - whether they are interested in a hyper-feminine aesthetic [lavender brown, rita skeeter] or a more masculine one [marge dursley]; conform to stereotypes about being bitchy, flighty, or vapid [pansy parkinson, romilda vane] or refuse to adhere to social expectations to be polite, meek, and demure [fleur delacour]; are unmarried, are not inherently maternal, and/or are cruel to children [bellatrix lestrange; petunia dursley; dolores umbridge]; are unrestrained emotionally [cho chang; moaning myrtle] and so on. and i don't like it.

and i also hate that - connected to this - the series uses physical appearance - especially weight - as a shorthand for [female] characters we're supposed to dislike.

what it says on the tin, really - if the series doesn't like a character, especially if the character is a woman, you can almost guarantee that they will either be fat or be unusually thin.

and finally...

i hate that the series prioritises one form of love - love as suffering and as sacrifice - over all others

part of the series' march towards the epic two-person showdown between good and evil is that harry is made to endure trial after trial - including his death for the salvation of mankind - in the name of love. obviously this is because he becomes, by the end of deathly hallows an allegory for christ, but it also fits into the series' view - articulated most frequently by dumbledore - that love, suffering, and sacrifice are all synonyms.

the acts of love the series foregrounds - snape's willingness to endure anything because of his love for lily; sirius' willingness to rot in azkaban and caves and grimmauld place because of his love for james and harry; harry giving up a love that's like "someone else's life" with ginny so he can go die - are all sacrificial, and the series generally takes a dull view of love that is fluffy, silly, carnal, selfish, soothing, transformational and so on. lavender and bellatrix's open adoration of their lovers is mocked; dumbledore's sexual desire for grindelwald is punished by his sister's death; tonks and lupin's uncomplicated happiness in the birth of their son is not to last.

but happy endings and silly jokes and forehead kisses are love too. and the hill i will die on is that they have even more potential to bring about the salvation of the world than constant suffering and abiding.

[velarisdusk]

Melted Resolve

Hockey AU | Helion x Reader x Tarquin

Series Masterlist Part 2 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 4 - Shattered

word count: 15k (i got carried away i'm so sorry they're so hot) content: [ explicit sexual content, PIV (protected), oral sex (m&f receiving), voyeuristic elements, dirty talk, praise, degradation, light choking, public sex (rooftop setting), threesome, dominance/submission, overstimulation, hair pulling, cum play (kinda?), gagging with panties (sure you can guess where the cum play comes in now huh) | infidelity, alcohol, strong language, emotional conflict ] (if i missed any, and im sure i did, pls lmk) summary: In the aftermath of a triumphant victory, you join the Vipers at a club they frequent downtown for a night of celebration. Yet, the shadow of past secrets lingers, especially with Rhysand and Azriel nearby. As the night unfolds, a secluded rooftop terrace leaves you grappling with exhilarating passion and profound guilt as you confront the weight of your choices. author's note: first, this one is hot so strap in. second, appreciate how nice and fun and carefree things are rn... that's all :) EDIT: WAIT ALSO LMK IF YOU FIND TYPOS PLS ITS SO EMBARRASSING TO FIND THEM A WEEK LATER

The clink of shot glasses hitting the table was a sharp contrast to the thumping bass of the music around you. You felt the burning liquid slide down your throat, its fiery path leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Everyone around you cheered, the celebratory energy palpable.

Cassian sat beside you, his arm casually draped over the back of your seat. His laughter was warm and infectious as he watched Nesta try not to gag (“I fucking hate cinnamon, you all know that!”). The ambient noise of the club was a constant hum, punctuated by bursts of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional cheer from the dance floor as a particularly popular song came on. The music was loud, the lyrics indistinct, but the beat infectious, making it impossible to sit still for long. You could feel the vibrations of the bass in your chest, matching the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

The VIP booth offered a perfect vantage point for watching the dance floor, bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors from the overhead lights. The air was thick with a mix of perfume, sweat, and the faint scent of spilled alcohol — a blend that was uniquely nightlife. Occasionally, a server would approach your booth, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease, balancing trays of drinks with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. 

You could taste the lingering sweetness of your cocktail on your lips, a fruity concoction that was deceptively potent, its effects buzzing pleasantly through your veins. Seated comfortably in the plush leather seats, the polished wood table in front of you was littered with empty glasses and half-finished cocktails from the past hour’s celebration. A bottle of champagne stood in the center, its neck adorned with a thin layer of condensation, glistening in the low light.

Your eyes drifted to the hookah in the center of the table. Elain, her face serene, took an expert drag, the smoke curling elegantly from her lips as she leaned back. Her ease with the hookah wasn’t surprising; you’d seen her with a cigarette more often than not these days. 

Around the booth, your friends were caught up in the joy of winning this evening’s game. Feyre and Elain were deep in conversation with Nesta and Gwyn, their faces alight with excitement. Emerie and Mor were dancing nearby, their movements fluid and carefree, drawing appreciative glances from those around them. Tarquin and Helion were engaged in a lively conversation, their gestures becoming more expressive with each drink. Tarquin seemed to glow under the club lights, his easy smile infectious. Helion, with his rich, dark hair and striking presence, seemed to catch eyes from all over, even while seated at the booth.

Despite the lively atmosphere, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach. It had been a little over a month since Tarquin sprained his ankle, leading to your encounter with Rhysand and Azriel. Since then, you'd been avoiding them, wary of getting too close or being alone with either of them; you were afraid of what you might do if you did. But tonight, they were impossible to ignore. You couldn't help but steal glances at them, the memories vivid and intrusive. Their presence was magnetic, drawing your eyes despite yourself, and you felt a pang of guilt each time you were caught looking.

Rhysand, in a black button-down with the first few buttons undone, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest, was lounging on the opposite side of the rounded booth. His piercing gaze occasionally met yours, making your stomach flip each time. You couldn't help but recall the feel of his toned, firm chest flush against yours that day in the locker room. And Azriel, dressed in a fitted dark grey shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders — the shoulders you’d seen tensing in the moments before he caught you watching, the ones you dug your nails into not 20 minutes later — stood leaned against the edge of the booth with his arms crossed. His hazel eyes were unreadable but no less intense.

Cassian’s laughter in your ear anchored you as your thoughts began to wander.

Noticing your tension, Tarquin placed his hand on your thigh. His warm touch rested against the skin left bare by your miniskirt. "You good?" he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the club’s noise, concern evident in his eyes. You nodded, offering him a reassuring smile, though it felt more like a grimace. The concern on his face didn't fully fade, but he let it go, returning to his conversation with Helion. His hand remained on your thigh.

Emerie and Mor returned from the dance floor just as the server arrived with another round of drinks. They squealed in delight, grabbing two fruity cocktails from the tray, their laughter bubbling over as they toasted to perfect timing. Mor, followed by Emerie, plopped down next to Azriel, her golden curls glowing in the club lights. The sudden movement caused Helion, then everyone else, to scoot over, filling the booth to capacity.

The table erupted into easy banter. Stories were swapped, each more outrageous than the last, and laughter rang out freely. Jokes flew back and forth, drawing everyone into the lively exchange.

“Did anyone catch Challengers last weekend?” Feyre asked, leaning back with a grin. The buzz of conversation dipped for a moment as she spoke.

Gwyn’s eyes lit up. “Yes, oh my God — it was wild!” she blurted out, her excitement making her words tumble out rapidly, the memory of the film still fresh and vivid.

Cassian leaned in. “Isn't that the one with the tennis players who all end up...?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, drawing laughter from around the table. 

“Yeah, there’s a pretty light threesome scene,” Nesta smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “The two guys end up making out.” Her tone was casual, but the corner of her lips quirked up.

“Them making out wasn’t even the best part,” you cut in, “it was the sexual tension between them. So hot.”

Mor grinned mischievously. “What do you all think about that kind of arrangement? Threesomes, I mean, not tennis.” She looked around the table with a teasing smile.

Azriel, leaning comfortably against the booth, took a long pull from his beer, hiding a smirk. 

“Eh, I’ve thought about it,” Feyre shrugged, “but I think I'd rather focus my attention on one person. Quality over quantity, you know? Maybe at some point though, I won’t rule it out entirely.” Her fingers absently traced patterns on the condensation of her glass. Her eyes darted briefly to Rhysand, a private, knowing look passing between them. You caught the exchange, your gaze lingering on Rhysand until he met your eyes. Your brows furrowed slightly, suspicion and curiosity crossing your face. He only shrugged, though you could tell it was an effort for him to keep his lip from twitching up into a smirk.

Nesta’s eyes glinted as she spoke. "Could be fun, if the mood strikes. Why not?" Her casual demeanor contrasted sharply with the weight of her words.

“You all already know where I stand on that." Helion’s smooth voice cut through the momentary lull in conversation, audible even above the pulsing beat of the club music and the buzz of surrounding patrons.

Tarquin tapped his fingers lightly on the polished wood, a teasing glint in his eyes as he looked about the table. “It’s all about finding the right balance.” His tone was playful, yet thoughtful, reflecting his careful consideration of the topic. 

Cassian, who had been jovially participating in the discussion, suddenly tensed beside you. His eyes darted to Tarquin's hand, then back to your face. 

With deliberate casualness, Cassian pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your shoulders. "Speaking of balance," he interjected, his voice light but with an undercurrent of challenge, only loud enough for you three to hear, "I think we’re tipping a bit too far into the ‘friendly’ side of things, don’t you?" His gaze pointedly dropped to Tarquin's hand.

Tarquin, ever smooth, simply smiled and gave your thigh a gentle squeeze before removing his hand. "No harm in a little friendliness," he responded, his tone light but eyes sharp, meeting Cassian's stare with a hint of amusement. The tension lingered for a moment before dissipating into the background noise of the club.

Rhysand finally spoke up, his voice smooth and casual. “Sometimes the most… intense experiences come when you least expect them,” he said, his gaze briefly meeting yours before shifting to Azriel. “Wouldn’t you agree, Az?” He only nodded in response, taking another swig of his beer.

As the conversation moved on, you caught Mor’s gaze traveling between the three of you, her expression unreadable behind her glass. You recalled that day in the locker room, her sharp eyes taking in your damp hair, the pointed questions at karaoke night. "Nothing happened," you'd insisted, but her skeptical look had spoken volumes. The unspoken warning hung in the air – if there was something to tell Cassian, you'd better do it before she found out.

Now, watching Mor's subtle scrutiny, you felt that familiar knot of unease tighten in your stomach. Her suspicions, it seemed, were far from laid to rest.

“I’ll go get us another round of shots,” you spoke over the music. A chorus of voices erupted, overlapping in their enthusiasm.

“Fireball!” (“No!”)

“Fruit loop shots!”

“How about gummy bear shots?”

With a roll of your eyes and a playful smirk, you cut through the chaos. “Alright, I’ll get a mix of those. Be right back.”

You slid out of the booth, and though most returned to their conversations, you felt the weight of eyes on you as you made your way to the bar. The crowd pulsed around you, bodies moving in sync with the music, but your mind was elsewhere. The knot of unease tightened with every step. 

At the bar, you flagged down the bartender, who greeted you with a dazzling smile. “What can I get you?”

“Can I get ten green tea shots, eight fruit loop shots, and eight gummy bear shots?” you replied, leaning in so he’d hear you over the thumping music.

He nodded, setting to work with practiced ease. As you waited, you glanced back at your friends but found yourself face-to-face with a broad, muscular chest.

“Want to let me in on what Rhysand was talking about?” Helion’s voice was smooth and teasing, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked down at you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to sound casual despite the rush in your ears. If he’d picked up on it, who else might have noticed? Had Cassian just hidden it well?

“Relax,” he laughed lowly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. His hand was so large it wrapped over your shoulder, its warmth both reassuring and intimidating. “I don’t think anyone else caught it. But now you’ve got to explain what ‘it’ is, (y/n)…”

“No, seriously, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Rhys is drunk,” you say, surprisingly convincingly. Must have been the liquid courage. 

“Yes he is. And Rhys is an honest drunk, so wouldn’t you like for me to get him into an Uber before he…?”

You both fell silent, the thumping bass and clinking glasses of the club filling the void. The music was a distant roar, and the chatter around you felt like a heavy blanket, smothering the words you couldn’t quite say.

“This is extortion,” you say flatly. 

“I’m just looking out for you,” he said, a sly grin playing on his lips. “If you shed some light on this for me, I’ll make sure nothing slips that you don’t want slipping. Scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

You’d love to scratch that back. 

“What do you think he meant…?” You were trying to gauge how much you should reveal. 

“I know what he meant. I’m not stupid, and I’m not drunk yet. I want to hear you say it.”

Rhysand directed his question at Azriel, making eye contact with you as he did. Anyone with half a brain who caught that look would know what he meant.

“If you already know then there’s no use in me saying it.”

“Then I don’t know. I only have a suspicion that needs confirming,” he smirked. 

“… We did…” Your words were hardly audible, but it didn’t matter because he pressed. 

“‘We did’ what?”

With a roll of your eyes and a glance back at the booth, you loosed a sigh. The words came out almost in a whisper. “We fucked.”

“When?”

“A month or so ago. When Tarquin sprained his ankle.”

“That’s why you took so long with my phone,” a voice cut in, the tone somehow both cool and accusatory. Tarquin. 

You whipped your head around to face him but froze. When had he gotten behind you? How had you not noticed? You’d been facing the booth the entire time!

“I figured something was up when Cass looked pissed after you answered the phone. Once I heard you were stuck in the locker room with them? I mean, it practically writes itself, (y/n).” At the look on your face, he continued. “He doesn’t know, but he definitely suspects.”

Your heart pounded as you looked between Helion and Tarquin, trying to gauge their reactions. Both had a teasing glint in their eyes, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Why didn't you just tell me?" Tarquin asked, his voice laced with mock curiosity. "We could have had some fun with this."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. "Oh, shut up, it’s not like I meant for it to happen,” you muttered. 

Helion's hand, warm and solid, was still on your shoulder, his thumb absently tracing small circles that only added to your anxiety. “So, what now?" he asked, his tone playful. "Are you going to keep hiding it, or are you going to let us in on the fun?"

Before you could answer, the bartender returned with a tray laden with shots. “Here you go,” he said cheerfully, sliding the tray onto the bar. “Rhysand’s tab, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you muttered, grateful for the distraction. You reached for the tray, desperate for an excuse to leave this conversation behind, but Helion’s hand finally left your shoulder and closed over your own.

“I’ll carry these,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to pull your hand back, but he held firm, his grip gentle but unyielding. “Helion, please...”

“No, I’m a gentleman.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “We’re not done talking about this. But for now, let’s get these back to the table. We don’t want anyone to get suspicious, do we?”

Reluctantly, you let him take the tray. Tarquin’s eyes followed you as you turned back toward the booth, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

As you slid back into your seat, the conversation around the table picked up again, oblivious to the tension that had just unfolded. Cassian’s arm found its way back around your shoulders, his laughter a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside you.

Helion placed the tray in the center of the table, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Shots, anyone?” he called out, his voice light and carefree. Hands from all around reached for them, liquid splashing out of glasses as they were pulled from the tray. 

“To a winning team, and good friends,” Cassian said, his voice warm. 

You forced a smile, lifting one of the glasses. “To good friends,” you said, your voice lost under everyone else’s.

The glasses clinked together, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be swept up in the revelry. But as you drank, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep up this charade, and what would happen when it all came crashing down. 

Helion leaned closer to Cassian, who was engaged in an animated conversation with Eris, of all people. "Mind if I steal her for a dance?" Helion asked, his tone light but dripping with suggestion.

Cassian glanced at you, then back at Helion, a playful but knowing grin on his face. "Go ahead," he said, his voice tinged with possessive amusement. "Just make sure you bring her back in one piece."

Helion circled the table and extended his hand to you, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. “Shall we?”

You hesitated for a moment before taking his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. As he led you to the dance floor, you glanced back at Cassian, who was now fully absorbed in his conversation with Eris.

The music pulsed around you, a steady beat that thrummed in your chest. He pulled you close, his hands resting lightly on your waist. You felt a bit tense, the events from earlier still lingering in your mind.

"Relax," Helion murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "We’re here to have a good time."

You nodded, trying to let go of your unease. Gradually, you began to sway with the rhythm, allowing yourself to get lost in the music. Helion’s touch was gentle but confident, guiding you with subtle movements. As you became more comfortable, your body moved more fluidly with his.

"That’s it, good girl," Helion murmured, his voice a soothing contrast to the thumping music.

The dance grew more intimate as he pulled you closer, his hands resting lower on your back. The closeness created a warm, almost electric tension between you. You found yourself responding to his movements, your bodies moving in sync.

Just then, Tarquin appeared beside you, slipping his arm around your waist. The sudden addition of his presence made the dance even more intense. Tarquin's proximity pressed you snugly between the two of them.

“Mind if I join in?” Tarquin’s voice was low, a playful edge to his tone.

You felt a flicker of anxiety and glanced around, briefly searching for Cassian. Instead, your gaze locked onto Eris, who stood at the edge of the dance floor. His eyes met yours for a moment, his expression unreadable but carrying a smirk that made your pulse quicken. As quickly as it came, the moment was gone. Tarquin gently turned your face back toward him, your chin in his grasp. “Hey, stay with us,” he said, his voice reassuring.

You relaxed slightly as their combined presence guided you through the dance. “Is this how you usually dance with someone?” you asked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Only when they’re as stiff as a board,” Tarquin replied with a chuckle. “You’re doing great, though.”

Helion smirked, his hand lingering on your hips as he moved in rhythm with you. “He’s right. And I’d say you’re better than anyone we’ve danced with tonight.”

You let out a soft laugh, trying to shake off the last of your nerves. “Well, I guess I have good company.”

Tarquin leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “If you keep this up, I might just want to keep you between us all night.” His words sent a shiver down your spine. 

Before you could look back at him in shock, Helion’s fingers tightened their grip, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, Tarquin. You might make her think she’s the center of the universe.”

With an arched brow, you looked at Helion and retorted with a playful smirk, “Well, aren’t I?”

Tarquin leaned closer to the man at your front. “You know, Helion” he murmured, “being the center of attention isn’t so bad. Especially when the attention comes from us.” Sensing the opportunity, he brought his lips to your ear. “If you keep that smile going, we might just find a few more ways to keep you entertained.”

You felt a flutter of anticipation, caught between the two of them as they moved against you. Helion’s touch was confident, and Tarquin’s words were a tantalizing promise of what might come next. You couldn’t help but feel drawn deeper into the flirtatious dance they were orchestrating.

Helion’s hands roamed slowly over your waist as he drew you closer, his touch electrifying against your skin. His lips grazed your ear, his voice a sultry whisper. “You’re doing a great job of keeping us entertained.”

You shivered at the sensation of their combined presence, their touches becoming increasingly intimate. Their movements were fluid, guiding you into a rhythm that was both exhilarating and intense. Helion’s grip tightened, pulling you against him as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple. “You feel so good like this,” he said softly.

You could feel the rising heat and the tantalizing pressure of their bodies against yours. The music seemed to fade away, leaving only the intense connection between the three of you. Each touch and whisper only deepened the charged atmosphere, making it hard to think of anything but the electric sensation of their attention.

After what felt like an eternity of heated dancing, you began to feel a wave of dizziness. You needed air. Sensing your discomfort, Tarquin and Helion exchanged a knowing look.

Tarquin’s hand found yours, his touch gentle but firm. “Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggested, his voice a soothing contrast to the earlier heat.

Helion nodded in agreement, slipping an arm around you for support. “We know just the place.”

Guiding you through the crowd, they led you toward a quieter area. They approached a security guard stationed at the door to the stairs leading to the rooftop terrace. The guard eyed the VIP bands on your wrists and let you all through without a word. As you ascended the stairs, Helion slipped the guard a generous tip, murmuring, “Don’t let anyone else up.”

As you reached the rooftop, the cool night air hit you like a refreshing breeze, cutting through the lingering heat from the club. The city lights stretched out before you, their twinkle a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos below.

Tarquin and Helion led you to a corner of the terrace. The space was elegantly furnished with plush seating and low tables, providing a serene escape from the pulsating energy inside.

Tarquin gestured to a comfortable chaise lounge. “Here, sit down. You look like you could use a minute.”

You took a seat, grateful for the respite. Helion moved to a nearby table and poured you a glass of cool water from a pitcher. “This should help,” he said with a reassuring smile as he handed it to you.

The chill of the water was soothing, and you drank it down eagerly, feeling the dizziness start to subside. Tarquin settled down beside you, his proximity warm and comforting, while Helion took a seat on the other side, his gaze flicking between you and the cityscape.

“So, how are you feeling now?” Tarquin asked, his voice soft.

“Much better, thanks,” you replied, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. “I just needed a break.”

Helion leaned back, a casual, knowing smile on his lips. “You know, fresh air is nice, but it’s even better with the right company.” He glanced at you with a twinkle in his eye.

Tarquin tilted his head, his grin more genuine. “And I think I recall you saying we’re wonderful company.”

Still looking straight ahead, you replied, “I don’t know about wonderful; I think the word I used was ‘good.’”

Helion’s smile widened. “I’d say ‘good’ is an understatement. Let us prove it to you,” his smile turned into a smirk. “We could make this night a lot more interesting.”

You turned to face him, your eyes flashing with a mix of resolve and irritation. You had given them the benefit of the doubt when they danced with you, assuming it was just the heat of the moment or perhaps a bit of playful flirtation. But now that you were alone with them on the terrace… You had sensed the shift the moment they suggested stepping away from the crowd, their casual touches and lingering glances all hinting at an underlying agenda.

“No, I’m not interested,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the cool night air as you turned to face Tarquin on your other side. “I came up here for some air, not to be part of a game.” The words came out sharper than you intended.

Tarquin’s grin faltered slightly but then softened as he leaned in, his voice gentle but persistent. “You’ve been with Rhys and Az. We’re all here, and it seems a shame to waste the opportunity when we’re all just looking for a good time.”

The comment hit you hard, a sting of anger flaring up. “A good time?” you echoed, disbelief lacing your voice. “You think just because I’ve been with them, you’re somehow entitled to your turn? I don’t owe you anything.”

Helion stepped in, his expression a mix of charm and a hint of irritation. “We’re not trying to make you feel pressured,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Tarquin. “We’re just offering you a chance to enjoy the night with us.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not interested in being part of some game or fulfilling some sort of quota. I’m not going around sleeping with everyone on the team just because they’re interested. If that were the case, this would’ve all been over and done with years ago when you all seemed to lose the ability to keep your mouths shut and be respectful of Cassian and I’s relationship.”

Helion shrugged. “We’re not trying to force anything. Just… We’re here, and you’re here. It could be fun, that’s all.”

Tarquin’s tone grew more earnest. “If you’re not into it, that’s fine. But don’t act like it’s a big deal. We’re just having fun, same as everyone else.”

You took a deep breath, holding your ground. “Two other people are not ‘everyone else.’ I’m not about to give in just because you think you have a right to it.”

Tarquin’s expression softened further, a mix of frustration and something like sympathy in his eyes. “I get that. I really do. But we’re all adults here, and it’s not like we’re asking for anything serious. Just one night.”

He slid his hand to your thigh, the touch lingering with a slow, deliberate caress. The heat from his palm contrasted sharply with the cool night air. His touch was just as it had been in the booth, but now, with Cassian absent, there was no one to reprimand his advances.

Helion, sensing the slight crack in your resolve, leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone. “You’re overthinking it. It’s just us here, and we’re not asking for anything more than what you’re willing to give. It’s not about entitlement; it’s about enjoying each other.” His hand grazed your shoulder lightly, pushing your hair to the side. His proximity heightened the tension between you all. The warmth of his breath against your ear as he spoke made it hard to ignore the growing desire within you.

You felt the weight of their combined pressure, the playful but persistent charm starting to chip away at your defenses. Despite yourself, you began to question if it was worth fighting against this particular tide. The idea of one more night of reckless indulgence, without any deeper expectations, seemed to blur the line between wrong and thrilling.

You sighed, a conflicted look crossing your face. “I just don’t want to be treated like a prize to be won or a notch on a belt.”

Tarquin’s tone grew more soothing. “We’re not treating you like that. We just thought you might enjoy it. But if you’re not up for it, we can drop it. No hard feelings.”

Helion nodded, his gaze steady and reassuring. “We just want to make sure you’re having as much fun as we are. There’s no pressure.”

You hesitated, the words of their argument settling in your mind. Though part of you was still set on holding firm, you weren’t blind to the coercion in their tone. Of course there was pressure, they’d been pressuring you the whole time. However true, the temptation was hard to ignore. The night was young, and despite your reservations, the allure of a reckless escape with them was incredibly enticing.

You took a deep breath, weighing the tension in the air against your growing desire. You glanced at both Tarquin and Helion, a mix of defiance and resignation in your eyes. 

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. “But if I do this, it stays between us. No talking about it, no bragging. Just... tonight. Agreed?”

Tarquin’s eyes lit up with a mix of relief and excitement. “Absolutely,” he said quickly, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Helion nodded in agreement, his eyes darkening. “We won’t say a word.”

The air between you shifted, the unspoken agreement hanging heavy. Tarquin leaned closer, the hand on your thigh rubbing and squeezing. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, heightening the anticipation.

Helion’s hand slid to your lower back, his touch both firm and gentle. “You sure you want this?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves and excitement. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m sure.”

The three of you were enveloped in the dim light of the terrace, the cool air and their hands roaming over your body raised goosebumps across your skin as they explored with a mix of gentleness and urgency. Every caress was a mix of gentleness and urgency, heightening the anticipation as the city lights below seemed to blur into insignificance.

Tarquin’s lips found yours first, his kiss slow and exploratory. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his tongue traced the contours of your mouth. The kiss deepened, his lips moving with a controlled passion that made your heart race. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering intensity.

“God, you’re stunning,” Tarquin murmured, his voice low and husky. He let his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him. His touch was warm and possessive, sending shivers through you.

Helion, observing with a burning gaze, slid his hands to your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you toward him. As you shifted, he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips grazing your skin in a teasing manner. His hands traveled down your arms, fingers lightly grazing your skin before finding the curve of your hips.

Tarquin’s hands slipped beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. With a playful grin, he shifted you onto his lap, your legs straddling him. His hands explored your back, fingers dancing over your skin as he leaned in to kiss you again, more urgently this time. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, trailing soft bites and kisses that made you gasp.

“You feel incredible,” Tarquin breathed against your skin. 

Helion’s hands were now roaming over your sides, his touch firm but tender as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “What a perfect girl, just for us,” he said, his breath hot against your skin. His lips brushed against the edge of your ear as he placed soft kisses along your jawline.

The two of them worked in tandem, their touches synchronized and perfectly attuned to your responses. Helion’s hands found their way to your chest, fingertips lightly grazing your curves, while Tarquin’s lips continued to worship your neck and shoulders. He would occasionally lift his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with admiration and hunger.

Tarquin’s hands moved from your thighs to your hips, guiding you to move against him as he pulled you closer. His grip tightened slightly, his touch conveying both dominance and affection. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. Helion’s hands were equally attentive, tracing the lines of your body with meticulous care. His lips followed the path his fingers traced, placing lingering kisses that made you shiver with pleasure.

You moaned softly as their touches and kisses ignited your senses, but a playful glint appeared in your eyes. You arched your back slightly, pushing against Tarquin’s chest, and let out a breathy laugh. “So, is this how you two always work your charm? Sweet talk and flattery?”

Tarquin’s lips curled into a smirk, his breath warm on your neck as he whispered, “Only when it’s truly deserved. And believe me, you’re worth every word.”

Helion’s hands paused momentarily as he looked into your eyes, his expression both mischievous and earnest. “I thought you’d appreciate the honesty,” he said, his voice smooth. 

You arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips as you met Helion’s gaze. “Honesty, huh? Seems like you both have a knack for turning compliments into a game.”

“Well, if the game’s as enjoyable as this, who are we to complain?” Tarquin’s grin widened, his hands still exploring your back with a touch that was both gentle and possessive.

Helion leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “It’s not just about the words. It’s about making you feel as incredible as you look.”

You shivered at the sensation, the mix of his breath and his touch sending jolts of pleasure through you. “And if I call you out on it?” you challenged, your voice teasing despite the breathless quality it carried.

Tarquin’s fingers danced over your hips, his eyes never leaving yours. “Call us out all you want. We’re still here, giving you exactly what you want.” He ground you down harder onto himself, and you felt the hard outline of his cock through the fabric of his pants. “You do want this, don’t you?” You nod in response.

“Mhm, want it so bad,” you murmur before crashing your lips back onto his. The two of them continued their relentless pursuit of pleasure, their hands and mouths finding new ways to torment you. The atmosphere on the terrace grew more charged with every passing second, your body caught in a whirlwind of sensation. Tarquin’s hands were warm and commanding, his touch making every part of you throb with need. Your shared kiss was deep and demanding as he guided your movements with a blend of passion and control.

Helion’s hands were relentless, his touch exploring every curve of your body with a mix of urgency and reverence. He leaned in to press kisses along your collarbone, his lips brushing against your skin with a teasing, hot breath. His voice was a velvety whisper in your ear, his words a mix of praise and persuasion. “You’re doing so well, so good for us. You’re exactly what we wanted.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down to cup your breasts, his fingers gently kneading and teasing. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, every touch making you writhe against Tarquin’s body. “You like that, don’t you?” Helion’s voice was dripping with both admiration and a hint of something darker.

The edge of humiliation combined with the praise made your cheeks flush, your head spinning with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. “Yes,” you gasped into Tarquin’s mouth, “I like it, I want it.”

Tarquin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you as he rolled his own body against yours. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “Tell us how much you want it.”

“Mmm, I want it so badly,” you moaned against his lips, your words barely audible as you ground down on him. The friction was almost unbearable, your body a hot, trembling mess of desire.

Helion’s hands roamed lower, his fingers sliding under your skirt and between your legs, teasing and stroking with practiced ease. He pressed a finger against your clothed clit, his touch sending electric jolts through your body. “Look at you,” he said with a smirk, “so eager, so ready for us. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Your response was a breathless, needy whimper, your body arching into his touch. “Yes, I’m a good girl.”

As the intensity of their touch grew, so did your need for more. Tarquin’s hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you with an almost reverent touch. His kisses were feverish, trailing down your neck and shoulders, his breath warm and urgent against your skin.

Helion’s fingers deftly worked you to the edge of pleasure. Just as you threw your head back in pleasure, he stole your lips into a kiss with a fierce hunger as his touch grew more insistent. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re making us both so proud.”

The mix of their touches was almost too much to bear, your body quivering with need as they continued their relentless pursuit. Tarquin’s hands slid to your thighs, spreading your legs further apart to allow Helion better access. The air was thick with the sound of your moans and their encouraging praise, every sound heightening the intensity of the moment.

Finally, the need for release became too much to contain. The tension in your body reached its peak, and with a final, shuddering cry of pleasure, you came undone. Helion’s hands continued their relentless work, Tarquin’s grip on you tighter than ever as you experienced an intense, mind-blowing climax.

The overwhelming pleasure of your climax still rippling through you, Helion didn’t waste a moment. He guided you gently but firmly, easing you off Tarquin’s lap and settling you on his own. Your back pressed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, his grip both possessive and reassuring. You felt his hardened arousal pressing against your back as he adjusted your position.

“Sit up and lean back,” Helion instructed softly, his breath hot against your ear as he pulled your skirt up to your waist. “Tarquin’s going to taste you now.” You complied, your legs parting as Helion held you steady, guiding your legs open wider, exposing you completely. Tarquin wasted no time, finding his way to your most sensitive spots. He nosed over the thin fabric covering your cunt, inhaling your scent deeply. With a whine, you tried to look away, but Helion chastised you, telling you that good girls watched the person making them feel good, and you’re a good girl, right?

You looked back in time to see Tarquin pulling your underwear off slowly, kissing his way down one leg, and kissing his way back up the other. You watched him give Helion the soaked-through flimsy bit of cloth, then threw your head back into Helion’s chest with a choked gasp as he licked a stripe up your center. 

His tongue moved with practiced skill, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You moaned, your hands gripping Helion’s thighs for support as Tarquin’s mouth worked its magic.

Helion’s hands roamed your body, his touch both commanding and adoring. “Be good,” he murmured, his voice low and dominant. “Hold your legs open for Tarquin. Show him how much you want this.”

You adjusted your position, holding your legs apart as instructed. Helion’s hands traveled over your torso, fingers lightly grazing your skin and heightening every sensation. His voice was a mixture of praise and filth. “Look at you, all exposed and eager. Tell him how much you need him,” Helion demanded, his voice rough with desire. “Tell him what a good girl you are, that you’re here to make him feel amazing.”

You gasped out your responses, the pleasure from Tarquin’s mouth mingling with Helion’s dominant words. “I need you so much, Tarquin,” you moaned. “I’m a good girl, I’ll do whatever I can to make you both feel good.”

Tarquin’s eyes flicked up to meet yours as he continued his relentless work, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Helion’s hands roamed over your body with an almost worshipful touch, his words a mix of admiration and explicit praise.

“You’re doing so well,” Helion continued, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re making us both so proud. Stay like this, just for us.” As Tarquin’s tongue continued its relentless, pleasurable assault, Helion’s grip tightened around you. “Make sure she feels every bit of your attention. I want to hear her scream for you.” His voice was commanding, and laced with an underlying menace.

Tarquin’s eyes flicked up to meet Helion’s, a glimmer of challenge and excitement in his gaze. He intensified his efforts, his tongue moving with greater urgency, the pleasure he gave you unmistakable.

Large hands roamed over your body from behind, guiding you with deliberate touches, but his gaze remained fixed on Tarquin. “You’re doing well, Tarquin, so good for us. But if she comes before I say so, you won’t be finishing tonight. Understand?”

Tarquin’s nod was firm, a mix of eagerness and a hint of defiance in his expression. He focused even more intently on you, his mouth working skillfully to elicit every possible reaction from you. The pleasure was building rapidly, each flick of his tongue drawing the most beautiful, shameless sounds from your lips. Helion’s voice dropped to a low, teasing growl. “Show her how much you want this. Don’t hold back. Make sure she knows just how lucky she is to have us both.”

The pleasure was overwhelming, a swirling vortex of sensation that made it impossible to think of anything but the two men driving you to the brink of ecstasy. Tarquin’s tongue was relentless, each stroke deliberate and calculated, as if he were determined to prove himself under Helion’s watchful eye.

Helion’s hand gripped your chin, tipping your head slightly so you were forced to watch Tarquin’s devotion. “Look at him on his knees,” Helion murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “See how desperate he is to please you? To prove he’s worthy? Tell him how good he’s making you feel. Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Your breath hitched at the command, but the words tumbled from your lips in a breathless moan. “Tarquin, you’re so good… so good at this.” Your praise seemed to spur him on, his efforts becoming even more fervent.

“And…?”

At that moment, Tarquin plunged two fingers into you. “And you’re a good boy— Fuck, you’re such a good fucking boy!” you practically sobbed.

Helion chuckled darkly, clearly pleased by your compliance. His hand slid down your body, his touch firm and possessive. “Don’t be rude, thank her.”

Tarquin’s groan vibrated against your core, his tongue still working its magic even as his eyes flickered up to meet Helion’s gaze. There was a fire in his eyes, determination and submission that made your pulse race when his eyes met yours. He pumped his fingers in and out as he spoke against you. “Thank you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You taste so good, so sweet… I want to make you feel everything, tell me how to make you feel good.”

He added a gentle, teasing bite to your thigh, his tone turning possessive but still with a hint of deference, as he met your gaze again. "I’ll give you everything you need, whatever you want, just say the word." His words were meant for both of you.

Helion’s hand snaked down between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your clit with a teasing pressure. “Go ahead,” he told him with a knowing smile, and Tarquin’s eyes seemed to light up as he pulled his fingers out and dove back into you. A groan spilled out of you as his tongue worked, not at your dripping arousal, but further down, at the sensitive, puckered skin of your asshole.

Helion’s touch was maddeningly gentle as he continued to tease you, his fingers ghosting over your sensitive skin with a practiced ease. “You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice dark and sultry, “giving yourself to us like this. You’re a perfect girl, aren’t you? So ready for us.”

You moaned, the combination of Tarquin’s skilled tongue and Helion’s filthy words driving you to the edge. But you knew better than to let yourself go without permission. The thrill of holding back, of teetering on the brink while they pushed you to your limits, was almost as intoxicating as the pleasure itself.

Tarquin let out a deep, guttural sound of agreement, his efforts redoubling as he focused entirely on your pleasure. He was determined to draw out your ecstasy, to make you tremble with the need to come while obeying Helion’s command.

Helion’s hand continued to roam over your body, his touch both comforting and possessive. “You’re ours tonight,” he whispered against your temple. 

Your breath caught in your throat, your body quivering with the need to let go. “Please,” you begged, your voice trembling as they both worked you closer to the edge. “Please, I need to… I need to come.”

Helion’s grip on your chin tightened, forcing you to keep your eyes locked on Tarquin. “No,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not yet. You’ll come when I say, and not a moment before.”

Tarquin let out a groan of frustration against you but didn’t dare slow down. The denial of release made every flick of his tongue, every squeeze of his fingernails into your thighs, feel like a delicious torment. You were so close, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

Helion’s fingers brushed over your lips, and you instinctively parted them, taking them into your mouth. His smirk widened. “Good girl,” he purred. “But you’re getting a bit too loud — isn’t she getting too loud?” Tarquin’s nod was the only indication he heard him, because his movements never faltered. 

Without warning, the fingers in your mouth pulled your lips further apart, and you barely had a moment to process what was happening before he shoved your balled-up panties into your mouth, muffling your desperate moans. The taste of your own arousal on the fabric only heightened the humiliation, and you felt a fresh wave of heat pool in your core.

Tarquin’s eyes flared with lust as he watched, his breathing ragged. He didn’t let up for a second, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, poking and prodding and sucking at your hole, while Helion leaned down to nibble at the exposed edge of the panties now stuffed in your mouth. He inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in your scent. “Can’t wait to taste you on Tarquin’s tongue,” Helion growled, his voice dripping with dark desire. “You’re going to be so good for us, aren’t you?”

Your muffled cries of pleasure grew louder, your entire body shaking with the effort of holding back. Tarquin’s mouth was everywhere, licking and teasing, pushing you further to the brink until you were sure you couldn’t take it anymore. You were a trembling mess, teetering on the edge of bliss, but you knew you had to wait, had to endure until Helion decided you’d earned it. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge. Your mind swam in a sea of need as they both continued to push you further and further. The humiliation of the situation only added to your arousal, and you knew you were at their mercy, utterly helpless to resist. Every second felt like an eternity, the anticipation building to a crescendo that threatened to consume you entirely.

Your body was a trembling mess, the overwhelming need for release making it impossible to think of anything but the searing pleasure consuming you. Helion’s fingers rubbed you fervently, with more pressure and speed. Tarquin’s mouth was relentless, his tongue swirling and teasing you in a way that made your head spin. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his nails, sent you spiraling closer to the edge, your willpower slipping with every passing second.

Helion’s voice was a low, commanding growl in your ear. “Hold on just a little longer. You’re being so good for us.”

But the tension in your body was unbearable. Your moans were muffled by the panties stuffed in your mouth, but even that couldn’t silence the desperate, pleading sounds escaping you. The pressure was too much, the pleasure too intense, and despite Helion’s command, you felt yourself slipping.

Tarquin’s tongue found that perfect spot and everything inside you unraveled. Your body bucked against him, a muffled scream of ecstasy escaping your lips as you came hard, the orgasm tearing through you with a force that left you trembling.

Helion’s eyes darkened instantly, his hand tightening on your chin as he realized what had happened. Tarquin paused for a moment, his eyes wide as he looked up at Helion, then back down at you, a mix of shock and concern flickering across his face. He knew you were in trouble now, but he didn’t dare move, his mouth still hovering close to you.

Helion’s grip on your chin was firm as he forced your head back to meet his gaze. “You disobeyed me,” he said, his voice calm but filled with an underlying threat. He pulled the panties from your mouth, letting them dangle from his fingers as he eyed you with a mix of disappointment and desire.“I told you not to come until I gave you permission, and you couldn’t even do that. What happened? Don’t you think that was selfish of you? Do you not want to be our perfect girl?”

You could only whimper in response, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. You didn’t know whether you should answer or hold your tongue, but when you opened your mouth to steady your breaths, he dropped the fabric onto the chaise and gripped your throat. It was just enough to make you gasp for breath, as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Since you couldn’t control yourself, we’re going to make sure you learn some restraint. And you’re going to thank us for it.”

He glanced down at Tarquin, who was still watching with concern and excitement, his eyes flickering with a strange kind of submission. “Keep going,” Helion ordered, his voice firm. “I didn’t say you could stop. But don’t give her your tongue. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Tarquin’s gaze met Helion’s, a silent understanding passing between them. Without hesitation, he moved his mouth away from your skin and positioned his fingers at your entrance. The slow, deliberate way he slid them inside you sent a shudder through your body, but it wasn’t enough—not after the climax you’d already stolen.

Helion’s grip on your throat tightened slightly, a warning, as his other hand moved to cover Tarquin’s, guiding the pace. Tarquin rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb, but the pressure was teasing, not nearly enough to push you back over the edge.

“You don’t get to come,” Helion growled in your ear, his tone harsh. “You’ll suffer through this until I say otherwise. Tarquin, make sure she feels everything—but don’t give her what she wants. Make her squirm.”

Tarquin’s fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made your back arch involuntarily, but just as quickly, he slowed down, drawing out your torture. His thumb circled your clit, the sensation driving you wild, but it wasn’t enough to bring you the relief you so desperately craved.

Helion’s dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you struggle, your body caught between the pleasure of Tarquin’s fingers and the denial of the orgasm you could feel building again. The hand that he’d had over Tarquin’s came firmly over your mouth, quieting you further. He leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek as he whispered, “You want to come, don’t you? You want it so badly… but you don’t deserve it yet.” Your muffled moans only grew louder. “You’re going to thank us for this later,” he said, a sadistic edge to his voice you’d never heard. “You’re going to learn what it means to be good.”

Tarquin’s fingers continued their relentless, teasing pace, keeping you right on the edge, but never letting you tip over. The frustration was overwhelming, every nerve in your body screaming for release, but you knew better than to disobey Helion’s command again. All you could do was writhe under their control, every inch of your skin tingling.

Tarquin’s fingers faltered for just a moment, his frustration evident as he looked up at you, then Helion, then back at you. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he muttered, his voice low and laced with a mix of annoyance and disappointment. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, but the movement was rougher now, more punishing than teasing. “I hope it was worth it,” he added, his tone cold. “Because now, you’ve made things a lot more difficult for both of us.” He withdrew his fingers just enough to make you whine in protest, then plunged them back in with a sharp thrust, his thumb rubbing against you in tight, controlled circles. “I was looking forward to feeling you come apart on my tongue,” he continued, the frustration clear in his voice.

Helion smirked, clearly enjoying the shift in Tarquin’s demeanor. “That’s right,” he murmured, his voice full of approval. “She doesn’t get to come just because she feels like it.”

Tarquin’s eyes darkened as he focused on you, his frustration at losing his own chance at orgasm fueling his actions as he continued to work you with his fingers. The sensation was intense, the pleasure building in maddening waves, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough to push you over the edge again.

“Do you see what happens when you don’t listen?” Tarquin growled, his thumb circling your clit with that same punishing pressure. “If you’d just been good… if you’d just followed the rules, you’d have everything you want by now. But instead…” His fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot with maddening precision, only to slow down again. “Instead you’re here, squirming, desperate, and unsatisfied.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, almost tender tone that contrasted sharply with the frustration in his actions. “Just listen to what we say, and you’ll get everything you want,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your chest. “Be good for us, and I’ll make sure you come so hard you’ll be begging for more. But if you can’t do that…” His fingers withdrew almost entirely before plunging back in with a hard thrust. “You’ll just keep losing out, won’t you?”

Helion’s eyes gleamed with a dark, amused light as he observed the dynamic between you and Tarquin. His hands roamed over your hips, giving a firm, possessive grip before he gently, yet firmly, moved you off of him. He guided you to the side, his hands leaving you with a deliberate, almost teasing touch. 

“Now, let’s see how well you can handle this,” Helion purred, his voice low and filled with a dangerous edge. He gestured toward the loveseat diagonal to the chaise with a commanding flick of his wrist. “Sit there.”

With a mix of frustration and anticipation, you obeyed, positioning yourself as instructed. Helion’s gaze followed you with a smirk, clearly enjoying the control he held over the situation. He turned his attention back to Tarquin, who was still kneeling on the floor before him, a hungry look in his eyes as he waited for Helion’s direction.

“Since you seem to have forgotten your manners, (y/n),” Helion said, his tone dripping with a mix of amusement and authority, “I think it’s only fair you watch us have our fun. After all, you’ve had your moment of pleasure.”

Your eyes widened as you took in his words, and again when he leaned closer to Tarquin, their faces almost touching as they shared a private moment of wickedly seductive conversation. Tarquin’s eyes were locked onto Helion’s, his expression one of fierce desire.

You could only watch, your frustration mingling with undeniable arousal, as Helion and Tarquin engaged in a mesmerizing display of passion and power. Each touch, each kiss, each groan of pleasure, was a reminder of what you were missing out on, and the sight of them together only heightened your longing for what you were being denied.

Helion’s eyes met yours briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Enjoy the show,” he said softly, his voice carrying a promise of more to come. “And remember, this is what happens when you don’t play by the rules.”

You pulled your skirt back down, the soft fabric smoothing against your thighs as you adjusted it nervously. The urge to leave was strong—one part of you screamed to escape this tantalizing torment. But as you remained in place, your gaze was magnetically drawn back to them, to Tarquin now climbing into Helion’s lap. The way their bodies moved together was mesmerizing.

Helion's dark eyes glittered with a blend of satisfaction and challenge as he pulled Tarquin closer, their bodies pressing together in a heated embrace. His fingers tangled in Tarquin’s hair, guiding their kisses with a possessive hunger. But Tarquin’s expression remained fierce, his grip on Helion’s hips assertive and unyielding. Despite Helion’s commanding presence, Tarquin's actions spoke of his own dominance, a constant push and pull of control.

Tarquin’s hands roamed over Helion’s body with a possessive edge. His fingers dug into Helion’s sides, pulling him closer, while his lips left a trail of heated kisses that spoke volumes about his own claims and desires. He was relentless, his movements calculated, his strength palpable. Even as Helion leaned into the pleasure, he met Tarquin’s intensity with a smirk, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. The physical clash between them was electric. Tarquin’s lithe but muscular frame contrasted with Helion’s broader build, their bodies weaving together in a dance of dominance and resistance. Helion's laughter was low, a sound of both approval and defiance, as Tarquin’s hands explored every inch of his body, making it clear that while Helion might lead, Tarquin was more than willing to fight for his share of control.

The breeze made their hair flutter, intertwining like threads of dark and light silk, adding to the primal beauty of their struggle for dominance. Tarquin’s fingers gripped Helion’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze as their breaths mingled. “You think you can control everything?” Tarquin murmured, his voice a dangerous mix of challenge and desire. “Prove it.”

Helion's smirk never wavered as he met the challenge head-on, his hands pushing back with equal fervor. “Always up for a challenge,” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence. 

As you watched, your thoughts wandered briefly. The intensity of their interaction made you wonder if you could ever convince Cassian to explore something like this. The idea was fleeting, a mere whisper in your mind, but the image of Cassian in a similar dance of power and desire with another man stirred something deep within you.

Helion's gaze met yours. "Look at you, so eager and yet so helpless," he said, his voice soft but laced with an edge of mockery. "You’ve got quite the view, don’t you? It’s a shame you can’t join in, but maybe that’s just the lesson you needed."

Tarquin chuckled softly, his hands still roaming over muscled planes as he looked back at you. "But don’t worry, we won’t forget about you," he said, his tone slightly softer, though still carrying a teasing note. "We’ll give you a chance to be good again—just as soon as we’ve had our fun."

Their bodies moved together with a seamless rhythm, each touch and thrust a testament to their shared control. Helion’s hands roamed confidently over Tarquin’s chest, tracing the contours of his muscles with a possessive touch. Tarquin responded with equal fervor, his own hands sliding over Helion’s back, pulling him closer as their hips ground together in a slow, deliberate dance.

The intensity of their connection was palpable. Helion’s lips found Tarquin’s neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin with a teasing bite. Tarquin’s breathing hitched, his eyes closing as he savored the sensation. They moved in unison, their bodies pressing together with dominance and intimacy. Without breaking their rhythm, Tarquin’s hands slipped down to his pants, deftly undoing them with practiced ease. He pulled out his cock, the sight of it making your eyes darken with lust. Helion, never missing a beat, did the same, exposing his own hardened length.

Tarquin wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, his grip firm and purposeful. He guided their movements, the friction of his hand creating a rhythm that was both intense and exhilarating. Helion moaned softly against his skin, his fingers digging into Tarquin’s shoulders as he matched the rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect harmony.

As their pleasure mounted, the focus shifted entirely between them, the external world fading away. Helion’s breath grew ragged, his hands gripping Tarquin’s hips with a desperate intensity. “Fuck,” Helion growled, his voice a rough whisper against the other’s ear. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough of you.”

Tarquin’s response was a deep, throaty moan, his hand still moving between them, guiding their rhythm. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice heavy with desire. “You know how much I love it when you’re like this. So intense, so fucking demanding.”

Helion’s eyes fluttered closed as he lost himself in the sensation, his hips driving harder against Tarquin’s hand. “Seeing you like this, giving it all to me…” he breathed, his voice a low rumble.

Tarquin’s grip tightened, a primal growl escaping him as he pushed into Helion with renewed vigor. “And you’re not the only one getting a show,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “Imagine how she’s watching us. She’s so fucking desperate, watching every move we make. And here we are, just enjoying each other, giving her a taste of what she can’t have.” The intensity between them grew, their bodies moving in a fevered dance of lust and dominance. Each kiss, each touch, was a testament to their mutual craving, their voices blending in a symphony of pleasure.

Helion’s climax hit with a shuddering breath, his head falling back as he released into Tarquin’s waiting hand, cupping over them to stop the mess. The muscles in his body tensed, his grip on Tarquin’s shoulders tightening as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Tarquin, still grinding against him, smirked as he felt Helion’s release spill over his fingers. He made a move to take himself over the edge, but Helion’s hand was suddenly on his chest, firm and commanding. “No,” Helion murmured, his voice breathless but authoritative.

With a frustrated growl that went straight to your already throbbing cunt, Tarquin collected the remnants of release. His gaze flicked to Helion, who leaned in close, whispering something into his ear. Whatever he said made Tarquin’s eyes light up with dark amusement, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

Without a word, Tarquin stood and walked over to where you sat, still bound by the torment of watching them together. “Open up,” he commanded, his voice soft but leaving no room for argument. Your eyes widened at the implication, but you obeyed, parting your lips.

Tarquin’s smile grew as he brought his hand closer to your mouth, but instead of what you expected, he reached for your discarded underwear. His eyes locked onto yours as he used the delicate fabric to clean his hand. Then, with a satisfied smirk, he shoved the now-damp underwear back into your mouth. “There,” he murmured, his voice low and mocking. “Hold on to that for us.”

Helion’s dark eyes traced the line of your body, his gaze intense as he watched you struggle with the fabric stuffed back into your mouth. He let the tension build for a moment before speaking, his voice low and smooth. “Are you ready to be good now?” he asked, the question laced with a promise that made your heart race.

You nodded eagerly, desperate to end the torment, your desire to please them both outweighing your earlier defiance. But Tarquin wasn’t about to let you off that easily. His hand gently tilted your chin up so you were forced to look into his eyes. “Use your words,” he said, his tone teasing but firm.

You tried to speak, but the underwear stuffed in your mouth muffled your response, turning your “Yes” into a barely intelligible sound. Tarquin’s lips curved into a sly smile, clearly amused by your predicament. “What was that?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

Helion chuckled softly from behind him as he walked over to you both, his amusement at the situation clear. “I think she’s ready,” he mused, his hand resting on Tarquin’s waist with a glint of anticipation in his eyes.

The anticipation was almost unbearable as they slowly exposed your skin to the night air, each touch sending sparks of desire through your body, their dominance palpable in every move they made. Tarquin’s lips ghosted over your breasts after he pulled the fabric of your flimsy little top underneath them, and Helion’s fingers toyed with your bare cunt when he hiked your skirt back up over your hips.

As their hands roamed over your body, a desperate yearning welled up inside you. The desire to kiss them, to taste their lips and share in their passion, was overwhelming. But the underwear stuffed in your mouth was a reminder of your place in this moment; you were to take what they gave you.

It was humiliating, the way they had taken away your ability to speak, to kiss, to express the longing that burned inside you. Yet, at the same time, it was intoxicating. The taste of Helion's cum on the fabric only heightened your arousal. You had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet so deeply connected to the heat of the moment. You wanted more—more of their touch, more of their dominance, and more of the delicious torment they were inflicting upon you. Your body trembled with the need to kiss them, to show them how much you wanted to please them, but all you could do was whimper softly, your gaze pleading for mercy.

Helion’s fingers slid away from your cunt, leaving you achingly empty, but not for long. He exchanged a brief, heated glance with Tarquin, a silent agreement passing between them. Helion’s hands were firm as he guided you onto all fours, positioning you just where they wanted. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a small, foil packet. Even in the midst of your desperation, you shot him a pointed look as you let the soaked fabric fall from your lips.

“Are you kidding me? You’re such a guy,” you said, “no way you carry a condom in your wallet.”

Helion’s lips curved into a smirk as he tore open the packet. “Always prepared,” he replied, not missing a beat. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint, would I?”

Tarquin chuckled, shaking his head as he moved to your front, his fingers trailing up your spine. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, even now. Let’s see if we can put it to better use.”

As Helion rolled the condom on, Tarquin gently coaxed your head down, guiding you to take him into your mouth. The feeling of his hard length against your lips sent a thrill through you, and as you obediently opened up for him, you felt Helion’s hands spreading your thighs wider.

The anticipation built to a fever pitch as Helion positioned himself at your entrance, his cock pressing against your slick heat. As Tarquin’s cock slid past your lips, filling your mouth completely, the dual sensation of being taken from both ends sent a shiver of pleasure through your body. Their dominance was overwhelming, making every nerve in your body hum with a primal need.

As Helion slowly slid into you, the stretch and fullness made your breath hitch, every inch a reminder of how long you had waited for this moment. “You waited so patiently for us,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Watching us, being such a good girl… you deserve this.”

Tarquin’s fingers threaded through your hair, gently guiding your movements as you took him deeper into your mouth. “Sitting so pretty, waiting for your turn,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of affection and amusement. “Loved seeing you watch us… so eager, so desperate to join in.”

Tarquin’s grip on your hair tightened slightly, holding you still as Helion leaned in closer. “We’re not going to fuck you yet,” Helion murmured, his voice teasingly soft. “If you want it, you’re going to have to work for it.”

The words sent a jolt through you, a mix of frustration and anticipation. They held you in place, their bodies perfectly still, forcing you to take the lead. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips back against Helion and taking Tarquin deeper into your mouth. Every motion was deliberate, each shift of your body a silent plea for more. Their eyes were locked on you, watching with dark satisfaction as you worked for every bit of pleasure, proving just how much you craved them.

As you picked up the pace, your movements became more urgent. You could feel the heat building inside you, the rhythm of your hips matching the rhythm of your mouth working around Tarquin’s cock. Each time you emptied your mouth of Tarquin, you rocked back onto Helion, the sensation of being filled made your body shudder with pleasure.

Helion's breathy, approving moans mingled with Tarquin's low growls of satisfaction. “Look at you, taking us so well,” Helion’s voice was thick with desire, his hand gripping your hip to guide your movements. “Such a good little slut, working hard for our pleasure.”

Their praise was as pleasure-inducing as the physical sensations, each comment driving you to push harder, to take more. You hollowed your cheeks around Tarquin’s cock, drawing him deeper into your throat as you squeezed the muscles in your cunt, tightening around Helion. The moment you tightened around them, they both reacted instinctively, their bodies moving with a newfound intensity. Tarquin’s eyes widened with approval, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrust into your mouth, while Helion’s fingers dug into your hips, pulling you down onto him with a fierce, commanding rhythm. Helion’s thrusts were hard and relentless, each motion sending waves of pleasure through you, while Tarquin’s movements became more aggressive, pushing deeper into your mouth with each stroke. The forceful rhythm of their fucking matched the desperate speed of your movements, each thrust and grind creating a symphony of pleasure and raw need.

Their groans of pleasure filled the room, mingling with your muffled cries of ecstasy. You could feel every powerful thrust, every commanding grip, as they took you with wild abandon. The sensation of being used by both men at once left you trembling and gasping for breath between their merciless, demanding movements. 

“That’s it,” Tarquin growled primally, his voice filled with raw desire. “Look at you, working so hard for us. You’re our pretty cocksleeve, taking both of us so well.”

Helion’s breathy, approving moans punctuated the air as he watched you. “Feel how she’s squeezing around you? She’s not just taking it; she’s giving us everything she’s got.” His hand gripped your hip, giving him purchase for his unrelenting pace. “She’s our perfect plaything, proving herself with every thrust. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Tell us how good it feels,” Tarquin urged, his voice a mix of dominance and genuine curiosity. “Let us hear it, tell us with my cock stuffed in this sweet little mouth. We want to know just how much you crave this.” Your rise in volume and the increased frequency of your gasps and moans reflected your enthusiasm — answer enough.

Helion’s gaze remained locked on you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re making us so proud,” he said softly, gruffly. “Just a little more, and we’ll give you everything you’ve been begging for. You’re so close, just keep going.”

Tarquin’s fingers tangled further in your hair, his grip tightening as he watched you struggle and delight in the dual pleasure. “We’re not stopping until you’re dripping with pleasure, sweetheart,” he growled, his tone promising both pleasure and punishment. “We want to see you come undone, completely ours. No one else’s.”

He knew what he was doing with the utterance of those words.

Completely ours.

No one else’s.

Fuck.

You continued to rock back and forth between them, driven not only by the intensity of their praise and the sensations but also by the reminder of what was going on downstairs — of who you came with. 

Helion’s voice was a low, satisfied growl. “She’s taking it so well,” he said, his gaze fixed on you. “It’s like she was made for this. Isn’t she the best little fuck toy we’ve ever had?”

Tarquin’s lips suddenly found Helion’s in a heated kiss, their mouths clashing in a fervent embrace. The sound of them kissing while they both took pleasure from you was almost more than you could handle. Their tongues tangled and teeth scraped together, the kiss fierce and passionate, mirroring the raw intensity of the moment.

The mingling of their mouths, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm with yours, only heightened the heat coursing through you. You could feel the vibrations of their moans, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Helion’s hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you to meet his thrusts, while Tarquin held your head in place, his cock filling your mouth to the hilt. The way they devoured each other, while simultaneously taking you, made every nerve in your body stand on edge.

Gasping for breath, you managed to pull off Tarquin’s cock for a moment, desperate to voice your need. “Please, hurry,” you moaned, your voice thick with urgency. “I need to get back—”

“No,” Tarquin responded, his voice a dark growl as he pulled you back down onto his cock. “We’re going to go at the pace we want. You’ll just have to keep up.”

Helion, still thrusting into you with measured force, chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s as they kissed. “But we wouldn’t want to arouse any suspicion, would we?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “If we’re gone for much longer, we might draw unwanted attention.”

Their kiss deepened, and their pace remained deliberate, every thrust and movement calculated. When Helion broke the kiss, his eyes glinted mischievously, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s ear as he addressed you. “Make him feel so good, sweetheart,” Helion commanded softly, his voice like velvet. “But remember, he’s not allowed to come yet. Don’t let him.”

You felt the tension in Tarquin’s body, the way his muscles tightened as you worked him with all the skill you could muster, knowing exactly how close he was. 

Helion's gaze never wavered from Tarquin as he continued to thrust into you, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You love this, don’t you, Tarquin? Feeling her warm mouth wrapped around you, so eager to please.” His hand slid down Tarquin’s chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. “But you’re going to hold on, aren’t you? No matter how good she makes you feel.”

Tarquin’s breath hitched, his grip on your hair tightening as he struggled to maintain control. Helion smirked, his words a delicious torment. “I bet you’re aching to let go, to fill her up, but you can’t. Not with your slip-up earlier.”

Tarquin’s growl was low and commanding, his voice steady despite the strain. “I’m not giving in that easily,” he muttered, his grip on your hair firm as he thrust deeper into your mouth. “I can hold out as long as I need to.”

Helion’s smirk widened, his gaze locked on Tarquin’s as he continued to thrust into you with calculated precision. “I don’t doubt your endurance, Tarquin,” he teased, his voice a seductive purr. “But with her working you so well, how long can you really last?”

Tarquin’s breath hitched, but he kept his control, his voice rough but steady. “I’m not losing it,” he insisted, though there was a hint of tension in his tone. “I can take whatever you make her give me.”

Helion chuckled softly, his breath warm against Tarquin’s skin. “You’re trembling, Tarquin,” he murmured with dark satisfaction. You moaned around his cock at the sound of that, bobbing your head fiercely. 

Tarquin’s control was fraying, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. “Helion…” he growled, his voice rough with need. “Fuck, I’m… I can’t—”

Helion silenced him with a deep, demanding kiss, his tongue teasing Tarquin’s as he continued to thrust into you. “Yes, you can,” he whispered against Tarquin’s lips. “And you will, because I want you to.”

Tarquin’s resolve finally broke, a deep, desperate groan escaping him as he thrust into your mouth with barely controlled force. “Please, Helion,” he rasped, the dominance in his tone now edged with raw need. “I can’t hold on much longer... just let me finish. I need it.”

Helion pulled back slightly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he considered Tarquin’s plea. “Oh, Tarquin,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Maybe I’m feeling a little generous tonight. But if you want to finish, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Tarquin’s breath caught, his eyes narrowing as he tried to regain some semblance of control. “What... what do you want?” You didn’t stop pleasuring him, pulling his pants down just a bit more to fondle his balls. 

Helion’s smile was all dark promise as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s ear. “Tell her,” he whispered, his voice a velvety command. “Tell her all the things you’ve thought about doing to her. All those times you’ve imagined fucking her. Like when we took that beach trip a few months ago, and you watched her tanning with Morrigan.”

Tarquin’s gaze flicked to you, the tension between his desire and his pride visible in the clench of his jaw. But Helion’s hold on him was too strong, the command too irresistible.

“I...” Tarquin began, his voice hoarse as he struggled to find the words. “That day... when you were lying there, skin all golden and glistening... I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck you right there on the sand. With everyone watching, knowing you were mine, watching me make you mine.”

Helion hummed in approval, his hand sliding lower on Tarquin’s chest, teasing the sensitive skin just above his waistband. “Good,” he purred. “Now tell her more. When else did you want her?”

Tarquin’s grip on your hair tightened as his memories flowed freely, the desperation in his voice mingling with the intensity of his confession. “Last New Year’s Eve, the party at Rhysand’s, when you wore that little black dress... I couldn’t stop imagining ripping it off you and bending you over the nearest table. Just taking you in front of everyone, making you scream my name.”

“Go on.”

“In the locker room,” he began, his breath hitching as he spoke, his words mixing with whines. “Cassian sent you in to grab his skates off the top shelf. You were wearing that little sundress… the one that rode up just enough when you reached for them. I was ready to take you right there, but then Eris got to you first.”

You remembered that day, remembered it well. The way Eris had slid up behind you, his hand low on your hip, grinding his hips into yours as he reached for the skates. You had loved the feeling of him pressing into you, shirtless with a pair of jeans that hugged his thighs just right, the heat of his body against yours making your breath catch.

“When Az and I were at your place with Cassian, just a few days ago…” Tarquin’s voice was ragged, almost trembling. “You came out of the bedroom in nothing but his t-shirt, no bra—fuck, I could see your nipples through the fabric. You were just after a snack, barely even saw us sitting there, and when you did, your face went all red. All I could think about was making some excuse to follow you back into that room, just taking you right there. I was hanging on by a thread, trying so damn hard not to lose it.”

Then Helion smirked, the corner of his lips curling up as he watched Tarquin’s desperation. "You’ve been a good boy, Tarquin," Helion purred, his voice thick with amusement and satisfaction. "Go ahead, let go. You've earned it."

As Helion’s permission washed over him, Tarquin’s breath caught, and he looked at you with a blend of tenderness and raw need. His voice softened, even as he was on the brink. “Is it okay if I shove my cock all the way down your throat? Hm? Come inside you?” he asked softly, his voice a beautiful blend of filthy and tender.

His eyes never left yours, and the desperation in his voice became more pronounced. “I can’t hold back much longer,” he groaned, his voice breaking with the intensity of his need. “I want to bury myself in your throat, fill you up completely. Feel you swallow all of me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

His grip on your hair tightened, and his eyes closed for a moment as he fought to reach his peak. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice growing more urgent, “let me come inside you. I need to feel your throat squeeze around me, need to know you’re taking every bit. I’m so close… can’t you feel how much I want it?”

Distantly, you heard Helion let out a long groan of pleasure, slamming into you a few more times before coming to a stop, his heavy breaths lost among Tarquin’s and your moans. 

Tarquin’s breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to hold on, his voice now a raw, desperate plea. “I’m so close,” he groaned, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he neared the edge. “Fuck, I need to come… inside you.”

With a final, strained cry, he shoved himself into your throat to the hilt and held you there. Tarquin’s grip on your hair became painful, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release. His cock throbbed violently in your mouth as he erupted, shooting his hot cum deep down your throat. His moans were of relief and unrestrained pleasure, his desperation giving way to intense, blissful satisfaction.

His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with spent tenderness. “Swallow it all… feel it,” he murmured, still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a look of spent but tender satisfaction. “You were incredible,” he added softly, his voice thick with gratitude and lingering need.

As Tarquin’s body finally relaxed, his breath coming in deep, shuddering sighs, Helion leaned in close, his voice soft but filled with genuine warmth. “A perfect girl, weren’t you,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “You’ve taken care of us so well.”

He glanced over at Tarquin with a relaxed grin. “And you weren’t too bad yourself,” he added with a chuckle.

Tarquin, still catching his breath, gave a tired but genuine smile. “Glad you think so,” he said, his voice rough but content.

You, however, were already moving with a sense of urgency. After pulling yourself off both of them, your hands deftly fixed your clothes, your phone in hand as you used its camera as a makeshift mirror to touch up your makeup. You glanced at both of them with a mix of guilt and impatience as they tucked themselves back into their pants, and you let out a quick, apologetic sigh. 

“I have to go,” you said, your voice brisk but apologetic. “We all need to get back.” You smoothed down your hair, your eyes darting between the two men as you adjusted your appearance. “Sorry…”

Helion gave a small nod, his eyes understanding. “We’ll head out with you. No worries.”

With a final glance to make sure you were presentable (and Tarquin wiping something warm off of your neck and licking his thumb clean, and Helion having done God-knows-what with the condom), you led the way, the three of you moving quickly and quietly.

As you re-entered the club, the pulsating music and vibrant lights greeted you. Just as you made your way back to the booth, a voice called out from the crowd.

“Hey, where have you guys been?” It was Elain, her eyes wide with concern and curiosity.

You forced a small, apologetic smile. “I was feeling a bit sick earlier,” you explained. “They were just helping me get some fresh air.”

Elain nodded understandingly, her gaze softening as she took in your appearance. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, you do seem a bit shaken up.”

More than a bit…

“Let’s get you back to the booth, get you a water.” The four of you headed back to the booth, and Cassian was just as you’d left him, still engaged in conversation with Eris. As you approached, Cassian’s face lit up with a grin, though there was a hint of playful teasing in his eyes.

“Look who finally decided to come back,” Cassian said as you slipped back into the booth beside him, his tone light but affectionate. “Were you having such a good time dancing with Helion that you don’t want to dance with me anymore?”

You felt a pang of guilt at his words, his playful tone contrasting sharply with all that’d happened. You moved closer to him, your heart aching as you took in his familiar, warm presence.

“Not at all,” you spoke softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m sorry for being gone so long. I missed you.”

Cassian’s expression softened as he looked at you, his eyes filled with warmth. “I missed you too,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and sincere. He sounded stone-cold sober, how long had you been gone?

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of his embrace, and you realized just how much you betrayed his trust, how much this would kill him. The guilt gnawed at you, a viper coiled tightly around your conscience, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. 

Cassian pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a gentle smile. “Let’s dance,” he said softly. “I want to make up for lost time.” He gently nudged you back out of the booth, his gaze softening as he looked at you, fingers gently brushing against your cheek. “I’ve missed my perfect girl.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body tensed, a wave of guilt crashing over you so intensely that you had to force yourself to keep breathing. For a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t respond, your mind flashing back to just minutes ago when Helion had whispered those exact words in your ear, his voice thick with lust.

Cassian noticed the slight hesitation, his brows knitting together in concern. “Hey,” he said, his tone softening even more, “you okay?”

You quickly forced a smile, willing the tension out of your body as you nodded. “Yeah,” you lied, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

His thumb stroked your cheek, his eyes filled with nothing but warmth and affection. “We can take it easy,” he offered, his concern evident. “Or we can just stay here and relax, whatever you want.”

But the thought of staying there, trapped in the booth with the weight of your betrayal pressing down on you, was unbearable. You shook your head, forcing a more genuine smile this time. “No, I want to dance,” you insisted, taking his hand and guiding him to the dance floor. “Let’s go.” But even as you both reached the middle of the floor and he pulled you flush against him, feeling his familiar warmth and the steady beat of the music around you, the words “perfect girl” echoed in your mind. 

The heat between you is immediate, electric. Cassian’s hands find your hips, guiding you as you start to move together, your bodies syncing effortlessly to the rhythm. His thigh slips between your legs, and you can’t help but grind against him, feeling the solid strength of his muscles beneath you.

His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in, voice low and teasing. “You feel so good, baby. Just how I like you.” His hands roam up and down your sides, fingers brushing the hem of your miniskirt, his touch making you shiver with anticipation.

As the beat picks up, Cassian’s grip tightens, his fingers edging further up your skirt. The movement is subtle, but it’s enough to make your breath catch. His dark eyes are locked on yours, filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through you.

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “What’s this? No panties tonight?” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a rough edge to it that makes your heart race.

Your eyes widen slightly, and for a split second, you freeze, your mind flashing back to the rooftop. But you recover quickly, giving him a sultry smile as you tilt your head up to look at him.

“I couldn’t help myself.”

[tv-moments]

Clipped

“The Best Words”

Director: Francesca Gregorini

DoP: Jonathan Furmanski

[midnighthazee]

Greenridge ABO Series

a/n: I changed the name of Enhypen's pack to Enha instead of I-land...feel like it fits better :) sorry for any confusion :/

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: explicit language, fluff, SMUT 18+ MDNI, reader x skz (wonder who it will be), mentions of abuse/sexual assault, hint of Samsung phones (since skz supports? it and can't touch iPhones lol sorry apple users...I was you a few months ago), thigh riding, pet names, praise kink, unprotected p in v (wrap it up pls!), oral, fingering, creampie, aftercare🫠😖

WC: 4681

Chapter 15

Chan managed to actually get some proper rest since he had been inside this cell. The letters of his loved ones and the delicious meal the lawyer provided gave some peace to his anxiety. He slept nearly eight hours before waking up. He was hungry of course, but the food on his plate was cold by now. Not that it looked edible anyways.

He got up, using the restroom as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was a bit of a mess but the bags under his eyes weren’t as severe. He washed his hands, craving a shower. 

He took some water to his hair to fix it up as best he could. Then he stretched, ready to start his workout routine for the day. He did his routine of push ups and sit ups, as he’s done the whole time. He had extra nervous energy pent up today as he anticipated the next trial. 

It was a few more hours before a security guard finally arrived. He took Chan to a bathroom where Seojoon was waiting. 

“Good to see you. We have thirty minutes. I insisted you get a chance to freshen up before the trial. I also bought you a suit. So shower quickly.”

“Thank you!” Chan said, hurrying to shower. It had been days and he couldn’t wait to finally feel clean.

Thirty minutes later, Chan was dressed in a suit, ready to face the judges and jury. Seojoon escorted him, standing next to him at the desk. The judges entered, everyone standing. 

“You may be seated.” the main judge said, waving dismissively. ”Alright. We are here to discuss case number 2018325 with Defendant Christopher Bang.”

“You honor, Attorney Park Seojoon. If I may begin.” Seojoon spoke.

“Go ahead, Counsel. Lay a foundation.”

“My client is an exemplary citizen. What happened with his younger brother is a tragedy he’s had to carry his whole life. He’s been judged harshly, blamed for his death and forced to have to relive this day over and over again. It is not fair for him to have to spend his life with this burden, as opposed to grieving and moving on to a healing place. He has a pack of his own, people who are devoted to him and would vouch for his character. 

“No one is born a murderer. Of those who have killed, some of them have done it in dire circumstances. That circumstance usually being ‘it’s me or you’. And this is exactly what he had to face. In order to save himself he had to kill two fellow hybrids. These hybrids were, however, of poor character.”

“Objection! We aren’t here to discuss his victims' character.” It was Griffin Blake again.

“Overruled.” the judge to the right spoke. “Counsel…proceed.”

Griffin rolled his eyes.

“Thank you, your honor.” Seojoon bowed slightly. “Hayes and Milo Carver were part of the Nyko pack, under the rule of Alpha Lewis. They were brothers and, with Lewis’s permission, they abused, sexually assaulted, and neglected three omegas in their care. The omegas were falsely led to believe they were each Lewis’s soulmate and marked by him. They were kept in horrible conditions in the basement of his home with limited access to food and water. They spent their whole time down there, unless being used for the sexual pleasure of the pack or their guests.”

Indistinct chatter was heard from the jury as they processed this new information.

“I have pictures for evidence for the jury, if I may.” Seojoon added.

“Objection! These were not submitted beforehand.” Griffin stood abruptly.

“I’ll allow them.” the main judge said.

Seojoon motioned for the tech to display the photos on the project screen. Gasps were heard across the courtroom as the pictures were clicked through.

“This was what the cell the omegas were held in looked like. Mind you it smelled of piss and mildew down there. And this is the torture room, where they were abused or forced to participate in activities chosen by the alphas or betas.”

“Thank you.” the judge on the left said.

“Objection! Relevance?” Griffin said.

“Sustained. Counsel?” the judge on the left gestured to Seojoon.

“The relevance is that one of those omegas, on a night of being hunted by the two victims, was found unconscious on the Greenridge territory. Mr. Bang’s pack took her in, calling their doctor to come tend to her. It was then, Chan found her to be soulmates to his entire pack.”

“Objection! Everyone knows omegas have one soulmate. Only alphas can have multiple.”

“Overruled. There are rare cases of an omega having multiple. It’s not unheard of.” The judge on the right informed.

Griffin plopped down in his seat with a huff, running his fingers through his hair.

“Mr. Bang and his pack have found their soulmate, and tended to her. She was underweight, malnourished, and skittish. They earned her trust, and she eventually opened up, confessing what her scars hinted at.”

Chan was impressed. Seojoon was a natural with the jury. He was easily winning them over. Where did Minho find this guy?

“This man is not a cold-blooded killer. He’s a pack man. He takes pride and thrives off of caring and protecting others. He wouldn’t kill unless it was the last option. And even then he wouldn’t enjoy it. He is not the man to kill his own brother.”

The jury mumbled away with each other, the judges writing notes down. 

“Mr. Blake, do you have anything to add?”

“No, your honor.”

“Very well. We will take time to debrief. Let the jury come to a decision. Once that is done, we will be back.” the main judge announced.

“Y/n!” Hyunjin called from the living room. 

You were in your room, cozy in your reading corner when you heard him. You marked your page and hurried to the banister overlooking the living room.

“Hey, come down here. We have something for you.” Hyunjin smiled.

Excited, you hurry down the steps, coming into the living room and sitting on the couch. Everyone is sitting around, eagerly waiting for the reveal.

“So, me and Jisung went on a little errand today. And we got you something.” Hyunjin smirked.

“What is it?” you asked, impatient.

Hyunjin revealed his hand that was hiding behind his back. He held it out to you, holding a cell phone. Your eyes go wide.

“We thought it was probably best if you had a cell phone. In case we ever need to reach each other.” Minho explained. 

Very smart. You lost track of the amount of times you wished you could have called them the past week.

“Me and Felix have the same one.” Changbin smiled.

“Hopefully you like the case. We thought those SKZOO characters from that band were cute.”

“They are really cute.” you say, still stunned as you flipped the phone over and saw the adorable case.

“We can teach you how to use it, of course.” Changbin adds.

“And Channie hyung’s cards are on there so if you need to buy anything.” Jeongin says, giddy.

Minho hits him in the back of the head.

“Don’t go spending crazy.” Minho cautions you.

“I wouldn’t even know what to buy.” you say.

“All our numbers are in there so you can just tap it to call.” Felix informed, demonstrating with his name.

You spend the rest of the afternoon learning your phone with the help of the boys. You download some games, set up a password and facial recognition, and even find fun themes for your wallpaper and app icons. It was so exciting. You had seen the boys on theirs but never thought you would have one of your own. 

Minho was back in the kitchen for dinner, fixing food for everyone with the help of Felix. You had never been so excited for dinner, coming into the kitchen and watching eagerly. Minho smiled at you, finding you adorable. He wasn’t as cold with you, but he still kept his distance. Seeing you in the med bed downstairs and knowing he put you there still left him with an uneasy feeling.

When dinner was finally ready, everyone fixed their plates and sat down at the table. It felt almost…normal. You just wished Chan was here and all the drama was over.

“Minho, did you hear from the lawyer today?”

“Oh. I did. He’s hopeful he swayed the jury. He gave a story, pulling on the heart strings. Hopefully Chan will get sympathy votes and come home to us.” Minho announced.

“So we could have Chan back tomorrow?” Jisung asked.

Minho nodded with a shrug. “It looks like it.”

“We should go. Be there for the trial.” you suggested. 

“Yes. Can we go?” Felix asked.

“We just got back. Let’s wait and see if he is going to come home first.” Minho suggested.

“But if we aren’t there, he will have to wait six hours for us to get there.” Jisung pouted.

“Better than another day in solitary.” Minho noted. “Let’s get the trial results first.”

The rest of dinner was quiet, everyone worried for the results of the trial tomorrow. Once everyone finished, Jisung and Hyunjin emptied the dishwasher and reloaded it, cleaning up the kitchen before going to their rooms for the night.

Jisung and Felix were video gaming in Jisung’s room while Minho and Changbin were doing some work in Chan’s office. Hyunjin was sketching in his room, lofi music playing. Jeongin was getting in the shower before bed. And Seungmin was in his room, playing a game on his phone as he tried to convince himself to go for a shower.

“Hey Seungmin, can you help me with my phone?” you ask, knocking on his door.

“What do you need help with?” Seungmin asked, laying across his bed.

“I was wanting to save music and make a playlist on Spotify."

“Oh here let me show you.” Seungmin sat up so he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

 You sat next to him and he showed you how to do it. You added a few songs you had heard the boys playing around the house. Seungmin added a few others he thought you would like before handing you back your phone. Your fingertips brushed as you took the phone, his gaze lingering on your lips.

Before he could stop himself, he kissed you. It was purposeful, his mouth moving with yours perfectly. You melted into his touch, one of his hands coming to cup your face as he kissed you. You pushed more into the kiss, as if starved for it, and he responded by guiding you onto your back. His lips never left yours in the process, his body now hovering over yours.

“This okay?” he looked down at you.

You nodded, leaning up to reconnect your lips to his. Your hands trailed down his torso, finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it up. He let you, helping remove it.

“You sure?” he asked, looking into your eyes.

“Just don’t go feral on me.” you chuckle.

“I’ll try not to.” he laughs.

He kisses you with more fervor, his body pressing into yours shamelessly. Your own body reacting to his touch, you could feel the heat centering at your core. 

Seungmin’s hand trailed down your side, slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast. He found your bra snap in the front and unhooked it. He pushed open your bra and began teasing your nipples. You back arched off the bed, a small moan escaping your mouth.

He smirked at how easily you reacted. “I barely touched you baby? I bet you're already wet for me.”

You roll your eyes, playfully pushing him.. “Shut up…” 

He grabbed your hands, pinning them by your head. He smirked at you, leaning into your neck and kissing you. You moan as he nipped at your skin, instinctively grinding your hips on his thigh. He moved to take off your shirt and bra, then slid your pants off. You were left laying there in just your panties as he looked down at you.

“I like these…” he tugged a little on the pale pink bikini bottoms you were wearing. 

You blushed, knowing he could see the wet spot on them.

He moved off the bed, ridding himself of his pants. Then he sat down on the bed, pulling you over to him. You climbed onto his lap, straddling one of his legs. His hands were on your hips as you kissed him, breasts flush with his chest.

You moved your hips slightly, a slight shiver going up your spine from the friction.

“That’s it…move those hips for me.” Seungmin whispered between kisses down your neck. 

His hands started to guide your hips, rocking you on his leg. It felt so good you began to moan in his ear. Your hips began to move at their own rhythm as you rode his thigh. He smirked at how sensitive you were, nipping at your collar bone before attaching his lips to your nipple. You threw your head back, hands holding onto his shoulders as you rocked back and forth.

“You gonna cum on my leg like a good girl?” Seungmin whispered.

“Yes..” you breathed out.

“How long have you been thinking about this, huh? I bet you’ve been dying for me to make you feel good.” Seungmin taunts. 

You bite your lip, blush creeping on your cheeks. His teasing was making your pussy wetter somehow and you weren’t used to it. You clenched around nothing, growing frustrated by the emptiness.

“Seungmin…” you whined.

“What baby?”

You whimpered in response, unable to say the words.

“Is my baby close?” Seungmin asks with a flex of his thigh, making it firmer between your legs. 

The delicious friction between his leg and your panties made you moan louder - made you rock your hips faster. You looked at him, a huge smirk plastered on his face as he watched you come undone. You made eye contact with him, feeling the coil inside about to snap.

“Cum on me. Make a mess on my thigh baby.” Seungmin coaxed, pinching one of your nipples.

“Ahhh..” you moan, gripping his shoulders tighter as you cum undone. Juices drip from your center as your orgasm washes over you. 

Seungmin kisses you, pulling your body flush with his. “Good Girl.”

You groan, hiding your face in his chest. He lifts you, putting you on your back and removing your soaked panties. He leans down, licking through your folds.

“Mmm…sweet…as I suspected.” Seungmin looks up at you from between your legs. It was so sinful, but you loved it.

You bite your lip, hiding your face.

Seungmin slips off his underwear before hovering over you. He moves your hands from your face and you lock eyes. 

“Let me see that pretty face,” Seungmin smiles, peppering your face with kisses. “I can’t wait to see you all fucked out after this…” 

You swat at his chest, whining and bucking your hips. “Seungmin…”

“So needy…” Seungmin smirks. “You’re like Jisung…”

Looking between your bodies, Seungmin lines himself up with your entrance. He looks up at you one last time, as if asking for permission. You nod and he pushes in slowly. His girth stretches you out and makes your eyes shut.

You moan as he bottoms out, holding onto his forearms. He slides out slowly, only to push back in. He does this teasingly slow move a few times before he can’t take it anymore. His tempo picks up and you chant his name.

“Y/n…you’re so tight.” his face scrunches as he thrusts into you.

“Seungmin…mmm you feel so good.” You lean up, connecting your lips.

You feel yourself on the verge of cumming once more, clenching around his length. He hisses as you do, slowing his movements.

“Please…don’t stop…”you moan.

Seungmin keeps his tempo, bringing you to climax. 

“Ahh,” you moan loudly.

Seungmin was quick to cover your mouth, chuckling. “You don’t want the boys hearing, do you? They might get jealous.” 

Your body trembled, mind barely understanding what he said. His hand caressed your cheek as he slowed. You came down from your high, catching your breath as you relaxed your grip on his arms.

Seungmin pulled out, laying down next to you. “Get on top.” 

You hesitate but do as he says. He tells you to face away from him, leaning on his legs for support.

“I want you to ride me, baby. You’re in control now.”

You never did this position before but you were curious. Your old pack never gave you controlling positions, they always dominated you instead. Not that you wanted control…or to be involved at all.

You straddled his hips, lining up his cock and sinking down on it. He felt deeper like this as you braced yourself on his legs. Slowly you began to rock back and forth, finding your momentum. Within a few seconds, you were moving faster.

Meanwhile, Seungmin was enjoying the view. He was always sneaking looks at your ass and now it was naked, on display right in front of him. He reached out, squeezing and rubbing your cheeks. As he fondled your ass, you began to do more of a bounce motion. He threw his head back, getting lost in the way you were riding him. It was too good and he didn’t know how much longer he would last.

You were close too, this angle hitting your sweet spot just right. Your grip on his legs tightened, your pussy clenching around his length. He could tell you were close too. He wanted to hold out, but the way you were clenching him was intoxicating.

“I’m gonna cum, baby.” he rasped out.

You grinded down, rolling your hips on him. He gripped your hips tightly, trying to hold back as best he could. His head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as he focused on not cumming.

Your orgasm hit you hard, making your legs shake and squeeze Seungmin’s hips. Your body jerked a bit as you rode out your high, eyes rolled back. You pussy clenched impossibly tighter around Seungmin and he lost all resolve. His cock twitched, filling you with his cum. He let out a guttural groan, his hips bucking.

As you came down, you both were moaning and panting as you tried to catch your breaths. Seungmin sat up, hugging you from behind and kissing your back. He then maneuvered you two so that you both were laying on your sides. He even managed to do so without slipping out.

As you laid there, he kissed up and down your shoulder and neck. You hummed in satisfaction, feeling yourself falling asleep. 

“That was amazing,” he whispered. 

You nodded, turning your head. He kissed your lips as he slowly slid out of your warmth. You whined at the loss but he peppered your face with kisses. Your body slowly laid back and Seungmin hovered over you. He kissed down your torso, teasing your nipples before moving down. He reached your core, licking at your sensitive folds. 

You squirmed, but he locked in your clit, sucking and teasing. Your legs tried to close but he pinned them open, leaving you to gasp at the euphoric feeling.

“Minnie…” you moan.

He doesn’t let up. He’s determined to make you cum at least once more. His expert tongue works magic on your clit, making you build to a climax in record time. It felt so good but you tried to hold back and enjoy the moment. That’s when he added a finger, curling it just right. How did he know your body so well? 

Your orgasm finally washed over you, making your toes curl, back arch, and legs shake. He pushed you, prolonging your high with his finger until you were squirming to get away. When he finally stopped, your whole body went lax. Your muscles ached and you could barely open your eyes. 

“Look at you…” Seungmin was pleased with himself. He had you looking just how he wanted - properly fucked out and on cloud nine.

“I’ll be right back.” With one final kiss to your forehead, Seungmin rose from the bed. 

You laid there, feeling a little wetness dripping out. Nearly asleep, you didn’t hear him return from his bathroom. Seungmin carefully took the washcloth and began cleaning you. You squirmed a little, sensitive from all the stimulation. He was careful and considerate, cleaning you up so gently.

Once he was done, he closed your legs and covered you with his comforter. Then he went to shower like he originally planned. He didn’t take long, relaxed after your time together and wanting to hurry back to you. 

When he was done, he climbed in bed behind you and kissed your temple. You snuggled into him despite being fast asleep. Tomorrow you would probably be sore, but it will be worth it. 

Morning came and you woke up to the slight snores of your soulmate sleeping next to you. Last night’s events came back to you in a rush, leaving you flushed and craving more. You rolled over to see him sprawled out on his side of the bed. You smile, amused. Carefully you slip out of the bed and find your clothes. Your legs were a little shaky as you moved about his room, slipping on your pants and shirt and grabbing your bra and panties. You quietly open the door and hurry out, closing it softly. Then you go across the hall to your room. You shut your door and strip, putting your clothes in the hamper. Then you go for a shower, the warm water soothing your aching muscles.

After your shower, you head downstairs, finding Felix and Jisung in the kitchen finishing up breakfast.

“Need help?” you ask.

“No. We’re almost done.” Felix smiles.

Jisung walks by you, puckering his lips at you casually. He leans in for a kiss so you lean towards him. He swerves away from you, leaving you stunned. He quickly approaches from the opposite side, pecking your cheek. You glare at him while Felix giggles. How long was he going to tease you for?

You were chatting at the island when everyone started to come into the kitchen. Breakfast was finally ready and you were starving. You loaded your plate, making everyone stare in shock. Seungmin smirked, knowing he probably worked up your appetite. Then you all sat down and began eating.

“Did last night’s escapades leave you hungry?” Changbin whispered, leaning over to you.

You were drinking juice at the time, and nearly choked on it. You coughed, trying to collect yourself from the sudden embarrassment. Your face was beet red as Seungmin gave you a knowing look.

“You okay?” Minho asked.

Everyone was looking at you.

“Yeah.” you clear your throat. “Just fine.”

“More than fine, I’m sure.” Jeongin commented. 

You stare at him with a furrowed brow.

“You think we didn’t hear you two last night?” Jeongin shakes his head.

You want to sink from the table and crawl up to your room. It was suddenly very hot in here and you were losing your appetite.

“Relax, we’re just messing with you.” Changbin nudged your arm.

“I know.” You knew. You were just caught off guard and embarrassed. 

You make yourself resume eating, quiet for the rest of breakfast. You offered to clean the kitchen, hurrying away from the table as soon as you had finished. As everyone else finished eating, they would give you their plates. Jisung offered to help, washing dishes with you.

Once it was just you two left in the room, Jisung spoke up.

“I’m glad you were enjoying yourself…”

You don’t say anything.

“Seungmin was worried about his turn. Hopefully now he can relax.”

“Worried?”

“He was afraid we would…outperform him.” Jisung rolled his eyes. “At least with you. But we’ve all been with each other so we knew he would be fine.”

“He was more than fine.” 

“He definitely is.” Jisung winked at you.

You smile. You had forgotten they were all mates. This eased your embarrassment, knowing they have probably heard each other one time or another. They were probably used to it by now.

The rest of the morning went by smoothly. You hung out with everyone and enjoyed being home once more. The guys decided to play movies to kill the time as they waited for the lawyer to call with an update. Minho was in Chan’s office, busying himself while he anxiously waited.

“Please rise for your panel of judges.” the officer spoke.

The audience, Chan, Seojoon, and Griffin all stood, waiting for the judges to take their seats. Once the judges sat, so did the audience and jury. 

“Good afternoon, we are now convening in the matter of case number 2018325. Please have the parties identify themselves for the record." the main judge announced.

“Defendant Christopher Bang.” Chan spoke.

“Thank you.”

“We are here to discuss the matter of your three homicide charges and whether or not they will be reduced.” The main judge stated for the record.

Chan shifted in his stance, hands behind his back as he stood confidently.

“Upon review of the security tape footage within your holding cell, as discussed last time, we found the footage to be tampered with.” the judge to the left said.

Chan looked over to his lawyer who gave him a subtle thumbs up.

“Because the footage was tampered with, we will be further investigating the incident.” the judge on the right speaks. “This, however, does not clear you from the charge as we have not ruled out your involvement in this incident.”

“You believe my client was involved in the tampering of evidence? Evidence that would clear him of a homicide charge?” Seojoon questioned.

“At ease counsel. We do not believe anything at this time. We must first prove that he was not involved in this matter. It’s procedure”

“With that being said, we will reconvene in two days' time. This will allow the techs to finish reviewing the footage and possibly restore what was tampered.” the judge on the left spoke.

“Meeting adjourned.” the main judge spoke.

The judges, jury and audience began exiting the courtroom. Chan turned to Seojoon, confused.

“Not here.” was all Seojoon said.

Seojoon and Chan went into the interrogation room to talk.

“What the fuck was that about?” Chan asked once they were alone.

“My guess is they think there is a possibility that footage was conveniently tampered with just enough to be noticeable. For example, you or someone you hired are tricking them. You tampered with it and made it obvious but didn’t actually hide anything because there was nothing to hide.”

“What would I gain from that?”

“They would see the tampering and believe you were telling the truth without looking into it. Then you are free of the charge even though there was no secret visitor.” Seojoon shook his head. “But because there actually was a visitor, they will uncover that and clear you.”

“This is ridiculous. It’s never ending. It will be Christmas before they make a decision at this point.” Chan threw his arms up, exasperated.

“Chan, calm down. This is exactly what they want. To drag you around so you’re restless and on edge. They want you to get angry so you make a mistake or act out and they charge you with something else.” Seojoon explained. “And it’s not going to take another three months. Stay positive.”

Chan sighed heavily. He knew Seojoon was right, he was just furious they were giving him the run-around.

“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, rest up. I’ll see you in a couple days.” Seojoon gave Chan a look, making sure they were on the same page.

Chan nodded. Seojoon headed out and Chan was taken back to his cell. He looked around angrily. He wanted to punch the wall, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t show how much they were pissing him off.

TAGLIST:

@estella-novella @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @butterflydemons @readr1221 @gaby105-skz @notevenheretbh1 @bah2004 @sinfulfic @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @dreamerwasfound @motheraiya55 @m00njinnie @writeuntilthebitterend @jutdwae-flower @staytinyluv @emmxxsworld @galaxy4489 @wolfo2027 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @thatgirlangelb @fr34k4c1dr41n @stwq2349 @rylea08 @sang-09 @scarlet789 @hxnnielk @thecutiepieme  

Shout out to my lovely beta @cherry-erii

[mysunshinetemptress]

Luch

(Lil McCabe Universe)

Katie McCabe x Lil McCabe

Warnings: Part of the unseen series this part focuses more on Katie, it’s got angst and is like a little background and a way to go forward with Katie and Lil McCabes relationship

Katie didn't quite know when you fell through the cracks and faded into the back. She could still remember you being born, though. She was seven, a whirlwind of freckles and laughter, so excited to have a new baby in the family. It had become a tradition in their house, this older sibling adoption. The eldest would take the youngest, showering them with attention, teaching them everything they knew. A miniature mentorship program, filled with scraped knees, shared secrets, and an unwavering bond.

For Katie, it was her turn. She was going to be the best big sister ever. A boy or a girl, it didn’t matter. She’d teach them everything, from the best hiding spots in the garden to the correct way to tackle a football. She’d introduce them to her friends, share her toys, and protect them from the world.

She remembered the day you arrived, a tiny, wrinkled bundle. You fit perfectly in the palm of her hand. She was careful, so careful, as she held you, her heart pounding with a mixture of love and responsibility. She’d named you ‘Squishy’ that day, a name that stuck for a few weeks before you graduated to something more...permanent.

What was it, why can't she remeber it now, its the only thing she called you, the only thing SHE called you.

There are gaps in her memory now, like pieces of a puzzle missing. You were there, a constant in the chaotic tapestry of her childhood, and then you weren’t. It’s as if someone had gently peeled you away, leaving an indistinct shape where you once were.

She remembers your laughter, a clear bell-like sound that would fill the house. She remembers the way your eyes would light up when she read you stories. And she remembers the day you took your first steps, holding onto her finger for dear life.

She dressed you in tiny football jerseys, her favorite team’s colors blazing against your soft skin. She taught you the alphabet with the help of her toy animals, her patience endless as you struggled to pronounce the letters. Weekends were spent at the park, Katie pushing you on the swings, her laughter mingling with yours as you soared through the air.

But then, the memories start to blur. There are fragments, snapshots, like a photo album with missing pages. You’re there, but you’re also not. You morph into Ella and Lauryn, She starts being unable to tell what memories are with you and what memories are with them.

Cheeky, no thats what she called Ella

Sometimes, late at night, when the house is quiet, Katie will close her eyes and try to remember you. She’ll see a small figure, a blur of color, a sound. But then, the image fades, and she’s left with an aching emptiness.

Munchkin, no thats what she called Lauryn

The name was on the tip of her tongue, a phantom word dancing just beyond her grasp. It was a small thing, a trivial detail, but in the grand scheme of her fading memories, it was a cornerstone. Squishy was a placeholder, a temporary label for a child who had become an integral part of her life. The real name, the one that fit perfectly, was buried beneath layers of time and confusion.

It was a name whispered in countless bedtime stories, shouted in shared laughter, and softly murmured in moments of comfort. A name that held the weight of a world, a universe contained within a single syllable. Now, it was a ghost, haunting the corridors of her mind.

The blurring of memories was a cruel thief, stealing the clarity of childhood. Ella and Lauryn, the subsequent additions to the family, had cast long shadows, their presences eclipsing you. Yet, there was a part of Katie that refused to accept this erasure.

The name was a whisper in the wind, a phantom echo in the chambers of her mind. Katie clutched at the edges of her memory, desperate to grasp the elusive word. It was a puzzle piece, missing from the grand tapestry of her childhood, a void that gnawed at her with an insistent hunger.

Days turned into weeks as she delved deeper into the recesses of her mind. She revisited old photo albums, the glossy pages filled with smiling faces. There you were, standing at the back sometimes only the top of your head only visible, a tiny speck in a sea of laughter, your eyes holding a spark of mischief that mirrored her own. But the name remained out of reach, a tantalizing mirage in the desert of her recollection.

She tried talk to your parents, hoping they might remember. But your mam still refusued to talk to her and your da was no help not even remembering if her himself had given you a nickname like he had the rest of his kids. She tried your siblings but they were no use each either shouting out random names or asking "Wait Y/n had a nickname, i thought it was just Ella and Lauren." It was as if it had been erased from the family history, a forgotten chapter in a well-loved story.

Desperation crept into her heart. She was losing you, she had lost you. Katie remembered, the fearless, protective big sister role she used to proudly play, but your part was fading if not already gone.

One evening, as she sat alone in the quiet of her living room, a flicker of memory ignited within her. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of warmth, the smell of baby powder, the sound of soft giggles. And then, it came to her, as clear as day.

"Luch."

The word slipped out of her lips, a whisper in the still air. It was perfect, simple, and utterly fitting. Luch it was mouse in Irish something she had just learned in school and it fit you perfectly you were as quite as a mouse even as a baby and she used to laugh at the way you scrunched your nose just before you cried. It was the name she had given you, the name that had defined your place in her heart.

You were her baby sister. Her first responsibility, her first love. And somewhere along the way she had failed to even notice you slip through the cracks, she had turned into the person she had sworn to protect you from at just seven years old and she didn't know how to fix it.

[inkspiredwriting]

Oh Boy

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Welcome Milo Hargreeves :)

Warnings: none

The Hargreeves siblings were on the road, packed into Klaus's eclectic van that smelled faintly of patchouli and spilled coffee. They helped five with a mission for the CIA and as usual, the situation had spiraled into a series of bizarre events. Currently, they were arguing about the quickest route back to the house, with Luther insisting on a shortcut through a dense forest and Diego arguing for the main highway.

"I’m telling you, Diego, the forest is faster!" Luther exclaimed, leaning over the map splayed across his knees.

"And I’m telling you, it’s full of potholes and we’ll get stuck," Diego countered, his brow furrowing.

In the back of the van, Five was sandwiched between Viktor and Ben, trying to tune out the noise. He sighed and glanced at his watch, wondering how much longer this argument would last. His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing.

"Hold on," Five said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "It’s Y/n."

The van quieted slightly, everyone curious about the call. Five answered, his expression softening of the thought of his wife’s voice.

"Hey, Y/n. What’s up?" he asked, but before Y/n could respond, a high-pitched, excited voice cut in.

"Daddy! Daddy! It’s happening!" Maddie’s voice squealed over the line, almost making Five drop his phone.

"Maddie? What’s happening?" Five asked, a sudden sense of urgency creeping into his voice.

"Mommy’s having the baby! Right now!" Maddie announced with the dramatic flair only a four-year-old could muster. "She said you need to come to the hospital fast!"

Five’s eyes widened, and he shot up straight in his seat. "What? Now? She’s having the baby now?"

"Yes, right now!" Maddie confirmed. "Mommy’s really funny. She keeps saying she’s never letting you near her again."

Five’s mind raced as he heard Y/n’s voice in the background, yelling something indistinct but likely very colorful about her current situation. He looked around at his siblings, his urgency palpable.

"We need to get to the hospital, now!" he shouted, cutting through the chatter.

"What? Why?" Diego asked, confused.

"Y/n’s in labor!" Five snapped, already clambering over Ben to get to the front seat. "Maddie just called me. She’s having the baby right now!"

The van erupted into chaos as everyone started talking at once, but Klaus, in a rare moment of clarity, turned the key in the ignition and started the engine.

"Hold on tight, everyone!" Klaus shouted, slamming his foot on the gas. "Baby on the way!"

Klaus drove like a man possessed, weaving through traffic with an agility that had Diego clutching his seatbelt and Luther grumbling about safety. Five was in the passenger seat, frantically giving directions to the hospital while trying to keep Maddie calm on the phone.

"It’s okay, Maddie. I’m on my way," Five said, his voice as calm as he could manage. "Tell Mommy I’ll be there soon."

"Hurry, Daddy! Mommy looks like she’s gonna explode!" Maddie replied, clearly enjoying the drama more than Five appreciated.

"Exploding wives, huh?" Klaus quipped, glancing at Five. "Sounds like a blast!"

"Not the time, Klaus!" Five barked, clutching his phone tighter. "Just drive faster."

"On it, Chief," Klaus said, narrowly avoiding a pedestrian as he took a sharp turn.

"Can’t you just, you know, teleport there?" Viktor asked from the back seat.

"I would, but I need to get to the exact location and I can't teleport straight into the hospital without potentially causing a scene," Five replied, his foot tapping anxiously.

"Like this isn’t causing a scene," Ben muttered, gripping the edge of his seat as Klaus swerved around a slow-moving truck.

By some miracle (and a lot of near-misses), they arrived at the hospital. Klaus parked the van haphazardly across two spaces, and Five was out of the vehicle before it even came to a complete stop.

"Come on, move!" he shouted over his shoulder, racing towards the hospital entrance. His siblings scrambled to keep up, but Five was a man on a mission.

Bursting through the hospital doors, Five dashed to the reception desk. "My wife is having a baby! Where’s the maternity ward?"

The receptionist blinked, startled by his sudden appearance. "Uh, down the hall to the left, sir."

Five didn’t wait for further instructions. He took off, navigating the hospital corridors with the precision of a seasoned time traveler.

He finally reached the maternity ward and skidded to a stop outside the room. He could hear Y/n’s voice, alternating between shouting at the nurses and groaning in pain.

"Y/n?" Five called, pushing open the door.

Y/n, in the midst of a contraction, looked up, her face red and sweaty but breaking into a relieved smile when she saw him. "Five! About time you got here!"

"Sorry, traffic was a nightmare," Five said, rushing to her side and taking her hand. "How are you holding up?"

"How do you think?" Y/n snapped, then softened as she squeezed his hand. "I’m glad you’re here."

"Me too," Five said, kissing her forehead. "I wouldn’t miss this for the world."

"Daddy!" Maddie piped up from the corner, sitting on a chair with Allison. "Mommy said a lot of bad words."

"Yeah, she does that sometimes," Five said, smiling despite the chaos.

The next few hours were a blur of contractions, encouraging words, and a lot of hand-squeezing (mostly on Y/n’s part). Five stayed by her side the entire time, alternating between calming her and glaring at the clock as if willing it to speed up.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the cries of a newborn filled the room. Five’s heart swelled as the nurse placed their baby boy in Y/n’s arms.

"Welcome to the world, Milo," Five whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he gently touched the baby’s tiny hand.

"He’s beautiful," Y/n murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked up at Five. "Just like his dad."

"I don’t know about that," Five said, his own eyes misty. "But he’s perfect."

"Daddy! Is that my brother?" Maddie asked, peeking over the edge of the bed.

"Yes, sweetie," Five said, lifting her up so she could see. "This is Milo. You’re a big sister now."

Maddie’s eyes widened as she looked at her baby brother, a mixture of awe and curiosity on her face. "He’s so small. Can I hold him?"

"Maybe later," Five said, ruffling her hair. "Right now, he needs to stay with Mommy."

The Hargreeves siblings, who had been waiting anxiously in the hallway, were finally allowed into the room. They filed in, each offering congratulations and admiring the newest member of the family.

"Nice job, Five," Diego said, clapping him on the back.

"He’s adorable," Allison cooed, peeking at Milo.

"Looks like you didn’t miss the main event after all," Viktor said, smiling.

"Yeah, thanks to Klaus’s driving," Five admitted, glancing at his brother.

"Hey, any time," Klaus said, grinning. "Just don’t expect me to do it every day."

Five rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. As he looked around at his family, gathered around Y/n and baby Milo, he felt a profound sense of happiness and contentment.

Despite the chaos and the near heart attacks along the way, he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Because now, more than ever, he knew that his family—both immediate and extended—was what mattered most.

[motherofdogs1010]

A Jedi in Arrakis VII (Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: While on the run from Empire troops, Jedi padawan Y/N comes to find out that hyper-driving in a compromised craft can have some major setbacks when she discovers not only is on a new planet but a whole new galaxy as well...

Warnings: 18+ only, jedi!reader, pinv!sex, fingering, angst, fluff, mentions of death, somewhat-canon Dune PT. 1 & 2, Paul is somewhat canon, talks of questioning the Force and teachings, spoilers for Dune Part I and II, eventual marriage

Dividers by @firefly-graphics Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Series Masterlist

The journey to Sietch Tabr met them with danger as they eventually stumbled across Harkonnen soldiers descending from a ship. The body of Jamis having been left as a decoy as the Fremen told them to hide amongst the rock so that they may be able to handle the Harkonenn soldiers that she soon caught on were following them.

It was the sound of a thumper that eventually drew them away from where they hide, she watched as the soldiers floated up towards the top of the rock structure where they hide, not wanting to face a worm while the sun soon began to become eclipsed.

It wasn't until Harkonnen soldiers began to fall from the rock above them as they moved along the bottom that it began obvious the Fremen had been awaiting the soldiers.

Swiftly and efficiently killing them.

It seemed that was what being on Arrakis had come to.

Killing to survive as her, Paul and Lady Jessica killed the stragglers that had managed to escape the surprise attack. BB had some action too with zapping one of them in order to Paul to kill one.

Lady Jessica had assured them that her and Paul's unborn sister were well before they bore witness to the Fremen lining up the soldiers to extract water from their bodies.

It was fascinating to watch as they utilized water from the body, seeing the mechinism suck out the water until their skin was so tight against the bone they were mummified.

"Do you drink the water?" she asked, Stilgar chuckled.

"Not this one. Too dirty from all the chemicals, but good enough for cooling systems."

Unfortunately, the sight was too much for Lady Jessica as she soon vomitted, Stilgar having told her not to let it out but unable to stop it.

"Are you alright?" she asked, Paul parroting her question.

She nodded and dry heaved.

Eventually, the water was all collected, the bodies piled up and a thumper left for a sand worm to come and devour the bodies as they continued their journey deeper into the dunes.

"You fight well", Chani said.

"Thank you", she replied.

"Was it only you under your Master's training?"

"No, I had another companion, her name was Ashoka." A small smile came onto her face at the memory.

Longing fell upon her at the mention of Ahsoka because it brought up memories of home, of everyone. She wondered if she'd ever actually see them again, but the longer and deeper she went into Arrakis, the further that flew away.

"We were like sisters, her and I", Y/N sighed, a sadness seeping in her chest.

She knew she was going to have to accept she'd never see them again. Her life was here now, not back on Naboo or training under Anakin.

She just hoped everything was okay back home with the Clone Wars.

Sietch Tabr was amazing.

Tall slabs of rocks with writing carved into to, perfectly placed holes where light seeped into and the sound of indistinctive chattering echoing in the halls as Stilgar led them further in.

She glanced at Paul as he nodded, assuringly but soon they were met with hundreds of Fremen shouting angrily at them and screaming Jamis' name over and over again. Paul grasped her hand as BB beeped in fear before she heard countless words echoed over and over again.

Stilgar had them taken to what she guessed was like a communal area for the community as there were countless little groups spread about, taking. They had removed the stilsuits in favor of the muslin cloth clothes provided and sat in their own little area, BB decided to hibernate for a bit.

"They're calling you The One Who Brings Light", Paul whispered to her.

"And you the Messiah", she replied back. "You must teach me the language. But tell me, who is this person they call me?"

"The belief that the Messiah will come with their lover, the One Who Brings Light to free Arrakis from its chains. They will come with a Blade of Light and wield it in battle against the enemy, helping free the Fremen and bring peace."

"And how do you feel about their thoughts of you as their Messiah?"

Paul was silent.

"You can tell me, Paul", she said, "I will not judge."

"Conflicted", he answered, "a part of me hates it but the other part wants to sway the non-believers to my benefit of getting to the Emperor. So that I may avenge my father and my House."

"Your father did not believe in revenge", Lady Jessica spoke.

"I do", Paul retorted.

Soon enough, they were served a meal. It had a similar consistency to porridge and the flavor was like blue milk with the added spice that gave it any edge. It was nothing she hadn't handled heat wise, her tongue favored heat.

"There is spice in the food", Paul said, blinking.

Stilgar called for Lady Jessica and they watched as he led her away.

"I wonder what they want with her", she pondered.

"Who knows."

Once they finished eating, she rested her head on Paul's shoulder and he sighed. He intertwined their hands as they sat in silence before Paul whispered, "I've missed you."

She looked at him, "I've been here beside you."

"No, I've missed you, darling."

Her eyes widened slightly before she shyly whispered, "Paul."

He leaned his forehead against her, "I am but a man. A man with a beautiful woman that loves him. Is it so shameful that I've missed said woman? A woman that I've only had the pleasure of only sharing a single night with."

She sheepishly looked away, heat reaching her ears and cheeks as Paul chuckled.

🪐

It turned out that the Reverend Mother was dying, no other Bene Gesserit woman present being suitable and Lady Jessica accepting the role.

"You should be honored to accept it", Paul said.

"Is it the highest title?" Y/N asked, Lady Jessica nodded.

"Very."

"Is it different here?"

"Each culture does it differently", Lady Jessica explained. "So I have no idea what will occur."

Y/N saw it in her eyes: she was afraid and Paul voiced it to her.

"Reverend Mothers are tasked with holding the memories of all those that came before so I'll be given centuries of pain and sorrow", Lady Jessica said, her eyes tired and heavy.

"Is it lethal?" Paul asked.

"For men."

"But you will be alright?" she asked, concerned.

"Yes", Lady Jessica reassured. "I am not a man."

They followed the others outside to where Lady Jessica entered a cave opening with the other Bene Gesserit sisters as her and Paul stood outside it, other groups of Fremen sat under tarps to protect them from the harsh sun as they waited.

BB let out a series of beeps and Paul chuckled.

"I'm beginning to understand you", he mused, BB waited for a moment before popping open a compartment and giving Paul a thumbs up.

"Now he and I won't be able to gossip about you", she teased, Paul scowled playfully.

"I have amazing qualities, no need to hide between your hands to gossip."

She smiled at Paul as he grasped her hand, intertwining their fingers and she felt a sense a peace.

The sun felt hot against her back as she looked around to find Chani sitting under a pitched tent that was low to the sand with what she assumed were her friends as they laughed and spoke.

"Do you think they believe?" she softly whispered.

"No", Paul answered. "But it doesn't hurt for us to mingle with the locals."

Moving towards Chani's group, BB easily rolled over the smooth sand as Chani looked up at them as they approached.

"Hello", she said, Chani and her friends nodded in acknowledgement.

"Hello", Chani echoed.

Her friends eyed BB, who rolled cautiously closer to her and Paul as Paul spoke, "you don't believe in all this, do you?"

"No, we don't", Chani replied.

"These are old Southern beliefs", another answered. "Southern tribes believe a messiah and his lover will come to deliver us from evil."

"So, you don't believe in the Lisan al-Gaib and The One Who Brings Light?"

"We believe in Fremen." The way the woman spoke, she could tell that here in the Northern tribes, this belief went deep. "You want to control people, you tell them a messiah will come. Then they'll wait for centuries."

It was then that they heard Stilgar speak in Chakbosa as he emerged from the mouth of the cave before saying, "now, we must pray."

He moved towards a separate group where there were older Fremen, watching them get down to their knees and begin to pray as they laid their heads on the sand.

"And him?" Y/N asked.

"Stilgar?" Chani questioned, Y/N nodded. "He's from the South. You didn't hear his accent?"

Chani and her group laughed at her and Y/N felt a bit of embarrassment.

"You have an odd accent", a male in the group said. "All formal and diplomatic."

"With odd hair. Two lumps on either side of your head."

"She's not from here", Paul defended, "she comes from another galaxy. She crashed landed here on Arrakis with her Droid trying to get to her Resistance Base."

BB let out a series of beeps.

"It's alright, BB", she said, patting his head. "They're curious."

Silence befell the group for a moment or two before Paul asked, "what will happen to my mother?"

The question drove the group to speak in Chakbosa, which left her and Paul looking at one another.

"She will be alright, Paul", she reassured. "Your mother is strong."

Paul's mother was a Reverend Mother now, but that alone had brought discourse in the tribe.

The process had drained her of her energy and the Sisters were encasing the woman ins a type of shroud to allow her to be carried back.

"I think they are arguing over you", she said, moving a piece of hair from Lady Jessica's face. "What will you do?"

"I will try to resolve this."

She listened as Paul agreed with Chani and her group, claiming he was not the messiah and that his mother's survival was due to her training as a Bene Gesserit.

"And what of The One Who Carries Light? She has come!"

"I come from a place where many yield such blades", she said, "I am not a liberator. I am still a student in my craft."

"All I ask is that you allow us to learn your ways and let us fight beside you", Paul announced. "That is all we ask."

~

It was near dusk when Lady Jessica emerged from her slumber with bright blue eyes and a new aura to her as Paul sat in her new room that had been occupied by the previous Reverend Mother.

"Are you two alright?" he asked, Lady Jessica nodded.

"Yes, she was frightened for a moment, but she's okay."

Paul relaxed at the statement before his mother continued, "she speaks to me."

Confusion filled him, his unborn sister... is speaking to her from the womb?

"She believes in you... in both of you."

Lady Jessica grasped his wrists with wild eyes, "she says only one step remains and Paul, you will become the Kwisatz Haderach and Y/N will rule by your side. Only one step, Paul! You must do what I did!"

Paul felt a fear like never before enwrap him but he couldn't move away

"You must drink the Water of Life! It will free you! You will see!"

Paul could not get the conversation out of his mind for the remainder of the day.

As part of their immersion into becoming one with the Fremen was learning how to cross the sand and survive properly. A tent and food was given to them as BB was to say with Lady Jessica as soon the suns fell into darkness as they continued their crossing.

Stilgar had warned them against the possible dangers of being deep into the sands, even saying demonic lizards lived in the sands that would try to trick your minds.

"You two sandwalk like a drunk lizard", a voice echoed. "You aren't even in worm territory yet."

She looked to see Chani sitting on a dune watching them.

"I thought we were doing well", Paul panted.

Chani stood as she sandwalked slowly to them, "you must break up your rhythm."

She came to them, showing them, "but you must make your steps wider."

Chani came to her and forced one of her legs to slider farther, "you bear more weight so your steps must be longer."

She wobbled a little as she forced on not falling over at the new stance.

"Now, that's interesting because in the film books I've studies--"

"Paul, are you about to question a Fremen on how to properly do this?" she asked with a raised brow.

Chani blinked at Paul, "come, both of you. Follow my steps."

With Chani's demonstration and help, sandwalking became much easier.

Soon, Chani had proved to become a friend to her and it made her miss Ashoka more than ever. She was the only one to believe in her and Paul's training, helping show them the ropes of learning and Y/N found Chani to be a kind person underneath the stern exterior she displayed.

She demonstrated how the windtraps worked, how to properly string tents and the beginnings of understanding Chakbosa.

🪐

Sitting in the tent, she ran a brush through her hair as the flap opened and looking over her shoulder, she saw Paul walking in his loose tunic clothing.

Standing up from the large cot, she walked over to his as he grasped her hips and pulled his close to her.

Being here among the dunes had proved to be a different type of difficult under the hot suns and unforgiving environment, but had somehow brought her and Paul into a new level of intimacy.

She stared into his eyes as she caressed his cheek before Paul leaned down, meeting her lips in a tongue filled kiss that left her thighs clenching as she fisted his shirt. Their lips clashing, tongues gliding over one another before Paul began to trail his lips down to her neck and finding the one spot he knew made her shudder, abusing the spot as he brought a hand up to her breast.

"Paul", she gasped as she felt her cunt clench and clit throb.

"I know, darling. Let me finally show you how I've missed you."

He pulled away and helped her take off her muslin nightgown, revealing her bare body underneath.

Her thighs felt sticky from the wetness coming from her. It had been so long since she had first been with Paul and it felt as if her body was shaking with need, her cunt feeling so slick and wet for him.

Walking backwards, she sat on the cot as Paul moved to take off his shirt, exposing to her his lean frame that she so loved. She brought a hand to his abdomen, trailing it down to palm at his obvious erection that Paul had as she helped him remove his pants.

His heavy cock leaked pre-cum and looked angry with need as she went to grasp it, but Paul shook his head.

"Please, don't tease me, darling. I need to be inside you."

Laying back down on the cot, she felt Paul tug back down as she yelped a little in surprise to find his kneeling at the foot of the cot.

"I just need a taste, my love."

She parted her legs, shyly as Paul brought his thumbs to her lips and spread her. His mere touch making her moan and whine as he cooed, "oh, love, you've missed me as I have you, haven't you?"

"Yes", she whined, "oh, Paul, how I've missed you."

She could only imagine how she looked to Paul as he cooed further, "your clit is so swollen, love. And I bet I can-"

She cried out as he slid two fingers in, her slickness allowing such a action to occur as he begun to slowly thrusting his fingers into her. She shivered as his fingers met that one spot in her that made her arch her back as Paul's hot mouth encased her clit, sucking on it as slowly as his fingers moved.

"Paul, please. I need more", she whined, "please."

He released her clit in a grin, "more, love? Do you not want to be made love to?"

She felt his fingers move in sped, her eyes rolling back as they begun to move in a deeper and rougher sped that had her moaning like those whores she had heard of on Azar.

"Or is it you want me to fuck you like a whore?"

"Yes", she began to sob as Paul's fingers bullied her cunt.

She had never pictured herself to be such a person but as Paul slid yet another finger into her, she tried to grasp at sides of the cot to keep herself grounded.

"Your cunt is so greedy, she just swallows my fingers."

It was then Paul brought his other hand and pressed down where her womb was and she cried out, he moved back to sucking on her clit in a harsh manner. The pleasure seemed to increase and her toes curled tightly, tears streaming as her cunt seized, squeezing his fingers as she felt her orgasm wash over her like a tidal waves.

Her legs slightly shook as Paul lapped at her clit, his fingers beginning to slowly slow in sped before he pulled them out.

She panted as she opened her eyes, watching as he stood and looked at the mess she had made on his fingers. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking at it and he moaned at the taste.

"You taste so sweet."

"Paul, please. I need you." Y/N could see that Paul's cock seem to be leaking so much and looked so red at the tip.

It seemed her wish finally came true as Paul between her legs, she grasped his face and brought their lips together in a moaning mess before they both cried out as Paul slid home into her.

Their arms wrapped around one another as their hips began to rock, Paul's cock bullying her womb practically as they breathed the same air, their bodies so intertwined it was hard to tell where she began and where Paul ended.

Her nipples rubbed so deliciously against Paul's slick skin that it only fueled her lust.

"Ah, I-I... love you, Paul!" Paul's hips seemed to rock even faster, the slapping of their flesh could surely been heard in the camp.

"I-I love you too", Paul grunted before he pulled out and left her whining as her cunt throbbed. "Turn over, I want to try something different."

She panted but curiousity filled her as she went onto her hands and knees, hearing Paul shuffle behind her before she gasped as Paul slid into her.

It felt so much deeper like this as Paul once again began to move.

Sex was forbidden among the Jedi Order and she could understand why as Paul had her soon drooling like a whore, letting all of the Fremen in this camp hear how she was begging for it all.

Her elbows soon enough gave out under it all, letting her top half fall to the cot as she bounced in time to Paul's thrusts.

She felt that familiar clenching as Paul brought a hand to her clit, rubbing it as he mouthed at her back.

Her second orgasm had her feeling like she was floating and shivering that she missed the warm sensation of Paul's cum filling her up, but once she did feel it, she moaned at the full feeling.

Collapsing soon from it all, they found themselves in a sweaty, lovers' embrace as their hearts tried to calm down and their lungs try to get more air back in them.

TAGLIST

@cloudlst @khlaeesihavilliard @colors-for-the-world-please @senhoritaapple @dark1paradise @chalametabingbong @aoi-targaryen @star-maker-rain-dancer @nj452896

[emblemxeno]

It's 5am where I am so I'm no doubt gonna regret posting meaningless whining about my favs compared to other characters when I wake up but rn who tf cares

I'm still incensed under the surface about how Byleth gets a better reception than Corrin, and how Corrin specifically is represented in a grand scheme of the FE franchise, mostly with Heroes.

"Corrin gets positions and authority when he doesn't deserve it!" then silence for Byleth when he gets a teaching position, and later either the archbishop spot or outright becomes king of an entire continent.

"Corrin's dragon powers aren't used in the plot enough!" Byleth's powers are only ever plot device fodder, are mechanically indistinct from other FE protag powers before and after him, and have terrible ludonarrative applications.

"Too many people worship Corrin!" About 70% of the cast's morality when defecting from their home (and sometimes partaking in harming it) is dictated by Byleth having enough tea parties with them, after being enrolled in a job he wasn't qualified for

"Corrin's character and personality is bad" Byleth doesn't even have one, he's just a dialogoue choice generator

"Corrin is the worst FE rep in Smash, had the worst trailer, and is representative of FE having imbalanced representation" FE has a clone/Echo fighter problem and consolidating Roy, Lucina and Chrom into Marth as alt skins a la Bowser Jr. would auto fix that controversy given the Smash community's "if I don't see it, it doesn't exist" approach to character slots; there is no universe where a trailer showcasing one of the worst villains in 3H-and the FE series as a whole-is better than even the cringiest lines in Corrin's trailer; there is more unique properties and applications just in Corrin's side special than there is in Byleth's entire kit, which was really a mish-mash of different Smash archetypes, inlcuding ones other FE characters covered. Not to mention the fucking PNG Sothis Final Smash with the embarassing lip flaps, jesus.

Every problem that Corrin is accused of having, Byleth does it worse. Every problem that Byleth gets jabbed with, eventually gets redirected back to Corrin for "starting it."

And it's seen as justified, because why? Well, 3H is a "better" game of course! After all, it's the best selling one! If it sold that much and was so well received that means it must have done everything exponentially better than Fates did! (ignore the fact that Fates was the best selling game in the series before 3H please). Why wouldn't Byleth simply be objectively, immutably better than Corrin in every metric going by this logic?

And, like always, CYL is gonna reaffirm this again for everyone. Cuz why wouldn't Byleth get so many votes last year despite him getting a great Christmas alt just the month before? He deserves it after the female version already won after all! And why wouldn't he win this year when he's guaranteed an Emblem alt in the future, and most likely to be on one of Valentine's, Children, or Wedding banners?

It made sense for the Robins to win one after the other cuz they're cool and awesome and not weak and annoying, so it makes sense for Byleth too!

Why would Corrin get this "it's his turn treatment" when he's not a good character and the female version only won because everyone knows she's just dumb fetish bait 🤪🤪🤪/s

It's just... so infuriatingly transparent. Even Male Alear isn't hit with this quite as hard tbh, because at worst he had half the votes Female Alear did, whereas M!Corrin at best had barely over a third of F!Corrin. And that only fuels my perspective on how M!Corrin, for all his alts, always feels like his presence is treated compulsory and obligated, and F!Corrin is always sold with "she's hot, who cares" in mind.

FE fans made it clear that Corrin's character was hated, so the solution became to sell the Fem one for horny whales, and have the Male one just slightly behind in numbers to keep up the illusion of fairness (while always making him inferior in gameplay).

All that just for Byleth, a non-character, to get every excuse and love from a fandom that hated Corrin for the same issues he has. Crazy.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Terms and Conditions

Russell Shaw X F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: when your sister's fiance goes missing, you call Colter for help, and he brings along his rugged, but handsome and charming older brother, Russell.

Warnings: mature content, eventual smut so minors dni (always), no use of y/n, this part only contains cursing. I've never written anything so tame (it's okay next part won't be)

WC: 3.6k

A/N: so I finished tracker, yay and Russell owns my thoughts rn so here we are. I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this. I'm not great at writing series, but this idea called for development I can't do in a one-shot. I started this right after finishing tracker last week and I finally had time to proof read it. I also had a hard time with Russell's characterization, mans been in only one episode, so if i didnt portay him perfectly sorry i tried. Happy readings.

I don't do tag lists, if you'd like keep up with upcoming parts follow @midnightreadinglibrary and turn on notifications (I only reblog my written works on there)

You have encountered a lot of grief and sorrow in your life. Pain, you were familiar with it. And you could safely say that one of the worst was heartbreak. You were all too familiar with that one. And right now, your baby sister was experiencing it, too.

“Rosie?” You called into your apartment as you kicked your shoes off and tossed your keys like they had offended you. With a heavy sigh, tired from a long and stressful day at the hospital, you dragged your sore feet through your apartment. 

The living room was empty, TV off. The kitchen was dark with the lights off. You frowned, calling your sister’s name, louder again. Couple seconds went by. Silence. You padded down the hall to the guest room. You could hear faint indistinct sounds. The closer you got to the guest room the clearer the sound became. It sounded like crying.

“Rosalie?” Your voice grew louder with concern as you opened the door to the bedroom, and there you saw your sweet baby sister, sobbing into her pillow. Your heart immediately sank and you rushed to her side. “Oh honey, it’s okay.”

You sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into a hug. She held you tight as she cried. It broke your heart to see her like this.

“It’s not okay! He’s been gone for over a week!” She sobbed. You squeezed her shoulders as she sat up and sniffled. “Our wedding is in three months! Why hasn't he come back?”

You stared into her eyes, the same color as your own and you sighed, only being able to give her a look of sympathy in return. You didn’t want to tell her what you thought.

“I dunno.. I mean.. What if he just.. You know?” The look on your face said everything you couldn’t with words, and Rosie looked like she wanted to cry even more.

“He didn’t bail. He wouldn’t… I know him. He's missing, why won’t anyone believe me?” She raised her voice, almost choking on a sob, and you immediately felt so horrible for even suggesting such a thing. 

“No, hey, I’m sorry for saying that, I do believe you. Have you heard anything from the cops?” She shook her head and you sighed heavily. 

“I can’t keep waiting, what if he got hurt? What if someone hurt him? Please, I need to do something.” She begged you, eyes filled with tears, you had never seen your sister so sad, so hopeless. She was always the more bubbly, optimistic and lively out of the two of you. But ever since her fiance went missing, you didn’t see that spark anymore. It broke your heart.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I think I know someone who can help, alright? We’ll find him.” 

~~~~~~~

“Hey Doc, to what do I owe this call? It’s been like what, three years?” 

You sighed softly at the voice on the other line. You didn’t exactly want to resort to this, but you didn’t know what else to do, but you had the money, your sister didn’t exactly have a lot to spare with her wedding planning, and all.

“I need a favor, Colter. Well, not exactly a favor, I’ll pay but, I need help asap.” You rubbed the side of your throbbing temple, you heard him hum, telling you to go on. “My sister’s fiance went missing last week. They’re supposed to get married in three months, and the poor thing is a wreck.”

Colter sighed. “A runaway groom? You know what that sounds like, right?”

“Yes, I know. But I know this guy, he’s a decent guy, and I know he loves my sister, he wouldn’t just leave her like this.” You tried to explain, Colter sighed again. “Listen, the guy was in the Army, he’s a Navy SEAL now, went overseas a lot, and my sister told me he’s been acting weird since his last assignment. Just humor me, please? I can’t see her like this.”

Colter stayed silent for a long minute, you honestly thought he had hung up, but you ultimately heard him take a deep breath before responding. “Fine, send me his details, I should get there by morning if I head out now.” 

“Thank you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chaos, chaos and more chaos.

You just wanted five minutes to breathe. You sat down, for the first time in hours today and took in a deep breath. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Rosie, almost zombie-like as she walked through the emergency department  You called out to her.

“Hey, did you get some sleep?” You asked her with worried eyes. She shrugged. “Listen, I called an old friend, he helps find people. Maybe he can find James, ‘cause the cops clearly aren’t going to.” You saw the smallest smile, and the smallest bit of hope light of her eyes.

“Really? What, is he like a PI or something?” She tilted her head at you, seemingly just as exhausted as you were.

“I mean..” You hesitated, unsure on how to explain Colter’s job to her. “I guess? He collects reward money. When someone goes missing and a reward is offered, he finds people for that reward.”

“But I didn’t offer any reward. I can’t even afford to buy a pair of shoes right now.. On my shitty nurse salary. I’ve already spent so much of my savings on planning the wedding. And these student loans are killing me. I can’t pay him.” She started to ramble in panic, motioning her hands around. You stood up and grabbed her hands.

“It’s fine. I got it covered. Take it as your early wedding gift?” You flashed her a toothy smile, hoping to humor her at least a little. She looked at you with apprehension. “Not a word, okay? I want him to come home to you, I don’t mind spending some money if it means you can be happy.”

She could have the happiness you never could.

Rosie’s eyes filled with tears and you thought she was going to burst into tears in the middle of the emergency department, but instead she hugged you, and she hugged you so fucking hard you thought she broke one of your ribs. You laughed softly and patted her head reassuringly. You were about to say something to her but you heard your name being called. You turned around and saw one of the rotation nurses.

“You have visitors at the front desk.” She told you. You scrunched up your face in confusion.

“Who? I wasn't expecting anyone.”

“Don’t know. The front desk just said two guys asked for you directly.”

Oh. Colter. But who was the other guy?

‘Alright, thanks.” You nodded at her. You then looked at Rosie with a warm reassuring smile and you held her hands in yours. “We’re gonna find James, I know it. I’ll let you know when my friend wants to meet with you, he normally likes to talk with the missing person’s closest relative. Try to focus on work alright?” 

You left her with that, hoping she would trust you. And you hoped you could trust Colter. With a heavy sigh you walked to the front desk of the emergency department. And there you saw Colter, hands in his pockets as he talked with another man you didn’t recognize. With a bit of skepticism, you approached both men, letting your presence be known with a clear of your throat. They both turned to look at you, Colter with a warm welcoming smile, but the other guy, who was arguably the hottest man you had ever seen in your life—not that it was relevant—looked at you like a deer in headlights, like starstruck.

“Hey Colter,” you gave him a cordial smile, then you looked at his slightly shorter companion, though both men were still a good head taller than you. “And Colter’s friend. Didn’t know you had a partner.”

“I don’t. This is—”

“Russell. Colter’s more handsome and charming older brother.” Russell interrupted, extending a hand to you. You looked at Colter, who looked less than impressed and you couldn’t help but snort a bit.

“I see the flirty nature is a family thing then?” You took Russell’s hand with a small laugh but you quickly swallowed when you felt the warmness of his large hand as it engulfed your smaller one. You weren’t really laughing then. You made eye contact with Russell, you had never seen a pair of prettier eyes, a breathtaking shade of green, and an intensity that was equally breathtaking. It didn’t help that he was smiling at you, too. 

You cleared your throat and took your hand back, choosing to look at Colter instead, “So uh, what’s the plan?”

“Right, well, first things first, I need more details about this James, think you could take an early lunch? I would also need to talk to your sister as soon as possible.” 

You chewed on your bottom lip, catching a glimpse of your watch before ultimately nodding, “Yeah, just give me an hour. We can meet at this cafe nearby, I’ll send you the address. You can meet with my sister after her shift. She’s been staying with me.”

They looked at each other for a second, shrugged then nodded at you. These two were definitely brothers. 

~~~~~~~~

You were frantic as you pulled into the cafe, running late after a code blue that took up almost the whole hour to get under control. You were sure that you looked like a mess, still in your scrubs, pieces of hair falling out of your bun as you entered the cafe. You were almost embarrassed that Russell was going to see you like this, you didn’t care too much about Colter, though. When you entered you saw them sitting at a booth, two cups of coffee sitting on the table but no food. You felt a bit bad. Colter noticed you and waved you over, making Russell turn his head to look at you. And somehow he didn’t seem to care about how wild you looked. 

“I’m so sorry. I had a code blue. I hope I didn’t waste your guy’s time.” You said almost frantic, barely able to catch your breath. You unconsciously sat next to Russell, who seemed quite happy about that.

“Nonsense. We were actually waiting for you to order, right Colt?” Russell reassured, and when you turned your head to look at him he was smiling at you, a toothy smile that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle a tiny bit, it was kind of cute, actually. 

“Yep. Russell insisted we waited. Even though we haven't eaten anything in over six hours.” Colter sighed sipping on his coffee. 

“Well at least one of you has manners.” You narrowed your eyes at Colter, and you heard Russell rumble a laugh.

“Y’know what? Let’s just focus on the case, okay?” You held back a laugh and simply nodded, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent of Russell beside you, a mixture of bourbon and sandalwood. 

Colter asked you a million questions, ones you had answers to, and others didn’t, which was probably best if he talked to your sister, too. Your food also arrived quickly, which you were thankful for since you hadn’t had anything other than the Keurig coffee from the doctors lounge. 

“So, you said James was in the army?” You nodded as you munched on a fry. “And is Navy SEAL now?” 

“Yeah, he went overseas every month or so. But after his last assignment a few weeks ago he told my sister about getting out.” You answered as you bit into your cheeseburger. You didn’t often like to indulge in greasy heavy foods, but you were beyond stressed from both work and your sister, so you needed some joy in your life.

“He wanted out? Why?” Russell asked beside you. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. One thing or another about being tired of being on the battlefield, wanting to be home more. Or that’s what Rosie told me.” You answered as you munched on your burger. You thought for a few seconds before speaking again. “But if you ask me, I think something went wrong in his last assignment. Rosie said he didn’t speak to her for a whole day after coming home, and that he was constantly on edge and irritable for weeks leading up to his disappearance.” 

“Maybe. Might be worth looking into.” Colter shrugged as he took a bit out of his sandwich. “You think we’d be able to look into his assignments overseas?” He asked Russell.

“Doubt it. If they’re classified, which most likely they are, they’d either have little to no paper trail, or they would be heavily secured.” Russell said with a mouthful of fries, which Colter clearly disapproved of. But Russell paid no mind to it, his attention was all on you.

“How do you know?” You asked Russell with genuine curiosity. He half grinned a bit.

“I used to be in the Army too. Spec ops. That's why Colter brought me along.” Russell explained, and you almost wanted to sigh out loud. “So I know damn well how secretive some of those overseas assignments can be. Most are black-ops and off the books. It’d be hard to find the files.” 

So much for tall, rugged and handsome. Guess you’re going to have to look from afar.

‘Well fuck. That sounds lovely.” You mumbled into your burger, annoyed and frustrated. Russell actually laughed this time.

“You know that burger isn’t gonna run away, right?” He chuckled at the way you were so aggressively stuffing your face. Colter narrowed his eyes at his older brother and kicked him under the table. “Okay, ow.” 

“Mind your business? Also, you have no room to talk dude.” You scoffed, eyeing his sriracha covered fries with disgust. “That’s actually fucking criminal.”

“Well, this one has a mouth on her. And here I was trying to be a gentleman.” He chuckled, playful grin on his face as he shoved a particularly heavily sriracha-covered fry in his mouth while you watched. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.” 

You stared at him with an indescribable feeling. You didn’t remember the last time a man had this much of an effect on you. Sure, in your mind it didn’t do him any favors that he used to be in the military, but you’d gladly break your own rule for just a little taste of him. He was a little rugged, sure, but he was undeniably handsome and carried himself with an alluring sense of self confidence. And the way he smiled at you, God, it made you feel like a schoolgirl, warm and tingly. You didn’t remember the last time a man looked at you like that, either.

“Can we focus here?” Colter, the ever present voice of reason. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who woulda thought, you look even more beautiful without the scrubs.” Those were the first words out of Russell’s mouth when you opened the door. You had told them to stop by in the evening after Rosie’s shift so they could talk to her. 

“Russell,” Colter sighed, looking at his brother with annoyance but Russell simply smiled, unapologetically proud of himself. They both looked at you, you were trying so hard not to smile right now. “Alright, is Rosie home?”

“Yeah, she’s in the living room. Come in.” You shook your head softly as you allowed both brothers into your apartment. 

You led them to the living room, you caught Russell looking around with curiosity. Maybe he was trying to figure you out, figure out how to get on your good side. But he otherwise didn’t say anything. 

“Rosie, the guys I told you about are here.” You called out to her and she immediately shot up to her feet and rushed to your side. You looked at her, poor thing looked like she had been crying again. “This is Colter, the tracker, and that’s his brother, Russell. They’re going to help us, okay? Colter just needs to ask you a few questions about James.”

Rosie was nodding profusely, “Anything, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Just help me find him? Please?” 

Colter led her to the couch, perhaps she’d feel safer if she was comfortable. You didn’t want to intrude, you probably weren’t needed right at this time, anyway.

“I’m going to get you guys something to drink.” You announced, wanting to give them some privacy. 

“I’ll help.” Russell piped up and you looked at him with curiosity, he simply smiled at you. You didn’t bother to question him.

You went into the kitchen, Russell was close behind you. You could feel his intense gaze burn into the back of your head as you rummaged through your fridge. You tried to ignore it.

“Beer?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder at him. 

“Sure.” 

You grabbed three beers from the fridge and Rosie’s iced tea. You handed Russell his beer before moving around your kitchen to grab a glass cup from the cupboard. You poured the iced tea into the cup before turning around to find Russell still looking at you, with wonder, and maybe something else you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“So what’s your deal?” He asked you as he sipped his beer. You tilted your head at him and furrowed your eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, yeah you’re clearly a kick-ass doctor, and a caring sister but, what else is there? I don’t see any pets, surely no kids, no pictures on the walls, minimal decor, hopefully no boyfriend,” You laughed at the last part. “So, what are you about?”

“Right, well uh,” you chuckled softly, awkwardly sipping on your beer as you leaned on the counter. You shrugged. “I’m a doctor who works sixty-plus hours a week, I have zero social life, I’m not home nearly enough to have a pet. And I certainly have no time for the nonsense of men my age. But hey, if you want to know what I’m about, it’ll take more than just shitty beer and a kitchen conversation to figure me out.”

Russell smiled. Genuinely smiled. But it was a different kind of glint, like he was amused, impressed almost. He chuckled as he nodded, stepping to stand in front of you. You straightened up, looking up at him.

“Surely you’d have time to get a drink with me sometime then? I don’t know if I’m your age but I can assure you I’m not going to waste your time. Would love to try and figure you out while I’m here.” He bit his bottom lip, eyebrows raised and green eyes big with expectancy. 

Yes—said the warmth between your legs.

No—said your rational mind.

“Russell…” Your voice was a warning, apprehensive as you chewed on your bottom lip. “I don’t think I should be going on dates while my sister’s fiance is missing.” 

“It’s her fiance that’s missing, not yours.” He chuckled. You knew he didn’t mean to sound mean, or mocking but you scoffed softly, moving away from him. His words hit you in ways he could never know.

“I don't do… That. Y’know, dating? Or hookups. I don’t do romance, period.” You argued, hands on your hips. He tilted his head at you, eyebrows raised as he looked at you with that indescribably charming look of his. God, did he make it hard to say no.

“Don’t have to be anything. I’m not expecting anything. Just drinks, no strings attached, we’ll see where the night takes us, yeah?” He made a very compelling argument, and his unwavering confidence and charm was hard to resist.

Truly, you didn’t remember the last time you felt so tempted to go on a date with someone, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. From coworkers to patients have made advances you’ve always easily turned down. But Russell? You didn’t feel like you wanted to turn him down. You gave in so easily.

“Whadaya say?”

“Yeah, okay. Just drinks. We’ll see what happens. But don’t get any funny ideas, okay?” You warned him. He chuckled but ultimately raised his hands up in defense when you narrowed your eyes at him.

“I am a gentleman, sweetheart. I know how to behave in front of a pretty girl.”

Your concern was if you could behave in front of a hot guy. Especially when he was as hot as Russell.