#like the most interesting thing about their dynamic is the tension

[taweretsdagger]

"he walks among us, but is not one of us:" lost's tragic, (probably) autistic doctors

have been thinking about jack, juliet, and their relationship so much lately, inspired by so much good jack analysis from @eponine119 and @lost-inanotherlife, as well as @youmovedthenachos' discussion of viewing jack as autistic. the more i think about it the more i see this for both him and juliet.

i also think there are some specific differences in how the two behave which can be (at least partially) explained by how autism manifests/is interpreted depending on gender presentation and socialization, but in this post i'll stay focused on their similarities since i can already tell it's gonna be a long one!

both characters similarly display the following signs of autism: strong internal sense of justice (and disregard for social/institutional norms in favor of this), hyperfocus/competence in areas of interest, and a persistent sense of social isolation.

one of the reasons jack and juliet's relationship is so intriguing to me is that they project these traits onto each other, turning the other into a receptacle for the things they want for themselves but cannot bring about on their own. it's a tense, often unpleasant dynamic to watch--somewhat like two mirrors eerily reflecting back and forth into infinity. but the mutual understanding and mutual desire to heal beneath the surface of this tension keeps me hooked and rooting for them.

i'll start off by discussing two of these traits together (hyper-focus/competence and sense of justice/disregard for norms), since i think these are shown most clearly through their lives pre-island, while their social isolation is primarily shown to us on-island.

jack and juliet are doctors who are miraculously gifted in their respective fields, accomplishing medical feats which should be impossible. both sarah and rachel are in seemingly unrecoverable physical conditions which are reversed through jack and juliet's interventions, against all odds. ben and richard also become aware of juliet's prowess as a doctor/researcher due to her success impregnating a male field mouse.

we learn from juliet that jack graduated med school a year early, and i tend to believe that juliet might have done the same (or graduated college early/skipped a grade/etc.), considering that finishing med school at age 26 would leave her only 4 years before being recruited to the island in 2001.

so, we have two people who are near-prodigal in one specific area, but whose lives outside their work are something of a mess. they struggle with personal relationships, struggle to feel confident and secure in their abilities, and are easily influenced by nefarious actors (christian for jack, ed for juliet) who take advantage of their skill and their trusting nature. these dynamics definitely contribute to their sense of isolation/lack of belonging, which i'll come back to in a bit.

both of them also blur (at minimum) the doctor-patient relationship with personal relationships and interact with institutional rules as an afterthought, prioritizing what they personally feel is the right thing to do. juliet steals lab supplies on rachel's behalf (likely for months on end), while jack waffles on whether to turn in his father for operating while drunk, only deciding to do so once he learns that the patient who died as a result was pregnant.

it's a common misconception that the "autistic sense of justice" is part and parcel with a universally-keen moral compass, but in reality this "justice" gets doled out based on whatever specific biases the person possesses. jack's case illustrates this especially clearly; rather than turning in christian right away (because operating under the influence = immoral), he needs a reason to act which aligns with his personal moral code, which certainly has a good bit of misogyny baked into it.

ok, let's move to on-island, and discuss jack and juliet's social isolation and desire to belong, which relates to the title of this post (the translation of jack's tattoos, though n.b. that he does say this is "not what they mean").

it's common for autistic people to feel "alien" in the presence of other humans, and there's research showing that allistic people experience an uncanny valley effect within seconds of meeting an autistic person, due to micro-differences in behavior which are not picked up on consciously. this effect can also contribute to autistic people being susceptible to abuse, since abusers will quickly clock these traits and seek to use them to their advantage.

we are shown the relevance of jack's tattoo translation largely in the context of his (often reluctant) leadership position among the survivors, but it's interesting that juliet also describes in a therapy session with harper that the attention she receives from their society makes her feel isolated. it's significant to me as well that harper immediately interprets this discomfort as juliet being self-important/arrogant. this sort of misunderstanding is a common experience in autistic women in particular, and distinguishes her position among the others from jack's position among the survivors (again, more on this another time).

formation of societies/communities and what makes someone "one of them" vs. "one of us" is a recurring theme throughout the show, and i think that part of why jack defends juliet so adamantly to the survivors is due to the kinship he feels in their shared desire to belong and their incapability of experiencing this belonging. of course, this is tied up with the affection he feels for juliet due to her resemblance to sarah, as well as his stubborn (again, largely misogynistic) desire to "fix" or "save" her like he did sarah.

really, these motivations go hand in hand, and i'd argue that much of jack's compulsion to save juliet is a sign of the projection i described earlier. jack grew up lonely and abused, seemingly without any allies around the way juliet had an ally in rachel. correctly or not, he sees himself in juliet, and yearns to save her the way he wishes he himself had been saved.

jack's plan a = him and juliet escaping the island (and the forces oppressing them both) on the galaga, which is... ahem... foiled by locke (who--you guessed it! serves as a foil to both characters... in disparate ways... that can be viewed as a, uhh... foil-within-a-foil... buuuut that's another post for another day).

a tough break to be sure, but jack's hero complex perseveres. plan b = bringing juliet back to the beach camp, the place where jack kind-of-sort-of belongs, but not quite. this poses a new challenge, a new opportunity for projection. if jack can successfully integrate juliet--an other--into the survivors' camp and bring about belonging for her, then maybe he himself can finally feel that belonging, too.

another plot point worth mentioning here is the "pre-plan a" plan, or juliet's plea for jack to kill ben during surgery. i honestly have a tough time parsing out her exact motivations here (GOD i love juliet's villain era <3), but this can be read as a type of projection as well. juliet cannot save herself from ben, but she can project her desire to be saved onto jack, who has the specific skills needed to botch a complicated spinal surgery without anyone being the wiser.

to close out, we'll discuss the dynamic present in the survivors' camp at the end of season 3. this is one of my favorite stretches of episodes in the show, in part due to the brief gasp we get of jack's positive character growth before things begin to devolve for him at the start of season 4. i think the success he finds in his quest to secure belonging for juliet is a huge part of this growth being possible.

after juliet comes clean about ben's plot, the camaraderie jack waxed poetic about in his "live together, die alone" speech is finally realized. the survivors have managed to correctly assess an outsider as a threat and win her over into defecting from her previous loyalties. (in classic LOST fashion this all happens pretty messily, but regardless, it shows that the survivors have established a true, functional community.) as a result, jack feels more comfortable than ever stepping into the leadership role he's been grappling with for months.

with juliet at his side, he leads the group in mounting a defense against the others and evacuating the beach. we even see him willing to let go of his possessiveness over kate while still expressing his love for her, as he literally ascends to the radio tower. his people--his society, the place where he finally belongs, and, significantly, where juliet belongs--are right beside him.

from there, two things happen which topple us into the next phase of jack and juliet's relationship: first, juliet lies to jack about a gun cache so jack will let her and sawyer return to the beach (a descent, if you will, and i think it's significant that this is the first time we see sawyer and juliet interact amicably), and second, our old foil-friend locke comes out of the woodwork yet again--this time to kill naomi.

at this point, the differences between jack and juliet start to manifest, and from here on out their relationship will be dominated by these differences. they will continue to project their traits onto each other the way they did their similarities; however, rather than this projection culminating in a sense of shared belonging and communal purpose like it did in season 3, it turns more adversarial/destructive and contributes in part to both characters' tragic ends.

so, apart from their initial difficulty experiencing belonging, what do jack and juliet's relationship and on-island experiences have to do with autism? well, another hallmark of autism is a weak internal sense of self. many autistic people struggle to name their emotions, physical sensations, desires, etc., and instead rely on external inputs to identify these. in my view, this is the purpose jack and juliet's relationship serves for them--it beings about a "necessary other," through whom they can identify their own wants and needs.

when jack and juliet meet, they are both locked (LOCKED?) into roles they want out of (jack, literally, as a prisoner, with juliet as a captor trapped under ben's influence). both are desperate for someone to save, or for someone to save them. maybe a little of both. i wouldn't say they find healing in each other, exactly, but i think their relationship is a catalyst for what healing and growth they are able to find elsewhere, despite it also catalyzing their demise.

[arcadianico]

i think one of the reasons i dislike qtntduo as a ship is that wilbur hasn’t been on since literally before the brazilians arrived and everything about qq and elq was always made to be about him. and listen, i know qq’s obsession played a role in that but also qq’s thing about wilbur is so much more complicated that it usually gets portrayed. also having them be romantic and actually involved with each other would be boring sorry

[greengoblinswifey]

Fatal Attraction

pairing— The Salesman x Recruiter!Reader

summary— You and the Salesman share an undeniable attraction that’s filled with playful banter and sexual chemistry, despite the risks of being involved as recruiters for the Squid Game. It eventually boils over in a way you didn’t expect. based on this request.

warnings— sexual tension, flirting, jealousy, switch!salesman, manipulation, groping, slight voyeurism, thigh riding, praise kink.

a/n— part 2?🤭

Part II

The evening air was cloudy as the city hummed around you. Dressed in a chic black dress that hugged your figure and a pair of sleek red bottom heels, you walked through the dimly lit streets with an air of effortless confidence. Your black curls cascaded over your shoulders, catching the light as you moved, each step commanding attention. The world around you seemed to part as men turned their heads, unable to resist the allure you exuded.

You smirked, feeling the eyes on you. Most of the time, you didn’t need to say a word. They came to you. A flirtatious smile was all it took, and you knew that by the time they left, they'd be clutching the game card in their hands, their minds already made up. It was easy, really. Your beauty and charm were weapons, subtle but deadly, and you wielded them with precision. It was no wonder they hired you.

Behind you, the Salesman was watching. His gaze followed you, a mix of admiration and something else, something darker? He’d always been fascinated by you, but you knew he wouldn’t admit it. His competitive streak ran deep, and that was what made the dynamic between the two of you so—interesting. You had a way of making him lose focus, just for a moment, and he hated how much he liked it.

“Are you always this distracting?” he asked. He stepped closer, his presence almost predatory as you felt his eyes linger on you for too long.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you teased.

He narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed but intrigued at the same time. “You're making it hard for me to concentrate,” he said.

You leaned in just enough to feel the heat between you, brushing past him sultry, making sure to brush your ass against hun. “Well,” you said, your voice a whisper, “maybe you just need to focus more.”

The way his jaw tightened gave you a little thrill. He wasn’t used to being the one distracted, but there you were, effortlessly captivating him. He hated that you had this power over him, but at the same time, it only fueled his need to be around you.

As you approached a group of lower class men, you effortlessly captured their attention, your words emphasized as you explained the game to them, each one of them hanging on your every word. They didn’t even care about the money anymore, they were entranced by you, by the way you spoke, the way you looked, the way your eyes sparkled with mystery.

You glanced over your shoulder, catching the Salesman’s narrowed eyes. There was a flicker of jealousy there, and you smiled to yourself. He was usually so composed, so in control, but when it came to you, it was clear he was a little off balance.

As you handed the last card to a willing participant, you turned back toward him, catching frustration in his eyes. “You’re still looking at my ass,” you noted. “Is there something you want to say?”

His eyes flickered to yours, something passing between you, but instead of responding immediately, he took a step closer, cornering you against a nearby wall. His lips were so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your skin, and for a moment, the world around you both seemed to fade away.

“We need to focus,” you said, your voice a mix of teasing and determination. You could feel his body heat radiating against yours, and for just a second, you almost let go. But the chemistry between you two was a game of its own, one you weren’t ready to lose yet.

His lips hovered inches from yours, but you moved away just in time, leaving him wanting more, the silent promise of what could be lingering in the air between you. You walked away, leaving him there, caught between frustration and fascination.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but there was a smile at his lips. He couldn’t stay mad at you for long.

“You love it,” you called over your shoulder with a wink, and he couldn’t argue with that.

The bustling subway platform crowded, filled with footsteps, idle chatter, and the occasional rumble of an approaching train. You stood poised, elegant as ever while the Salesman stood nearby, his briefcase in hand and his usual smirk in place, but even he couldn't deny that all eyes were on you.

“You’re making this too easy,” he said, his voice laced with amusement as he watched another man approach you, drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Not my fault I have—certain advantages,” you replied, letting your hand drift over your tits for just a moment before returning to the man who had approached you.

The man stammered as you handed him a game card, your voice smooth as you explained the rules. He barely registered the words, too mesmerized by the way you leaned in just enough to catch his attention.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the Salesman watching, his expression a mixture of pride and annoyance.

“You’re going to spoil them,” he muttered under his breath as the man walked away, clutching the card like it was a love letter.

“Jealous?”

“Hardly,” he shot back, but the way his jaw tightened said otherwise.

As you moved through the station, you approached another potential recruit, a man sitting on a bench, his head in his hands. His clothes were old, his expression weary. You softened your approach, sitting beside him with a look of genuine concern.

“I couldn’t help but notice you look like you could use a fresh start,” you began, your voice gentle.

The man looked up, startled by your presence. His eyes widened as he took in your appearance, clearly caught off guard.

“It’s not easy, is it?” you continued, your tone having fake empathy. “But I can offer you something better. A chance to turn things around.”

By the time you handed him the card, the man was nodding eagerly, his despair replaced by a spark of hope.

The Salesman watched from a distance, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a witch,” he said when you returned to his side. “The way you manipulate people—it’s almost unfair.”

“Takes one to know one,” you said smiling.

Later that evening, the two of you stood in a crowded peak, each of you scanning the crowd for potential players. He approached a group of men, his signature ddakji tiles in hand. “Care for a game?” he offered, his tone inviting.

The men glanced at him, then at you, their interest shifting immediately.

“Actually, we’d rather play with her,” one of them said, his gaze fixed on you.

You smirked, stepping closer to the Salesman and leaning in just enough to make him flinch. “Looks like you’ve got competition,” you whispered.

“Careful, or I might start charging for your services,” he retorted.

As the men prepared to play, you caught the Salesman watching you again. You met his gaze, your lips curving into a sly smile. Then, almost unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, letting the subtle action hang heavy in the air.

His eyes darkened, his composure slipping for just a moment before you stepped away, leaving him standing there, frustrated and wanting more.

During one particularly tense recruitment, a man you’d just handed a card to glanced between you and the Salesman, frowning. “You two, you should really sort out whatever this is,” he said, gesturing between you.

Without missing a beat, you turned to him. “What you need to sort out is that broke issue you have,”you retorted, leaving him sputtering as you walked away.

“You’re ruthless,” the Salesman laughed, shaking his head.

“And you love it,” you shot back, not even bothering to deny it.

As the night wore on, the two of you found yourselves alone again, leaning against a railing overlooking the city. He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his hand brushing against your arm. For a moment, it seemed like he might close the distance, but you stepped back, breaking the spell.

“Back up,” you snapped.

He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “One day, you’re not going to walk away,” he said.

You smiled, turning away as your curls bounced with each step. “Good luck with that,” you called over your shoulder, leaving him to brew in his frustration once again.

Another evening at the busy train station, you and the Salesman stood on opposite sides of the platform, each scanning for potential recruits. You caught his eye briefly before a man in a tattered suit approached you. He didn’t hesitate to ask your name, his interest plain.

The Salesman watched from a distance as you gave the man a coy smile, tilting your head to send the perfect signal. The man eagerly accepted the card you handed him, and even after walking away, he kept glancing back at you.

“Showing off again?” the Salesman said as he finally approached.

“Not my fault,” you said with a shrug. “They just come to me.”

“They should try not flirting with you for once,” he muttered, his jaw tightening as his gaze darted to the men still watching you.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you laughed softly, leaning in for him to smell your perfume.

Later that night, the two of you walked back to the car after another successful round of recruitment. He was unusually quiet as you strolled under the streetlights, the faint sound of your heels breaking the silence.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He hesitated, then said, “I was just thinking, how do you do it?”

“Do what?”

He stopped walking and turned to face you. “Get everyone to fall at your feet like that.”

You tilted your head, a small smile on your lips. “It’s a gift. But don’t worry, you’re not immune.”

He shook his head, his smirk returning.

During one recruitment night, you and the Salesman found yourselves at a lounge. You moved effortlessly through the room, drawing attention without even trying. At the bar, a man offered to buy you a drink, and you accepted with a polite smile, leaning in to keep him hooked.

From across the room, the Salesman watched, his jaw clenching when the man leaned closer to whisper something in your ear. You laughed lightly, slipping the card into the man’s jacket pocket before walking away.

When you rejoined the Salesman, he raised an eyebrow. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Totally,” you replied, sipping the drink you had brought back with you.

“Next time, I’ll be the one buying you a drink,” He leaned in, his voice low.

You looked up at him, your lips curving into a playful smile. “If you’re lucky.”

One late night, as you were reviewing the day’s ‘victims’, a playful argument broke out between you two.

“You only got that guy at the park because I wasn’t there,” he teased, leaning against the table.

“Oh, please,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “He wouldn’t have looked at your ass twice.”

“Care to bet on that?”

You met his gaze, unfazed. “Fine. Loser buys dinner.”

“Deal.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “You should practice your flirting first. Wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself.”

Another evening you stood on the busy street corner, your black dress and signature heels drawing stares as usual. A potential recruit leaned lazily against a lamppost, his attitude immediately grating.

“You think I’m fucking stupid enough to fall for this?” he sneered, flicking the card you handed him back toward you. His tone was sharp, his words laced with anger.

Your smile tightened, but you didn’t break your composure. “I wouldn’t say stupid, but if the shoe fits—”

The man stepped closer, his expression darkening. “Listen, woman, don’t test me. You think your little tricks work on everyone?”

Before you could respond, the Salesman appeared at your side, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the man. Without warning, his fist connected with the man’s jaw, sending him falling backward. The man scrambled to his feet, muttering curses as he stumbled away.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s my job to make sure you’re safe,” he replied firmly, his voice softer now as his eyes stayed on yours.

For the first time, you faltered. His protectiveness caught you off guard, leaving you unsure of what to say.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “How about dinner?”

“Sure, what the hell.”

The restaurant was cozy and dimly lit, a bit romantic. You sat across from him, sipping your wine as laughter filled your small talk. For the first time, the banter felt easy, natural.

The waitress arrived to refill your drinks and smiled warmly at the two of you. “You two make a great couple,” she said.

You opened your mouth to correct her, but the Salesman beat you to it. “Yes, we do,” he said, his grin almost asking you to challenge him.

You shot him a look, your eyebrow arching. He just shrugged, clearly enjoying himself.

As the meal continued, you slipped off your Louis Vuittons under the table, your stocking clad foot gliding toward him. You made contact with his leg first, and when he didn’t react, you moved higher.

His fork clattered against his plate when your toes brushed against his cock. He coughed, his eyes darting to yours.

“Careful,” you said, tilting your head innocently.

“What—what are you doing?” he stammered.

“What do you mean?” you asked, as if you had no idea what he was talking about.

His jaw clenched as he tried to maintain his composure, but you could see the cracks forming. “Act normal,” you murmured softly, your foot still teasing his cock. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know what we’re doing.”

He nodded stiffly, attempting to make small talk, but his sentences came out broken and stuttered. You held back a laugh, savoring his discomfort.

By the time the meal ended, you had stopped, sitting back in your chair and putting your heels back on with a satisfied smirk as he paid the bill.

The drive back to your apartment was quiet, but the air between you was filled with more tension than usual. You placed your hand on his thigh, rubbing lightly as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“Why are you so tense?” you asked.

“Don’t act dumb,” he muttered, his voice strained.

You giggled, sliding your hand higher until you reached his bulge. His sharp inhale didn’t go unnoticed, and you leaned back in your seat, thoroughly enjoying yourself.

When you finally reached your apartment, he followed you inside, closing the door behind him. Before you could take another step, he spun you around and pressed you against the door, his hands braced on either side of your head.

His face was close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m sick of your games,” he growled. “It doesn’t matter what happens out there. In here, I’m in control.”

You bit your lip, your pulse quickening. “Yes, sir,” you murmured, your voice teasing.

That was all it took for his restraint to snap.

His lips crashed against yours. It was magnetic, a clash of sexual tension and pent up frustration. His hands framed your face as if you were going to slip away. Your arms went around his neck instinctively, drawing him closer. The world outside the apartment ceased to exist. His lips moved with a ferocity that made you forget every rule you were breaking.

Before you could even catch your breath, he lifted you effortlessly, his hands firm on your thighs as he carried you through the dimly lit apartment. His strength, his control, sent something through you. He didn’t hesitate, pushing open the door to the bedroom with his shoulder, and setting you down in his lap as he sank onto the edge of the bed.

You slowly began grinding on him, his hands moved to your waist, guiding you instinctively. “You always know how to push me, don’t you?” he murmured against your lips.

“Me? I think you’re the one who—”

He cut you off with a smirk, his grip tightening. “Ride my thigh,” he said suddenly.

Your heart beat faster. “W-what?” you stammered, caught off guard.

“You heard me,” he repeated, his dark gaze locking with yours. “Show me how much control you really have.”

Your breath hitched as his hands remained steady on your hips, guiding you forward. You hesitated, unsure if this was a line you should cross, but his touch, his words, it was consuming. Slowly, you moved on his thigh, the friction and the intimacy making your pulse quicken.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

His praise sent a thrill through you, but as the moment grew more intense, the reality of the situation began to creep in. Your hips moved back and forth and your head fell back as the pleasure began to build in a way you didn’t expect. You were leaking through your thong and stockings, staining his pants. His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “Cum on my thigh,” he whispered.

The coil in your abdomen snapped, your release hitting you like a truck, and you sagged against him, breathless and unsure how things had escalated this far. His arms wrapped around you as he steadied you, holding you close as the weight of what just happened sank in.

“W-we shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered, breaking the silence.

“No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But I’m not stopping.”

The rules echoed in your mind, the Front Man’s orders, the consequences if you were caught. You knew you were playing with fire, but there was no denying the pull between you.

“If he finds out,” you trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

His thumb brushed against your cheek as he met your gaze. “He won’t,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The words hung in the air, a reassurance and a promise all at once. You knew it wasn’t that simple, but in his arms, you felt obligated to believe.

[deception-united]

Let's talk about enemies to lovers tropes.

Indisputably one of the best tropes out there. And one of the most infuriating, to write and to read.

When writing an enemies-to-lovers romance, there are several elements to consider in order to create a compelling and engaging story.

Here are some things to avoid and include:

DO NOT:

Create one-dimensional, flat characters. Both characters should have depth, flaws, and virtues that make them relatable and interesting.

Force conflict. While conflict is essential in this trope, it should arise naturally from the characters' personalities, circumstances, and past interactions. Avoid contriving conflicts solely for the sake of drama.

Cause sudden, unrealistic transformations in character behavior. While characters can change and grow throughout the story, it should be gradual and believable.

Overuse tropes. Try to bring fresh perspectives and unique elements to your story to avoid clichés and predictability. Yes, readers will still read the story if they like the trope, notwithstanding the vast amount of nearly identical novels they've consumed. I know you're guilty. But unique elements will make it stand out amongst the sea of literature out there.

Rely on stereotypical traits for either character. Subvert expectations and give your characters complexity and nuance.

DO:

Develop rich backstories for both characters, including the reasons behind their animosity towards each other. This adds depth and understanding to their dynamic.

Ensure there's palpable chemistry between the enemies-turned-lovers. Their interactions should spark tension, passion, and intrigue, drawing readers into their evolving relationship.

Show gradual character development as they transition from enemies to lovers. Each should challenge the other's beliefs, leading to personal growth and introspection.

Build emotional tension through witty banter, charged encounters, and moments of vulnerability. Let the unresolved tension simmer beneath the surface, keeping readers invested in their relationship.

Introduce conflicts with high stakes that test the characters' newfound bond. This can come from internal struggles, external threats, or obstacles that force them to confront their feelings.

Allow the romance to develop gradually, building anticipation and suspense as the characters navigate their evolving feelings for each other.

Even as enemies, there should be moments of mutual respect or admiration between the characters. Highlight these moments to show the underlying potential for a deeper connection.

Stay true to the characters' personalities and motivations throughout the story. Authenticity breeds believability and emotional resonance.

Happy writing ❤

Previous | Next

[eu-nicola]

non think

summary: your friendship with Rudy began naturally and fluidly, but when his girlfriend's jealousy begins to interfere, tensions arise

warnings: nothing (?)

word counter: 5049

author's note: english is not my first language, this is fiction, don't take it seriously

From the moment you stepped onto the Outer Banks set, you felt that unmistakable energy of a team completely in sync. But even though everything seemed to click, it was Rudy Pankow who you instantly connected with. It wasn’t something you could plan—it just happened naturally.

Your role wasn’t easy. Playing Isabella Cameron, the middle Cameron sibling, meant bringing depth, charisma, and a hint of rebellion that contrasted with Sarah and Rafe but still shared a certain sensitivity with Wheezie. Even though Isabella wasn’t a Pogue like JJ, her connection with him promised to be one of the season’s most interesting twists.

On your first day on set, the nerves were real. This wasn’t your first acting gig, but something about joining a cast with such strong chemistry was intimidating. Rudy was one of the first to approach you.

“New Cameron?” he asked, with that grin of his that always seemed ready to crack a joke.

“The one and only,” you replied, trying to hide your nerves.

He burst out laughing.

“I like it. I’m Rudy, but I guess from now on we’re calling each other JJ and Isabella.”

The conversation flowed like you’d known each other forever. From that moment, it became almost a tradition for the two of you to find each other between takes to talk about scripts, crack jokes, or improvise ridiculous lines just to make the rest of the cast laugh.

One afternoon, during a scene where Isabella and JJ were supposed to argue about something involving Sarah, the directors decided to let you two improvise a bit to explore your characters' dynamic. It was a mess… in the best way possible. Your quick comebacks and Rudy’s ability to keep up with sarcastic remarks had everyone on set laughing. After calling cut, Jonas Pate, one of the show’s creators, came over.

“You two have something special. I think we’re gonna lean into that.”

It wasn’t until weeks later that you understood what he meant. In one of the season two episodes, Isabella and JJ would share an unexpected kiss—a moment that would completely shift their dynamic.

“A kiss?” you asked, stunned after reading the script.

Rudy shot you a playful look.

“What? Not excited? I’m a great kisser.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Your sarcastic tone made him laugh, like always.

Filming that scene was… interesting. Even though you got along great off-camera, you couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. But Rudy, ever the charmer, made sure to ease your nerves before the take.

“It’s like we’re mocking the cliché, but with style,” he said, adjusting JJ’s jacket.

The scene turned out so well that the director asked to shoot it from multiple angles. After every take, Rudy would wink at you, making you smile despite yourself. The funny thing was, even though JJ and Isabella’s kiss wasn’t originally meant to happen again in the series, the on-screen chemistry between you two led to more moments like that.

Still, the main storyline for Isabella revolved around Barry, the character who was supposed to be her big love interest. Barry was different, but his relationship with Isabella brought an emotional depth that fans quickly adored.

Even so, every time you and Rudy shared a scene, the vibe on set shifted. There was something contagious about the way you interacted, both on and off camera. It wasn’t uncommon for the other cast members to watch you two during breaks and joke about your 'explosive chemistry.'

“You two would be absolute chaos if they let you,” Chase said one day, watching you rehearse a particularly intense scene.

And he wasn’t wrong. Despite Isabella clearly being paired with Barry, you couldn’t deny that working with Rudy was one of the most fun and genuine parts of the production. That connection eventually led fans to start shipping Isabella and JJ, even though the show’s narrative had other plans.

The on-screen kisses quickly became a recurring topic among the cast and crew.

Everything was going perfectly fine between you and Rudy until the fans started noticing what you and the rest of the cast already knew: your on-screen chemistry was undeniable. Comments on Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter exploded as soon as the first kiss scene between Isabella and JJ aired.

'Does anyone else think JJ and Isabella should be endgame?'

'Barry has nothing on JJ-Bella tension. Sorry, not sorry.'

'The way JJ looks at Isabella when she walks away… CHEF’S KISS. I need more of them.'

'I don’t care what anyone says, Rudy and Isabella HAVE to be together, ON and OFF screen.'

At first, the comments didn’t bother you. After all, most of them were about the characters, not you as actors. Even the more insistent ones were easy to brush off. But things changed when fan theories started crossing the line.

'Have you guys noticed how Rudy is always around her in BTS? 👀'

'I refuse to believe there’s nothing going on between them off-screen. Look at their interviews.'

'Sorry, but Rudy’s girlfriend doesn’t hold a candle to her. Stay with Y/N.'

That last comment felt like a trigger. Suddenly, the presence of Rudy’s girlfriend, whose relationship with him had been private and mostly unknown to fans, became glaringly obvious. She hadn’t been around during the first few months of filming, but now she showed up on set often, always quiet but clearly watching everything.

At first, you tried to be friendly. She wasn’t part of the cast, but you understood her wanting to be near Rudy. However, the tension started becoming noticeable when she stopped hiding her discomfort around you.

“So, this is the famous Isabella Cameron?,” she said one afternoon during a break. Her tone was sharp, even though her smile tried to mask it.

“Yeah, I guess that’s me.”You smiled, trying not to let it affect you.

“Well, I hope you don’t take everything the fans say too seriously. Rudy and I have something real, not like those fake kisses you share with him.”

You were caught off guard. It wasn’t like you cared about what she thought, but her comment made it clear she didn’t really know where the line between fiction and reality was. From that moment on, her little digs became more frequent.

One day, while scrolling through your social media, you saw a comment she left under one of your photos promoting the show. It didn’t say much, but the sarcasm was obvious:

"Wow, working with Rudy must be the highlight of your career. You must love it."

Fans, as expected, picked up on it right away. ‘Why’s Rudy’s girlfriend so passive-aggressive towards her?’ was one of the top comments on your profile. You laughed it off, but the whole thing left a bitter taste in your mouth.

The tension hit its peak during one of the more intense scenes between Isabella and JJ, where the two characters had to share an intimate moment in the middle of an argument. You and Rudy had rehearsed the scene, and everything seemed fine until you noticed his sudden change in attitude.

“Everything okay?” you asked him before shooting.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” His answer was short, distant, and not like him at all.

You couldn’t help but think his girlfriend had something to do with it. She was sitting in a corner of the set, arms crossed, watching you both. She wasn’t doing anything obvious, but her presence was enough to throw him off and, by extension, ruin the dynamic you two usually had.

After the scene ended, you confronted him.

“What’s going on with you? We never had problems before, but now it’s like you don’t even want to be around me.”

“It’s not that.” He avoided your gaze, confirming what you already suspected.

“Then what is it? Your girlfriend? Because if it’s about her, I need you to tell me now if we’re going to keep working like we used to or not.”

Rudy sighed, running a hand through his hair. You knew he didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was necessary.

“She just… doesn’t get it. And I don’t want things to get messier than they already are.”

“And what about our work?” you asked, more frustrated than you intended to sound.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough to tell you that, fair or not, things wouldn’t go back to the way they were.

After that, Rudy started pulling away not just from you, but from the rest of the cast too. The jokes between takes became less frequent, and the fun improvisations you both used to enjoy practically disappeared. No one said anything, but it was obvious something was wrong.

Social media wasn’t helping. Every time you posted something about the show, fans kept fueling the drama with their theories and comments.

‘Rudy’s girlfriend is definitely behind this. They’re not even in interviews together anymore.’

‘It’s so sad that JJ and Isabella have such good chemistry, but off-camera, it’s a mess.’

You tried to ignore it, but some nights you couldn’t help feeling frustrated. Not because of the comments, but because you missed how things used to be. Rudy was one of the best co-stars you’d ever had, and now it felt like you couldn’t even be friends.

And the worst part? He wasn’t doing anything to fix it.

When the fourth season rolled around, the news hit like a bomb. During a cast table read, the producers announced that JJ Maybank’s arc would come to a tragic end with a heroic death. While everyone murmured in shock, you could only look at him. Rudy sat in silence, arms crossed, eyes glued to the script, avoiding eye contact with everyone—especially you.

“What does this mean?” you asked Jonas directly.

“It was Rudy’s decision,” he replied, with a tone that made it clear he didn’t want to elaborate.

You couldn’t believe it. You’d heard rumors that Rudy wasn’t as excited about continuing on the show, but you always thought they were just that rumors. But now it was clear he’d made the most drastic choice possible.

That night, you couldn’t stay quiet. You found him outside the set, sitting on one of the service stairs, like he was waiting for someone to confront him.

“What the hell are you doing?” you blurted out. He looked up, surprised by your tone, but said nothing. He just shrugged.

“I’ve got nothing left to do here. I’m done.”

That lit a fire in you.

“Done? Are you serious? Rudy, your character is one of the fans’ favorites. JJ still has so much potential, and you’re just letting him die because… what? Because your girlfriend can’t handle us doing our jobs?”

He frowned, clearly annoyed.

“This has nothing to do with her. It’s my decision, and it’s final.”

“Of course, it has to do with her. Ever since she started coming to set, you’ve changed. You’re not the same anymore. You can’t even joke around with me like you used to. Now you’d rather run away than face things.”

Rudy stood up, defensive.

“And what do you expect me to do? Ignore everything? Pretend like I’m not losing my relationship?.”

“You’re not losing your relationship, Rudy. You’re sabotaging your career. And along the way, you’re throwing away everything we had, our friendship, all of it. Why can’t you see that?.”

“Because it’s not as simple for me as it is for you,” he said, raising his voice. There was frustration and pain in his tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“It means not everyone can separate things like you. Do you know how hard it’s been for me? Everyone assumes there’s something between us, like there’s more… And she sees it, the fans see it. No matter how much I deny it, someone’s always pointing it out.”

The intensity of his words caught you off guard, but you weren’t about to back down.

“So what? You’re just going to throw it all away? Let her control every decision you make? That’s not professional. It’s childish.”

He shook his head like your words couldn’t break through the wall he’d built.

“Do what you want, but don’t expect me to stay quiet while you ruin something that meant so much to all of us,” you said before turning and walking away.

From that moment on, things went downhill fast. What used to be a natural and fun connection turned into pure tension. Arguments became frequent, both on and off set. Something as simple as a rehearsal could turn into a battleground, and it wasn’t long before it started affecting the whole team.

In scenes where Isabella and JJ had to interact, the tension was so obvious that even the directors began to notice something was off. After weeks of trying, they decided to use doubles for the shots where the two of you shared the screen.

The rumor spread quickly among the crew. People whispered behind your backs, some blaming Rudy, others blaming you, but most were just confused. It wasn’t easy to explain how one of the cast’s most beloved dynamics had turned into something so unsustainable.

By the time the last scene rolled around, the atmosphere on set was heavy. That day, JJ’s final scene was being filmed—a moment that would mark the end of an era for the show and the cast. While everyone tried to keep the energy upbeat and positive, all you could feel was an overwhelming emptiness.

It wasn’t just about JJ leaving; it was because Rudy was leaving too. Even though your relationship had deteriorated to the point of being unrecognizable, you couldn’t help but remember how things had started: the laughs, the improvisations, the jokes that even got the directors to join in. Now, none of that was left.

The scene you were filming was heartbreaking, probably the most emotional one of the entire season. JJ sacrificed himself to save Isabella and the other Pogues, dying heroically. You, as Isabella, had to hold him in your arms while he said his final words.

When the director called action, you threw yourself into character completely. Isabella was desperate, her hands covered in blood as she tried to hold back tears.

“No, JJ, don’t do this to me,” you said, your voice breaking. The script called for you to cling to him, as if you could stop the inevitable.

Rudy, as JJ, looked at you with a weak smile the same one that had always defined his character, even in the darkest moments.

“Don’t cry, Bella. You always knew I’d do something stupid like this.” He coughed, mimicking the character’s weakness, but there was something else in his voice something that felt way too real.

“Don’t say that!” you screamed as Isabella, feeling a knot in your stomach that went beyond acting. Tears streamed down your face, and for a moment, you wondered if they were yours or your character’s.

“Take care of them... all of them.” He tried to laugh, but his voice faltered. JJ’s eyes closed, and the camera captured your devastated face as you hugged him one last time.

“Cut!” the director yelled.

The set erupted in applause. The crew, the cast—everyone knew they had just filmed something unforgettable. But you couldn’t move. You kept holding onto Rudy, trying to steady your breathing, because even though the scene was over, the emotions were still there.

“You were incredible,” someone said, but you didn’t register who. You barely heard Rudy mumble a “thank you” to everyone as he stood up and walked off set.

As soon as you snapped out of character, the real tears came. You weren’t one to cry in front of everyone, so you slipped away from the set and found a quiet corner where you could be alone. Sitting on one of the folding chairs, away from the lights and noise, you let the emotions take over.

“Are you okay?” Madison asked, approaching cautiously.

You looked up at her and tried to smile, but you couldn’t.

“Yeah, just... haven’t gotten much rest.”

Madison nodded and stayed quiet beside you. You knew she didn’t want to push you but was still worried. After a while, she gave your shoulder a squeeze and went back to the set, leaving you with your thoughts.

Later, when everyone was gathering to say goodbye to Rudy, you couldn’t bring yourself to go near him. You watched from a distance as he was surrounded by hugs, encouragement, and smiles. He seemed happy—or at least relieved. But to you, it all felt like a façade.

You knew you’d eventually have to face him, but you were too angry to do it now. Every time someone asked if you were going to say goodbye, you just answered, “Maybe later.”

The anger you felt toward Rudy had become constant. No matter how much you tried to justify it or make sense of it, it always led back to the same thing: he acted like none of this mattered. Like losing his friends, his job, and everything you’d built together meant nothing.

But what bothered you most wasn’t just his apparent indifference it was how, deep down, you found yourself wanting him. You hated yourself for it. You tortured yourself with thoughts that if things had been different if his girlfriend wasn’t in the picture, if he could see things the way you did—you wouldn’t be here now. But you knew he wasn’t that kind of person, which is why you’d always tried to give him the best advice, even if it hurt.

The night before Rudy officially left the set, he came to find you. You had just finished packing up your things and were walking to the parking lot when you saw him waiting by your car.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his expression unfamiliar. He looked exhausted, almost desperate.

“What for?” you shot back, crossing your arms. Sarcasm had become your go-to defense. “To have one last argument? That seems to be all we do lately.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t want to argue. I just... I need to explain myself.”

You were caught off guard by that. You hesitated for a moment before tilting your head toward the passenger seat.

“Talk.”

He leaned against your car, staring at the ground before finally speaking.

“I know you think I don’t care about any of this. That I’m just walking away because none of it matters to me. But that’s not true.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your disbelief.

“Oh, really? Because it sure seems like you don’t care. You’ve distanced yourself from everyone, didn’t even try to fix things, and now you’re just leaving. What do you expect us to think?”

“It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just... I don’t know how to handle it,” he admitted, with a sincerity you hadn’t seen in him for a long time.

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he really meant it or if it was just another excuse.

“Rudy, we’ve all tried to help you. Madison, Chase, even the directors. We all wanted to help, but you wouldn’t listen to anyone. And you can’t blame us for being upset when it seems like all you care about is keeping someone happy who doesn’t even understand what you do.”

“It’s not as easy as you make it sound,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t ask to compete with fans, theories, or with you.”

“With me?” you asked, stepping closer to him, feeling anger boil inside you again. “Are you seriously saying this is my fault?”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, but it was too late.

“Listen, I never tried to make you choose between your career and your relationship. In fact, I always told you that you could have both if you just took a second to put things into perspective. But you didn’t. You chose to pull away, not just from me, but from everyone. And now, you’re leaving. So tell me, what else do you want me to do?”

For a moment, he didn’t seem to have an answer. He just looked at you, his lips slightly parted, like he was searching for the right words.

“I want you to understand that this wasn’t an easy decision,” he finally said. “And I want you to know that I never wanted us to end up like this.”

You laughed, though there was nothing funny about the situation.

“Is that it? You want my forgiveness? Or are you expecting me to sit here feeling sorry for myself because you decided to throw everything away?”

He took a step toward you, but you stepped back.

“No. I’ve had enough. Do what you have to do. Go live your life, but don’t expect me to sit here waiting for you to realize you made a mistake. Because you did. Not just with me, but with everyone who cared about you here.”

His eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue. He just nodded slowly, like he was accepting your words.

“Goodbye,” he said, with a sadness he hadn’t shown before.

“Goodbye, Rudy,” you replied.”

After that night, Rudy disappeared from your life. No immediate messages, no attempts to reconnect—at least not in the first few weeks. You didn’t reach out either. You’d made everything clear that last time, and you didn’t want to go back to a cycle of arguments that never seemed to end.

But as the weeks went by and the Outer Banks team started gearing up for the promotion of the new season, something inevitable happened: contact between you two. The first time you saw a message from him, you were going through emails, looking for info about the upcoming red carpet event.

It was simple, almost casual.

Rudy: “Hey. Hope you’re doing okay. How’s everything going?”

You read it a couple of times, trying to decide if it was worth replying. You knew he’d probably written and rewritten that message several times before sending it, but you still weren’t ready to fully open that door again. Finally, you typed:

You: “All good. You?”

It took him days to reply. When he did, it was just as brief.

Rudy: “Good too. Thanks for asking.”

It didn’t seem like much, but for someone like Rudy, who always avoided uncomfortable conversations, it was something. The messages continued—spaced out, always short. He’d ask how work was going; you’d reply politely, sometimes returning the question, other times leaving the thread hanging. It didn’t feel like a conversation between friends, more like an attempt to hold onto something that wasn’t really there anymore.

When the first promotional event for the new season rolled around, you knew it was only a matter of time before you saw him. The whole cast was there—except Rudy—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t show up. Even though he wasn’t actively part of the show anymore, his character was still important, and the producers wanted him there to honor that legacy.

The anxiety hit days before the event. Even though you’d managed to respond to some of his messages neutrally, the thought of seeing him in person made your heart race. You didn’t know how you’d react. Would you ignore him? Act like nothing happened? Talk?

The day came quicker than you’d hoped. You got ready in your hotel room, surrounded by stylists and makeup artists doing their thing while you stared at your reflection in the mirror, lost in thought. You wore a stunning dress, something that screamed strength and confidence, but inside, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

When you arrived at the event, the usual chaos of red carpets consumed you—flashes, photographers yelling, rapid-fire interviews. Everything seemed to be going as expected until you saw him. Rudy was on the other side of the carpet, talking to a group of reporters. He wore a simple but sharp suit, and while his smile was polite, there was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite figure out.

Madison, standing next to you, nudged you lightly.

“There he is,” she murmured, not needing to clarify who she meant.

“I know,” you said, trying to keep your composure.

You knew you’d eventually have to cross paths with him, but you avoided it as much as you could. There were interviews to do, group photos to take, fans to greet, and you stayed as far away from him as possible the whole time.

The red carpet premiere was everything you’d expected—flashes, shouting fans, excitement everywhere. But for you, it all felt distant. Rudy and you barely glanced at each other the entire time. It was like you were both in your own worlds, aware of the crowd but completely detached from everything else.

There was an awkward tension in the air, one you couldn’t ignore. The pain from the past months was still there, but it wasn’t something you were willing to show in public. The press team and photographers fired off quick questions, and while the flashes lit up everyone’s faces, you responded just enough, smiling when necessary. Still, Rudy’s presence, even from a distance, made you feel shaky.

Every now and then, your eyes met his—brief, almost fleeting—but always heavy with something you couldn’t name. He didn’t approach you, didn’t try to break the ice. He kept his distance, and everything between you stayed frozen, like time had stopped. The laughter and chatter around you felt mechanical, as if all your emotions were locked away in a room neither of you wanted to enter.

It wasn’t until you moved inside the venue for the screening that things shifted. The photographers were still snapping group photos, this time with the entire cast. A bunch of people surrounded you, and among them, somehow, was Rudy. You didn’t even notice when he got closer, but when one of the photographers gestured for everyone to squeeze in, Rudy slid in beside you. Without a word, he put his hand on your waist, stepping closer to position himself next to you. The move caught you off guard.

The photographer, clearly waiting for that moment, shouted instructions.

“Closer, please!” he called as flashes started going off again.

Instinctively, you leaned into Rudy, the heat of his body almost too much, a reminder of everything you’d once shared. The closeness made you uneasy, but it also surprised you how natural it felt for him. Like nothing had changed. Like everything was fine.

The flashes kept coming. Then, in the middle of it all, Rudy leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible over the chaos of the cameras.

“Just for tonight,” he murmured, with a faint but genuine smile, like he was trying to ease the tension.

You froze for a second, staring at him. Annoyance bubbled inside you, but you knew this was part of the job. It was a moment neither of you could avoid, no matter how much you wished you could.

“Just for tonight,” you repeated, more to yourself than to him, taking a deep breath as you forced a smile onto your face.

The photographer kept directing the group, asking for different poses, more smiles, more closeness. A part of you wanted to pull away, but another part knew that would only make things worse. So you went with it, doing what was expected, perfect smile, flawless posture, all while Rudy’s hand stayed on your waist, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the photographer signaled that the shoot was done. Rudy’s hand dropped from your waist, but he didn’t step away. He looked at you, his gaze holding too many unspoken words.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low, meant only for you.

You looked at him, feeling the words catch in your throat. There was something ironic about that question. You knew the answer wasn’t as simple as “yes.” Everything between you two was so tangled, so complicated, that words seemed pointless.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though it didn’t feel true. The answer came out more robotic than honest, but you weren’t willing to give him more than that.

Once again, the distance between you both became tangible. Rudy didn’t push. He gave you one last look before turning back to the group, rejoining the rest of the cast. You, on the other hand, stayed there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.

Even though you’d had to interact with him for work, the frustration lingered in your chest.

The night went on, and you knew you’d have to face him again at some point. The red carpets, the events, the interviews—it was all part of the job. But at the end of the day, all that was left between you two was the weight of a past you still didn’t know how to let go of.

[fastcarlesbian]

The gay implications of Conclave are not about the old many yaoi-ification of the movie but instead about a community where so many people's decision to join was in part because of the lack of any kind of allowable gay public life and the implications of continuing to live that life in an institution that doesn't allow this when the western world now for the most part allows gay people to exist in public and live their lives.

Up until very recently (80s or so) religious life existed as a haven outside the confines of heterosexual marriage and for all its sins and faults and the issues with mandated celibacy is an environment that encourages fulfilling and loving friendships between men and men and between women and women.

I feel like I can't word this eloquently and its now honestly beyond Conclave but I feel like a lot of people don't know about this dynamic and how it still exists today. Obviously there are the priests who are fire and brimstone homophobes and though I hate the stereotype about this for some it really does come from a place of self loathing. But for all of those priests there are also many who are gay and fine with it even if they don't talk about it and are living in with the tensions of all these things. And I think examining the sexuality of Conclave is more interesting in this lense.

[mssalo]

safety - Part: I

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of military past, Manipulation, Power dynamics, Joel needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.

4k

Enjoy!

Part II Part III Part IV Part V

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel Miller wasn’t the type of man who sought peace or ease.

He’d spent too many years living a different kind of life-one built around routines of survival, discipline, and a level of alertness that never quite faded.

Now, back in Texas, he carried that constant vigilance like a second skin.

He’d settled in a small, secluded home just outside of Austin.

The area was quiet, isolated, the kind of place where nobody asked too many questions.

The locals respected boundaries, and Joel had made his clear. He kept to himself, lived a simple life, and preferred things that way.

People complicated things—something he wasn’t interested in anymore.

Most of his days followed a routine that he clung to with the same intensity he had in the service.

Early mornings were spent with coffee and silence, the smell of pine trees drifting through the windows of his old, weathered cabin.

Afterward, he'd take to the woods, either hunting or just walking trails he knew as well as the lines in his hands.

Out there, he could let his mind focus on something tangible—the tracks of a deer, the feel of the rifle in his hand.

There, his senses sharpened again, always on alert.

Joel’s awareness never dulled, not even after all these years.

Every noise, every shift in the wind or crunch of leaves beneath his boots, kept him on edge.

He was always scanning his surroundings, ready to react.

He knew it wasn’t just about the hunt.

It was the way his brain had been wired, after all the years of needing to be ready—whether it was for survival or something worse.

It wasn’t paranoia, just the reality of a mind that had been trained for danger. He told himself.

He didn't see many people. He didn’t want to.

But the thing about always being on edge was that it left little room for rest.

At night, the memories clawed their way in—images he’d rather forget but couldn’t.

Sleep was shallow and rare.

Even when he managed to drift off, he was often jolted awake by some phantom noise or sensation.

And once he was up, it was hard to shake the feeling that something or someone was out there.

He’d get up, check the locks, sometimes even patrol the perimeter of his land just to make sure.

In the quiet of his cabin, with only the crackling of a fire or the hum of the wind for company,

Joel would pour himself a drink.

Whiskey, usually. Something to dull the noise in his head, to take the edge off the constant tension that never quite left him.

But he never drank too much. He couldn’t afford to. He needed to stay sharp, always ready—just in case.

His life wasn’t complicated, and he liked it that way. He didn’t need company or connection, not anymore.

He kept things simple: survival, routine, and the solitude of the Texas wilderness.

It asked nothing of him, and in return, he didn’t have to share the parts of himself he’d buried long ago.

· · ─────

Waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat had become part of his routine, and after tossing and turning for hours, Joel would get up, make coffee, and try to focus on the small tasks that anchored him.

The sun was just beginning to rise as Joel Miller pushed the key into the ignition of his truck, the familiar rumble beneath him a small comfort in an otherwise uneasy world.

He had always been an early riser, but lately, the habit had turned into more of a necessity.

Driving out into the quiet Texas morning was one of those tasks.

The roads were mostly empty, and Joel preferred it that way—less to watch for, less noise, fewer things to trust.

He liked things simple.

Routine. Predictable.

After everything, it was easier to stick to what he knew, to keep the world at arm's length.

It was safer.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as his eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the road ahead and the landscape around him.

There was no telling who or what could be out there, even in a sleepy Texas town.

He wasn’t stupid enough to let his guard down, not after everything he'd seen.

Trust was a currency he couldn’t afford to spend, not anymore.

He kept the radio off, preferring the silence. It gave him space to think, to process.

Most of the time, though, it just made him more aware of the quietness around him.

Every little creak or snap of a twig was magnified, every shadow cast by the rising sun something to take note of.

He didn't trust the peaceful exterior of the world anymore.

Too much could change in an instant.

It was exhausting, always being on edge like that, but Joel had learned to live with it.

He couldn’t imagine doing things any other way.

As he drove further down the road toward the camping&outdoor supply store, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the distance—a flicker of motion between the trees.

His heart quickened, and his foot instinctively lifted off the gas pedal.

He slowed down just enough to check the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the tree line.

Nothing. It could’ve been an animal, but Joel’s mind didn’t let him settle on that.

Even when he convinced himself it was probably just wildlife, he remained alert, tension rippling through his muscles.

"Could be anything," he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tighter. "Ain't takin' chances."

The camping store was a bit of a drive, but Joel didn’t mind.

The solitude of the open road helped him clear his head, as much as his thoughts would let him, anyway.

Hunting was something he could still rely on.

He didn't need anyone else for it, and it gave him an excuse to get away from people.

He wasn’t much for conversation these days, always keeping interactions short and transactional.

He liked the supply store too; the guy who ran it knew not to ask too many questions, just handled the sale and let Joel be.

It suited him fine.

As the store came into view, Joel exhaled, his mind already running through what he needed to pick up.

The truck tires crunched against the gravel as he pulled into the lot, parking in a spot that allowed him a clear view of the entrance and the surrounding area.

Old habits.

Joel turned off the ignition and leaned back in the seat, taking a moment to observe the store.

His hand absentmindedly reached toward the glove compartment, where his gun was stashed, just in case. He didn’t need it often, but knowing it was there kept him grounded.

After a few seconds of scanning the area and feeling satisfied that nothing was amiss, he stepped out of the truck.

The supply store wasn’t busy, just a couple of people browsing inside.

As Joel stepped into the store, the familiar scent of leather and canvas greeted him. Country music hummed low in the background, and the quiet atmosphere brought him a sense of calm.

The simplicity of the place was something he appreciated—straightforward, nothing complicated.

Just the way he liked it.

His boots thudded softly on the wooden floor as he made his way toward the back, scanning the shelves for the hunting gear he needed. It was his routine, one he kept to himself.

The sudden crash jolted him like a gunshot.

Joel’s instincts took over, his body reacting before his mind caught up.

His hand flew to his side, fingers brushing the handle of the knife he always kept on him. His eyes darted around the store, scanning for threats, muscles coiled tight and ready.

He felt that old familiar rush of adrenaline—the kind that came from years of having to be on guard every second.

His heart pounded, the edges of his vision sharpening as he prepared for the worst.

But then, he saw her.

Just a girl. Bending over, trying to gather the gear she’d knocked to the floor. No threat. No danger. Just her.

Joel exhaled slowly, the tension easing out of his shoulders as the world settled back into place.

He let go of the knife, though his pulse still hammered in his ears. He hadn’t been expecting someone like her to trigger that reaction. Not here. Not now.

But for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

She was clumsy, but calm—no panic, no rush to fix what she’d done.

It was as if she was used to things slipping from her hands, not bothered in the slightest. That softness, that ease, it drew him in like nothing else had in a long time.

And even though the tension from the noise had faded, he found himself still rooted to the spot, watching her.

His eyes trailed over her, catching the way her long, soft looking, hair tumbled down her back, how her tender fingers fumbled with the items before her.

She was a mess of soft edges, and he hadn’t seen anything that soft in years.

He’s not used to that.

His world had become hard, sharp, filled with things that made sense, with people who didn’t get too close.

People like him, always on edge, always prepared.

She stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and for the first time, Joel saw her face.

Young. Too young. Early twenties, maybe.

Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, her lips parted in what looked like mild embarrassment as she glanced around at the mess she had made.

But it was her eyes that hit him the hardest.

Doe eyed, wide, bright, completely unguarded.

So easy to read.

She looked right at him, her gaze catching his, and Joel’s breath hitched in his chest.

What was this girl doing? Looking at him like that?

She wasn’t supposed to look at him that way—not with that kind of openness, that kind of… trust.

Her blush deepened as her gaze flickered to the ground, but not before Joel saw it creep up her neck, warming her face.

She was blushing because of him.

When was the last time that happened?

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, her voice light, soft, but not the irritating kind of soft.

It was smooth in a way that made something settle in Joel’s chest. Normally, he hated small talk.

People’s voices grated on him. But hers didn’t.

Her voice wrapped around him, warm and gentle, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, Joel didn’t hate it.

“I didn’t see you there,” she continued, letting out a nervous laugh, her hands brushing against the fallen gear.

“I swear, I’m always knocking things over.” She smiled shyly, that blush still clinging to her cheeks, and Joel’s chest tightened again.

She was yapping—just rambling on in a way that would’ve made him turn his back on anyone else. But he couldn’t move.

He was locked in place, listening to her soft, musical voice as if it was something he hadn’t heard in years.

Maybe because it was. Maybe because no one ever talked to him like this anymore.

Most people avoided him.

They saw the hard set of his jaw, the cold glint in his eyes, and they stayed far, far away.

And that was just how he liked it. Less mess, less trouble.

But not her. She was still standing there, babbling about how clumsy she was, her voice a soft hum in his ears.

Joel felt something shift inside him, something he wasn’t sure he liked. He didn’t know her.

Shouldn’t care about her babbling, or the way her scent—something fresh and sweet—drifted toward him, making his head swim.

But here he was, standing there, drinking in her voice, her scent, like he hadn’t been around anyone like her in years.

Which, to be fair, he hadn’t.

Joel cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak, though his voice came out rougher than he’d intended. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he muttered, his words gruff, but his feet still rooted to the spot.

Her smile widened, and her eyes lit up.

The warmth in them caught him off guard. He wasn’t prepared for that.

“Thanks for not laughing at me,” she said with a small, bashful laugh, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her jacket. “Most people would’ve.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “Why would I laugh?”

She shrugged, glancing at the gear still scattered on the floor. “I’m kind of a mess.”

Her words didn’t sit right with him. How could someone like her—someone so soft, so full of light—call herself a mess? He is a mess.

But before he could respond, she smiled again, her lips curving up in that sweet way that made his chest tighten all over again.

And that scent… God, he couldn’t place it, but it clung to her, swirling around him like a warm blanket.

His mind raced, cataloging every little detail about her.

Her soft pretty eyes. The way her smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle just a little. The way she smelled, like fresh air and something sweet. Vanilla?

He was reading her, studying her like he used to study his surroundings, picking up on every detail.

But none of it made sense. She didn’t make sense.

Normally, he’d be long gone by now. His thoughts already moving on.

But she was still talking, still smiling up at him, and instead of walking away, he just… stared.

She cleared her throat again, glancing down at her hands before looking back up at him.

“Do you work around here?” she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little shyer.

Joel blinked, realizing he hadn’t said a damn thing in what felt like minutes.

He shook his head. “Nah, just pickin’ up some things.” His voice sounded foreign to him—rough, cold, not at all the kind of tone that matched the warmth she was giving him.

But she didn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving up in that smile again.

“Oh, cool. What are you picking up?”

Joel stared at her, unsure of why she was still talking to him, still smiling at him.

But he found himself answering her anyway. “Just some gear. Hunting stuff.”

Her eyes brightened, her smile widening even more. “Oh, hunting! That’s cool. I’ve never been, but I always thought it seemed kind of… peaceful, you know? Just you and nature.”

Peaceful? Joel had never thought of hunting as peaceful. Necessary, sure. But peaceful? Not in the way she was describing.

He grunted, not sure how to respond, but she just kept smiling, her voice still light, still soft.

“Oh, gosh,” she said, standing up with a bundle of fallen gear in her hands, a sheepish smile on her face. “I could never hurt an animal, though. I don’t know how people do it. Like, I get hunting and all, but... me? No way. I’d be useless out there.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, still caught between the sharp edge of his earlier reaction and the softness of her voice.

“Right,” he muttered, nodding slightly, feeling more awkward than he had in years.

“Well,” Joel grunted, his voice a little rougher than intended, “it ain’t about enjoyin’ it. It’s necessary. You do what you gotta do.”

And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t understand why he didn’t just walk away.

He should’ve. He should’ve grabbed what he needed and left.

But something about her—her scent, her smile, her softness—kept him rooted in place.

He wasn’t good at this. Talking. Interacting. Especially not with someone like her—someone who looked at him like he wasn’t something to be avoided.

But she was smiling at him, her eyes wide and innocent, like she wasn’t aware of how the world really worked.

Before he could say anything else, he saw her blush deepen, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

She was nervous, but not in the way people usually got around him.

She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t backing away.

She was blushing because of him.

Hm?

As the awkward silence stretched between them, Joel cleared his throat, the sound rough and abrupt.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been standing there, just staring at her while she kept talking, her soft voice filling the space between them.

He needed to go.

This whole interaction had lasted far too long, longer than he was comfortable with.

His chest tightened with a mix of confusion and frustration, and he could feel the tension creeping into his limbs, urging him to move, to walk away.

She was still smiling at him, her eyes bright, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

“Right,” Joel muttered, his voice gruffer than he intended.

“I should… get goin’.” He nodded awkwardly toward the hunting gear in his hand, using it as an excuse to leave.

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes flickering with a hint of confusion.

“Oh, sure! No problem,” she said quickly, her voice still sweet, but there was something softer in it now, like she wasn’t quite sure what she’d done wrong.

Joel could feel her eyes on him as he turned away, the tension in his shoulders growing with every step he took.

He forced himself to keep walking, not allowing himself to glance back, not letting himself think about the way her scent still lingered in the air around him.

As he pushed open the door of the shop, the cool air hit his face, a stark contrast to the warmth that had been building inside him.

He needed to get out of there. Now.

“Have a good day!” she called after him, her voice still light, still warm.

Joel didn’t respond.

He just kept walking, his boots heavy against the gravel as he made his way to his truck, his mind already trying to shove the whole interaction into the back of his mind.

It shouldn’t have affected him like that.

Joel climbed into his truck, the door creaking as it shut with a heavy thud.

The sun was setting, casting a golden light over the horizon, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he sat there, staring straight ahead.

He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled deep in his chest.

That girl—he couldn’t get her out of his head. It didn’t make sense.

Her smile. The way her cheeks flushed when she looked at him.

The softness in her voice, the way she smelled—fresh, sweet, and somehow... so pure.

His brow furrowed as the memory tugged at him, gnawing at the edges of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He hadn’t felt like this in years—hadn’t felt much of anything, to be honest.

And yet, there it was. Something stirring inside him, something he couldn’t ignore.

With a grunt, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

He needed to get his mind straight, back to reality, back to the things that actually mattered.

Surviving.

Not some girl in a supply shop.

It couldn’t be because of her.

But as he shifted the truck into gear, his grip on the wheel tightened even more.

He couldn’t deny the physical reaction in his body—the tension building low in his gut, the heat rising through his chest.

Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his breath catching for a moment.

He hadn’t even noticed it before, hadn’t allowed himself to.

But now, as he adjusted himself, the realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

He was hard.

His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of it settling low in his gut.

How long had it been?

He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt like this, the last time his body reacted this way.

But it couldn’t be because of the girl in the shop, right?

“Jesus.” He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening as he fought the urge to dwell on it. “There was no way.”

She was just a kid. I mean, a woman sure. But so young, soft, innocent.

Completely the opposite of everything he was—everything he’d become.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened even further, his mind racing.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, shouldn’t be feeling this way.

But the more he tried to push it down, the more it rose to the surface.

Her voice, the way she’d blushed when she looked at him, the scent of her clinging to the air around her like a warmth he hadn’t known he needed.

Joel shifted again, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. He’d drive home, clear his mind, and forget about it.

Forget about her.

But as he drove down the empty road, the tension in his body only seemed to build. It had been years. Years since anyone, or anything, had made him feel like this.

And the truth gnawed at him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

It was because of her.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

moodboard:

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

New series incoming!! Thank you for the nice comments, they make me the most motivated to keep writing. :)

[loving-daisy]

Where’s the Trophy? | Draco Malfoy x Reader

loving-daisy masterlist

Words: 8.1k

Summary: Nothing would ever make Draco happy than holding a trophy in his arms. Wait, are we talking about the Quidditch World Cup or a certain Y/N Weasley?

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s song — “The Alchemy”

Author’s Note: I had this in the drafts ever since the 2024 Paris Olympics when edits of players running towards their s/o’s became viral :)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Draco Malfoy wasn’t the type to shy away from a challenge, and Y/N Weasley was certainly proving to be one.

Draco had noticed her immediately when they first crossed paths at Theodore Nott’s engagement party.

Despite being a Weasley, Y/N became good friends with Theodore after meeting her at some workshop for fellow print editors. Y/N works at The Alchemy, the bestselling wizarding lifestyle magazine of all time.

Every single wizard and witch keep their hands on The Alchemy for it covers basically everything you need to know about the wizarding world from the latest news and trends, ministry politics and foreign affairs, celebrity gossip, and even covering up to the current viral beauty and fashion world. To be featured in the magazine is to be popular and Theodore’s bride-to-be knew that their engagement was to be publicized by none other than The Alchemy.

Y/N was leaning against the wall with an almost bored expression, her sharp eyes scanning the room, never lingering on anything or anyone for too long. Not even him, Draco Malfoy, England’s seeker, king of hearts, and player of all players.

Most women would have been entranced by his presence, drawn in by his reputation and charm. But Y/N? She’d barely acknowledged his arrival, too busy ranting with Theo about the piled up work for all print distributors with the rising tensions of the Quidditch world cup .

Draco had made his way over, cocking an eyebrow as he interrupted their conversation.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said smoothly, glancing at Theo, who gave him an exasperated look.

Before Draco was able to continue what he was about to say, he was immediately interrupted by the girl, who didn’t even look up from her drink.

“And yet, you’re interrupting,” she replied dryly, her voice cool but with just enough of a bite to show she wasn’t amused.

Draco smirked, leaning against the wall beside her. “Well, Darling, what better way to write about Quidditch than with a Quidditch player himself? Not to mention, me, the star of every game.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re really not as charming as you think you are, Malfoy.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, leaning in slightly, his tone lowering with that touch of arrogance she had come to expect. “Most women find me quite irresistible.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. "Good thing I’m not most women,” she replied, turning her attention back to Theodore, clearly uninterested in his game.

Usually, Draco wouldn’t even bother wasting a breath on a Weasley but Y/N had dismissed him all too quickly. She had dismissed him, England’s heartthrob, as if she wasn’t interested in his good looks, or fame, or even popularity.

Salazar, she wasn’t even interested in writing about him for The Alchemy.

Draco Malfoy was not accustomed to chasing anything—or anyone. He had always been pursued, whether for his status, wealth, or simply because of his name. Relationships had always been transactional for him: a game of give and take, of power dynamics that were easy to navigate. But Y/N Weasley… Y/N was different.

At first, Draco had been intrigued. She was sharp, unyielding, and completely immune to his usual charms.

Where most women melted under his attention, Y/N only rolled her eyes or gave him a withering look as though he was just another distraction to be dealt with. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had dismissed him so thoroughly, and it had started to feel like a challenge for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

But it wasn’t just that.

The more she resisted, the more he wanted to see if he could break through that impenetrable wall she’d built around herself.

Over time, his interest became more than a game. She challenged him, called him out on his arrogance, and refused to let him get away with half-truths or polished façades. For the first time in years, Draco felt like someone saw him for who he really was—and she didn’t flinch.

Y/N Weasley wasn’t having it.

“You’re wasting your time,” she told him one evening at a café in London, where they’d both ended up after a mutual friend’s birthday gathering.

“Am I?” he asked, his smirk tilting into something softer.

“Yes,” she said firmly, taking a sip of her wine. “Whatever this is, it’s not going to happen.”

Draco only shrugged, undeterred. ‘We’ll see.’

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Still writing about why men are hopeless, Weasley?”

Y/N looked up to find Draco Malfoy standing there, effortlessly stylish in a tailored coat and scarf that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. His silver-blond hair was tousled in that maddeningly perfect way, and he wore a smirk that could charm or infuriate—depending on his mood.

“I wasn’t,” she replied smoothly, “but if you’re volunteering as a case study, I can adjust.”

Draco chuckled, pulling out the chair across from her without waiting for an invitation. “I’m sure your readers would love to hear about my charms. But I’d much rather give you a private demonstration.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, feigning disinterest even as her cheeks flushed. “Is this your idea of flirting, Malfoy? Because it’s not exactly groundbreaking.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and fixing her with his piercing gray eyes. “Oh, I can be groundbreaking when I want to be. But I’ll save that for when you admit you’re intrigued.”

“Who says I’m intrigued?” she countered, her quill tapping against the table's edge.

Draco smirked. “That little blush on your cheeks does.”

Y/N huffed, pretending to go back to her notes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, sliding a piece of parchment across the table with his contact information scrawled in elegant script, “you haven’t asked me to leave.”

With a wink, he stood and adjusted his scarf. “I’ll leave you to your article, Weasley. Don’t work too hard. You’ll need your energy—for when I take you to dinner.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N had no idea why she was even scrolling through the gossip pages of Witch Weekly. It was supposed to be a lazy Monday morning—tea in hand, parchment in front of her—but instead, her attention had been snagged by a headline she couldn’t ignore.

England's Star Seeker Draco Malfoy Spotted with Mystery Blonde at Exclusive London Bistro!

Her stomach twisted as she stared at the accompanying photograph.

There he was, Draco Malfoy, sitting across from a gorgeous woman who was laughing at something he’d said. His trademark smirk was firmly in place, the same smirk he’d aimed at her not two days ago.

Y/N snapped the magazine shut, annoyed at herself.

What did it matter who Draco Malfoy spent his evenings with? He was arrogant, self-absorbed, and entirely too charming for his own good.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

But the universe wasn’t done testing her resolve.

Later that week, as she walked through Diagon Alley, the sight of Draco leaning against a storefront with another witch at his side stopped her in her tracks. This one had dark hair and a melodic laugh that carried across the street. Draco held her hand, his expression warm and relaxed in a way Y/N hadn’t seen before.

She quickly ducked into a nearby shop, her heart racing. Malfoy was a flirt, and she wasn’t naïve enough to think he didn’t have other women hanging on his every word.

The next morning, another headline greeted her in the Prophet: Malfoy’s Match: Which Lucky Lady Has His Heart?

Y/N threw the paper aside with a frustrated groan.

Over the past months, Draco had been bothering her. The last thing she wanted was to have him bothering her even when he’s not here. The girl swore to herself that she won’t read gossip columns ever again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N was sitting in her cozy office at The Alchemy, the latest drafts of her article spread across her desk, when her fireplace flared green. She was startled as Draco Malfoy’s face appeared in the flames, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“Busy, Weasley?” he drawled.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Malfoy, have you ever heard of knocking? Oh, wait—no doors on fireplaces. How silly of me to expect manners.”

He chuckled. “If I knocked, you’d have an excuse to ignore me. This way, you’re forced to hear me out.”

“Lucky me,” she replied dryly, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

Draco’s smirk softened, turning into something almost—dare she say it?—earnest. “I’ve got a match in two weeks. England versus France. It’s a big one. It’s the finals.”

“And?” Y/N prompted, arching an eyebrow.

“And,” he continued, “I thought you might like to come. Watch me fly circles around the other Seeker. Cheer me on. That sort of thing.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You mean sit in a crowd of rabid Quidditch fans and feed your already oversized ego?”

“Precisely,” he replied, undeterred. “I’ve reserved a seat in the VIP box just for you. You’ll have the best view in the house.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Why me?”

“Because,” he said smoothly, “you’re the only person I know who can’t stand my ego—and yet, you’ll be impressed anyway. Admit it, Weasley. You’re curious.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “My answer is no.”

Draco grinned, pointing a finger in her direction. “I see what this is. This is you trying not to fall in love with me when you see me in action.” He concluded, earning a groan from the Weasley girl.

“There are a lot of other witches out there already in love with you, Malfoy. Surely, you don’t need another one.” She asserted, shaking her head at the Quidditch star.

Draco blinked, his smirk faltering for a split second before he recovered. “Ah. You’ve been reading the gossip columns, I see.”

“Hard to avoid when your face is splashed across every page,” she shot back. “Or when I see you holding hands with someone else in Diagon Alley.”

“Jealous, then,” he said, his smirk returning, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy,” Y/N snapped. “But if you’re going to act like you’re interested in me, maybe try not to make it so obvious that you’re playing the field.”

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You think I’m playing you?”

“I think I don’t like feeling like an idiot,” she said, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “So if this is some kind of game to you, just say so, and I’ll be on my way. Or better yet, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

For once, Draco didn’t have a quick retort. He stepped closer, his expression softening in a way that caught her off guard.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice lower now, almost tentative. “Those other witches? They don’t mean anything. The dinners, the pictures—they’re just...part of the circus that comes with this life.”

She arched an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “And me?”

Draco hesitated, then met her gaze head-on. “You’re different. You’re not part of the circus. That’s why I keep coming back, even when you’re determined to push me away or even make me work for it.”

Y/N wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe those gray eyes weren’t just feeding her another line. But trust didn’t come easily. Not with someone like him.

“Prove it,” she said finally.

Draco’s lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Challenge accepted.”

And with that, his face vanished from the flames, leaving Y/N shaking her head and wondering how Draco Malfoy always managed to get under her skin.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Over the next few weeks, his persistence continued. He sent her notes with witty remarks, often mocking her serious work at The Alchemy, trying to provoke a reaction. He’d casually show up at places where she might be—often appearing just at the right moment to interrupt her morning coffee or during late-night discussions about the Quidditch finals. At first, Y/N remained distant, always with a polite but unyielding air.

“You’re insufferable, Malfoy,” she’d said, her eyes narrowing as he leaned casually against her desk at her office.

“And yet, here I am,” he’d replied smoothly, smirking when she rolled her eyes.

“You know, Weasley,” Draco said casually, his voice low, “if you spent less time pretending to dislike me, you might realize you enjoy my company.”

Y/N looked up at him, her gaze steady but not unkind. ”I doubt that,” she said, her lips curling into a smirk. “You’re a master at charming people, but I’m simply not impressed.”

Draco’s lips curved into a small smile. “You know, you are the first person in a long time who doesn’t buy into the act.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What act?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely, smirking. “The smirking, the charm, the headlines. It works on most people. Not you.”

“Maybe because I know better,” she replied with a teasing smile.

“Exactly,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “You see through it. That’s why I…” He hesitated, then shook his head with a soft laugh. “Never mind.”

“Why you what?” Y/N prompted, her curiosity piqued.

Draco met her gaze, his gray eyes unusually serious. “Why I care what you think of me. More than I probably should.”

There was silence between them for a moment—an odd tension in the air as Y/N considered his words.

It was the first crack in her walls. Draco showed the briefest flicker of vulnerability.

But Y/N wasn’t going to make it easy.

As much as he tried to provoke her, as much as he coaxed her with his charm, he could see that she was starting to fight back. She wasn’t giving him an inch, which only made him want to push further. After all, Draco Malfoy didn’t back down easily, especially not when he was so invested in winning.

Yet, he knew—deep down—that if he ever wanted to break through to Y/N, he’d have to stop playing the game so much. He’d have to show her that, beneath the arrogant exterior, there was more to him than the world had ever known. And maybe, just maybe, that was precisely what she needed to see.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Y/N sat in her favorite corner of the café, her fingers drumming absently against her coffee cup as she stared down at the latest email from her editorial director at The Alchemy. It had been a long day, filled with deadlines and constant back-and-forths about articles. But this new email was different.

She had expected another mundane assignment, a piece on some new wizarding fashion trend or the latest potion craze. Instead, her editor’s words jumped off the screen with a new challenge:

“Ms. Weasley,

It has come to my attention that despite England’s star seeker Draco Malfoy coming in-and-out of your office, no story is being written about him for The Alchemy.

We need you to write a feature piece on Draco Malfoy.”

She blinked, rereading the message a few times, convinced she had misread it.

“Draco Malfoy?” she muttered to herself, her eyebrows knitting together.

What the hell?

Her first instinct was to toss the email aside. She wasn’t a gossip columnist, and she wasn’t the type to write puff pieces about famous Quidditch players. Y/N prided herself on the hard-hitting, serious stories she was known for—pieces that explored deeper issues, not the insipid celebrity profiles that others at The Alchemy seemed to thrive on.

But then, as much as she hated to admit it, the thought of writing about Draco Malfoy intrigued her. He wasn’t just some athlete who smiled for the cameras and spouted the usual soundbites. No, Draco had always been a more complex figure—a product of his family, his upbringing, and, she suspected, his own inner demons. She had seen the way he carried himself, the mask he wore, and the way he navigated his fame. There was more to Draco Malfoy than people realized.

Still, writing about him felt… strange. She hadn’t forgotten their previous encounters, where he’d flirted with her relentlessly, trying to get a rise out of her with his usual charm. And every time, she had shut him down. She wasn’t interested in him—at least, not in the way he clearly wanted her to be.

But now, she was being asked to dig deeper, to find the story behind the public persona. Her professional side told her it was just another assignment. The personal side of her couldn’t shake the unease in the pit of her stomach at the thought of spending more time with him.

The first meeting with Draco was set for the following week. She walked into the private room at the trendy restaurant where they had agreed to meet, her mind still swirling with questions. Draco was already there, sitting at a corner table, his signature smirk plastered across his face as he saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Weasley, the woman who can’t be charmed,” Draco teased, his voice low and smooth. “How long did it take for you to come up with a way to make me sound interesting?”

The girl narrowed her eyes as she sat down, trying not to show discomfort. “You’re not the story I want to write, Malfoy,” she said, her tone sharp. “But my director seems to think you’re worth the ink.”

Draco chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Of course, they do. Who wouldn’t want to write about me?” His eyes twinkled with his usual cocky confidence, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel the familiar irritation bubble up.

She set her notepad on the table and gave him a pointed look. “So, tell me, Malfoy. What’s it like to be the golden boy of Quidditch? The press loves you. The fans adore you. But what’s going on behind that perfect smile of yours?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her directness. “Is that your first question, then? Going straight for the jugular?”

“Why not? I’m here to get the truth, not some carefully rehearsed spiel.”

His eyes softened for a moment, an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, but he quickly regained his usual cockiness. “Alright, alright. It’s true—being the best is exhausting. All the expectations, the pressure to perform perfectly, to look perfect. It’s a lot more work than people think. But, hey, it’s worth it when you’re the best.”

The girl jotted down some notes, but she couldn’t help but notice the faint flicker of something in his eyes—something real, something raw. It wasn’t the image of the perfect Quidditch star she expected, but the glimpse of someone who might be tired of being in the spotlight. It was a side of Draco Malfoy that was difficult to ignore.

She pressed on, determined not to be distracted. “England’s making history with how it’s the first time that the team has entered the world cup finals. How do you feel about this?”

The boy grinned, crossing his arms in amusement. “It’s only been my 2nd year playing for England as the seeker so it honestly brings me great joy to be part of this historical event.”

Nodding, Weasley continued, “Do you have a personal goal for the upcoming match?”

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair, making Y/N look up at him with a raised brow. The boy was about to say something until he hesitated for a moment, gears running in his head as he thought about his answer.

“I want the trophy.” He finally answered. “Nothing else would make me happier than raising the trophy with my own hands above my head. It’s my ultimate goal. I’ll be content for life once I finally make that happen.”

The girl continued to write in her notepad, nodding at every word the Quidditch star had spoken.

“And what about your personal life, Draco? Your time at Hogwarts? Your family?”

Draco leaned forward, his smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Now, you’re getting personal. I see how it is.”

“Just trying to get the truth,” Y/N replied, not backing down.

He met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. ”Maybe you’ll have to dig a little deeper to get that, Weasley.”

As the conversation continued, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco was letting her in, just slightly more than he had before. But then, as quickly as the walls came down, they were back up again. He was a master at keeping things just out of reach. She could see that now.

But there was something else—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. For all his bravado and charm, a vulnerability lurked behind his eyes. The question was whether she could uncover it—and whether she even wanted to.

Draco stood to leave as the interview wrapped up, giving her one last lingering look. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said with that trademark smirk.

The reporter gathered her things, her mind racing. She’d gotten the surface-level story she expected. But something told her there was more—much more—to Draco Malfoy than she’d ever realized.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A few weeks after the first interview at the restaurant, Y/N sat next to Draco in a quiet corner of a rooftop bar, sipping wine while the city of London stretched out before them. The sound of distant laughter and clinking glasses filled the air, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of them.

Draco had been quiet for most of the evening, a rare occurrence for him. His usual cocky smile was replaced with a more relaxed, contemplative expression as he stared out at the skyline. Y/N found herself watching him, the way the soft glow of the city lights illuminated the sharp angles of his face, the way his eyes flickered with thought.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she remarked, setting her glass down.

He shrugged, but there was a softness to his movements. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” she asked, intrigued despite herself.

He met her gaze, his eyes intense. “About how you’re the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t seem to expect anything from me.”

Y/N frowned. “That’s not true. I expect plenty from you, Malfoy.”

His lips curled into a smile, but it was different than usual—less smug, more genuine. “What do you expect?”

“I expect you to stop acting like you have to be some perfect, untouchable person,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Because no one’s perfect, and no one’s untouchable. Not even you.”

Draco’s expression softened, his gaze flicking away for a moment before he turned back to her. “I don’t want to be untouchable. Just…” he paused, then looked down at his glass, tapping it lightly with his finger. “Just don’t let me screw this up.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, though she quickly masked it with a teasing smile. “I think you’ve already screwed it up a few times. C’mon, do you think mocking some of my work at The Alchemy just to get my attention would actually make me fall for you?”

He smirked, but there was no malice in it. “True. But I’m trying.”

Y/N wasn’t sure why, but something in his tone—something in his eyes—tugged at her. She wanted to resist, to remind herself that she couldn’t afford to get caught up in someone like him. But with every word, with every glance they shared, the walls she’d carefully built around her heart seemed to crumble just a little more.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As the days passed, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just scratched the surface of something much more complex. Draco Malfoy was precisely as she’d expected in many ways: confident, charming, and completely self-assured in the public eye. But the moments between his carefully constructed exterior, the fleeting glances and small gestures, had made her realize something deeper lay beneath.

The next few weeks were filled with interviews, photo shoots, and press events. Draco’s schedule was packed with appearances, leaving him little time for anything other than his public image. But Y/N managed to secure more time with him, squeezing moments between his practices and press conferences.

Each time they met, the conversation deepened slightly. But for every step he took toward vulnerability, he seemed to retreat just as quickly.

Y/N had asked about his past and his family—subjects that usually turned him distant and defensive. Yet there were moments when she saw a flicker of something else, something more human. He’d speak of his childhood with a mixture of bitterness and longing, a sense of loss that cut deeper than she had expected.

“My father was never proud of me for anything except Quidditch,” Draco had said one afternoon, his eyes dark as they stared into the distance. “I could win every match, and he’d still find something to criticize. I never could escape his shadow.”

It was the first time he had shared anything personal, and it had taken Y/N by surprise.

“Do you remember how I told you that nothing would make me happier than the world cup trophy?”

Y/N nodded as an answer, her gaze focused deeply on Draco.

“To earn that trophy is to finally let go of my father’s disappointment in me.” He confessed, taking a big gulp at his firewhisky afterwards.

Y/N had been so used to Draco Malfoy, who prided himself on his self-sufficiency, the one who lived in the limelight and was always in control. She had never considered that, beneath all that, he might be carrying around the weight of such a complicated family history.

Yet Draco cut the conversation short the moment she let herself lean in, to ask more, to dive deeper into that pain. “Anyway, enough about that,” he’d said, standing up and brushing off the moment as if it were nothing. “What else do you want to know?”

And so, the reporter continued to write. At first, she focused on the public figure of Draco Malfoy—the successful, well-loved athlete who was more than just a face in the crowd.

But with every interview and moment spent with him, she started questioning what she was genuinely uncovering. She was digging, yes, but she wasn’t sure whether Draco Malfoy's story intrigued her—or the man himself.

It wasn’t until one late evening, long after the sun had set that Y/N realized just how much her feelings for Draco had shifted. She had been assigned to cover a charity event where Draco was being honored for his work with the wizarding community. The room was filled with celebrities, athletes, and wealthy families, all gathered to celebrate Draco’s accomplishments. It was the perfect opportunity for him to shine and be the golden boy again.

But there, at the back of the ballroom, she caught him standing alone, leaning against a column with a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes distant, staring out over the crowd. She had always thought of him as the center of attention, always surrounded by people who wanted to be near him, but this moment—how he looked almost… lost—took her by surprise.

The girl approached him cautiously, unsure if this was the same Draco Malfoy she had spent the past few weeks getting to know.

“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” The girl remarked dryly, unable to help herself.

Draco’s lips curled into his trademark smirk. “Oh, you know. Just enjoying the company of people who love me.” He replied.

But the lightness of his words didn’t quite match the heaviness in his eyes. The girl caught a glimpse of the façade he had built so carefully—he was pretending, and she saw right through it.

“Do you really enjoy these things, Draco?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

He looked at her then, really looked at her, as if weighing her words. There was an unsettling quiet in the air between them, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“It’s what’s expected of me,” he finally said, his voice low.

Y/N’s heart softened at his words, and she could feel the walls he had built around himself, those barriers keeping everyone at a distance. This was a side of Draco she hadn’t seen before—the vulnerability, the uncertainty.

Before she could say more, there was a call from across the room—another colleague, another guest. Draco straightened up, wiping the moment away like it had never happened. “Duty calls” he said, his mask back in place. “I’ll see you later, Weasley.”

But as he turned to walk away, Y/N felt the weight of the unspoken words between them. She was beginning to realize that this story she was writing about Draco Malfoy wasn’t just about uncovering his public life. It was about something far more complicated that had crept up on her without warning.

She wasn’t just writing about Draco Malfoy anymore. She was trying to understand him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was a quiet evening when Draco invited Y/N to a secluded spot near a pub, a place far from the bustling streets and prying eyes. She had been hesitant at first—Draco Malfoy didn’t exactly seem like the type to indulge in quiet, intimate settings—but something about the way he had asked, the sincerity in his voice, made her say yes.

When she arrived, she was surprised to find that it wasn’t a grand, lavish affair. It was just a small, private garden lit by hundreds of softly glowing lanterns, the gentle hum of music in the background. Draco was already there, standing by a small stone bench, a hesitant look on his face as if he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

“Malfoy, what is this?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued as she took in the peaceful setting.

He gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I thought you might like something...different. Somewhere, we could talk without the usual distractions.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You? Trying to be quiet and intimate?”

Draco chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying something new. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with...romantic gestures.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. That was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Draco Malfoy—arrogant, smug, unapproachable Draco—admitting he didn’t know how to do this. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, and all she could see was the vulnerability in his eyes.

He stepped toward her, offering her his hand. “I thought we could start with a walk. Maybe later we can... see where the night takes us.”

Y/N hesitated, but then she found herself taking his hand, her pulse quickening as his fingers brushed against hers.

They walked through the garden together, the soft glow of the lanterns casting a golden light over them. The path was lined with roses and jasmine, their sweet scent filling the air. Draco occasionally glanced at her, his smile more natural now, and Y/N found herself smiling back without even thinking about it.

After a while, they reached a small gazebo, draped in ivy and surrounded by flowers. Draco led her to the center, where a small table had been set up with a single candle flickering in the center. He pulled out a chair for her, a small gesture, but it made her heart flutter in a way she couldn’t explain.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Y/N said softly, her voice betraying the warmth she felt. “It’s…”

“Something I wanted to do,” Draco interrupted gently. He placed his hand on hers, his touch warm and reassuring. “Something I wanted to show you. That I can be more than the person you think I am.”

Y/N looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes locked. There was no smugness in his expression now, no arrogance. Just sincerity—something she hadn’t expected from him, but found herself yearning for.

“I know I’ve messed up,” Draco continued, his voice low. “And I know I’m not perfect. But I want to try. I want to prove that I’m not just some spoiled, arrogant Quidditch player. I’m someone who’s willing to do this...to try for you.”

Y/N felt her walls begin to crumble. Every part of her had been bracing for him to let her down, for this to be just another game, another way to keep her interested. But something about the way he was looking at her, the way his hand remained gently resting on hers, made her believe him.

“You don’t have to prove anything, Draco,” she said quietly. “I just need to know you’re not playing games.”

He smiled, his eyes softening. “No games, Weasley. I’m not that stupid.”

The way he said it—so earnestly—left no room for doubt. She could feel the truth of his words, and for the first time, she realized how much she wanted to believe in him.

The evening went on, the quiet intimacy of the garden wrapping them in a cocoon of soft light and silence. It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it was enough. Draco had finally shown her a side of him that was real, and in that moment, it felt like the world was just the two of them.

By the end of the night, as they stood together under the stars, Draco took a deep breath. “So, what do you think? Is this enough to make you reconsider that I might be worth it?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she smiled, the answer already clear. “I think I’m starting to believe you.”

Draco’s face lit up, and he pulled her in for a hug, one that felt more tender than anything they’d shared before. And as Y/N rested her head against his chest, she realized she wasn’t just falling for him—she had already fallen.

“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, but still holding back, as if waiting for some sign from her.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she opened her eyes to meet his, the raw emotion in his gaze pulling her in even deeper. “Then why don’t you?”

The words had barely left her lips when his other hand slid around her waist, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between them. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, the tension crackling between them, making it impossible to think clearly.

Draco leaned in, his lips just inches from hers, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, everything seemed to slow—time stretching out as they hovered on the edge of something they both knew could change everything.

A sudden sound broke the silence. The rustling of leaves. A faint cough.

Y/N and Draco both snapped their heads to the side, a rush of disappointment and frustration sweeping over them. Standing just at the edge of the garden path, a figure was barely visible in the dim light.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

It was a familiar voice—one Y/N would recognize anywhere.

"George?" she called out, her words laced with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

Draco stiffened beside her, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face the intruder.

"Couldn't find you two anywhere in the pub, so I figured you might be here," George Weasley said, stepping fully into the light with his characteristic grin. He raised a hand in apology. "Did I ruin something?"

Y/N let out a soft sigh, the tension that had been building between her and Draco instantly evaporating. The weight of the moment slipped away, replaced by the sudden, unwelcome intrusion of her older brother’s presence.

"Bloody hell," Draco muttered under his breath, rubbing his forehead in irritation. "I was about to—"

George, completely unaware of the emotional wreckage he’d just caused, smiled and raised an eyebrow. "About to what? Kiss her?" He gave a teasing glance to Y/N. "I mean, that’s the only reason I can think of you two standing so close."

Y/N could feel her cheeks burning, the awkwardness of the moment too much to ignore. "George," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "what are you doing here?"

"I told you, I was looking for you," he said with a shrug. "But I’m happy to leave you two to whatever… this is." He made a small gesture between them. "Just don’t do anything I’d do, alright?"

Draco shot him a glare, clearly less than thrilled with the interruption. "You know, George, I’m really starting to wonder what exactly you’re insinuating."

George chuckled and held his hands up in mock defense. "Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to make sure you weren't tying my little sister up in some crazy love affair."

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Can’t you go bother Fred?” she said, hoping to push her brother along.

But George just shook his head. “Nah, he’s busy at the shop. Anyway, I’ll leave you two to it. Just don’t blame me when it’s not my fault you two don’t kiss already. It’s been hanging in the air since I walked up.”

With that, George turned to leave, his footsteps growing quieter as he disappeared down the path.

Y/N exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance flood through her. "Well, that was awkward," she muttered, running a hand through her hair.

Draco’s posture had relaxed, but he was still watching her with an amused yet frustrated expression. "I can’t believe that just happened."

And just like that, the moment was lost—not by their own choice, but by fate and the mischievous timing of her brother. Yet, in that space between them, something still lingered, the anticipation hanging in the air like the faintest whisper of what might come next.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As the season finale approached, excitement buzzed throughout the wizarding world. The final game of the Quidditch World Cup was drawing near, and Draco Malfoy’s England team was on the cusp of victory. Every publication and every media outlet, was buzzing about the upcoming match. It was a culmination of years of hard work, and Draco was poised to lead his team to the win.

But as much as the excitement of the game filled the air, it wasn’t the only thing occupying Draco’s mind. Y/N Weasley had been a constant presence over the past few weeks, her insightful questions and perceptive eyes causing something inside him to stir.

It wasn’t about the chase anymore; it was about how she made him feel like someone with something real to offer, something that had nothing to do with his past. With Y/N, he wasn’t Draco Malfoy, the heir to the Malfoy fortune, the former Death Eater, or even the star Seeker of the England team. He was just Draco.

And now, as the final match loomed closer, something in him knew that he needed her there. He wanted her to witness the moment he had been working toward his entire life, to see him in his element at the peak of his career.

There was a vulnerability in that—asking her to witness his success, to be there as something more than just the journalist writing on his feature for a magazine.

The question came as a text one evening, just a few days before the big game. Y/N was sitting in her apartment, reviewing her notes for her article, when her phone buzzed.

“You’re coming to the final game, right?”

The girl stared at the message momentarily, her fingers hovered over the screen as she debated how to respond.

“I wasn’t planning on it. You’ve got plenty of people in your corner already.”

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, but a new message appeared from Draco moments later. “And you think they’re the ones I want there? You should come. I want you to see it. All of it.”

She felt a strange flutter in her chest at his words.

“Fine, I’ll be there. But don’t expect me to cheer for you.”

Draco’s reply was quick, playful, but there was an undertone of sincerity. “I’ll take what I can get. See you there, Weasley.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of the match arrived, and Y/N found herself standing in the VIP section of the stadium, her heart beating faster than she would have liked. The atmosphere was electric, the stands filled with enthusiastic supporters. Draco had ensured that she had the best seat in the house—front and center, right near the team’s private box.

As the match kicked off, Y/N was fully aware that she was there not just as a reporter, but as someone who was beginning to care, in a way she had never intended. She watched Draco carefully, noting the way he moved with precision, the intensity in his eyes, and the confidence in every pass, every dive, every goal.

There was something magnetic about watching him play, not just for his skill, but for the quiet determination that seemed to flow from him.

During the halftime break, Y/N made her way up to the private box, where Draco was standing alone, looking out over the field. He had removed his goggles and gloves.

“You’re doing well,” Y/N said, stepping up beside him, trying to keep her tone casual.

“You came,” he said, his voice a mix of surprise and something else. He looked at the girl carefully. There, Y/N stood, wearing a black England Quidditch jersey with Draco’s last name on the back, the number 7 emblazoned proudly across it.

His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected her to wear it, let alone wear it like she was wearing it for him. A small thrill ran through him.

“I said I would,” Y/N replied, her voice steady despite her heart racing.

Draco gave her a broad smile. “You look cute with my last name on your back.” He complimented, Y/N’s cheeks immediately turning red.

Silence engulfed their atmosphere for a while before Draco decided to break it.

“Do you think I can win?” he asked quietly, a rare moment of honesty breaking through his usual bravado.

She met his gaze, her own heart unexpectedly softening. “I think you’ve already won,” she said with quiet certainty. “No matter what happens in the game, you’ve already proven everything you set out to achieve.”

For a moment, Draco said nothing, but his eyes softened, and Y/N saw the vulnerability he had kept hidden. He took a step closer to her, his voice low. “That’s the thing about winning, Weasley. It never feels like enough. Not until I’ve got everything I want.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The game resumed, and Y/N’s focus shifted back to the field as Draco and his team pushed forward, the final match unfolding before her eyes.

On the pitch, Draco kept his focus sharp, scanning the skies for the glint of gold, but his mind wandered to her more often than it should have. Was she watching? Was she rolling her eyes every time the announcers praised him? Did she regret coming at all?

When he finally spotted the Snitch, his heart surged, not just with the thrill of the chase but with the knowledge that Y/N was here to see him succeed. He dove with precision, ignoring the French Seeker on his tail, and his fingers closed around the Snitch in one fluid motion. The crowd erupted, and his teammates surged toward him, but Draco’s gaze immediately lifted to the stands.

As the crowd cheered, Y/N found herself caught up in the moment's energy, but it wasn’t the victory that held her attention. It was Draco. She watched as he raised his arms in triumph, his face a mix of relief and elation, his hard work finally paying off.

The crowd erupted as the final whistle sounded, the golden snitch clutched tightly in Draco Malfoy’s hand. The scoreboard flashed the win: England - 310, France - 290. The stadium was a cacophony of cheers, chants, and magical fireworks lighting up the Parisian sky. His teammates swarmed him, their triumphant shouts blending into the roaring crowd. But Draco’s mind was already elsewhere.

He didn’t hear the commentators dissecting his final play or the announcer calling his name as the match’s MVP. All he could think about was her—Y/N Weasley, standing just past the enchanted barriers separating the players from the spectators.

As the crowd surged forward, Y/N made her way down to the field, determined to catch him before the madness of victory consumed him completely. She found him near the edge of the pitch, his teammates surrounding him, all celebrating their victory. But Draco’s eyes found hers immediately, cutting through the noise and the chaos.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. There was no crowd, no reporters, no fans clamoring for his attention. There was just Draco and Y/N—two people who had been circling each other for weeks, testing boundaries, pushing limits, and now, standing on the edge of something neither of them were prepared for.

Draco handed off the snitch to a teammate, brushing past the photographers calling his name. “Where are you going, Malfoy?” one of his teammates shouted, but Draco didn’t bother answering.

The trophy could wait. The celebrations could wait. Everything could wait.

By the time she saw him weaving through the crowd, his hair mussed from the game, a bead of sweat tracing his temple, he was already too close to ignore.

“Where’s the trophy, Malfoy?” she asked, her voice teasing and dripping with sarcasm but her eyes betraying the pride she felt.

“Don’t care,” he said simply, his chest still heaving.

“What kind of star player skips the celebration?” she quipped, but her words faltered as his hands found her waist. In one swift movement, he pulled her over to him, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of her coat.

“The kind who’s got better things to do,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her witty comeback dissolved as his lips crashed into hers, the kiss hard and desperate, as if he’d waited his whole life for this moment. The stadium, the cameras, the spectators—all of it faded into the background. It was just them, wrapped in the kind of alchemy that couldn’t be planned or controlled.

She tasted like red wine, and Draco thought, for once, he might actually have won something worth keeping.

When they finally broke apart, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she saw his gray eyes. “You’re insane, Malfoy,” she whispered, her fingers still gripping the front of his jersey.

“Maybe,” he replied, brushing his forehead against hers. “But I’m yours.”

As the crowd chanted his name and his teammates hoisted the trophy, Draco stayed rooted in that moment with her, knowing that whatever happened next, nothing could compare to the magic of Y/N Weasley in his arms, grinning at him.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then, in a move that surprised her, he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against her cheek in a far more intimate gesture than anything he had done before.

“Thank you, Y/N.” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion she hadn’t expected. “For being here. For seeing me.”

Y/N stood there, her heart racing as she tried to process the shift in their relationship. She hadn’t just witnessed his victory. She had seen him, indeed seen him—for the first time. And now, everything was different.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On my final conversation with star-seeker Draco Malfoy, there I stood, on the sides of the Quidditch pitch, asking him “Where’s the trophy, Malfoy?”

But guess what? He just comes running over to me.

signed,

Y/N Weasley | Senior Editor at The Alchemy

[pedroscurls]

playing with fire (one-shot)

summary: wyatt (aka, jamie) always had one thing on his mind: money. so after he and jonathan part ways, he meets you - a woman that suddenly makes him realize that there's more to life than treachery, manipulation, and violence. but when he has another chance at getting more money than he's ever had before, he goes back to his old ways... and you're more than willing to help him in any way possible. pairing: wyatt bose (jamie getz) x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT 18+ MDNI, light dom/sub dynamic, possessiveness, violence - mentions of murder, blood, wyatt is very rough, light power imbalance in the beginning, manhandling, light choking, brief orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, multiple creampies (oops), one scene of a breeding kink, multiple scenes of oral (m and f receiving), fingering, spanking, marking, no use of y/n. word count: 13.9k (oops - i got distracted) a/n: ok y'all, this is just complete filth. hugh plays such a good bad guy (i really want him to play more roles like this bc damn) and that one fucking line where he says "oh, what i'm gonna do to you" DID things to me jfc. anyway, please heed the warnings and if you do decide to read this, hope you enjoy! had to end it with a happy ending obviously 🙂‍↕️

WELCOME TO THE CLUB — You didn’t know how you ended up here. You had just broken up with your boyfriend of two years after realizing that you were just settling for a relationship that you were no longer happy in. At this age, you should have already been married, should have already become a mother – it was something that your own family liked to remind you of what you’ve been missing. 

But that never did appeal to you. You didn’t want to become a mother, didn’t want to be married. Your family had originally hoped you would find someone to settle down with, someone to change your mind and they had thought your ex-boyfriend was that person, but… Things had become redundant. Boring. You spent most days daydreaming what it would be like to live a life you wanted. 

And the sex – well, you were always left disappointed because he just couldn’t get you to come. No matter how hard he tried. So, you resorted to your own vibrator in hopes to relieve the pressure and tension that you knew you couldn’t get with him. 

He wasn’t a bad man – in fact, he was perfect. He just wasn’t perfect for you. 

And now, you’re sitting at the edge of the bed in a hotel room that you paid for, waiting for this stranger to arrive. You had met a woman one night at the bar who had let you know of an exclusive club that she was in, a club that piqued your interest. You had all of the information written down and every day for the next month, you reviewed it every night. Never taking the initiative to finally be part of this club. 

Until tonight. 

You were tired of using your vibrator. Tired of trying to meet other men at bars, only to be disgusted by their behavior before they could even get to your front door. 

So, you reviewed the sticky note with all of the information the woman had told you about – the initiator pays for the hotel room, no names are exchanged, and no rough play. You weren’t sure what to expect when you finally called a number that she had given you, hearing his voice from the other end of the phone – it was deep, gruff. You spent the next ride to the hotel imagining what he would look like, pairing his voice with the image you conjured up of this man. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on the door. You suddenly feel self-conscious, nervous – this is your first time in this club and you didn’t want to disappoint. With a deep breath, you finally stand up and walk to the door. Gripping the handle, you slowly open it to see a man dressed in an all black suit (no tie) and one of the most charming smiles you’ve ever seen. He wastes no time in eyeing you up and down, taking note of the short black satin robe that is loosely wrapped around your otherwise naked frame. 

“Hi,” he smiles. “Mind if I come in?” 

You nod and open the door even further for him to cross the threshold. He steps in and winks in your direction, catching his gaze on your cleavage. Once he’s fully inside, you place the “do not disturb” placard on the outside handle and then shut the door. 

“This is my first time,” you blurt out, walking back to the bed and finding your spot on the corner of the mattress. “I know the rules. No names. No rough play. Other rules can be established between us and–”

He turns around and gazes down at you, hands in his pockets and that same charming smile lining his lips. “First time, huh?” 

“In this club, at least. Not the first time ever.” 

“Shame,” he eyes your legs when you cross one over the other, the robe lifting to reveal more of your skin. “Would’ve been nice to be your first ever.” 

You feel more confident with the way he’s staring at you. Slowly, you bring your hands to the knot at your robe and begin to undo it. “We could…” you bite your lower lip, the knot loosening completely as you lean back against your forearms to reveal your exposed front for him. “Pretend?” You finish. 

He lets out the most animalistic growl that you’ve ever heard come out of a man. In two strides, he’s standing between your legs, hands still in his pockets as he gazes at your breasts down your abdomen and to the apex of your thighs. 

“No fun in that,” he finally answers. 

“No?” You ask, pulling your lower lip between your teeth as you let your eyes take in his frame. You can see the bulge beneath his black slacks, only fueling more of your confidence. “You don’t like to roleplay?” 

“I’d much rather have the real thing.” 

“You didn’t answer my question though,” you reply. “Do you not like to roleplay?” 

His gaze darkens as he finally pulls one of his hands out of his pockets and you see just how large it is when he lightly splays it across your abdomen, sliding it further upwards between your breasts. His touch is soft, but you can feel the calluses, can feel the roughness. 

“I’ll tell you what I do like,” he whispers huskily. 

“Yeah? What’s that?” You whimper, feeling his thumb brush against your nipple before he brings his hand further up to splay against the side of your neck. Slowly, he moves his hand to the back of your head and grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it with just the right amount of pressure for you to tilt your head back, exposing your neck and throat for him. 

“I like to be in control,” he says quietly, leaning down until his lips are near your ear. 

“Thought one of the rules was no rough play…” you point out, eyes fluttering shut as you feel his soft lips begin to nip at your earlobe. 

“We can make our own rules, baby.” 

“My first time in this club and you’re already getting me to break the rules,” you smile, moving one hand to grab onto the lapel of his blazer. 

Instead, he grabs both of your hands and pins them above your head. His grip around your wrists tighten as he pushes them into the mattress, staring into your eyes. His nose brushes against yours as the hand in your hair instead moves to cover your breast. He kneads the flesh into the pit of his palm, feeling you arch your back into his touch. 

“Something tells me you like breaking the rules,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning against your lips. “Am I right?” 

“Never had someone to break the rules with,” you whimper, feeling him pinch your nipple between his thumb and index finger. 

He smirks at that, feeling suddenly territorial over you. He pulls back enough to gaze down at you, eyes scanning every inch of your face as he commits it to memory. The way your eyes stare at him with a kind expression, giving him your undivided attention. He isn’t used to this, isn’t used to being with someone like you. You’re staring at him like he’s the only person that matters in this world and he doesn’t realize how much he craves that, how much he’s going to crave you. 

“You want someone to break the rules with?” he asks, moving his hand from your breast down your abdomen and between your legs. 

“As long as it’s with you,” you answer almost immediately. 

Wyatt (Jamie) growls at that and breaks his own rule by pressing his lips firmly against your own. Since he joined this club, he never kissed the person he was with. It seemed almost too personal, too intimate to be shared amongst strangers. In the last fifteen minutes of meeting you, he’s already yearning for more, already planning for ways to have you his. Only his. 

Your hands move to his hair, tangling your fingers into his locks as your lips move slowly against his. He groans against you, your lips so soft and inviting. 

He has to pull away, has to gather his thoughts because he’s losing control and he never loses control. Once he stands upright, he pushes off his jacket and reaches down for his belt, undoing it as he watches you scramble up further onto the bed, sliding the robe off your entire frame. He can feel his cock straining in his pants and when he finally undoes the belt, zipper, and button of his pants, he pushes it down his legs with his boxers and kicks it off to the side. 

He smirks to himself, seeing your eyes gaze down at his cock that springs at attention. He holds onto his base, veins throbbing and tip leaking with precome. 

“You’d do anything I’d ask, wouldn’t you?” Wyatt (Jamie) asks, grabbing your ankle and tugging you back to the edge of the mattress. “You’d be a good girl, listen to what I tell you to do–”

“Yes,” you say almost breathlessly. You don’t know if this is how it’s like with every person you’ll meet in this club, but he’s going to leave a really good impression on you. He’s awakening something inside of you that you’ve suppressed for so long, unsure if you’ll ever get the chance to live out the sex life you’ve always yearned for, but now he’s here – whoever he is – giving you the chance to have a much more exciting sex life. 

“Don’t interrupt me,” he growls, hand moving to your jaw. His gaze darkens, tries to search for any hesitation in your eyes, but instead, he sees a sense of willingness, a glimmer of obedience. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” 

Sir. He grins at that. 

“Such a fast learner,” he whispers, using his hand to guide his tip to your slickened heat. “Now, be a good girl and ask me nicely.” 

You bite your lower lip, staring into his eyes as you feel his warm tip press against your opening. You clench around nothing, whimpering in protest as you lift your hips impatiently off the bed. His grip around your jaw tightens. 

“Be a good girl and ask nicely,” he repeats, voice deeper, more demanding. 

“Please,” you whine out. 

“Please what?” he growls. 

“Goddammit, please fuck me!” you answer impatiently, hands reaching down to take matters into your own hands. 

He lets out a dark laugh and shakes his head, releasing his hold on your jaw to grab your hands once more, pinning them roughly to the mattress. His grip around your wrists tighten as he stares into your eyes, that same charming smile on his lips. “Am I going to have to spend the entire fucking night teaching you manners?” 

“N–No,” you whimper. “Please, I’m sorry. I just– Fuck, I need you.”

“Then… Ask. Fucking. Nicely.” he repeats. 

“Please, sir,” you moan. “Please, can you–” you gasp quietly, feeling the head of his cock push into your tight heat. When you can’t seem to find your words, he pulls out of you and smirks. 

“Continue, baby.” 

“Please,” you mumble. “C–Can you fuck me, please?” 

“Please what?”

“Sir.” 

Wyatt (Jamie) grins in accomplishment and slams into you without warning, feeling your warm heat encompass his throbbing cock. You’re so tight, so wet that sliding into you is so effortless. Your back arches as you feel every inch of his length press against your walls, a painful stretch to accommodate his size. 

And for the rest of the night, you both remain entangled in each other’s limbs, only leaving the bed to have him bend you over the dresser or to ride him in the small loveseat in the corner. 

When morning rolls around, you’re already dressed in your normal clothes and so is he. It was a night to remember – this club had initially made you anxious, but now, you’re looking forward to the next time you’ll get to meet another stranger. 

Wyatt (Jamie), on the other hand, makes sure to add your number to his phone. His mind drifts to the possibility of you being with other men – even women – in this exclusive club and he feels a sudden sense of jealousy wash over him. He reaches down and grips your hip, pulling you to him and leaning down to capture your lips with his own. He hopes that he’s made a lasting impression that no other man would ever compare to him.

Slowly, you’re the one that pulls away – a small smile lining your beautiful face and eyes gazing at him once more with such kindness. 

“I hope I see you around,” you finally say, biting your lower lip. 

“I’m sure you will,” he says with confidence. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“We don’t know each other’s names,” you let out a quiet laugh. “And I’m sure you have other women that call you–”

“You jealous?” he teases with a grin.

“And if I said I was?” 

He clears his throat quietly. “Then I’d say tough shit,” he answers. “Deal with it.” 

Your face falls momentarily, but you recover quickly and lean in to peck his lips lightly. “Well, good thing I’m not jealous then. I’m eager to meet other men after last night.”

He tightens his jaw and brings a hand up to grab another fistful of your hair. You whimper quietly, hands moving to grip his shoulders. “When you fuck those other men,” he whispers, moving his lips to your ear. “You better be thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “Not unless there’s another man who does it better than you.” 

He growls at that, turning you around and bending you over the dresser. He wastes no time in lifting the ends of your dress over your hips as he kicks your legs apart. Wyatt (Jamie) undoes his zipper and reaches into his slacks to pull out his hardening cock – giving it one, two, three strokes before he pushes into you from behind. 

Your hands reach out to grab onto the edges of the dresser, the grip around it so tight that your knuckles turn white. You hadn’t expected that kind of reaction of him and certainly didn’t expect him to fuck you yet again – especially since you both should already have left the hotel, last night’s events the only thing to remember each other by. 

Instead, he’s fucking relentlessly into you from behind, his balls slapping against you. This time, he doesn’t care about making you come first. He wants you – no, needs you to understand that there will never be anyone like him. That you are meant for him, made for him. Only him. 

He reaches down and grabs your hands, pinning them against your lower back as he slams into you. You squirm back against him, the edge of the dresser digging into your hips that you’re sure will leave another mark on your body. 

“You’re mine,” he groans aloud, tossing his head back as he uses your tight walls to bring him closer to his own release. “You’ll only ever be mine.”

“Y–Yes!” you moan loudly, your arousal dripping out of you. The sounds of his skin slapping against yours mix in with the wet squelching noises coming from between your legs – it echoes throughout the hotel room. 

“Fucking say it,” he demands, using his free hand to grab your hair and pull you upright. “Say it. Say I’m the only one. Say you’ll only ever think of me. Say you’re mine.”

“I–I’m yours!” you moan, his hand moving from your hair to pull down the front of your dress. He covers your breast with his large hand, squeezing it tightly as he thrusts into you repeatedly. “I–I’ll only ever think of you, fuck, please!” 

“Please what?” he groans into your ear. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Need to come!” 

Wyatt (Jamie) groans and empties his seed into you, your walls milking every last drop he has to give you. He pulls out and growls at the sight of his release trickling down the inside of your legs. You’re trembling, hands reaching out to rest on the dresser for stability once he releases his hold on you. He tucks himself back into his slacks and gives your ass a rough slap, smirking to himself. 

“Wait, but–” you whimper in protest, turning around slowly to face him with furrowed brows. “I didn’t–I didn’t come.”

“That’s too bad, isn’t it?” he smirks, grabbing his phone and keys from his pocket. 

“Are you really going to leave me like this?” 

He steps towards you and cups your cheek lightly, staring into your eyes. “You know my number, baby. Give it a call when you need me.” 

“Maybe I’ll call someone else,” you pout, walking away from him to go into the bathroom, cleaning yourself up from the mess he’s made between your legs. 

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. He’s trying not to let this get to him, to let you get to him, but he can’t help it. He clears his throat and walks towards the door of the bathroom, watching you toss the toilet paper into the trash as you make yourself more presentable. 

“Maybe next time,” you begin to say, walking past him and towards your bag that’s resting on the mattress. “Maybe next time you’ll be the one that should be good for me.” 

He chuckles at that. He feels his feet glued to the floor as he watches you walk towards the door of the hotel room. “Don’t think that’s how this works, baby.” 

“Guess we’ll see next time then, hm?” you throw him a smile over your shoulder and open the door. Before walking out into the hallway, you turn to him and nod in his direction. “Thank you, by the way. For last night. For what happened just a few minutes ago.”

He nods, feeling an unfamiliar warmth blossom in his chest. “You made it easy, baby. Welcome to the club.” 

MEETING “WYATT BOSE” — The next time you see him, it’s unexpected. You’re working at the local library, reading a book at the front desk when he walks in. The same charming smile, a confidence and swagger that he walks with. His eyes scan the building, unsure of exactly what he’s looking for, but he walks further into the library and disappears into one of the aisles. It makes your heart race even faster as your mind drifts to the night you shared with him almost six months ago. You had been more regularly part of this club now – men now giving you a call instead of the other way around. 

He was right, though. Every other man you had been with him after him wasn’t the same. Sure, it was by far better sex than what you would have had with your ex-boyfriend, but it never was quite as amazing as your first time with him. Even as you came, you imagined him. 

You stand from the front desk, telling your coworker that you were going to put some books away. Truthfully, it was just an excuse to find him – the stranger that had left a lasting impression on you. 

You’re pushing a cart of books, going through each aisle. You’re distracted, putting two books away in its appropriate place and then glancing around to see if you can even get a glimpse of him. It feels like maybe you might have just imagined him, maybe your mind is playing tricks on you. 

With a heavy sigh, you round the corner and see him standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing yet another suit and that same fucking charming smile lining his beautiful lips. He’s gazing at you with an already darkened gaze. 

“Well, hello you.” 

“It’s really you,” you whisper, gripping the handle of the cart. 

“You never called again.” 

“Hm,” you answer. “I never received a call from you either and I saw you save my number that night, so I know you had–”

He steps towards you, removing one hand from his pocket to gently brush his thumb across your cheekbone. “You’ve been very popular, from what I’ve been hearing.” 

You clear your throat, feeling a quiet gasp escape your lips at his touch. “Maybe not that popular if you never called.” 

He chuckles, thumb moving lower to brush against your lower lip. “You miss me, baby?” 

“No,” you lie. 

He just smirks. “You’re such a fucking liar.” He grips your chin and pulls you to him. He removes his other hand from his pocket and lifts it up to gently brush against your nametag. Now he knows your name – another rule broken. 

“Pretty name,” he whispers. 

“You gonna tell me yours?” 

He grins, hand moving from your chin to splay against the side of your neck instead. His thumb brushes against your throat down towards your collarbone. “No names, remember?” 

“Well, that isn’t fair though, is it? You know mine.” 

“Didn’t ask you though. You’re wearing a nametag.” 

“What if I say please?”  

“Would you get on your knees and then say please?” He asks. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t think about you, didn’t think about that night you shared. 

“You’ll have to give me a call if you want me on my knees in front of you, baby.” 

He smiles to himself, tilts his head as he gazes into your eyes. Since Jonathan had let him go freely almost a year ago, Wyatt (Jamie) had tried to change his ways, tried to live a better life, but old habits die hard. It wasn’t until he met you that he started thinking about things other than money. 

How could one person leave such a lasting impression on him? 

“Just because we’re in public doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t take you in the bathroom–”

“If you want me that badly, then give me a call.”

His eyes narrow as he moves his grip around your throat. He pushes you against the dark corner and moves his free hand against the wall near your head, staring deeply into your eyes. “Thought we established that you don’t interrupt me.” 

“Maybe I need another reminder on how to be a good girl,” you whisper, feeling his grip around your throat tightening, leaving you almost gasping for air. 

He grins, loosening his grip around your throat. He likes that you can match him, can leave him speechless like this. “Wyatt.” 

“What?”

“Name’s Wyatt.” He lies, dropping his hand to your cheek and slowly he leans in, lips lightly brushing against yours. “I’m gonna kiss you now, unless you want me to give you a call for that,” he teases. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you reach up to grab him by the end of his tie and pull him into you. You press your lips firmly against his own as his hand slides to cup the back of your neck. He growls lowly against you, sliding his leg between your own. 

He’s missed the feeling of your lips, has missed the sounds you make. He feels you roll your hips against his strong thigh and he smirks, pulling away from the kiss to look down at you. Your pupils are blown out, lips slightly parted, and gaze filled with want, with desire, with need. 

“Wyatt,” you whisper. 

His smirk falters momentarily at the sound of his “name” leaving your lips and it’s in that moment he contemplates what it would sound like if you had said his real name. 

“I’ll give you a call,” he says. “Tonight. I’ll give you a call tonight.” 

“And if you don’t?” 

“Then you know my number,” he winks. 

You bite your lower lip and pull him back to you, the front of his body now pressing firmly against yours. He keeps his hand pressed against the wall above your head as he stares into your eyes. 

“What?” He asks quietly. 

You smile, shaking your head and leaning up to press your lips gently on his cheek. “Hope I get to see you tonight, Wyatt,” you whisper into his ear. “Until then, I suppose.” 

—

Wyatt had given you a call just a couple of hours after seeing you. When the phone rang and you heard his voice on the other end of the line, an excitement bubbled within you. 

Excitement. Anticipation. Yearning. 

And now, you’re entering the lobby of the hotel that Wyatt had told you he would be at tonight. You look around and bite your lower lip when you see him standing there with a small smile. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt over a coat and black slacks. He nods in your direction and you walk over to him, biting your lower lip nervously. It feels like it’s your first time all over again. 

“Meeting me in the lobby?” You tease. “That’s new.”

“Well, consider me excited to see you.” He grabs your jacket and pulls you to him, feeling your hands reach out to rest on his chest. “Been thinking about you.” 

“Oh yeah?” You ask, moving your hands from his chest to wrap around his shoulders. 

“Yeah,” he moves his lips to your ear, gently nipping at your earlobe. “Don’t think I forgot about you interrupting me earlier,” he growls lowly. “And how maybe I need to fucking remind you that I’m in control here.” 

You bite your lower lip and shut your eyes, tilting your head back to expose more of your neck for him. He takes the hint, moves his lips down the side of your neck with gentle kisses. “I don’t think you have control after not calling me for six months.” 

Wyatt (Jamie) growls. He tightens his jaw and bites down on the side of your neck, sucking on it roughly to leave a mark. He hears you let out a quiet whimper and he pulls away, looking down at you. “Keeping track of how long we haven’t seen each other, huh?” 

You narrow your eyes. “Just a guess. I have been pretty busy with other men and–”

Wyatt (Jamie) glances at the growing mark that’s darkening on the side of your neck. He feels suddenly territorial again. “Hm, we’re not gonna be talking about other men, are we?” 

“That depends. Will you be as good as the first time?” 

He chuckles, his gaze darkening even further. He’s finding that he enjoys this little game that you play with him. He leans in and whispers huskily into your ear. “We both know that you’ve been thinking of me while you were with those other men. Now, let’s get upstairs before I take you where you fucking stand and show these people who exactly you fucking belong to.” 

You nod, too obediently, and pull away from him slowly. You take his hand in his and lace your fingers with his own. The action takes him off guard, because for a split second, you see a surprised look flash across his features. He squeezes your hand and takes you to the elevators. 

Wyatt. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t tried to look him up earlier that day. You didn’t know his last name, but how common was the name Wyatt anyway? Apparently very fucking common because every Wyatt that exists showed up in your search except him. You knew you were playing a dangerous game – trying to get to know more about him, to find ways to spend more time with him outside of this. 

He pulls you out of your thoughts by releasing your hand and instead resting his own on your lower back. He steps into the elevator with you and presses the top floor, leaning back against the railing as he looks at you. Really looks at you. 

You’re biting your lower lip, eyes staring up at the numbers at the top of the elevator as it highlights for each floor you’re passing. Wyatt (Jamie) is starting to feel an unfamiliar warmth settle in the pit of his stomach. He has to wonder if this was how Jonathan and S felt for each other – the possibility of something more real. 

For once, he imagines sharing his life with someone else, with you. He imagines that it’d be filled with a lot of laughter, intense intimacy… but he also believes that he’d feel a sense of belonging with you – something that he’s been lacking for most of his life. 

But then he thinks about having to tell you the truth, having to be honest with you and with himself. His name isn’t Wyatt. Not only has he lied to you, but he’s also hiding the fact that he’s a dangerous man. Manipulative. Conniving. Murderous. Why would anyone like you ever be okay with someone like him? 

When the elevator doors finally open to the top floor, he watches you step out and waits for him patiently, eyes lighting up with a cute fucking smile on your face. There’s a part of him that wants to spend the entire night just getting to know you. He yearns to know more about you… aside from the information he’s already found when searching you up online. 

He was able to find you pretty quickly – an outdated Facebook account, but a more active Instagram account instead. Facebook tells him that you’re newly single, having gotten out of a relationship almost six months ago, which makes him wonder if you were still in a relationship or not when you two first met. He also knows you’re a librarian, but instagram tells him so much more about you. 

You like going to coffee shops, taking pictures of the different cups of coffee you order. He also finds that you like working out, being outdoors, and being active. You’re family oriented – he’s noticed from the handful of pictures you’ve posted with your family on birthdays and holidays. 

As Wyatt (Jamie) had searched you online earlier that day, he continued to imagine how he would fit into your life. And every time he tries to imagine it, he’s always left with a tug in the pit of his stomach that reminds him that as long as you don’t know the truth about him, he can never fit into your life. 

“You gonna show me where to go?” You ask, finally pulling him out of his thoughts. 

He lets out a quiet breath and flashes you a broad grin, slipping back into the same persona that you’re used to. “That eager, huh?” 

“I mean, you called me so we’re on my time.” 

“Oh, we are? You got somewhere else to be?” He walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind as he leads you to the door at the end of the hall. 

“And what if I do?” You ask, leaning back into him. “What if there’s another person I’m supposed to meet, hm?” 

He reaches over to swipe his hotel key card over the door and opens it for you. He pushes you inside roughly, shutting the door behind him as he turns you around and pushes you against the door. He hears you let out a gasp, eyes staring into his own and filled with desire. 

“You just like to push me, don’t you?” He asks, moving his hand to wrap around your throat. He sees the corner of your lips lift upwards. “You think this is a game, baby?” 

You nod slowly, feeling his grip tighten. “Mmm,” you mumble out. 

Wyatt (Jamie) darkens his gaze, stepping up to you as he moves his lips to your ear. “You fucking belong to me,” he whispers. “Do you understand?” 

You nod again, feeling the wetness begin to pool between your legs. “D–Does that mean you belong to me too?” You manage to whisper, his grip around your tight lessening to let you speak, to let you take a breath. 

He stares down at you, feels his resolve faltering for a moment at your question. Instead of answering, he drops his hand from your through and leans in to press his lips firmly against your own. It’s urgent, rushed, messy. 

Your arms wrap around him, bringing your hands to his hair and running your fingers through his locks. You part your lips and feel his tongue move past your lips  – your tongue now dancing with his, matching the intensity of this kiss. His hands move to reach around and grip your ass in his large hands. He feels his pants become increasingly tighter as he pushes against you. 

Pulling back, he stares down at you and narrows his eyes. You’re staring up at him with a dazed look on your face as he takes your hand and brings you further into the hotel room. He removes his jacket and sets it on the chair off to the side. 

“On your knees,” he says, turning back around to look at you. He reaches down and undoes his belt, a smirk lining his lips. 

You arch your brow and tilt your head, removing your own jacket as you stand before him in a pair of jeans and a white low v-neck. 

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he growls, eyes taking in your frame. How can you be so beautiful when dressed so casually? 

“Can I take my pants off first?” You ask quietly, hands reaching down to begin undoing the zipper and button of your jeans. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” he nods in your direction and watches you begin to push your jeans down your legs, clad in a white v-neck and a pair of white panties. Then, you stand in front of him and slowly kneel down until you’re on your knees in front of him. 

“Look beautiful like this,” he points out, bringing a hand down to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb gently across your skin. He pushes down his pants and boxers, his cock now springing to attention in front of you. He kicks off his pants and boxers to the side, using his free hand to take hold of his base. He steps forward and glides the head of his length across your lips, his precome smearing across your lips. “Fuck,” he growls. 

Slowly, you part your lips for him, darting your tongue out to slide across his tip. He loses his resolve for a moment, sliding his tip past your lips and feeling you lap at his precome. He moves his hand from his base to grip around your hair, pushing his hips forward so that more of his cock disappears in your mouth. 

Your eyes gazes up at him, hands moving to rest on his thighs to prevent him from moving any further. His tip touches the back of your throat and you pull back to take a deep breath. He stares down at you and releases his hold on your hair to reach down and grab the ends of his shirt. Once he tosses it aside, he pushes back into your mouth and places both hands on your head. He hears you gagging and holds you firmly against him, feeling your saliva begin to coat his entire length. When he pulls back, he stares down at you and sees your lips swollen and parted for him, chest heaving as you try to take a deep breath. 

“Tell me,” he groans, pushing his hips forward for his cock to slide into your mouth. “Tell me that you’ve thought about me when you’ve been with all those other men. Tell me that you always think about me,” he groans, thrusting his hips forward. “Tell me that you’ll only ever be with me.”

He pulls back and watches you catch your breath, nodding up at him in response. 

“Say it,” he says. 

“It will only ever be you, Wyatt,” you answer honestly. “Even when I’m alone, all I think about is you. Who you are, what you do, how you can fit into my life,” you admit, slowly standing up and grabbing his shoulder to push him into the bed. He falls back as he looks up at you, his gaze softening momentarily. 

You pull your shirt over your head and undo your bra, completely exposed and bare for him as you straddle his waist and reach down to grab a hold of his cock. Slowly, you slide down his length and let out a quiet moan, his girth and size stretching you only in a way that he can. “I think I could fall in love with you,” you whisper almost inaudibly as you push yourself further onto him until you’re firmly sitting on his lap, his manhood sheathed within your tight, warm, and wet heat. 

Wyatt (Jamie) could have come right there. He stares up at you, taking note of your head tilted back with your arms pressing against his chest. You’re moving your hips slowly in a forward and backward motion, but all his eyes can focus on is you. 

I think I could fall in love with you. It lingers in his mind, mixes in with the sounds of your moans. He sits up, arms wrapping around your waist as he guides you to move forward in his lap. He leans in and presses his lips against the side of your neck, nipping and teeth grazing across your skin. He’s obsessed with you.

“Wyatt,” you moan, arms wrapping around his shoulders as the hair at his base brushes against your bundle of nerves. 

Something takes over him and moves a hand to your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure. He doesn’t want to hear you say that name because it isn’t actually his. He thrusts his hips upwards, your moan coming out almost inaudibly to the tight grip he has around your throat. 

“You’re only ever going to be mine,” he growls. The sounds of skin slapping against skin echoes throughout the hotel room and you reach up to wrap your hand around his wrist. “Ain’t no one gonna be with you but me.” He presses his feet against the floor and slams upwards into you. He releases his hold on your throat and hears you take a deep breath. 

“A–As long as I’m the only one you’ll be with too,” you answer through a loud moan. 

He slowly rolls you onto your back and slams into you. His thrusts pick up in speed, the tightness in his lower abdomen beginning to build and build as he uses you at his disposal. He’s afraid of what this could be, afraid of what you could mean to him, because he can imagine a life with you. He doesn’t answer you though, determined to fuck the idea out of you. He’s sure that once he tells you the truth that you’re going to want nothing to do with him and he isn’t sure that he’s ready to let go of you just yet. 

“I’m gonna come,” you moan, feeling his hands grip your wrists to pin them above your head. 

“Yeah, you are,” he groans. “Fucking come for me, baby.” 

That’s all it takes. You shut your eyes and arch your back, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix repeatedly as your body begins to tremble. Your walls tighten even further around him and his hips stutter, unable to hold back himself as he releases into you abruptly. He pulls out of you and watches his come trickle out of you, the sight causing him to grab ahold of his length and pushing into you once more. 

“Wyatt!” you exclaim, reaching down to push against his lower abdomen. “Wait- Baby, wait–”

“No,” he groans, grabbing your hands once more and holding them firmly against the mattress. He continues to thrust into you, looking down at where you’re connected and seeing his come mix in with your arousal. “Fuck, you look good like this.” 

Your eyes flutter, squirming against him as the sensations become too overwhelming. “Wyatt, please… I can’t–”

“You were made for me,” he interrupts, using his free hand to draw circles against the bundle of your nerves. “And only for me. D’ya understand me?”

“Y–Yes!” you can feel your body giving way to him as yet another orgasm approaches. “Wyatt–”

“It’s Jamie,” he corrects. “Call me Jamie.”

Your brows furrow in confusion and stare into his eyes, but he looks determined. Your mind is all over the place and it doesn’t help that he’s still thrusting into you with his thumb circling your clit. “J– Jamie!” you moan loudly and he groans to himself, pulling out of you to watch your body shake through another orgasm. 

He moves to lie on his back and bites his lower lip, glancing over in your direction. “That’s my real name.” 

You’re breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath as you slowly move to lie on your side. “Why’d you give me a fake name?” 

He clears his throat and looks down at you. Quickly, he comes up with an excuse and feels your fingertips run along his chest. “Guess I was still a bit hesitant giving you my real name at the time.”

You nod slowly and then lean up to kiss his cheek. “That’s fair. I’d probably give you a fake name too if you hadn’t seen my nametag.”

Jamie lets out a relieved sigh and then wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing you close to his side. 

“I meant it,” you say quietly. “I’d only ever wanna be with you… as long as I’m the only one that you’d be with too.”

He tilts his head and glances down at you. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, baby.”

“I’m thinking…” you whisper, slowly moving to straddle his waist again. “I’m thinking I’d do anything for you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Then give me a chance to.”

THE TRUTH AND AGREEMENT — It’s been a week since the last time you’ve seen him. You aren’t sure whether you’re ignoring him or he’s ignoring you. Neither of you have tried to give the other person a call, but despite the things he’s told you, it surprisingly doesn’t deter you from wanting him. 

You’re at work again, reading a book at the front desk when you hear someone clear their throat. Slowly shutting your book and looking up, your eyes slightly widen at the sight of him standing in front of you. He’s dressed more casually today, a black t-shirt underneath a dark colored jacket paired with jeans. His eyes soften at the sight of you as he glances at the clock over your shoulder. 

“What time are you off?” he asks.

“Well, hello to you too.”

“Hi.” he sighs. “What time are you off?” he repeats.

“Not for another few hours. You haven’t reached out,” you answer. 

“Neither did you.”

“I wasn’t sure–” you bite your lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Shouldn’t be.” 

“I still want to–”

“Meet me after you get off work?” he interrupts. 

Excitement flickers in your eyes and he lets a small smile line his lips at the sight. “Where?” 

Jamie takes his phone out and hands it to you. It’s his personal phone, not the flip phone that he uses for the club. “I’ll text you.”

You nod and enter your personal phone number as a contact in his phone before you hand it over to him. “I’ll see you soon, Jamie.” 

His eyes gazes up at you at the sound of his name leaving your lips. He isn’t sure why it has so much of an effect on him, why the way you’re smiling at him makes him want to just reach over and kiss you. This isn’t what he usually does – he doesn’t see the same person more than once, at least not if there’s anything that could benefit him. 

He says your name quietly and then looks over his shoulder to see someone standing in line, waiting for him to be done. “I’ll see you soon,” he repeats. 

Stepping off to the side, Jamie watches you interact with the person behind him. He notices the way your eyes light up, your smile so broad and infectious. Even when your eyes meet his momentarily, he feels the faintest feeling of warmth in the pit of his stomach, blossoming further into his chest. 

He doesn’t know what this means, but he really needs to figure it out soon. He needs to gain back control because he fucking hates feeling like this. 

He’s scared. Scared because he finally told you the truth and he isn’t sure if he’s going to lose you because of it. If you do decide that you no longer want this, then Jamie will have to make sure that you don’t talk about it to anyone else… which means having to clean up loose ends. 

Which means having to get rid of you. 

—

A few hours later, you’re driving to the hotel that Jamie sent you the address for. There’s an excitement bubbling within you, but not because of the possibility of having sex with him again, but because you’ll finally get to know more about him. To anyone else, they’d have run and cut ties with him the moment they found out the truth.

When you park your car in the parking garage, you’re surprised to see Jamie standing near the elevator with his arms in his pockets. You take a deep breath, trying to hide your excitement and the smile that’s itching to spread across your lips when you climb out. He walks over to you and gently takes your hand – a complete difference than what you’re used to with him. 

“Hey,” he says first. 

“Hi,” you answer. 

“Figured we could talk,” Jamie says quietly. “That okay?” 

“Yeah, more than okay.” You can tell he’s nervous, anxious because he won’t meet your eyes and the gentleness and softness he’s displaying isn’t what you’re used to. He’s always been so in control, so rough with you that this makes you a little uneasy. 

Once inside the hotel and elevators, Jamie releases your hand and presses the button to the top floor. Turning around to face you, his eyes take in your frame before he walks closer to you. Slowly, he cages you in between his body and the railing of the elevator, his own hands resting against the railing as he stares into your eyes. 

“You know you shouldn’t even be around me after everything I’ve told you,” he whispers hesitantly. 

Jamie lets out a quiet and shaky breath when he feels your hands come up to rest against his cheeks, thumbs brushing against his jawline. 

“I said I’d do anything for you, Jamie,” you answer. “I know I should leave, shouldn’t even be here with you, but I just–” you bite your lower lip. “I can’t imagine never seeing you again.” 

Before he can say anything, the doors to the elevator open and he pulls away from you. Gently once more, he takes your hand and leads you to the room at the end of the hall where he opens the door for you. He steps inside with you and takes your bag, setting it down on the counter as his hands move to your hips, guiding you further into the room and onto the bed. 

“I’ve killed people before,” he admits out loud. “I’m a greedy man. I’m not– I’m not a good person, but I can promise you that I’d do anything to give you the life that you deserve.” 

Slowly, you turn around and run your hands through his hair. “I should run from you,” you say honestly. “You’re the type of man that people warn women about… toxic, dangerous…” your eyes gaze into his, watching as he stares at you deeply. “But I want you… what does that say about me?” 

Jamie shrugs. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But if you decide that you want this… You’re going to have to commit yourself to me. There’s no leaving this, there’s no leaving me.”

“And if I choose not to want this?”

His jaw tightens. “I think you know what I’ll have to do.”

“Well then, do you need a partner?” you ask with a small smile, biting your lower lip. 

Jamie narrows his eyes, moving his hand to rest on your neck lightly. “I do it alone,” he whispers. “I’d be the one in control. You do what I tell you to do.”

You nod, hand coming up to rest over his wrist. “Y–Yes, sir.”

Sir. 

“So, what do you want?” he asks hesitantly, thumb brushing against your throat.

“You.” you answer immediately. “Whatever that means, I’m in it. I’m in this.”

Jamie lets out a relieved breath and gently tightens his hand around your throat. “I’m the one with the power… I’m the one that tells you where to go, what to do…” 

You nod. “I’ll do anything… as long as I just have you, Jamie.”

His gaze darkens and he releases his hold from you to push you back against the bed. Jamie places a hand on the mattress as he leans down over you, lips brushing against yours. “You don’t call me by my name,” he says. “You never call me by my name from now on.”

“But your name is so–”

He clicks his tongue and roughly rolls you over onto your abdomen. Quickly, he tugs down your skirt with your panties as you lean over the edge of the bed, ass in the air for him. Without hesitation, he brings his hand back only to connect with your ass cheek, the sound of the slap echoing the large hotel room. 

“You don’t talk back either,” he points out. “When you go against what I say, what I tell you, this is punishment.” 

You nod, letting out a quiet whimper as you feel the sting of his slap rush through your entire body. You grip the sheets tightly, looking over your shoulder at him. “Okay…”

He shakes his head and slaps your ass roughly once more, seeing your cheek redden instantly with the imprint of his large hand. “Hmm… Not good enough of an answer.”

“Yes, sir. I don’t talk back. I do what you say. I go where you tell me. I’ll do anything for you.” 

“Good,” he smirks, sliding in two of his thick fingers past your folds. His brows lift upwards at the feel of your slickness and he leans over to whisper into your ear. “You like being punished, hm?” 

“I just like when you touch me,” you moan, the roughness of his fingers thrusting in and out of you causing your toes to curl. It’s painful, the way he’s moving his fingers in and out of your depths so roughly, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. 

“Well, it isn’t quite a punishment if you like it then, is it?” he asks, pulling his fingers out of you abruptly. He looks down at his hand, the way your slickness drips down and he brings it to his lips, letting out a low growl at the taste of you. 

“Wait, but–”

He shakes his head and moves to sit on the edge of the bed with you, resting his hands on the mattress as he looks over at you. His eyes move to your backside, can see your slickness along the length of your sex slowly begin to trickle out of you. It glistens under the light and he wants nothing more than to bury his face between your legs, but he can’t. He needs to show some restraint, needs to stay in control. 

“You only see me from now on, are we clear?” he asks, reaching for you to kneel down in front of him. 

You scramble to your feet and drop to your knees between his legs, hands resting on your thighs as you stare up at him. You nod obediently, batting your eyelashes up at him. “Yes, sir.”

“We’re gonna the rule the world, baby,” he grins. “You and me.” He reaches down and cups your cheek, using his free hand to undo the button and zipper of his pants as he lowers it to his ankles. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of his throbbing cock, now fully erect and leaking at the tip. You lick your lips, eager to wrap your lips around him as your hands itch to reach out for him. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” you reply. 

“Won’t be easy,” he admits, stroking himself at the sight of you on your knees in front of him. 

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” you answer. “The only thing I need is you.” 

His eyes soften at that. He’s not used to feeling like this – usually, he’d have to negotiate or offer some cut of the money he’d receive, but with you… it’s easy because you don’t want any of those things. You just want him and he can’t help but feel that same warmth in his chest again. He won’t ever admit it out loud, but he’d do anything for you too. 

He doesn’t answer, but instead brings his tip past your lips. You’re eagerly lapping at his precome, sucking his tip as he continues to stroke the base of his length. He groans quietly to himself, pulling back to run his tip across your wet lips. “Such a good girl for me,” he says lowly. “And I think good girls get a reward.” 

“Please…” 

“And begging too? Yeah, baby, you get a reward.” He gently lifts you back on the bed as he lies back. “Over my face.”

Your eyes widen, clearing your throat anxiously as you do what he says. He moves further up the bed as you settle yourself over him, hands resting on the headframe as his lips hover inches away from your throbbing heat. With one arm, he reaches up and rests it over your waist, bringing you down until your sex is firmly pressed over his mouth. 

“Oh god,” you whimper, hands gripping the headboard of the bed frame. No one’s ever done this before and you’re unsure of how long you’d actually last because his mouth sucks your clit aggressively, tongue flicking against you repeatedly. You feel so vulnerable like this, completely at his mercy. You want to scream his name, but you force yourself not to. 

His eyes flutter closed as his mouth laps at your juices. You’re so wet, dripping down his chin as he moves his lips towards your hole. He flicks his tongue against you as his other hand continues to stroke himself, squeezing the base of his cock at the taste of you. He hums against you, causing a vibration to reverberate through your entire body. 

Your legs are placed at either side of his head and you begin to roll your hips against his face, feeling his tongue flatten along the length of your sex. You look down at him, the look on his face only urging you closer to your orgasm. You lift your hips slightly and he growls, shaking his head as he removes his arm from your waist to thrust two fingers inside of you. He wastes no time in thrusting his fingers as he moves to suck your clit with his mouth, tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves. 

“Baby,” you whimper. “Baby, please… I’m close–” 

His hand around his cock quickens, gripping his base tightly as he feels his own release approach. He feels a tightness in the pit of his stomach begin to build as his free hand continues to pump his fingers in and out of you as his lips pay close attention to your clit. 

Your grip around the headboard tightens until his knuckles turn white from the grip, your body trembling and shaking against him. You lift your hips away from his mouth as his fingers fill you to the knuckle. He smirks up at you, curling his fingers within your walls to help you ride out your orgasm. At the sight of you gripping the headboard, head tilted back and mouth agape, Jamie thrusts his hips slightly off the bed as he finds his own release. His come lands on his shirt, letting out a loud groan. 

Slowly, you lift yourself until his fingers slide out of you and you look over at him, seeing his hand continue to stroke himself. Quickly, you kneel down between his legs and wrap your lips around his tip, sucking the remnants of his come into your mouth and swallowing eagerly. 

He shudders against you, eyes gazing down at you as he slows his strokes, the feeling of your lips and tongue at his tip causing a shiver to run through him.

When his cock finally softens, he sits up and removes his shirt and pulls on his boxers. You bite your lower lip and move to lie down on the bed instead, feeling him lie down with you as his arms wrap around your frame. 

“If I can’t call you by your name,” you whisper quietly. “Can I call you baby instead?” you ask. 

He smiles and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “I like that, baby.” 

You grin and bury your face against his chest. “I think I’m gonna like this life with you.”

He looks down at you, watches your eyes flutter closed as the same warmth blossoms in his chest again. 

THE CON — It’s been about six months since your agreement with Jamie and you both managed to slip into a routine with each other. It’s almost domestic, how easy your life has entangled itself with his own. Right after the agreement, he tells you to move in with him, having found out that he lives permanently at the hotel, living on the top floor. You don’t disagree with him, instead, you agree and break your lease, moving most of your things to his place within a week. 

He takes you to work, picks you up, and every night, he makes sure to show you just how good of a decision you made with choosing him. You find yourself falling for him more and more every day, but there’s a part of you that’s too afraid to tell him. Afraid because if you admit how you truly felt about him, you aren’t sure how he’s going to react. You know that you’re a liability; at any moment, he can change his mind about you and you’d know that there would be nothing that you can do if that were to ever happen. 

So, you love him in silence. You stare at him lovingly when he’s cooking for you or when he’s working. You go to sleep every night with your arms wrapped around him, focusing on the sound of his breath to lull you to sleep. When he’s too busy, you make sure to cook him dinner so that he remembers to eat. You hope that he can see how much you’d do for him, how much you’d sacrifice for him. 

You haven’t seen the type of man he makes himself out to be. He’s sweet, considerate, thoughtful. You wonder if he’s hiding that part of himself from you – the man who’s killed, who’s greedy, who would do anything to make sure that he benefits from it. 

By the time he gets home, you’re seated on the love seat with a book in your hands. It’s late, but you like to stay up and wait for him until he gets home. You see the smile on his face and when he looks over at you, his eyes light up. 

“Hey,” he walks over to you and removes his coat, setting it over the back of the couch as he leans down and kisses the crown of your head.

“Hey, what’s got you smiling?” you tease, looking up at him.

“I found my next job,” he grins and gently takes your book from your hand, setting it on the coffee table as he picks you up and sits in the love seat with you on his lap. “Everything’s going to work out perfectly. In just over a month, we’ll have made more than five million dollars.”

Your eyes widen as you wrap your arm around his shoulders. “F– Five million dollars, baby? Oh my god…”

He nods with a grin. “Five million fucking dollars.” 

“What can I do?” you ask, biting your lower lip. “Can I do anything to help?” 

“Oh baby,” he says, leaning up to peck your lips. “There’s plenty of things you can do to help.” 

“Yeah?” you ask with a hopeful look on your face.

“Yeah, but first…” he bites his lower lip and brings a hand to cup your cheek, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “I want you. Gonna spend the entire night showing you how grateful I am of you.” 

You smile, staring deeply into his eyes as you run your hands through his hair. “Baby, I–”

“I know,” he whispers, interrupting you. 

“You know?” 

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Is that okay?” 

Jamie bites the inside of his cheek, eyes gazing into yours. He had noticed the way you would look at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, how much care and love you put into everything that you did for him… The five million dollars payout after this job was not only going to be for him, but also for you and what he can do with the money to make sure you had a life that you deserved. 

He knew that had fallen in love with you too, especially when his mind had drifted to you when he realized the amount of money that he could walk away with. It was no longer just him. You were now in the picture and he can’t imagine his life without you in it now. 

“Yeah, that’s okay, baby,” he finally answers. 

You smile, letting out a breath of relief. Slowly, you move to straddle his lap, continuing to run your fingers through his hair as you begin to roll your hips against his own. You had been dressed in one of his old t-shirts and nothing else, your wetness beginning to stain his pants. 

“You gonna make a mess on these expensive pants, baby?” he asks, hands moving up your thighs. “Because I don’t know how I’d feel about that. These are very expensive.” 

“Then take ‘em off,” you whisper, leaning in to peck his lips. 

“Oh, did we forget who’s the one in control here? The one in charge?” he asks, gripping your hips tightly. 

“I– I’m sorry…” you mumble, ceasing your movements as you lift your hips off his lap. 

He growls lowly, wrapping his arms around your waist and standing up from the love seat. Slowly, he walks you over to the couch and sets you down as he kneels between your legs. He holds your legs open for him, gaze darkening with lust at the sight of your sex glistening with your slickness. 

“The things I’m gonna do to you,” he says with a low tone.

—

“So, are we clear on the plan again?” he asks, readjusting his black jacket as he stares at you in a skin tight red dress. He lets his eyes rake over your frame, feeling slightly jealous that you’re likely going to be dancing with the man that he’s been getting close to, the man that’s going to be the reason why he’s getting five million dollars. 

“Yes, baby,” you tell him, straightening out your dress. “Buy him a drink, ask him to dance, leave him wanting more.” 

“Good,” he answers, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Just a dance, nothing else.”

You nod in agreement. “I’m going home with you,” you repeat. “This will just give him the confidence that he lacks and you’ll be there to cheer him on, to get him to trust you even more so than he does now.”

He grins. “Yeah, baby. Good. Good.” 

“Five million dollars for you, right?” you smile.

“For us,” he corrects. “It’s going to be for us,” he admits. 

“I love you,” you whisper quietly, turning around in his arms and bringing a hand to rest on his cheek gently. “Let’s have some fun tonight.”

His heart races at your words and he nods, turning his head to gently press his lips against your palm. He pulls back and then takes your hand, leading you out of the hotel room and towards the elevators. Once at the lobby, he releases your hand and gently kisses your cheek. “I’ll see you at the club, baby.”

You nod and then run your hands down the lapels of his jacket before you turn around on your heel and walk out of the hotel. He looks around the lobby, his hands placed in his pockets as he watches the men in the lobby turn their heads to watch you walk away. He feels a mixture of emotions – jealousy and pride. Pride because you’re his, but jealous because other men are looking at what’s his. 

With a heavy sigh, he stretches his neck and then grabs his phone from his pocket to dial the man’s number. 

—

Jamie’s leaning back against the seat, drink in hand as he fakes genuine laughter at what the other man’s saying. His eyes scan the room, noticing the splash of red in the midst of neutral dark colors. Your eyes meet his and he smiles, watching as you bite the tip of your straw to sip on your drink. 

Then, he turns his attention back to the other man, listening to him go on and on about his divorce and how he hadn’t been able to meet anyone new. 

“Oh come on, Daniel,” Jamie says with that same charismatic grin on his lips. “A man like you can’t get another woman?”

“To be honest,” he whispers, fidgeting in his seat. “I haven’t been with anyone other than my ex-wife. I doubt a woman would want to be with a man who’s inexperienced like me.” 

“You’d be surprised,” he answers. “Because it looks like that one has been looking at you since we got here.” Jamie points his chin in your direction, watching Daniel turn in his seat to look over at you. 

“No– No way. She’s looking at you.”

Jamie laughs, shaking his head. “Her eyes are all on you and she’s walking over here.” He stands from the bar stool and gently slaps a strong hand over Daniel’s shoulder. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom. You go and have some fun.”

“Wait, but–” 

Jamie’s already walking away by the time you make your way to Daniel. You’re leaning against the counter of the bar, biting your lower lip innocently as you wave your hand to get the bartender’s attention. “His next round is on me,” you tell the bartender with a sweet smile. 

Daniel clears his throat. “I– I– I’m sorry. You didn’t have to do that and–” he loses his words when he feels your soft touch on his forearm, eyelashes batting up in his direction.

“Is it too unconventional for the woman to buy the man a drink?” you tease. 

“N– No,” he stutters. “I’m just not used to women buying a drink for me… or women looking at me in general,” he mumbles under his breath. 

“Well, good thing I’m not like most women.” 

Daniel nods, eyes lingering on your frame. The bartender sets down another drink for him and you lean in, lips near his ear as you whisper over the loud music. “Do you want to dance?” 

“Oh, I–” he clears his throat. “I’m actually here with a friend and if he–”

“I’m sure he’s a big boy who can take care of himself,” you interrupt. “Just one dance? Please?” You can sense his hesitation and you bite your lower lip. You know this wasn’t discussed with Jamie, but your advancements were just not working with Daniel. Slowly, you lean in and gently brush your lips against his cheek. “I promise, I don’t bite… unless you like that.”

Daniel glances at you and then over his shoulder to see Jamie with a dark gaze, but he’s smiling encouragingly at the other man. All it takes is for one nod before Daniel downs the drink and stands up. You look up at him, smiling broadly as his hand immediately darts out to rest on your hip. “It would be very rude of me to deny you one dance,” he says softly. 

“Good,” you smile. “I’d hate to dance by myself.” You lead him to the dance floor, playing with his fingers as he follows you closely from behind. Once on the dance floor, you turn to face him and rest your hands on his shoulders. He’s stiff and anxious around you, slowly moving side to side to the beat of the music. “Relax,” you coo, taking his hands and placing them back on your hips. “It’s just one dance.” Then, you turn your back to him and sway your hips expertly to the sound of the song that filters the entire club. 

He bites his lower lip and pulls you flush against his front, his hands gripping your hips as he watches your backside brush against his front repeatedly. 

You reach around him and tangle your hand in his hair, head tilting back to rest on his shoulder as you keep your eyes focused in front of you. Jamie’s staring directly at you, hidden in the shadows as he watches you move against the other man. He can see Daniel progressively gain more and more confidence as his hand moves around to splay against your lower abdomen, lips now brushing against your earlobe. You feign an inaudible gasp, eyes falling shut as you feel the other man become increasingly excited with the way your body moves against his own. 

When the song finally comes to an end, you pull away from him and turn to face him. You reach up to rest your hand on his chest, smiling sweetly in his direction. “Thank you for the dance.”

“Wait, can I get your number?” 

You bite your lower lip and lean in to give a kiss on his cheek once more. “Maybe next time,” you whisper, pulling away from him and turning on your heel to walk towards the bathrooms. 

Jamie follows you closely, taking your hand roughly into his own and pushing you into the bathroom. He locks it behind him, eyes dark with lust as he pushes you against the wall. “I don’t think kissing him on the cheek was part of our plan, baby.”

“It wasn’t… I’m sorry. He just– He wouldn’t dance with me and I figured–”

“It wasn’t part of our plan,” he repeats, hand moving up to tangle itself in your hair. He growls lowly, tugging on it roughly which causes your head to tilt back. “It was already hard enough for me seeing you dance like that with him.” 

“But that’s what you told me to do,” you whimper. 

“Are you talking back?” he whispers, moving closer until his lips brush against the side of your neck.

“N– No, I’m sorry. I just–”

“You just what?” he asks, staring up at you. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m–”

“Thought I told you to never say my fucking name.” He clicks his tongue and pulls away from you, moving his hands into his pockets as he stares at you from top to bottom. 

You clear your throat and reach out for him, hands moving to his chest. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to do good, make you proud, and–”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, taking one of your hands in his own. “You did do good. You did make me proud.” He takes your other hand and grabs your wrists to pin them above your head, looking into your eyes. “I just don’t like sharing.” 

“I– I’m all yours, I promise.” you bite your lower lip, your own eyes now darkening with lust. “All I could think about while dancing with him was you. I only ever think about you, baby.”

“It’s hard to be angry at you,” he says. “You’re just so sweet on me.”

“And I– I love you,” you add. 

He falters momentarily, clearing his throat as his grip around your wrists loosen just slightly. “Yeah?” he asks.

You nod immediately. “Y– Yes. I’m so in love with you and–”

He interrupts you by pressing his lips firmly against yours, dropping your wrists as his hands now move to your hips. The kiss is messy, urgent, and he wastes no time in sliding his tongue past your lips. He can hear you whimper against his lips and the jealousy he felt earlier is now replaced with a sudden desire to make you completely his. 

“Yeah? How much do you love me, baby?” he mumbles, pulling away from you as he grabs the ends of your dress and begins to lift it higher to bunch around your hips. 

“So much,” you whisper, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you pepper kisses along his jawline. 

“So much that you’d let me put a baby in you, hm? Would you like that?” he uses his free hand to tug down your thong, watching you step out of it once it pools around your ankles.

You bite your lower lip and nod, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes,” you answer breathlessly. “Yes, baby.” 

“Good,” he smiles, turning you around. He watches you rest your hands on the wall as you bend down just slightly and he groans at the sight of you, pushing his pants and boxers down his ankles as he grabs a hold of his length and slowly runs his leaking tip across the length of your sex. He leans over you, one hand coming up to tangle itself in your hair again. “Gonna fill you up, baby.”

“Please,” you plead, pushing back against him as you feel his tip slide into you. 

“Mm,” he groans, pulling away from you. “Patience, baby. Let’s not forget that I still didn’t like the way you kissed Daniel.” 

“It was just on the cheek,” you whimper. 

He growls and pulls you upright, tightening his grip around your hair. “Your lips should only be for me,” he whispers into your ear, slamming into you abruptly. He groans quietly, hand moving from the base of his cock to rest on your hip. He releases his hold on your hair to bring his hand around your front, gripping your throat lightly. “You should only be for me.”

“I– I’m yours… All yours, baby,” you moan, bringing a hand to reach around for him. His breaths come in short pants near your ear, hand lightly squeezing your throat as his manhood moves in and out of you. He’s desperate to bring you closer to the edge, his desire to fill you up with his come overwhelming his entire body. 

“Gonna make sure everyone knows that you’re mine,” he whispers into your ear, the sounds of your moans echoing off the walls of the small bathroom as his skin slaps against yours repeatedly. “You’re gonna look so beautiful all pregnant with my baby,” he nips at your earlobe, breathing heavily against you. “God, you make me so fucking happy,” he admits. “You have no idea how much you’ve changed my life, baby… how you will change my life. I’m a better man because of you,” he groans, eyes falling shut as he releases his hold on your throat to grip your hips instead. 

“I love you,” you gasp, walls tightening even further around his length. A loud moan escapes your lips as you move your hands to rest over his own, lacing your fingers over his. 

He groans and rests his forehead against the back of your shoulder as his fingertips dig into your hips, driving his own further into your own. He feels the tightness build until he slams into you, painting your walls with his come. He moans quietly, his hips stuttering as he uses your tight heat to get every last drop of his come. “Skip your birth control tomorrow,” he whispers breathlessly. 

You nod, turning your head to gently kiss his cheek. “Anything for you, baby. I really do love you,” you admit quietly. 

“I know,” he nods. “I know.” 

—

Later that week, Jamie gets home with blood splattered on his white dress shirt and knuckles bruised and cut up. You widen your eyes, ushering him into the bathroom as you grab the first aid kit. You feel a sense of dread wash over you, eyes filled with concern at the sight of him.

“Oh my god, what– Are you–” you shake your head, looking up at him. “What happened?” 

“What needed to happen,” he answers. His own eyes are distant as he stares at the wall ahead of him, feeling your hands begin to undo his dress shirt. “He transferred the money,” he grins. “And I had to get rid of a loose end.” 

“Y– You killed him?” you ask quietly, pushing the shirt away from his body. 

He nods and finally turns his gaze to you, staring deeply into your eyes. “He found out who I was,” he answers. “So, I had to do what I had to do.” 

You nod slowly, taking his hand as you begin to clean the cuts along his knuckles. Your mind drifts momentarily, knowing that you’re now forever tied to the man in front of you. You never did have to think about his capability of murdering someone, but here he is… standing in front of you with someone else’s blood on his hands, on his clothes. 

“Does that scare you?” he asks, pulling a hand away from you to hook a finger under your chin. He looks into your eyes, narrows his own as he tries to search for any hesitancy in your gaze. “Does knowing that I can kill someone for my own personal gain scare you?” 

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek nervously. “No,” you answer. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then why does the expression on your face say differently?” 

You sigh and set aside the cotton ball and alcohol. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Why?” he asks, jaw tightening. “I told you what I am, who I am.”

“I know and I still love you,” you reply. “What you did doesn’t change a thing, but these hands… it’s hard to imagine that they can cause so much pain for someone else when you’re so gentle with me.” 

“Hm,” he answers. “Not always gentle with you.”

“But never with bad intentions,” you quip back. “Listen,” you begin. “I told you that I’m in this with you, whatever it takes and whatever that means.” 

“There’s no going back, you know that, right?” 

“I know,” you sigh quietly and move your hands to rest on his bare chest. “So, what’s the plan?” 

“We go wherever we wanna go, baby,” he answers. “Where do you want to go?” 

“Anywhere,” you smile, gently leaning up on your toes to peck his lips. “As long as I’m with you.”

“You love me that much, huh?” he smiles, hand reaching down to rest on your hip. 

“More than you know.” 

“I’m a lucky man,” he says softly, gently lifting you to sit on the edge of the bathroom sink as he stands between your legs. “We’ve got the entire world at our fingertips.” 

THE AFTERMATH — Six months after Daniel, you and Jamie had decided to go to Italy. You had fallen in love with the country, Jamie buying a small house away from all of the touristy areas. It’s quiet, serene, peaceful. 

You notice that he seems so much more relaxed here. The money he managed to obtain from Daniel and Jonathan providing a comfortable cushion for the both of you. You fall into a comfortable routine with him again – waking up in his arms, falling asleep right next to him. He no longer needs to work and neither do you, so you spend most of your days entangled with one another. 

He still hasn’t told you that he loves you, but through his actions, you know that he does. 

You’re in the kitchen, making lunch when he walks in through the front door. He gazes at you with a small smile, arms crossed over his chest. He walks further into the kitchen and leans against the counter, biting the inside of his cheek. Through everything that he’s been through, he never thought that he’d be here, with someone he was so deeply in love with. He never thought that he'd ever give his heart to anyone; he had always told himself that he was meant to be alone, that the life he wanted to live was never meant to be shared with anyone else.

But you… You had captured his attention from the moment you both met. Even after the first night you shared together, you were all he could ever think about. You were never part of his plan, but now, he can’t ever think about his future without thinking about you. 

When you look up from what you’re doing to see him, a smile instantly lines your lips. You set down the knife and move to wash your hands, feeling him come up from behind as he turns his head to pepper kisses along your neck. 

“Mmm, hello you,” you smile, leaning back against him.

“Hey,” he whispers. “What are you making?” 

“I was craving chicken parm,” you answer, turning around to face him. “You hungry?” 

He nods and cups your cheek lightly, thumb brushing against your soft skin. “Yeah, baby.” 

“Okay, I’ll make enough for the both of us.” 

“Thank you,” he says with a small smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I love you,” you smile to yourself, eyes falling shut when you feel his lips on your forehead. 

He takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around your frame, lips moving to the top of your ear. “I love you too,” he finally admits. 

You feel your heart race even faster, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Y– You love me too?” 

He nods slowly. “Yeah, baby. I’ve loved you for a long time now.” 

You grin broadly, your teeth pulled between your lips. “I think you just made me the happiest woman alive.” 

“Oh yeah? The five million dollars didn’t do it?” he chuckles. 

“No amount of money would ever make me as happy as hearing those words leave your lips,” you admit. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he smiles. 

“We’ve got the world at our fingertips, right?” you ask.

He grins and moves his hands to rest on the edge of the sink as he brushes the tip of his nose against your own. “This world is ours,” he nods. 

“And our little girl’s,” you add, moving one hand to rest on your baby bump.

He smiles to himself and shuts his eyes, face burying against the side of your neck as he moves his own hand to rest over your own. He had always thought money would be the reason for his happiness, for his contentment, but now that he has you in his life with his child on the way, he couldn’t imagine living his life the way he used to. 

“Everything I do from now on will be for you,” he whispers, feeling a kick against his palm. “And for her.” 

---

npt: @ovaryacted - @yxtkiwiyxt - @princessanglophile - @gelibean522 - @angeiulst

[creepy-friday]

PLS PLS PLS I NEED MORE PROXY THINGS I KEEP REREADING THE OLD ONES AND U WRITE SO WELL

Sure thing!I noticed a lot of people are rereading the old ones so I promise I will come back with more ideas!

Female!Proxy toughts Headcanons for every creep of the mansion

Warnings: foul language, suggestive themes, violence

Masky thinks he should've been in your place.He wants your attention but at the same time hates your guts.Always wants to pick a fight with you,maybe he's in such a contradiction with himself because your personality softened his sharp edges making him confused.

Hoodie acts all buddy-buddy with you when the two of you aren't on duty.He doesn't hide the way the tension rises from other people's perspective when he talks to you.He's simply curious about who you truly are,an individual like you in such a fucked up place and in such a high position is..intriguing to say at least.

Toby follows your orders and values your presence the most out of the other proxies he's biased. Because he's been taken advantage of many times,your humanity sparked his hope,he thinks that in you he can actually find something heart warming in this hell hole.

Cody is a little annoying at times.Since you didn't shove him off he deeply thinks you're into him,that's why he keeps on inviting you to see the dangerous shit he's creating.

Kate uses every chance she has to imply that you have sexual relationships with the proxies.She's isn't jealous nor wants to take your place,she simply sees herself as slightly superior since she's been here before you.

Jeff has personal issues with every resident near him,including you.He doesn't think of himself as highly as Masky tough.All the mocking and tantrums are because he doesn't belive your good intentions.

Ben is a fucking menace and fucks with your head since he knows you can't physically hurt him.He thinks you're by far the most interesting creep to watch.

EJ respects you.He thinks that you are disgusted by him almost as he is of himself given your role as a demon hunter.His insecurity made him give up any reason to try to talk to you.Watching from afar he knows you're one of the few residents that are still human by heart.

Liu has a very high opinion about yourself.You already proved to be a good person to him when you took EJ's side in an argument with Masky.He would make conversation with you whenever you two are around.

Sully might act like Liu around you so that he can see more of you.Just like other creeps,he fantasies about having a hand to hand spare with you.He talks to you like you're a pice of meat sometimes but he acknowledges your strength.

Slenderman's presence is being known by his general sickness to the other creeps but the fever is high and tormenting when it comes to you.It's clear that he favors you and the fact that he chose you as his watchdog is enough to bring your confidence skyrocket.

Jane watches you from afar.She thinks you're a good fit to be a leader.Surprisingly,she agreed with your every decision and never had anything to add or to take.

Zero is jealous of you and your high status.She despises your guts and would team up with anyone to put you down or to shame you.She's a bitch but I bet she would fuck you tough.She's the "do I want to be her or be with her?"

Clockwork likes how a woman is top shit and she treats you as an equal.Might ask you for your opinion and expects you to listen to hers as well.She thinks you're a good leader.

Nina adores you.You genuinely had a good impact on her mental health and looks up to you.She would be shocked if you would hurt her in any way,after everything she went trough all she needs is a friend.The choice is yours.

Sally thinks that you are really cool and wishes you would take that mask off more often.Since you don't brush her off like the others she's looking forward to talk to you when you're not busy.Confidently slips tea parties invites down your door.

Bloody Painter is mostly indifferent to the power dynamics in the mansion.Sure,he will be respectful to you since that's in his personality but he's apathetic to anything that isn't "aesthetically pleasing".He judges a book by its cover and the ghoul-like design on your mask makes him believe you're no different from the creatures you encounter in the forest.Misunderstanding at its best

[pbaz7]

CROSSING THE LINE — PART SIX ♡

paige x azzi

warning: explicit language, sexual content

word count: 11.3k

A/N: Alright so this is long as hell 😭. Like I was saying earlier the spicy scene is a little detailed so be prepared for that. If you recognize the outfits I mentioned for their date you know they both looked good as hell in them lol. The comments and live reactions everyone leaves after they read makes my day so please keep it up!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 December 2023 

Paige and Azzi had spent the last few weeks navigating the complexities of their new dynamic. It wasn’t exactly a smooth transition, but it wasn’t a complete disaster either. Their conversations, jokes, and banter came back effortlessly, as though no time had passed. But, now there was an added layer of tension in each interaction that they both struggled to ignore. 

They had crossed the line, and the memory of it lingered on both of their minds constantly. Laying in one another’s beds all the time or sharing a quick or playful touch carried a tension that hadn’t been there before Halloween. So they were both trying to find their footing in this uncharted territory. 

Despite the fact that they both clearly wanted to go there again, they agreed they needed to take time to fully trust one another and build their foundation before jumping into something. Paige had to learn to trust that Azzi wasn’t going to just up and leave, she had to learn how to allow herself to be with someone. Azzi had to trust that Paige was genuinely in it for the long haul, not the old Paige who would get bored and discard her like a fleeting hookup. The agreement seemed reasonable, even necessary. But despite their best intentions, they found themselves slipping up all the time. 

One of the first times happened after practice. They were lounging casually in Paige’s room, a routine born out of habit and comfort because Paige swore her bed was more comfortable. Azzi’s leg was thrown over Paige’s as Paige sat up, massaging out the lingering soreness from the last road game. Azzi’s old injury from her time at UMD still had a way of acting up sometimes, and Paige, being a good ‘teammate,’ insisted on helping every time.

“I still don’t get how this keeps happening,” Paige said, pressing her thumbs into the muscle just above Azzi’s knee. Her brow slightly furrowed in concentration as she continued to apply firm pressure. “You’ve been so good with your recovery lately.”

Azzi shrugged lightly, her head resting back against the headboard. “Guess my body didn’t get the memo about the long plane ride.”

Paige huffed a small laugh. “Well, lucky for you, I’m basically a pro at this now.” Her hands worked skillfully over Azzi’s leg, her fingers kneading the muscle with a mix of care and precision.

Azzi let out a quiet hum of appreciation. “Mm. You are really good at this.”

Paige smirked, her eyes flicking up to meet Azzi’s briefly. “I’m just good with my hands,” she replied smoothly, her tone teasing but carrying a hint of pride.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah trust me I remember.”

The words lingered between them, heavy just as Azzi intended. Paige kept her focus on Azzi’s leg, but the silence spoke volumes, the air between them a little thick with tension.

Azzi broke it first, her voice soft but pointed. “You tense up every time I hint at us having sex, you know.”

Paige blinked, her hands faltering for a moment before continuing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said, feigning confusion.

Azzi’s gaze stayed steady. “You know what I’m talking about.” Her tone was light, but there was a seriousness beneath it.

Paige swallowed hard, her hands resuming their work as she focused intently on Azzi’s knee which was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “You’re imagining things,” she muttered. “Maybe one of those dreams of yours was too detailed Az.”

Azzi chuckled softly, tilting her head to the side as she studied Paige. “Am I?” she asked, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Because I seem to remember you were very, very thorough.”

Paige, usually brimming with confidence that bordered on cocky, faltered slightly, her usual composure slipping. “You’re insane,” she muttered, shaking her head, though a faint flush crept up her neck.

Azzi’s lips curved into a smirk as she leaned back against the headboard, completely at ease. “Right. My mistake,” she said smoothly, her eyes locking with Paige’s deliberately. Her voice dropped slightly, taking on a warmth that sent a shiver down Paige’s spine. “But seriously though, don’t stop. It feels so good.”

Clearing her throat, Paige tried to play it off. “You’re crazy,” she muttered, focusing her attention back on Azzi’s knee.

“You started it,” Azzi countered, her voice light but tinged with something Paige couldn’t place.

Paige let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Fair enough.” She adjusted her grip, her thumbs pressing into a particularly tight spot.

The sound that escaped Azzi was too close to something Paige had heard in an entirely different context. The sound sent a jolt through her, and she froze for a moment, her hands stilling against Azzi’s leg.

Paige glanced up, her pupils now slightly dilated as her eyes locked onto Azzi’s. The look Azzi gave her was steady, unflinching, but there was something in it that made Paige’s pulse quicken. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry, and quickly looked away.

“I, uh… I need water,” Paige mumbled, already shifting Azzi’s leg to stand.

Before she could move, Azzi’s hand reached out, wrapping gently around her wrist. “Wait,” Azzi said softly, her tone was calm but insistent.

Paige hesitated, her gaze flicking to where Azzi’s fingers held her. She could feel the warmth of Azzi’s touch, the quiet undeniable firmness in the gesture. Slowly, Paige looked back at her, her expression slightly guarded.

“Azzi…” Paige said, her voice low, her tone almost a warning.

Azzi didn’t let go. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied Paige’s face. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” Paige asked, the slight waver in her voice betraying her.

“Run,” Azzi said simply, her voice steady but laced with meaning. “Every time things get… interesting…you find an excuse to leave.”

Paige blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I’m not running,” she protested weakly, though even she didn’t believe the words.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Then stay.”

The challenge in Azzi’s voice was clear, and it made Paige’s stomach flip. She opened her mouth to respond but found she didn’t have the words.

Azzi’s grip on her wrist tightened slightly, enough to pull Paige forward, closer to her on the bed. Paige could see the resolve in her eyes, the quiet determination that didn’t really leave room for disagreement. Then, without warning, Azzi tugged her closer, closing the distance between them. The moment their lips touched everything seemed to pause. A stillness that made Paige’s heart skip before it began racing. 

So Paige froze at first, her mind running a dozen directions and a dozen scenarios, but then Azzi’s arms wrapped around her neck, tugging her deeper into the kiss as her hands wrapped softly around the nape of her neck. It wasn’t rushed, but it was intense, as if Azzi was pulling her into something that didn’t allow for hesitation. Paige felt the tension in her chest begin to loosen, the heat spreading as instinct took over and her free hand found its way to Azzi’s cheek as she deepened the kiss.

For a moment, everything else fell away—the doubts, the fears, all the questions. All that mattered was the way Azzi’s lips felt against hers, the way their bodies seemed to gravitate towards one another so naturally.

But as their bodies pressed closer and the kiss deepend, something in Paige stirred, so she broke the kiss softly pulling back just enough to catch her breath much to Azzi’s protest. 

Paige’s voice was barely a whisper as she murmured, “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, eyes searching Paige's face. “Why not?”

Paige shook her head, feeling the way her mind was racing. “We’re not ready yet Az.”

Azzi furrowed her brow. “Why can’t we just let things happen naturally? We’re in a good place, aren’t we? I’m fine, P I promise.”

Without a word, Paige reached over and unlocked her phone and passed it to Azzi. She watched her closely, her expression softening.

Azzi took the phone, her eyes reflecting her confusion. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Go through it,” Paige urged, her voice soft yet insistent.

Azzi hesitated, a knot of doubt forming in her stomach; she wasn’t sure she wanted to see what was behind that request although part of her knew it was absolutely nothing. “I don’t know, Paige…”

Paige’s tone softened, almost pleading. “I swear, there’s nothing in there. It's just... I need you to trust me and see for yourself.” 

Azzi sighed, fighting the anxiety that bubbled inside her. Paige was constantly reassuring her, but part of her still feared what she might find. So with a resigned sigh, Azzi locked the phone again and tossed it gently back to Paige.

“I don’t need to see it, Paige,” Azzi muttered, her voice strained.

Paige's now softly pointing out, “You can’t even go through my phone without being scared, Az. We’re not ready, and I want us to be ready before we go there again.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped to her hands, fingers nervously playing with each other. A wave of sadness washed over her, guilt twisting in her chest. She felt torn—wanting to trust Paige, but something in her held back, unsure, afraid of what she might find. A mix of emotions swirled through her brain making it hard to breathe for a moment.

Paige, sensing the internal struggle, moved closer. She gently grabbed Azzi's jaw, lifting her head until their eyes met. Her voice was soft but firm, the sincerity clear in every word. “It’s okay. We’ll get there. We just need a little more time.”

Azzi nodded silently, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. Paige smiled, her touch gentle as she settled back into her previous position, resuming the soothing massage on Azzi’s knee as the energy in the room slowly shifted back to normal.

…

Then there was today, a few weeks later Paige was leaning casually against the wall waiting for Azzi to get out of class, her backpack slung over one shoulder as she chatted with a girl Azzi didn’t recognize. Azzi was walking toward her, her pace slowing slightly as she took in the sight. Paige’s easy smile, the way she gestured animatedly, and the way the girl was giving Paige her undivided attention—all of it caused something to simmer in Azzi’s chest.

But Azzi didn’t let it show. She schooled her expression into neutrality as she approached, stopping just short of Paige. Paige caught sight of her and broke into a huge smile, her face lighting up effortlessly.

“Hey Azzi” Paige said, her voice casual as she turned to the girl. “Thank you, I appreciate the support!”

The girl nodded, her gaze lingering on Paige for just a second too long before walking away. Azzi’s eyes followed her briefly, her jaw tightening.

As they made their way to Paige’s car, she threw her arm around Azzi’s shoulders the way she always did now when they were walking but the walk was silent. To Paige, it was a comfortable kind of silence, one she didn’t think twice about. For Azzi, it was anything but.

By the time they arrived at their empty suite, Azzi’s frustration had bubbled to the surface at Paige not saying anything. She shut the door behind her with a little more force than necessary and turned to Paige.

“Who was that?” Azzi asked, her tone clipped.

Paige blinked, confused as these were the first words Azzi was saying to her. “Who was who?”

Azzi crossed her arms. “The girl you were talking to.”

Paige shrugged, her expression indifferent. “I don’t know. Some random fan asking about our next game.”

Azzi scoffed, her expression tightening. “A fan, huh? Right. Because you’re always just casually talking to fans.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Paige asked, her confusion evident

Azzi’s voice was sharp, but quieter now, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to say it out loud. “It means I’ve seen how you are with people, Paige. I know how easy it is for you to flirt without even realizing it.”

Paige groaned, throwing her hands up. “Azzi, come on. She was literally asking about the next game. I wasn’t flirting with her.”

Azzi muttered something under her breath, something Paige couldn’t quite catch.

“What?” Paige asked again, her voice growing slightly.

Azzi let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Maybe you weren’t trying to. But she didn’t look like she was asking about the game, Paige.”

Paige huffed, her frustration mounting. “I don’t get it. I didn’t do anything wrong, and you’re acting like I cheated or something!”

Azzi’s jaw clenched, and her voice dropped even further. “I’m not saying that. But it’s hard not to wonder sometimes… to wonder if maybe you’re getting bored.”

Paige froze, her eyebrows knitting together. “Bored? Azzi, what are you talking about?”

Azzi’s gaze fell, and her voice softened, no longer sharp but tinged with vulnerability. “We just haven’t defined anything. And we haven’t… you know… since that first time. I just—sometimes I don’t know where we stand, Paige and I don’t know if us trying to figure this out is enough for you. If us waiting is boring to you.”

Paige blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. Her frustration tangled with guilt, but she couldn’t find the words to make Azzi feel better. “Azzi…”

Azzi stepped back slightly.. “You’re so used to being wanted by everyone and getting what you want whenever you want it. It’s not like I don’t know that. I just..waiting is a little frustrating and—” She cut herself off, exhaling sharply. “Forget it.”

“Forget it?” Paige repeated, her voice rising slightly. “No, Azzi, don’t do that. Don’t act like this is just on me. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m literally here with you.”

Azzi shook her head, her tone weary now. “I don’t want to argue with you, Paige. Not about this right now, I was just being jealous it’s stupid.”

She turned and started toward her room, but Paige followed her. “No, wait. Don’t walk away.”

Azzi stopped just inside her room, bending over to grab something from her desk. Without looking back, she said lightly, “Seriously, Paige, I don’t want to do this right now. We can talk later.”

Paige’s frustration was boiling over. She hated the weight in Azzi’s voice, hated how the words stuck in her own throat. She didn’t know how to explain herself, how to make Azzi see that there was nothing else—no one else—that mattered to her. That waiting for Azzi didn’t bother her. 

Before she could think twice about it, Paige crossed the room in two quick strides. Without hesitation she grabbed Azi’s arm, softly spinning her around. Before either of them could speak, Paige’s lips crashed against Azzi’s. The kiss was full of frustration, need, and every unspoken word between them. 

For a moment, Azzi froze, caught off guard, but then her body melted into Paige’s. Her hands clenching the fabric of Paige’s shirt pulling her closer as she kissed her back with just as much intensity. The argument dissolved between them, replaced by something much more raw.

Paige pulled Azzi backwards, guiding her with each step. Their lips never parted, each kiss growing deeper and more desperate as each of them let out their frustration at their situation. Paige barely registered the edge of the bed hitting the back of her knees before she fell onto it, Azzi following instantly. Azzi straddled her, her hands gripping Paige’s shirt tightly as their mouths locked in a rhythm that burned away their anger and replaced it with pure desire. 

Paige groaned into Azzi’s mouth as Azzi rolled her hips into Paige’s pressing their bodies closer, the kiss growing heavier with every second. Paige’s hands instinctively wrapped firmly around Azz’s waist, trying to steady herself but pull Azzi closer at the same time. The touch seemed to encourage Azzi who broke from Paige’s lips and began trailing urgent kisses down her neck. 

Paige’s breath hitched, her head tilting back as a shiver ran through her. “Fuck Azzi–” she whispered, her voice caught between a desperate plea and a low moan. 

At the sound of this Azzi froze. Her lips hovered over Paige’s skin, the weight of the moment crashing down on her. Slowly Azzi pulled back, her breathing uneven as she propped herself up slightly with a hand on Paige’s chest, her dark eyes clouded with something indecipherable. 

Paige lay beneath her, her blue eyes dark with pure desire but also something softer—a quiet vulnerability that tugged at Azzi’s chest, that made Azzi want to just say forget it. But Azzi sighed, pressing the bridge of her nose between her fingers before climbing off of Paige entirely.

The abruptness of the movement made Paige sit up on her elbows, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Azzi,” she started, her voice hesitant, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Azzi shook her head, cutting her off gently. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Paige watched her closely, but her heart clenched when she saw Azzi grab her gym bag. A sudden panic flared within her. Paige scrambled to her feet, her voice pitching higher. “Where are you going?”

Azzi slung the bag over her shoulder, glancing at Paige with a calmness that didn’t match the rising tension in Paige’s chest. “I’m going to the gym.”

Paige’s stomach twisted. Azzi’s response was completely rational, but it didn’t stop the surge of panic that overtook her. She stepped forward, her voice shaky. “Azzi, wait. Please don’t go.”

Azzi’s expression softened already knowing what was going through Paige’s head. “Paige—”

“I’m sorry,” Paige interrupted, her words tumbling out. “I didn’t mean to push—I don’t know why I did that. Just, don’t go. Please.”

Azzi exhaled, the weight of Paige’s fear pressing down on her. “You don’t need to apologize,” she said softly, stepping closer, her voice dripping with warmth. “It’s not what you think. I’m not leaving. I just need to clear my head, okay?

But Paige’s unease was written all over her face. Her blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, her lips parted as if to plead further. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But you’re walking out. You’re just…leaving. And what if–”

Azzi sighed again, cutting her off gently but firmly, before dropping her bag and stepping forward grabbing Paige’s hand. She led her to sit down on the edge of the bed. Azzi knelt in front of her, placing her hands gently on Paige’s knees.

“Paige,” she started, her voice firm but tender. Paige tried to interrupt, shaking her head, but Azzi caught her face in her hands, making her look directly at her.

“Listen to me,” Azzi said, her voice steady. “I’m not leaving. Baby, I promise you, I’m not leaving you.”

Paige’s breath hitched, the emotions swirling in her chest almost too much to bear. “But you’re going to the gym,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “And I–I don’t know, it feels like…like you’re leaving because I messed up, and I–”

“Hey. I’m just going to the gym,” Azzi cut in gently, her thumbs brushing over Paige’s cheeks. “You didn’t mess up. This isn’t about that. We were arguing about something that doesn’t even matter, and I just need a little time to clear my head. That’s all. I don’t want to fight with you, and I don’t want this to spiral. We both just need a little time to settle and calm down.”

Paige blinked, her mind beginning to grasp Azzi’s words. Slowly, she nodded, the realization dawning on her as her breathing steadied. “You promise?”

Azzi smiled softly, letting her hands linger on Paige’s cheeks for a moment whispering “I promise P,” before she pulled back. She slowly stood and grabbed her phone and gym bag again, heading toward the door. But as she reached the threshold, she glanced back at Paige, noticing the way her mind still seemed to race, her unease still faintly visible.

Azzi hesitated for a moment before walking back to her. She bent down in front of Paige again, her brown eyes warm as they met Paige’s. “Paige I promise you I’ll be back. I was being irrational and I just need a little time to think baby.”

Paige nodded again, her lips quirking into the faintest smile at the word ‘baby.’

Then, Azzi leaned in and kissed Paige—softly, gently, with a tenderness that melted away the last of Paige’s fears.

When Azzi pulled back, Paige managed a small smile, her chest feeling a little lighter. “Okay,” she whispered.

Azzi gave her one last reassuring look before standing and heading out, the door clicking softly behind her. This time, when Azzi walked out, Paige didn’t panic. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing her lips as she continued to smile faintly.  Her heart settled as her mind finally began to quiet. 

Later that night, Azzi returned to the suite with a steaming bag of Noodles & Company and a shirley temple. The soft glow from the TV lit up Paige’s face as she sat with her legs spread on the couch, her headset slightly askew as she focused on her game of Fortnite yelling about who knows what. When Paige looked up and saw Azzi standing there, her smile was radiant—so pure and full of warmth that Azzi swore she’d never forget it as it made her heart skip a beat. 

“I’m back,” Azzi said softly, holding up the food.

Ice, sprawled on the armchair groaned dramatically, flicking a chip at Azzi. “I see how it is–bring noodles for Paige but nothing for me. Your favorite child”

Azzi laughed, her eyes never leaving Paige. “You can have what I got for myself,” she teased, handing Ice the bottle of water with a smirk.

Ice rolled her eyes. “You’re such a simp.”

Paige chuckled at that, but Azzi didn’t care. With a soft smile, she walked over and plucked Paige’s headset off her head.

“Hey!” Paige protested, reaching for it, but Azzi was already tugging her to her feet.

“Time to take a break,” Azzi said, her voice playful but firm.

“One more game,” Paige whined, her lips jutting into a pout.

Azzi shook her head, laughing. “Nope. My room. Now.”

Paige huffed but followed Azzi willingly, shooting a teasing glance at Ice, who muttered something about third-wheeling and how they never feed their child as they disappeared into Azzi’s room.

Once inside, Azzi set the food on her desk, but Paige crossed her arms, staring her down. “You’re eating some of this,” she insisted.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “I brought it for you, you know.”

“And I’m sharing it with you,” Paige said, already opening the box and poking around with a fork. “Sit.”

Azzi chuckled, stepping back and sitting on the bed, leaning back against the pillows with a grin. Paige sat on the bed beside her, the container of noodles in her hand. She held out a forkful of noodles, her gaze locked on Azzi’s as she leaned in a little closer.

“Really?” Azzi asked, amusement flickering in her eyes.

“Really,” Paige replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Azzi sighed but leaned forward, letting Paige feed her. They laughed as Paige made a show of wiping a stray noodle from Azzi’s chin, her touch lingering just a second too long.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You’re not being subtle, you know.”

Paige grinned, giving her a playful shrug. “I’m just making sure you don’t go hungry.”

Azzi laughed softly, her hand brushing over Paige’s, lingering just for a second. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might start getting other ideas about where this night is going.”

Paige's smile widened, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “Oh, trust me, there’s plenty more where that came from. ”

This statement makes Azzi raise her eyebrow at the blonde sitting in front of her.

Paige just laughs, shaking her head as she takes a bite of her food. “Get your head out of the gutter, we’re watching Kyrie highlights.” 

This immediately makes Azzi groan. 

They continued eating as the quiet settled around them, neither of them noticing how natural it all felt—how their earlier tension had dissolved into something lighter, softer.

As Paige scooped up another bite of noodles and tried to offer it to her, Azzi caught her wrist gently, stopping her. Paige looked at her, confused.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Azzi said softly, her brown eyes filled with admiration.

Paige’s cheeks flushed, her lips twitching into a shy smile. “I think you’re pretty amazing too.”

Azzi leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to Paige’s cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

Paige shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “You deserve the world, Azzi.”

They continued eating, sharing the container of noodles as a comfortable quiet settled between them. Every now and then, Paige would sneak a bite in Azzi’s direction, insisting she eat more despite Azzi’s protests. Paige was adamant, though, grinning as she held out another forkful until Azzi rolled her eyes and relented, letting out a playful sigh of defeat.

When Paige reached for her shirley temple, Azzi playfully made a grab for it, earning a sharp glare and a dramatic clutch of the cup from Paige. “Don’t even think about it this is where I draw the line,” Paige warned, her tone light but firm, causing Azzi to laugh, her head shaking at Paige’s possessiveness over the drink.

The quiet moments stretched between them, filled with warmth and contentment. As Paige leaned back against the headboard, her mind felt unusually calm. The endless worries, the fears that usually gnawed at her, were nowhere to be found. Azzi’s presence anchored her—a steady, quiet reassurance she hadn’t realized she’d needed until now.

Azzi, meanwhile, watched Paige smile and laugh, her heart swelling with an emotion she hadn’t fully allowed herself to feel until now. She could see it in the way Paige looked at her, in the easy way Paige seemed to settle into their shared space. Paige being at home waiting for her. This wasn’t fleeting; it wasn’t temporary. Paige wasn’t going anywhere.

As Paige set the empty container aside, she leaned back against the headboard, a thoughtful look crossing her face. Out of nowhere, she broke the silence. “Let me take you on a date,” she said, her voice casual, as if she were suggesting they go for a walk.

Azzi blinked, slightly caught off guard. “A date?” she repeated, her tone curious, as if needing to clarify what she’d just heard.

“Yeah,” Paige said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why not?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Paige, you’ve never been on a date in your life,” she teased, the corners of her lips lifting into a smirk.

Paige grinned, unfazed. “Then you can be my first. It’ll just be dinner. That’s what people do on first dates, right?”

Azzi couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, a warm sound that filled the room. “Sure, P,” she said softly, her gaze lingering on Paige’s earnest expression. “You can take me on a date.”

“Perfect,” Paige said, her grin widening. “Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow?” Azzi repeated, her eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. “What if I’m busy?”

Paige tilted her head, giving Azzi a pointed look. “We have the same schedule. You’re free.”

Azzi playfully scoffed, crossing her arms. “Fine, tomorrow,” she said, her lips curling into an amused smile. “But don’t think this means I’m easy to impress.”

Paige leaned closer, her confidence never wavering. “Oh, I don’t need to impress you,” she teased, her voice dropping just enough to send a slight shiver through Azzi. “You’re already impressed by everything I do.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, unable to hide her smile.

“Ridiculous enough for you to go on a date with me,” Paige shot back, settling back into the pillows with a triumphant grin.

…

The next night rolled around, and Paige found herself standing outside the door of her own suite, a bouquet of flowers in her hand. She’d insisted that if this was going to be a real date, she had to pick Azzi up properly. So to make it authentic, she’d gotten ready in Nika’s room, leaving Azzi to prepare in the suite they shared.

Now, as she stood there, her nerves betrayed her usual confidence. Paige wiped her hands on her pants and took a steadying breath, the flowers trembling slightly in her grip. When the door finally opened, any composure she’d mustered vanished.

Azzi stood before her in a matching hot pink set: shorts and a blazer-like jacket that hung open to reveal an extremely cropped black shirt underneath, leaving little to the imagination. The outfit framed her toned stomach perfectly, her belly piercing catching the light, while the silver heart necklace Paige had given her rested against her skin.

Paige’s breath hitched, her words disappearing entirely as she stared. Azzi, blushing ever so slightly under the weight of Paige’s gaze, let out a soft laugh. “Do you like it?” she teased, her voice laced with a hint of shyness despite her confident appearance.

Paige finally snapped her mouth shut, her lips curving into a goofy smile. “Woah… yeah…you look amazing, Azzi,” she managed, her voice quieter than usual.

Then she remembered the flowers still in her hand and thrust them forward a little awkwardly. “These are for you.”

Azzi’s smile softened, her brown eyes sparkling as she took the bouquet. “Thank you,” she said warmly, clearly charmed by how flustered Paige was—a rarity for the usually self-absorbed blonde.

Azzi turned and walked back into the suite to find a vase for the flowers. Paige stayed rooted in place, still lingering by the doorway. Her gaze followed Azzi as the other girl moved effortlessly, her perfume lingering in the air where she had stood. Paige exhaled slowly, her heart pounding as she realized how completely Azzi had captivated her.

As Azzi walked back toward the door, her eyes flickered over Paige, taking in every detail. Paige had her hair down, slightly wavy—just the way Azzi liked it—and was wearing a knitted cardigan adorned with delicate flowers and a white shirt underneath it. Her patchwork blue jeans, with their various shades of denim, added a casual yet stylish touch that somehow made her look a little too good in Azzi’s eyes. 

Azzi’s gaze lingered as she raked her eyes over Paige’s figure, a subtle appreciation shining in her expression. Paige, noticing this, seemed to regain her usual confidence. The nervous energy from earlier faded, replaced by a smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips.

“What?” Paige teased, her voice low and playful as she tilted her head. “You already eye fucking me, and we haven’t even left yet?”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by Paige’s sudden shift in demeanor, but her cheeks warmed as she laughed softly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she shot back, brushing past Paige and bumping her shoulder lightly.

Paige chuckled, stepping aside to let Azzi pass, but her smirk only deepened. “Come on,” she said, holding out her hand for Azzi to take. “Let’s get this date started before you decide you can’t wait.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that crept across her face as she slipped her hand into Paige’s. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already decided.”

…

When they arrived at the restaurant, Paige made a point to pull Azzi’s seat out for her, earning a soft, amused smile. After ensuring Azzi was comfortably seated, Paige settled into her own chair, her fingers lightly drumming on the table.

Azzi noticed the subtle nervous energy radiating from Paige and leaned forward, her smile warm and reassuring. “You know you don’t need to be nervous, right? It’s just us. We’ve had dinner together hundreds of times.”

Paige, not one to admit she was rattled, plastered on a confident grin. “Psh, nervous? Me? I’ve got this in the bag,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively, though her knee bouncing under the table told a different story.

Azzi tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re such a liar. You’re literally fidgeting right now.”

Paige stilled her hands and raised a brow. “Okay, first of all, I’m not fidgeting. I’m just... uh, practicing my reflexes. Athletes do that, you know. Second, this is going to be the best date you’ve ever been on, so sit back and enjoy, Ms. Fudd.”

Azzi chuckled, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand. “Alright then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Paige smirked, relaxing slightly as they fell into their usual rhythm. The conversation shifted to light teasing like always 

Azzi grinned as Paige described an admittedly clumsy move during practice earlier that week that led to a turnover. “So you’re saying your hands couldn’t keep up, huh?” Azzi teased, her voice dropping just enough to add a layer of meaning.

Paige rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “Not everyone has your freakishly perfect coordination, Az.”

“Good thing I remember you being pretty coordinated when it actually counts…” Azzi replied smoothly, her voice low and full of suggestion.

Paige froze mid-breath, her jaw dropping open as her brain scrambled to process Azzi’s words.

Azzi leaned back in her chair, her smirk wide as she watched Paige’s stunned expression. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

Before Paige could even think of a response, the waiter approached their table, her attention immediately drawn to Paige. With a charming smile, she addressed Paige warmly, completely ignoring Azzi.

Paige, however, didn’t even notice the waiter’s presence. Her wide-eyed gaze remained fixed on Azzi, her expression a mix of desire, admiration, and pure shock.

Azzi glanced at the waiter, then back at Paige, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms. “Earth to Paige,” she said teasingly, lightly kicking her under the table.

Paige blinked, finally snapping out of her daze. “Huh?” she mumbled, her head jerking toward the waiter, who was now waiting patiently with an amused expression.

The waiter gave Paige a quick once-over before flashing a flirtatious smile. “I was just asking, if you’re ready to order? I’m sure whatever you choose will be just as good as you look,” she said, her tone light and teasing.

Paige, still a little dazed, didn’t even acknowledge the compliment, her eyes having already drifted back to Azzi. Without missing a beat, she motioned toward Azzi, murmuring, “Um she’ll order for both of us.”

Azzi smirked at the subtle way Paige brushed the girl off. “I’ll have the grilled salmon, and she’ll have the filet mignon, medium, with a side of the mashed potatoes,” she said smoothly, locking eyes with the waiter.

The waiter gave a quick nod, clearly a little taken aback by Azzi’s effortless command, before she turned and walked away. 

Azzi, not letting her teasing moment pass, leaned in and whispered, “You’re so easy to fluster, you know that?”

Paige finally shook herself out of her stupor, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “You like making me do that, don’t you?”

Azzi’s smirk deepened, and she leaned back in her chair. “Maybe. It’s cute how much I can get to you with just a few words.”

Azzi and Paige continued their light conversation, the air between them easy and familiar as they waited for their food to come out. 

As she returned with their food, her smile widening as she set the plates down in front of them. Her gaze lingered on Paige once more, and she leaned slightly closer than necessary. “Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked, her voice soft, her tone unmistakably suggestive.

Paige, busy unwrapping her silverware, didn’t bother looking at the waiter. Instead, she gestured toward Azzi. “You can ask her,” she said dismissively, her tone a little flat.

Azzi’s lips twitched with amusement as she leaned back in her chair. With deliberate ease, she reached across the table, letting her hand rest just near Paige’s wrist. She kept her touch subtle, a silent claim that didn’t go unnoticed by Paige, whose posture relaxed slightly as she smiled to herself.

Azzi finally turned her gaze to the waiter, her smile polite but sharp. “We’re all set, thanks,” she said smoothly, her tone leaving no room for interpretation.

The waiter hesitated, clearly missing—or choosing to ignore—the subtext. She turned her attention back to Paige, leaning forward slightly. “Well, if you change your mind... you know where to find me,” she said, her eyes glinting with boldness as she lingered at the table longer than necessary.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, her amusement growing at the audacity of the girl in front of her. So her fingers shifted, brushing just barely against Paige’s wrist now, her touch featherlight but deliberate. Paige’s breath slightly hitched, her eyes darting to Azzi as her face began to flush at the soft touch.

Azzi, clearly enjoying herself, leaned forward slightly. Her voice dropped, soft and teasing but with a possessive undertone that was impossible to miss. “Paige, baby,” she murmured, her thumb starting a slow, deliberate stroke against the inside of Paige’s wrist as she looked her in the eyes. “Is there anything you need from her?”

Paige’s lips parted, her breath slightly stuttering as she stared at Azzi in awe. She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “No... I'm good,” she said, the words rushed but sincere, clearly immersed in the control Azzi was putting forward.

Azzi smirked, her fingers sliding down to lightly intertwine with Paige’s. She didn’t grip too tightly, just enough to make her point as she finally turned her attention back to the waiter. “See? She’s good,” Azzi said, her tone sweet but pointed, her eyes narrowing slightly.

The waiter faltered, her confidence cracking as her eyes flicked between them, taking in the subtle shift in Paige’s demeanor as she was once again completely immersed in Azzi. “I was just being friendly,” she said, her smile now strained.

Azzi’s smile tightened, and her grip on Paige’s hand squeezed just slightly, her thumb brushing along the back of Paige’s knuckles. “Friendly’s fine,” she said lightly, her tone still sweet but carrying an unmistakable edge. “Just not with her.” 

The waiter finally seemed to understand she was losing ground. With a tight, awkward smile, she mumbled, “Well... enjoy your meal,” before walking away without another word.

As the waiter disappeared, Azzi let out a soft chuckle, her thumb lazily resuming its strokes against Paige’s hand. “That was cute,” Azzi teased, her smirk widening as she watched Paige squirm.

Paige groaned, finally tugging her hand free and leaning forward to hide her face in her hands. “You’re kinda crazy Az,” she muttered, though her soft laugh betrayed her words.

Azzi leaned back in her chair, her smirk still firmly in place as she picked up her fork. “Well I guess that’s the first new thing you’ll learn about me,” she said casually, giving Paige a look. “I really don’t like sharing.”

Paige peeked at her from between her fingers, her lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Hmm. Wouldn’t have pegged you as the jealous type,” she said, her voice light but edged with curiosity.

Azzi’s smile widened as she shrugged. “I didn’t say anything about being jealous,” she replied smoothly.. She tilted her head toward where the waiter had retreated. “I just know how to put people in their place.”

Paige laughed, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. “No need,” she said casually. “I don’t see anybody but you at this point.”

The simplicity of Paige's words struck Azzi unexpectedly, and her heart fluttered in her chest. There was a warmth in the sincerity of it all, a reassurance that settled deep in her, and in that moment, Azzi realized how much she wanted to give herself over completely to Paige. It wasn’t just about the date or the playful teasing anymore—it was about something real, something she could feel in her bones.

A while later Azzi was grinning as Paige gave her another bite of her food, making her comment softly, “You know, this is the first date I’ve actually enjoyed.”

Paige cocked an eyebrow, her lips curving into a cocky grin. “Of course it is,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “It’s me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, her smile never wavering. “Whatever,” she muttered playfully, but the affection in her voice was unmistakable. She couldn’t deny how much this meant to her.

Paige, with a teasing glint in her eye, reached for another bite of food, offering it to Azzi again. But Azzi raised an eyebrow, giving her a mock glare. “Are you actually going to eat any of your food, or are you just planning on giving it all to me?”

Paige shrugged with a mischievous grin. “You need to eat.”

Azzi glanced down at her plate, clearly making progress in her meal. “I’m eating,” she said, giving Paige an exaggerated look. Azzi picked up a forkful of her salmon and waved it in front of Paige’s face. “Here. You try it. It’s actually pretty good.”

Paige recoiled dramatically, holding up her hands. “Oh no, I’m good. You know I don’t do salmon.”

Azzi made a face, then went for the classic move. She looked at Paige with the most exaggerated, pleading puppy dog eyes she could muster. “Please? Just one bite? For me?”

Paige sighed dramatically, resisting for only a moment. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

But before Azzi could even manage a victorious grin, Paige relented. “Fine. One bite.” She said with mock reluctance and let Azzi feed her a bite of the salmon.

Paige chewed it slowly, her face a picture of careful deliberation. She swallowed and then, after a long pause, gave Azzi a look that was half-amused, half-disgusted.

Azzi was already smiling, clearly pleased with herself. “See? It wasn’t that bad.”

Paige grumbles in disagreement as she eats some of her food to get rid of the taste. 

As they continued talking Paige was mid-bite when a small bit of mashed potato found its way to her lip. She didn’t notice at first but Azzi did. So with a playful smirk, Azzi reached across the table, her fingers brushing lightly against Paige's skin as she gently wiped the spot from her lip with her index finger. As she pulled her hand back, Azzi made a deliberate show of slowly licking the mashed potato off her finger, her gaze locked with Paige’s the entire time. The movement was teasing, a mix of subtle flirtation and confidence that left Paige a little breathless.

Paige couldn’t pull her eyes away from Azzi as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. When she managed to speak, her voice low, almost a whisper as she simply said, “Azzi please.”

Azzi tilted her head innocently, her lips curling into a playful smile. “Yes, Paige?” she asked, her tone casual, but her eyes sparkled with mischief, knowing exactly what she was doing, loving the control she had over Paige. 

Paige swallowed hard, her heart racing as she licked her lips. “You’re killing me tonight,” she murmured, her gaze never breaking from Azzi’s.

Azzi’s smile widened, her voice dripping with teasing confidence as she leaned just slightly closer across the table. “I know, baby,” she replied smoothly.

The air around them seemed to shift. The noise of the restaurant, the clink of cutlery, the hum of conversations—all faded into the background as Paige and Azzi stayed locked in each other’s gaze. Paige’s pupils dilated, her blue eyes growing darker under the intensity of Azzi’s stare. 

Azzi, fully aware of the effect she was having, didn’t look away. There was a challenge in her gaze now, an unspoken dare, almost as if she was silently urging Paige to make the next move. 

Paige clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to pull Azzi closer, to end the dinner and take her home. She could feel her composure slipping away, and Azzi, with that smile still firmly in place, was more than happy to push her further.

Azzi’s gaze never wavered as she subtly shifted her hand, her fingers brushing against Paige's with a deliberate slowness as she let their fingers intertwine, a small yet intimate gesture that sent a jolt of heat through Paige’s body. Azzi’s touch was light, almost teasing, but it was enough to completely throw off Paige’s concentration.

Paige had to close her eyes for a moment, trying to regain some semblance of control. She could barely think straight with the way Azzi was looking at her. So she took a slow breath, trying to ground herself, but Azzi’s hand holding hers kept her tethered in the moment. 

“Open your eyes P,” Azzi’s voice was a whisper, but it carried authority, a command wrapped in sweetness. The edge in her tone made Paige’s stomach tighten.

Paige slowly opened her eyes, finding herself once again lost in the depths of Azzi’s gaze immediately. There was no escaping it now. She was completely under Azzi’s spell, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to escape at all. Azzi’s fingers tightened around hers, their palms pressed together as the world around them seemed to fade, leaving only them.

Azzi’s gaze softened, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, her words carrying a mix of curiosity and something darker, something that Paige could feel even before the question left her lips.

Paige, unable to look away, let a slow smile curl at the corners of her mouth. “You know exactly what I’m thinking about,” she said, her voice low. 

Azzi’s smile widened, her eyes flickering with mischief and desire. “Take me home then,” she said, the words slipping from her lips like a secret, a command wrapped in temptation.

That was all it took.

Paige didn’t hesitate. She threw a couple of bills onto the table—definitely more than enough to cover the tab—and stood up. Both of them heading for Paige’s car with a little extra pep in their step. 

…

Once they get to the suite, Azzi starts walking towards her room, but Paige grabs her hand pulling her towards her room that’s further from Ice’s, trying to spare the girl. 

Azzi raises an eyebrow but doesn’t protest as she lets Paige lead her. As they step into Paige’s room she wastes no time shutting the door behind them and locking it. 

Paige flicks on her led lamp to lightly illuminate the room and before she can gather her bearings, Azzi’s hands were on her, as she gently pushed her back against the door. Paige’s back hit it with a soft thud, her breath catching in her throat at Azzi’s confidence and her pulse quickening slightly as she met Azzi’s smile with a grin of her own. Azzi’s smile was a slow, teasing smile–one that made Paige feel like she was already a step behind in whatever was happening in Azzi’s head. 

Azzi studied her for a moment, clearly enjoying the way Paige’s body seemed to melt at her touch. Without breaking eye contact, she reached for the buttons on Paige's cardigan, her fingers grazing the fabric as she slowly started unbuttoning it. "You always look so damn good," Azzi murmured, her voice soft but filled with heat. "You have no idea what you do to me. How you make me feel."

With each button undone, the white shirt underneath was revealed, the fabric clinging slightly to Paige’s frame, teasing Azzi. The room felt unbearably warm, and Paige was basically trembling, unsure if it was from desire or the intensity of Azzi's gaze.

Azzi stopped halfway through unbuttoning, her fingers still resting on the cardigan. "Tell me…" she whispered, leaning in close, her breath brushing against Paige's cheek. "What are you thinking about now?"

Paige’s breath hitched, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, none of them coherent enough to form an answer. She could feel the heat of Azzi's body so close to hers, her lips barely brushing her ear with each whispered word. She couldn’t even formulate a response. She had never felt like this before, had never been the one with a loss of words.

Azzi smiled softly at Paige’s flustered expression, enjoying the way Paige’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as she finished unbuttoning Paige’s sweater. With a deliberate slowness Azzi brushed the cardigan off Paige’s shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

Her fingers trailed down Paige’s waist, coming to rest on her belt as she began undoing it as she watched Paige’s every reaction. Azzi's touch was firm but gentle, pulling Paige just slightly towards her, guiding them slowly toward the bed. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Azzi's gaze was soft but undeniably commanding, filled with an unspoken promise that sent a shiver down Paige’s spine.

“I want you,” Azz whispered, her voice low and laced with desire. “I want you to do whatever you want to me.” 

Paige finally found her voice, her tone softer, almost vulnerable as she asked, “Are you sure?”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. Without a flicker of doubt in her eyes, she nodded, the softness of her gaze only intensifying the fire between them.

Azzi’s confirmation was all Paige needed as she immediately reached for Azzi, pulling her into a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate, their breaths mingling as the moment consumed them. Azzi’s fingers, still toying with Paige’s belt, moved to undo it with an effortless confidence that made Paige’s pulse quicken. 

Before she knew it, Paige was guiding Azzi backward the rest of the way toward the bed, her grip steady but filled with an unspoken urgency. Azzi smirked against Paige’s lips, letting herself be pushed down, her body melting into the mattress. 

The sight of Paige standing above her, her belt now hanging open and her eyes completely dilated with want was enough to make Azzi bite her lip, her gaze also dark. Her hand found its way to Paige’s loose belt gently tugging Paige toward her. “Don’t make me wait anymore,” she teased, her voice dripping with desire. 

Azzi watches as Paige takes off her jeans, never breaking eye contact. As soon as she’s done she’s climbing on the bed, hovering over Azzi as their lips meet again, this time softer but no less consuming, Each kiss feeling like a promise, a declaration as they become lost in one another. 

Paige’s hands moved expertly, finding the edges of Azzi’s blazer. With a gentle tug, she slipped it off Azzi’s shoulder, her fingertips brushing against Azzi's warm skin. Azzi sat up slightly to help, her eyes never leaving Paige’s as the blazer fell away, leaving her in the cropped black shirt that clung to her frame tightly. 

Paige’s breath caught for a moment as her gaze roamed over Azzi, her hands lightly tracing along the hem of her shirt. “You’re incredible,” Paige whispered, her voice tinged with awe. 

Azzi smiles at Paige’s words, her expression soft at the girl on top of her. Without saying a word, she reached up, pulling Paige toward her again, capturing her lips in a kiss that was much more intense than the last. 

The kiss grew heavier with each moment, Paige swiping her tongue across Azzi’s lips asking for access that Azzi immediately grants as the world outside the room fades away, their focus narrowing to just the two of them. Azzi’s hands roam Paige’s sides, her touch firm, sending jolts of excitement through Paige’s skin. 

Azzi breaks the kiss briefly, pushing Paige slightly back with a playful smirk. Paige looked at her, breathless, as Azzi’s hands reached for the hem of her shirt. With a smooth motion, Azzi pulled the shirt over her head, tossing it aside before meeting Paige’s gaze again who had also quickly discarded her white shirt. 

The sight of Azzi like this left Paige momentarily stunned. But before she could linger on the image too long trying to capture it for memory, Azzi pulled her back in, their lips meeting again matching the intensity right where they left off. 

Azzi began making soft noises into Paige’s mouth, each sound sending a warmth through her body. It drove Paige absolutely crazy, her restraint slipping more and more with every passing second. 

“Fuck Azzi,” Paige murmured, her voice low as she pulled back just enough to begin pressing her lips to Azzi’s neck. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” 

Azzi let out another quiet, breathy moan at the attention she was getting, her hands grabbing Paige’s waist as she tilted her head to the side granting Paige better access. “I think I do,” she whispered, her voice teasing but strained.

Paige’s lips and teeth worked along Azzi’s neck, her kisses alternating between soft and firm as she trailed down to the delicate curve where Azzi’s shoulder met her collarbone. Azzi’s hands slide up Paige’s back, pulling her impossibly closer. “Right there baby,” Azzi whispered, her voice breaking slightly as Paige’s lips and tongue lingered on a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Shit you feel so good,” Azzi breathed, her words almost inaudible but thick with emotion. 

Her voice was like music to Paige’s ears, the way it shook with every touch drove her to keep going. Paige’s lips curled into a slight smile against Azzi’s skin as she dragged her mouth lower, savoring the soft gasps and whispered encouragement Azzi continued to spill. 

“Perfect,” Azzi murmured, when Paige’s lips met her waist. Her voice melted into something low and satisfied. “You’re perfect.”

Paige groaned softly at the words, her hands tightening on Azzi’s hips as she whispered back, “You’re killing me Azzi baby.”

Azzi laughed softly, though it was laced with breathlessness. “Then don’t hold back,” she murmured, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair. “I don’t want you to.” Before Azzi could even process what she was asking for, the rest of her clothes were pulled off skilfully in a quick motion. 

Paige’s actions fueled by Azzi’s words, every whispered encouragement and breathless murmur driving her as she finally gave Azzi exactly what she wanted, pouring every ounce of her desire and affection into her touch. 

Azzi made sure Paige knew exactly how much she was enjoying every moment of it. Her voice a symphony of soft gasps, murmured praises, and loud moans, echoing through the room without a care for who might hear. 

“Fuck baby…yes just like that,” Azzi said breathlessly, her hands threading through Paige’s hair, tugging lightly as her head titled back and her hips moved to reach Paige’s movements. “Don’t stop..please, don’t stop.”

Paige just hummed as she pressed closer, her lips and hands working in perfect rhythm, completely consumed by Azzi’s responses. Each sound Azzi made spurring her on more, her own restraint dissolving as she focused on the girl beneath her. 

“You’re amazing,” Azzi murmured, her voice trembling with raw emotion, her nails grabbing Paige’s shoulders. “I need you, Paige. Just you.” 

Paige’s heart raced at the confession, her fingers growing more intense as she kissed her way back to Azzi’s lips, capturing her in a passionate kiss that left them both breathless. 

Azzi’s laughter bubbled up between gasps, a mix of pure joy and overwhelming sensation at the way Paige was touching her. “You’re going to make me lose my mind,” she admitted, her voice shaky but full of affection, her lips brushing against Paige’s as she spoke. 

Paige’s fingers continued their rhythm inside Azzi, as her voice dipped into a tone so soft yet full of conviction. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her words wrapping around Azzi. “Every part of you, Azzi…I could get lost in your forever.” 

Azzi’s breath hitched at the sincerity in Paige’s voice, her chest rising and falling as she clung to the words. Paige didn’t stop there, leaning closer, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear as she added, “You’re everything to me Az. So perfect. I promise you I’m only yours.”

The praise sent so much warmth through Azzi and she arched slightly, her head tilting back as her lips parted. “Paige..” she murmured her voice trembling with emotion. Azzi’s hands found their way to Paige’s back, holding onto her as if she were her anchor, grounding her in this moment. 

Azzi’s gaze was unwavering, her brown eyes dark with passion yet soft with adoration. Paige’s blue eyes mirrored the same intensity, her pupils dilated as she took in every inch of the girl beneath her. 

“You’re so fucking incredible,” Azzi whispered, her voice breathy but firm, her fingers digging into Paige’s skin as her fingers curled perfectly inside of her. 

Azzi began trembling beneath Paige biting her lip trying to hold onto some resemblance of control, her body completely attuned to every touch, every word, the way their gaze was locked onto one another. Her breathing became uneven, her chest rising and falling as if she was trying to steady herself but kept failing. Her eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, but Paige wasn’t having it. 

“Azzi,” Paige whispered, her voice low but commanding, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear as she hovered over her. “Look at me,” 

Azzi’s long lashes flickered as she tried to open her eyes but the feeling was too much for her. Paige’s free hand gently cupped her jaw, her thumb brushing over her cheek as she spoke again, this time softer but just as firm. “Open your eyes, Az. I want you to look at me while you finish for me baby.” 

Azzi let out a shaky breath, her lids lifting slowly until their eyes met once more. The second their gazes locked it was like Azzi couldn’t take anymore as her mouth fell open, the sheer intimacy of the moment causing a sound to escape Azzi’s lips–louder and more unrestrained than she expected. It was uncharacteristically loud for someone usually so composed but she didn’t care. “God, baby right there... please Paige... don't…fuck please don’t stop,” every word laced with need and vulnerability before she’s throwing her head back coming undone for Paige. 

Paige smiles at the sound of Azzi's voice as she leans in and kisses her slowly, their tongue tasting every part of each other as Paige's pace slows, just enough to make Azzi's body ache with the contrast. Azzi's breath comes in shallow gasps, every inch of her skin alive with need.

Paige’s lips curled into a soft, knowing smile, her thumb still stroking Azzi’s cheek. “You did so good for me,” she murmured, her words laced with affection and pride.

Azzi’s grip tightened on Paige’s back as she was still trying to anchor herself. Her voice trembled as she replied, “You… you’re going to ruin me, Paige.”

Paige leaned closer, her lips barely brushing against Azzi’s as she whispered, “I won’t baby, I got you. I promise.”

The exchange sent another wave of shivers through Azzi, her body arching instinctively toward Paige as she started moving again, unable to resist the pull between them. She looks up at Paige pleading for something-anything more.

Paige notices the way Azzi's body trembles under her, how her breath hitches every time she curls her fingers. Her voice drops, soothing but commanding, "Breathe, baby. Just breathe."

The words themselves are almost a command, but they're gentle, like a touch trying to calm the chaos in Azzi’s chest as it rises and falls rapidly, trying to obey, but she feels the pressure inside her building again, tighter this time. Paige's thumb presses into her as she continues her movements deliberate but slow, a stark contrast to how Azzi's body wants to react.

Paige can tell Azzi’s body is going into overdrive so she starts speaking to her. "Focus on me," Paige murmurs near Azzi’s ear, her voice smooth and low, sending ripples of warmth through Azzi. "Focus on your breathing. In and out, nice and slow." She moves her hand in small, measured circles, pushing Azzi right to the edge and pulling her back. "You're doing so good Azzi. Just breathe through it, baby. Let me guide you."

Azzi's entire body is trembling, her mind racing to keep up with the ebb and flow of pleasure. It feels like it's almost too much, but Paige's steady control-her voice, her hands keeps her grounded. The way she talks to her, calm but firm, drives Azzi crazy, and all she can do is follow, surrendering her body to the rhythm Paige has set.

"Tell me how it feels," Paige says, softly. "I wanna hear you some more for me baby."

Azzi opens her mouth, but no coherent words come out-only the sound of desperate, broken breaths as she forces herself to focus on Paige, her voice, her eyes, her touch.

"Feels... feels so good, Paige baby... I can't-" Her voice cracks, the tension too much to contain, but Paige doesn't speed up. She waits, her touch still steady.

"Good just like that baby. Breathe. You're almost there," Paige whispers, coaxing Azzi through it, her own voice filled with desire and pure admiration of the girl underneath her.

Azzi looks up at Paige, her eyes glazed over with need as she’s straining to keep them open. She trembles slightly, her voice barely a whisper as she murmurs, "P I can’t— I can't take anymore."

Paige’s hand shifts to lightly wrap around Azzi’s neck, gently but firmly guiding her gaze to her eyes, making sure she doesn’t look away. She squeezes slightly, her thumb brushing across Azzi’s skin as she speaks, her voice steady but soft, full of encouragement. “Yes, you can. Just relax baby. Let me make you feel good.” 

Azzi nods, trying to steady her racing heart, her breaths shallow as she sinks into the rhythm of Paige's touch. As Paige squeezes again, Azzi’s hand moves to cover Paige’s, her fingers curling around hers, squeezing tighter as she gazes directly into Paige’s eyes. The sensation sparks something deep inside her, and without breaking eye contact, she whispers, "Harder, baby."

The words are a desperate plea, the intensity of her need clear in her voice. Paige’s eyes never leave Azzi’s as her breath hitches and the pressure builds. Azzi, feeling her body react, presses her hips closer to Paige’s movements, her chest rising and falling faster. “Fuck Paige right there, don’t stop,” Azzi breathes out, her voice low and almost frantic. “Mmm make me feel it baby, show me how much you miss fucking me.”

Paige tightens her grip, feeling Azzi’s pulse beneath her fingertips, and Azzi’s body continues to tremble with anticipation as Paige quickens her movements, fingers curling as she moves in and out of Azzi. Paige’s voice is low, almost teasing, as she murmurs, “You’re taking it so well baby fuck, you look so good under me.”

Azzi’s fingers curl tighter around Paige’s wrist, urging her on. “Yes, just like that,” Azzi whispers, her voice filled with a desire that only Paige can satisfy. “Harder, please Paige, don’t stop. You feel so good.”

Paige’s touch becomes more deliberate, the pressure firm and her movements unrelenting as Azzi’s breathing quickens. She feels the way Azzi’s body reacts, every tremble and sigh pushing her to give her more. Paige leans in, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear as she whispers, “You’re so gorgeous baby, so perfect…I always knew how pretty you would sound.”

Azzi moans softly, unable to stop the sounds escaping her lips, each one more desperate than the last as Paige’s gaze burns into her. For a moment, neither of them speaks. The air between them thick a shared silence where only the sound of their heavy breathing and Paige’s fingers moving in and out of Azzi remains. 

After a few more seconds, Azzi's body gives in, a burning release overtaking her body again as she arches her back off the bed. A chorus of breathless moans escaping her lips.

Paige's heart stirs at the sight as she removes her hand from Azzi’s neck immediately and without hesitation. She leans down, kissing her cheek gently as if she's taking away the last bit of tension that still clung to Azzi's body. She whispers, "God you're so beautiful Az. You mean everything to me," before leaning her lips down to Azzi's, their kiss soft, almost loving.

Azzi's eyes flutter shut, her hands coming down to wrap around Paige's head as she lets the kiss ground her. It's slow and tender and everything Azzi needs. 

Paige starts kissing down Azzi’s body, ready to keep going but Azzi’s hand shoots out, gently but firmly stopping her. Her breath comes in shaky gasps as she looks at Paige with exhaustion and a small sight of desire. “Baby…I can’t. Physically… I can’t take anymore right now, I need a break.” She says, her voice strained, the edge of exhaustion clear.

Paige’s lips curl into a teasing smirk, the challenge in her eyes only growing more playful. Before she can say anything, Azzi—still struggling to catch her breath—manages a shaky smile and jokes, “Shut up, Paige. Seriously, just… shut up for a second."

Paige’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “I’ll give you a break but I hope you can keep up because I plan on doing this all night,” she teased softly, her voice low and dripping with warmth.

Azzi responded with a quiet hum of agreement, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair to pull her back into another soft slow kiss, one that carried all the unspoken promises of the night still ahead.

…

The next morning, Paige woke up groggily, the bright sunlight streaming through the window making it impossible to stay asleep. She stirred, trying to stretch, but stopped when she felt a comforting weight pinning her down. Azzi’s body was draped halfway over her, the other half sprawled across the bed. Paige couldn’t help but smile as her gaze landed on Azzi’s face, her soft features illuminated by the morning light.

A quiet laugh escaped Paige’s lips as she realized Azzi was definitely going to blame her for letting her fall asleep without her bonnet, she could already hear the teasing tone in her voice.

As if sensing Paige’s thoughts, Azzi began to stir, a groan slipping past her lips as she shielded her eyes from the sun. “Ugh, why is it so bright?” she mumbled, echoing Paige’s earlier thoughts.

Paige chuckled softly, shifting her body to block the sunlight from hitting Azzi’s face. “Better?” she asked gently, her voice warm and teasing.

When Azzi finally looked up at her, a sleepy smile spread across her face, her dimples appearing as her cheeks flushed slightly. “Good morning, pretty girl,” Paige said, her voice soft but filled with affection.

Azzi’s smile grew wider at the compliment, but she quickly tried to hide her face against Paige’s chest. “Mmm, too sleepy,” she mumbled, her voice muffled.

Paige laughed quietly and carefully shifted out from under Azzi, earning a small, dissatisfied grumble from her. She walked over to the window, pulling the blackout curtains closed and plunging the room into a comforting darkness.

As she returned to the bed, Azzi wasted no time, tugging Paige back down and pulling her close but before Paige could settle in, Azzi leaned up to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. Paige’s heart immediately fluttered at the tenderness of the moment, how casual Azzi was about it.

“Go back to sleep,” Azzi whispered, her words barely audible as she rested her head on Paige’s chest once more.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and with Azzi’s steady breaths against her, Paige felt a sense of peace she hadn’t ever experienced. Slowly, they both drifted back to sleep as Paige realized she was completely in love with the girl laying on her chest.

[jungkoode]

I tag my related asks/posts for visibility and won’t be changing this. If this bothers you, I encourage you to block or filter my content. I promise you I don’t care. Messages about tagging will be ignored.

Don’t want to see my posts? Here’s my tags.

Still looking for an explanation? It’s right here.

I avoid Y/N mentions in my works. Nicknames are the norm.

UNLESS MENTIONED, ALL OF MY WORKS ARE EXPLICIT, 18+.

✧ ( fuck me up ) - ongoing

updates: weekly (weekends)

✧ aka FMU ✧ jungkook x female reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

this one's not for the faint of heart. it's messy, it's raw, and it's complicated. you'll meet jungkook at his most difficult—emotionally distant, a little bit broken, and hiding behind the physical connection he has with y/n. a one-night stand turns into something neither of them can define, and their journey is as emotionally charged as it is physically intense as they navigate their roommate situation.

✿ heavy on the angst ✿ lots of psychological depth ✿ fuck-buddies-to-something-more ✿ trauma, healing, and everything in between

if you're into stories where the characters push and pull until they collapse into each other—this one's for you.

₊˚✧ ( kkangpae ) ₊˚✧ - ongoing

updates: every tuesday

₊˚✧ aka KGP, KK ₊˚✧ jeon x female reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

welcome to the dark side of seoul, where attachment means death and rules are written in blood. you'll meet jeon at his most lethal—cold, precise, and carrying the weight of a past painted in red. when you join kkangpae's seduction division, you know the rules. no relationships. no exceptions. but there's something about the way the chief assassin looks at you that makes you wonder if some rules are worth dying for.

✿ heavy on violence and gore ✿ complex power dynamics ✿ enemies-to-lovers-fuck-buddies with dire stakes ✿ psychological trauma and moral ambiguity ✿ 500k EMOTIONAL slow burn gang au

if you're into stories where love and death dance too close for comfort—where every kiss could be a bullet and trust is a luxury no one can afford—this one's going to break you in all the right ways.

₊˚✧ ( the 25th hour ) ₊˚✧ - ongoing

✧ aka 25H ✧ yoongi x f!reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

in a world where time is strictly regulated, some people called Outliers still experience the forbidden 25th hour. when they do, they're erased—rewritten into obedient citizens with no memory of who they were.

you've always been normal, until the night you wake at 1:59 AM and meet min yoongi, a mysterious agent who seems to already know you. now, hunted by the authorities, you must uncover the truth: about the 25th hour, about yoongi, and about the versions of yourself you don't remember.

✦ dystopian psychological thriller ✦ time-bending romance ✦ mystery, conspiracy, forbidden love ✦ angst with a side of existential dread

if you like plot twists, reality-questioning narratives, and achingly star-crossed romance, this story is your next obsession.

✧ ( strings attached (to my heart) ) - part 2 soon

✧ aka SA(TMH), strings attached ✧ jungkook x female reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

when your local friendly neighborhood spider-man can't stop bringing you snacks at your favorite cafe, and a certain clumsy freshman keeps showing up at the most suspicious times, something's gotta give. featuring: a supply closet, some very interesting revelations, and jungkook absolutely losing it when you touch him.

✿ spiderman au ✿ college setting ✿ sexual tension ✿ virgin!jungkook ✿ 12k of pure self-indulgence

if you're into flustered jungkook, secret identities, and things getting spicy in inappropriate places—this one might be your new favorite.

✧ ( off-labels ) — mini series

✧ aka OL ✧ hoseok x female reader tumblr link: part 1 | part 2 AO3 link: [archive of our own]

when your brother’s best friend is the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program, and you’re just trying to survive your first year of med school without combusting every time he offers to “help you study.” between his perfectly pressed white coat, those steady hands that have probably held hearts, and the way he keeps finding excuses to explain anatomy in that low voice—you’re starting to think your chronic overthinking might be the least of your problems.

✿ medical school au ✿ brother’s best friend trope ✿ gentle!dom hoseok acting innocent ✿ plausible deniability king hoseok ✿ competency kink ✿ mini series

if you’re into smart men who pretend not to know what they’re doing, forbidden attraction, and things getting inappropriately educational in study rooms—this one’s for you.

[vaguely-concerned]

Eight Little Talons Reread Thoughts

Which, I’ll level with you folks, is mostly just me gushing about Teia and Viago and how much they should kiss because of who I am as a person, but maybe also some actual observations sprinkled in. This is still my favourite story in Tevinter Nights, I think, there’s so much Character Stuff in it. Let’s go!

Viago hated carriages—no amount of plush seating could make up for the inevitable ache of being knocked around like weighted dice. But decorum insisted, and he would not be outclassed by his fellow Talons.

Vs.

“You didn’t take a carriage.” 

“My luggage did. But I couldn’t resist the opportunity for a country jaunt.” She nodded toward the thoroughbred Taslin strider grazing on the top of the hill. “Andoral so rarely gets a chance to let loose in Rialto.” 

“You named your horse after an archdemon?” 

“Don’t worry, Vi. I won’t let him nip you.

You know… Andarateia might gain some illusion of normalcy by standing next to the most paranoid wound-up-tight repressed man around to provide contrast, but I think it’s crucial we keep in mind that she is also nuts. Naming your horse after an archdemon IS an insane thing to do in the world of Thedas huh. I suppose she genuinely seems to think of Caterina Dellamorte as a warm maternal figure and is in love with a tetchy snake of a guy too, it does all start to add up when you look at it like that.

— Beneath the smooth samite, he felt like a sinewy ball of tension. Teia suspected contact of any kind made Viago uncomfortable. It would explain why he swathed himself in indigo from chin to toe and refused to remove his gloves during dinner.

He offers his arm to her and doesn’t pull away when they meet Caterina — only when Dante shows up. Interesting (and possibly part of why Caterina seems to consider the two of them a cleverly stabilizing package deal when they get along lol). I love the mix of playful seduction and genuine fond, intimate knowledge and interest Teia has for him all the way through too — speculating about his childhood, trying to divine his thoughts and intentions, testing to see how he reacts to different things. And it’s so sweet that she seems to regard him with this affectionate amusement and fascination (which he seems to be afraid means that she’s mocking him but is, I think, just another level of appreciation she has for him. Correctly. Because he’s one of the funniest people in Thedas both in concept and in practice. Accountant brained-ass noodle arm Vetinari homage poison specialist. Teia’s neurotic purse dog of a man. Sole royal bastard who willingly chose to have a boring Antivan day job (killing people) and makes spreadsheets about it.) 

— “Not exactly welcoming, are they?” Teia whispered, her breath warm against his ear. 

Viago’s grip tightened on the head of his walking stick.

I swear to god courtney woods is so fucking good at writing romantic and sexual tension. One sentence!!! She drops in a one-sentence detail and it says everything!!!! She has such a knack for consistently adding these details without getting overindulgent or spelling it out too much that I really admire, I tend a bit more towards indulging too much as a writer that way myself so her sense of where to show restraint has me in awe 

— “Don’t ‘Nonna’ me, Andarateia Cantori,” Caterina snapped, although the heat in her voice had lowered to a simmer. “Not even my actual grandchildren call me that.” 

“Well, considering who your grandchildren are,” Teia responded, “I’m not surprised.” 

“How is Master Lucanis?” Viago asked.

Hell yeah Lucanis mention! Can’t wait to see how their dynamics will turn out in-game, we could be in for some truly spectacular and absurd workplace comedy nonsense if we’re lucky

— As always, Viago had with him his leather case of poisons and antidotes for toxins typically hidden in ingredients such as olives, truffles, pasta, lamb, cheese, cream, and alcohol. But he had not expected eggplant.

This is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read, I love Viago so much he’s such a perfect weirdo. Reader, he had not expected eggplant. 

— Taking a deep breath, Viago focused on tying his cravat—an ordinarily simple task except now Teia was running her hands across every surface in his room, and his fingers kept slipping on the final knot. “It would help if you removed the gloves,” Teia remarked. “Surely your own cravats haven’t been tampered with.”

Viago being just… seethingly horrifically despairingly horny every time Teia shows up is so amazing, and Teia clearly paying A Lot of attention to his hands and his reactions at all times… again, courtney woods s tier sexual tension provider. 

— “No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Not until we boil some water.” 

Viago raised a brow. “Eight people were poisoned in this room.” 

“Then run your little tests to make sure it’s safe, but I refuse to look at another dead body until I’ve had my coffee.”

I must take care to repeat: teia is also fucking nuts (affectionate). It’s SO FUNNY that her slightly lighter and softer moral take on being a Crow means she does feel bad about the servants ending up in the crossfire, but she will also demand that viago make her coffee with their horrifically bloated corpses still strewn about the room fhdsjka. 

— Teia had often imagined what it would be like to kiss Viago. She told herself it was only natural. He was handsome, in his own way, and wound up so tight that she likened him to a giant knot. He was a challenge to untie—to twist and pull and loosen until the tension gave way and he unraveled, laying bare all his secrets. But knots were a delicate business. Tug the wrong way and you could end up with a noose.

I know I KNOW they have sex so weird and intimate and no one even takes their clothes off during it I know it in my heart

— “Do you not think you’re attractive?” Viago turned on her, his ears pink. “Ten people are dead.” 

She didn’t back down. “And whoever’s responsible will pay, but that has no bearing on this conversation.” 

“It could be me.” 

Covering her mouth with both hands, Teia doubled over, laughter spilling from her lips. “It’s not you.” 

He looked as if she’d slapped him. “I’m more than capable of killing everyone here.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re offended!” 

“It is offensive,” Viago protested. “Professionally.”

Teia please tell me you love me not only for my body and fashion sense and numerous and fascinating neuroses but also my extensive knowledge of poisons and capacity to cause death

— Again, Viago felt like a lute string. With every challenge, Teia twisted the pegs, tuning him, until she found what she wanted. Which is what, exactly? he asked himself, not daring to listen to the number of answers that bubbled to the surface of his mind.

You know Viago I think we should let her try some scales here at least. See what happens. (There’s no explicit sex in this story but everything that’s going on is nevertheless so kinky fdsjak. I think Teia could convince Viago to show a flash of his naked wrist and have a reaction like a sheltered young Victorian gentleman seeing an exposed ankle and a playful wink for the first time)

— As if she could feel the sudden rush of shame within him, Teia brought her hands up to rest on Viago’s hips, holding him in place. His thumb stilled as he realized her breath was short. Her pupils dilated. Before he could stop himself, Viago nuzzled his forehead against hers, his nose brushing her cheek. Teia’s hands snaked up his chest to run through his hair. She tugged him forward. He braced himself on one arm, while the other curled around the small of her back. 

This whole scene is unspeakably good of course but it’s always the detail of ‘his nose brushing her cheek’ that does me in the most. The longing!!! The yearning, the intimacy, the awkward perfect clumsy physical reality of it!!!! If he kissed her here the magical potion thing on her lips would have been immaterial, the results would have been the same without it!!!!!! The tug of war between longing and fear!

— oblique Zevran mention! <3 as the ultimate failson of house arainai, granted, but as I believe he might argue here: ‘ah, but you have heard of me, no? :>’. Babe I support you so much go out there and raise hell/kill whoever you want to I got your flower

— Big shoutout to the author for managing to pull off an entirely workable ‘And Then There Were None’ plot in the background here, even though the real meat and potatoes going on is the character and relationship development (and what meat and potatoes they are too)! It’s not an easy thing to do even in an abbreviated, more of a homage sort of form and balancing it with everything else going on is a feat

— Caterina 100% knows Teia is in Viago’s room when he’s supposed to be isolated and just doesn’t care lmao. (They act like such teenagers in that scene where she knocks on the door and they haven’t even kissed yet I’m dying). Caterina seems like a terrible person but it’s impossible to not feel for her a little, trying to keep Talons in line seems a lot like herding (very horny very carrying sharp objects) cats 

— Standing outside her ex-lover’s room, Teia tried to quell the violent drumming within her. Normally, she didn’t need to come down from a physical encounter. Seduction—like any form of manipulation—was about control. She could enjoy herself, but Teia always made sure to hold the upper hand. Viago had shattered that control without so much as a kiss.

I feel like this is a sneaky common trait that actually is part of what makes them so compatible (and the playful negotiation of which must feature prominently in their sex life eventually lmao): they are both HUGE control freaks. (Indeed it might be hard to be a successful Talon without this trait.) Teia and Viago both strive for control of themselves and their surroundings so deeply, she’s just much more extroverted, psychologically minded and soft power focused going about it (not unlike Caterina, whose power is built more on fear than charm but works along the same lines), while he’s more coldly intellectual and uh materialist? I want to call it? about it. Which makes perfect sense considering their backstories! Teia came from nothing in a monetary sense but has found she excels at moving people, hearts and minds style — and she’s very good at it, she is everyone’s favorite — so that’s the source of power for her, and Viago is not very charismatic or interested in people naturally but grew up seeing how status, wealth and power have their own clinical gravity that can be used, and also that people can never be trusted to watch out for you in that system.  

If Thedas has a Machiavelli-equivalent to ask whether it’s better for a ruler to be feared or loved they would both instantly give their answer with their whole chest and then squint at each other like ‘babe how do you live like this’ lol

(Also this line of thought has me wondering what the hell Caterina’s partner/spouse(s) would have been like — she must have at least two children to account for Illario and Lucanis, I wonder if she was ever married and what that looked like.)

— I really like the oppressiveness and claustrophobia you get from the descriptions Teia uses in Dante’s room — it feels so icky and sticky with history and sad and confining, and the way she keeps pushing herself through it anyway is weirdly melancholy to me. 

— I also like how their flaws/traits that drive them apart at the crisis point have follow-up consequences outside of their relationship before they reconcile. Teia’s penchant for manipulation and pushing on people indirectly causes the death of someone she once cared about (I mean, fuck that guy, not crying any tears for Dante or his broken bottle, but like in the overarching principle of the thing lol). When she goes too far with it or gets careless, she renders other people vulnerable and helpless in ways she doesn’t anticipate. (Rightfully or not this seems to be part of what scares Viago so much about it, he has this fear of being dissected for whatever she finds interesting and then abandoned when she’s tired of it, the whole underlying being a footnote in her life when she could clearly be something uh a lot more in his anxiety.) Meanwhile Viago’s insistence on self-reliance and reluctance to engage in human contact leaves him easily isolated and nearly results in his death. (And even when Teia saves him he has a hard time giving her full credit in favour of his many neurotic coping mechanisms lmao disaster man.) But when the two of them work it out to understand each other better and come together as a partnership, they’re such a force to be reckoned with that it brute forces the resolution and return to stability near the end. (Well. A significantly reduced version of stability to be fair but y’know better late than never.)

— Also: delicious detail that she is actually the closest you might get to a self-made woman/Talon, and he is definitely at least not in a position to fully dodge the nepo baby allegations — he wants so bitterly to be entirely independent and self-sufficient and not reliant on anyone, and yet it’s his connections inherent to his birth that have helped him get here, while she wants so desperately to have people to rely on because she comes from nothing and has known what it is to be that alone and unprotected. He knows protection and gifts — and love — can easily be taken away and used to control you/render you helpless in your vulnerability from how his father treated his mother, and she knows you have to try to hold on to something in other people or it’s just you and the dirt and you die. Which is what they’re really talking about in that scene where they argue, and it’s why they’re both right and wrong at the same time and it’s so tasty. It’s really Teia asking ‘Will you ever trust anyone? (will you ever trust me, or will you put up this wall every time no matter what I say or do?)’ and Viago going ‘Will you never take precautions to protect yourself against this hurt? (will I have to be the bearer of bad news about how the world really is every time?)’ and neither of them realize that’s what they’re taling about and it’s why it all explodes so badly. (I mean. Factually both came to the wrong conclusion about who the murderer was for fairly good reasons, so there’s also that haha.) 

— I wonder if we’ll see Bolivar or the heirs to the houses left Talon-less in the game itself. I’m guessing they probably won’t have big roles, at least, but you know just as background flavour, especially since Crow!Rook is already within the de Riva uh household as it were. I think Viago is still sensibly mid-table at Fifth Talon in Veilguard and Teia remains Seventh? So at least they’re not messing around with that rank order during the occupation 

— In semi-not teia and viago news (I am a character first writer and reader I canot change this), it’s neat to see it outlined just how much the Talons really are just merchant princes with some more added knives and cultural weight behind them. They are at the end of the day running businesses, no matter the mystique ™ you wrap it in. (Which I think Viago would be the first to tell you and Teia might try to argue against at least a little haha. Being a Talon is what you make of it you live your truth girl kill awful men you’ll never run out of contracts!!)

— Can’t believe the Crows have self-congratulatory ‘top 10 murders in history!’ classes as part of the training. Do you think Zev sat through those. Probably, if Teia did, right. Now there were some entertaining hours around the campfire during the Blight I’m sure

— Viago understanding but not accepting Teia’s offer to help him with an alibi and at first angling it as being out of hesitancy to accept help/rely on someone, and then later unveiling the added element that he knows Teia respects and loves Caterina and doesn’t want her to have to lie to her for him… Viago is nothing so simple as secretly nice deep down but he IS horrifically in love with and desperate to be kind to specifically Teia and it gets to me okay  

— I’d forgotten that DA’s passionate love affair with toxic yuri and some recreational bury your gays extended to Guili and Lera in this fdskjah. Would it really be Thedas without it I suppose (considering the genre of the short story it’s fine with me in this case, though, everyone’s dropping like flies in this even the straight people that’s just equality) 

— Viago was not a typical Antivan. He liked facts—checklists, numbers, precise measurements. Heart palpitations, clammy hands, tight pants—Viago did not like these things. In fact, he would go so far as to say he hated them. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood. What Teia had elicited in him was akin to an internal natural disaster.

I simply love him so so much. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood. He failed to account for the eggplant. He’s so annoyed at being poisoned and dying horribly and it literally never occurs to him that anyone would help him until he wakes up in Teia’s lap. He organizes all his poisons by puns. He uses his potentially last breath to argue with Teia about his precise state of dress or undress. Have we finally found him, the perfect man? 

(Also between Reyes and Viago Courtney Woods does such a good line in guys who’d really rather be emotionless machines of practical violence and monetary gain but find themselves down so horrifically catastrophically bad that it cracks them open to reveal a soul they aren’t all that happy to discover they have lol) 

— When Viago woke, it felt like someone had drained the blood from his body and replaced it with sludge. But it wasn’t all bad—someone who smelled like coffee and cinnamon was playing with his hair. . . . Her fingers resumed stroking his hair. It felt better than the water. It felt better than anything.

Unspeakable. Don’t look at me. 

— Viago reaching out and touching Teia’s cheek with his bare hands without a thought and all his tenderness and reverence for her laid bare in turn is something that can actually be so personal and it only took very nearly dying to get there (also… he’s presumably still half-naked through all of this while cradled in her lap. Amazing.). Can’t believe bare hands to cheek feels like third base with these two. And his fucking THOUGHTS through all of this… Don’t cry, he doesn’t deserve your tears, no one does (I don’t, I don’t want to be something that causes you pain) AOUGH

— Vaguely related: the implication in how that part is built is that he’s reaching out specifically to gently dry away her tears, right. Double AOUGHHHHHH not only does he manage to not be selfish or unfair in asking her not to cry he does that instead… there’s hope for you yet messere de riva  

— Teia with the red-hot poker standing guard over Viago while he ‘looks like a king in judgement’ and does the Poirot in the library exposition is everything and so hot what the fuck. She a snacc she attacc but most importantly… she protecc, she’s so fucking cool lol. they’re both really smart, but she’s clearly the brawn as well as the social skills (hey manipulation is such an ugly word!) and he’s the logistics and realpolitik on two long thin nerdy legs, absolute power couple. She’s the gaslight he’s the girlboss together may they gatekeep this invading army out of antiva  

— You guys… this might come as a surprise I have tried to keep it on the down low but. I really do love the world of Thedas so very much. I love the people and the places and the history and the stupidness and the brilliance so much. We must save the world because everyone I love lives here. Let this be a secret between just you and me we can’t let people know we sit/have emotions etc.  

— A servant approached to take the cage in Viago’s hand. 

“Careful,” Viago warned. “He bites.” 

“I can’t believe you’re keeping that snake,” Teia said, shaking her head. “It almost killed you.” 

“Which is more than any man can say. He deserves my respect. And a good home—with all the mice he can eat.” 

“But did you have to name it Emil?” Teia asked, making a face. 

“An homage. You’re always telling me to recognize my fellow Talons.”

Andarateia ‘names her horse after an archdemon’ Cantori x Viago ‘keeps the deadly adder that nearly killed him as a pet and names it after the last guy who failed to murder him’ de Riva. Freak well and truly matched. Soulmates, no notes, I’ll do borderline anything for these two to make it, goodnight. 

[itsnesss]

hiii, can u do some thanos head canons? sfw or nsfw whichever you’d like i love your fics btw <3

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ᡣ𐭩 | thanos (player 230)

warnings | explicit content, nsfw, mention of drugs, power dynamics, toxic relationship?

Being with Thanos is like living under a constant aura of greatness. It makes you feel small in comparison, but not in an unpleasant way. It's as if he were teaching you to look at the world from his perspective, with his ideas.

He is always attentive to your well-being, ready to intervene at any moment to ensure you are not in danger.

It's not easy to win their approval. Every step you take is under their critical gaze, but that forces you to be better.

The effects of the drug sometimes make him more introspective, and in those more vulnerable moments, he shows you unexpected gestures of tenderness, as if he were seeking comfort in you, even if he doesn't admit it.

Being with Thanos is an emotional rollercoaster. Sometimes, his spontaneity is what attracts you the most; you never know what to expect. He makes impulsive decisions, but that gives him a unique energy, even though it can be a bit exhausting.

He can go from the height of euphoria to a state of deep sadness in a matter of minutes. While that can be confusing and complicated, it makes you feel closer to him because you know his vulnerability is there, even if you don't always understand it.

He defends you from everything that threatens him, even if sometimes you are surprised by how strong or unpredictable he becomes.

When the drugs have him in a calmer state, he approaches you as if he needs you to feel balanced. He hugs you, looks at you intensely, and in those moments you know that all that really matters to him is you.

He is not afraid to take risks and, although sometimes he makes you feel insecure, he drags you along with him on his adventures. Even though his impulses scare you, you always have the feeling that in the end, everything will turn out fine.

Thanos is unpredictable even in intimacy. Sometimes he is incredibly passionate, while other times, his emotional attitude makes him more distant or even indifferent.

Under the influence of drugs, he becomes more raw and direct. He is not interested in playing games; he just wants to feel something genuine, something that makes him escape from his emotional confusion.

He takes you in an almost ferocious way, as if he needs to make sure you are completely his, although his desire is uninhibited, it is not always gentle. There are moments when it seems like he marks you, and he enjoys it.

Sometimes it pushes your limits, seeking something new or different. It can be risky, but the tension it creates between you both is palpable, leaving you in a state of total vulnerability.

He is a man who wants to know all your desires, your most hidden fantasies, and he encourages you to express them without fear.

If he wants it, he gets it. You can't resist his kisses, his caresses.

He's a beast in bed, but outside of it, he's a sweet man who only thinks about your pleasure.

And no matter what you wish for, he always fulfills it.

Do you like oral sex? Great. It will leave you trembling with pleasure as it licks you clean.

Do you want me to whip you? He knows exactly the point where you need to be.

Would you like to be fucked animalistically, without any reservations, just feeling? Perfect. He'll make you feel his cock and his teeth on your neck.

Do you want to be possessed like a slut, without him letting you breathe? He will. He will fuck you without stopping to caress you, without stopping to kiss you.

If you just want to feel the pleasure of being with a man, for him to caress you, kiss you, and speak sweet words to you. Well, he can do it too. He will do it gladly.

And if there's something he doesn't know how to do, he'll learn it just for you. Because the only thing that matters to him is your pleasure and your orgasms.

But he always takes care of your feelings. If something scares you, if you don't want him to do it, he won't insist.

And if you don't want anything else, if you just want company to talk and do something, that's fine too.

But... Don't be surprised if on a normal night, without thinking, he grabs you by the arm, takes you to the bedroom, and fucks you like an animal.

Not even during the day, he approaches you from behind and slaps your butt while whispering in your ear that he's going to fuck you as soon as you get home.

[necrotic-nephilim]

i personally have very complicated feelings on the Gotham Knights video game and the routes it takes with characterization. i think it has a charm to it and it goes in an interesting direction with everyone (especially within the confides of the plot of the game) but it does have certain moments that veer painfully fanon for me. (such as: the dialogue where Tim drinks too much coffee) it's an interesting story for what it is but i don't view it comics-based for characterization and therefore don't care to interact with it much for like. fanfic purposes.

that *said* though. i do have to give the game some kind of credit for giving one of the top five JayTim moments that lives rent free in my mind. every since i played the game, the cutscene lives in my mind daily. it's the specific cutscene where Jason and Tim are arguing about whether or not Jason's non-lethal bullets are too dangerous for the field, and the argument leads to TIm *standing in front of the target* Jason is shooting and telling Jason to shoot him. it lives rent free for me. i never stop thinking about this.

the absolute certainty Tim has that he is in no danger standing in front of Jason, who has a loaded gun pointed at his face. the way Jason *hesitates* for just a moment before lowering the gun. he thinks about it for just a second. Gotham Knights JayTim seem to get along very well and can rely on each other, but Jason still clearly holds a bitterness about his death and Tim that flickers through in some lines of dialogue under the guise of jokes. especially since this game deals *heavily* with concepts of Pit Madness causing an altered state of consciousness, i think it's believable that occasionally, Jason fights the urge to fight and hurt Tim for the feeling of being replaced.

i like their tension so much in this canon. they get along but you can *tell* Tim is afraid of addressing Jason's trauma or even addressing Jason head-on, and Jason leans into spooking Tim about it. which isn't very comics feeling in their dynamic, but it is an interesting way to place their dynamic if you're playing with a more timid Tim who's newer to the role of Robin. (which he seems to be in-game) he really doesn't want to offend Jason, or worse, piss him off. but he'll still face Jason head on for things like this, while completely aware of what Jason could be capable of.

and Jason seems very protective of Tim and respecting Tim as a Robin in typical Jason fashion. if Tim pushes, Jason *will* relent. he knows this is a kid who's proved himself and should be treated with equal respect, sometimes even more than Dick and Babs do in-game.

so for all that to culminate in Tim stepping in front of Jason's loaded gun that he *knows* is on the edge of being too dangerous, just to force Jason to listen? it's the most unhinged way Tim could've gotten his point across in this scene. he was literally daring Jason to hurt him and playing with a very dangerous fire. but he did it anyway bc he believed he could make Jason heel just at the thought of hurting Tim. and he was *right*. they're gay and i'm feral ty.

[thequeenofneverland1]

Hwang In-ho/Frontman///The Art of Manipulation

Anonymous: can I request a request where your his wife and you join the games so you can destroy the plan or gi-hun and his group

Warnings: Violence, death, psychological Manipulation, betrayal, Trauma, Moral ambiguity, tension and anxiety, depression and despair, Survival situations, intense romantic relationships, isolation, Manipulation of power dynamics and dark themes

You are the granddaughter of Oh Il-nam, the mastermind behind the games. Despite his twisted role in creating the cruel competition, you grew up with a deep bond with him, unaware of his darker dealings. When your family was killed, Il-nam adopted you, raising you as his own. He was a complex figure in your life but he’s was kind and loving at home, but always carrying an air of mystery. Over time, you came to understand his involvement in the games, a revelation that shook you to your core.

Rather than turning away, you found yourself pulled deeper into his world. He began to share his reasoning, his ideals about human nature, and the philosophies that fueled the games. At first, you resisted, horrified by what he had built, but eventually, you found a way to make your mark. You contributed to the design of some of the games, ensuring they were not only challenges of survival but also intricate puzzles that tested strategy and willpower. It became a way to reconcile the morality of the games with your own sense of justice though the line between right and wrong blurred more with each passing year.

During this time, you met Hwang In-ho, known to most as the Front Man. At first, your interactions were purely professional. He was stoic, disciplined, and fiercely loyal to the operation. But as you spent more time together behind the scenes, you saw the man beneath the mask—a deeply wounded soul who had his own reasons for becoming part of this twisted world.

For two years, your relationship built on shared understanding, trust, and a connection born from navigating the moral gray area of the games. He was the only person who truly understood the weight of your inheritance and the choices you had made to stay by Il-nam’s side. Eventually, the secrecy was no longer enough. You married in a private ceremony, with only a handful of trusted individuals present. Your life together was unconventional, shaped by the darkness of the games, but it was a life you chose together.

Now, as Il-nam’s health deteriorates, you and In-ho find yourselves at a crossroads. You hold power and influence within the games, but the legacy you’re building is far from clear.

Even though you and In-ho are married, your relationship is far from conventional. The two of you thrive on a fiery dynamic that constantly keeps things interesting. In the world of the games, where everything is a matter of control and strategy, you and In-ho have developed a habit of acting like rivals. It’s not unusual for the two of you to engage in sharp banter or challenge each other’s decisions, all while maintaining an undercurrent of mutual respect and undeniable chemistry.

One evening, while reviewing the logistics of the next round of games, you find yourselves at odds again.

“You’re making it too easy,” you say, leaning over the table where the blueprints for the next game are laid out. “Where’s the challenge? Where’s the thrill?”

In-ho crosses his arms, the polished mask he wears as the Front Man slipping slightly to reveal a faint smirk. “Easy? I don’t recall you having any complaints about the last game’s ‘simplicity.’ Or did you forget how many players didn’t even make it past the first round?”

You scoff, leaning closer to him, your eyes locking. “Oh, please. I could’ve designed something far more creative. You’re playing it safe.”

“Safe?” His voice dips into a dangerous, teasing tone. “Careful, jagiya. If you think you can do better, why don’t you take over entirely?”

“Maybe I will,” you fire back, stepping around the table to close the distance between you. Your voices are low but heated, the tension crackling in the air.

His smirk deepens, and his hand rests on the edge of the table, his fingers tapping in mock impatience. “You’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” he says, his tone daring.

“And you’re forgetting that I don’t take orders from anyone, least of all you,” you retort, standing toe-to-toe with him now.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the room thick with a mixture of challenge and desire. Then, as if on cue, the argument dissolves in an instant. In-ho grabs your wrist, pulling you closer, and your lips crash together in a heated kiss. It’s intense, passionate, and utterly consuming, a testament to the fire that fuels your relationship.

When you finally pull apart, your breath comes in short gasps, and he’s grinning in that maddeningly confident way of his. “Admit it,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “You love this.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Love what? Kissing you or proving you wrong?”

“Both,” he says smugly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

You shake your head, stepping back to regain your composure. “Don’t get used to it. Next time, I’m winning the argument.”

“Next time?” he repeats, his tone amused. “You mean in about five minutes?”

And just like that, the rivalry begins anew, both of you knowing full well how it will end. But that’s the beauty of your relationship every clash, every debate, only draws you closer, a fiery dance that always culminates in the same way: with love, passion, and the undeniable truth that, no matter what, you are equals in every sense of the word

Later that evening, after your latest argument had ended the way it always did with a kiss. you found yourself sitting in In-ho’s lap in h your private shared quarters. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the glint of mischief in his dark eyes. His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as if you might slip away at any moment.

“You know,” he began, his voice smooth and teasing, “you like to accuse me of hiding behind my mask. But let’s talk about yours, sweetheart.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending not to understand. “What are you talking about?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. His free hand brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin. “Don’t play coy. You wear your mask just as much as I wear mine. You hide behind your sharp words, your cold stares, and that oh-so-perfect composure. But I know better.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, though you kept your expression neutral. “And what do you think you know, In-ho?”

He tilted his head, studying you like he was unraveling a mystery. “I know you’re scared.”

“Scared?” you echoed, a touch defensive.

He smirked, his hand moving to cradle your jaw gently. “Scared that if you take off that mask, you’ll have the entire world at your feet. That your beauty, your power, your brilliance. it’s too much for anyone to handle. You think you’re protecting people by keeping it all locked away, but let me tell you something, jagiya.”

His voice dropped, becoming a husky whisper as his eyes locked with yours. “You’re already attacking me with that beauty of yours. Every time I look at you, it’s like you’re daring me to lose control. So maybe…” He reached over to the table beside him and picked up your mask, holding it out to you with a knowing grin. “Maybe you should put this back on before you completely ruin me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, shaking your head at his dramatic words. “Ruin you?” you teased, taking the mask from his hand. “Aren’t you being a little over the top?”

“Not at all,” he replied smoothly, leaning in until his lips brushed against your ear. “You’ve been ruining me since the day we met, jagiya. And the worst part is…I don’t even mind.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, his words and proximity leaving you breathless. For a moment, you simply stared at him, your mask forgotten in your hand. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, your voice softer now.

“And yet, here you are,” he countered, his grin widening.

You couldn’t argue with that. Instead, you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. When you pulled back, you smiled and said, “Maybe I’ll keep the mask off, just to see how much I can ruin you.”

He chuckled, his hand tightening around your waist. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t tempt me. You might just find out who really wins this game of ours.”

The tension between you lingered, heavy and intoxicating, as you stayed in his lap, neither of you willing to break the moment. In the chaotic world you both lived in, these moments of playful intimacy were your sanctuary, a reminder that even in the darkest of places, you had each other.

The quiet of the control room was interrupted by a crackle of static from the walkie-talkie sitting on the console in front of you. You leaned back slightly in In-ho’s lap, glancing toward the device as a monotone voice broke through.

“Sir, Ma’am,” the guard said, his tone steady but tinged with urgency. “The VIPs have arrived.”

You exchanged a quick look with In-ho, your playful banter immediately replaced with the seriousness of your roles. His hands slid from your waist, and his demeanor shifted effortlessly into the cold, commanding presence of the Front Man.

“Understood,” he replied into the walkie-talkie, his voice deep and authoritative. “Escort them to the viewing room. We’ll be there shortly.”

The walkie-talkie crackled again as the guard acknowledged his command, and then silence returned. For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of what lay ahead settling between you.

In-ho’s hand moved to your lower back, gently guiding you to stand. You rose from his lap, smoothing the fabric of your coat and adjusting your posture as you mentally prepared yourself.

“Well,” you said, your tone calm but edged with a hint of sarcasm, “time to entertain the most morally bankrupt people on the planet.”

In-ho stood as well, reaching for his mask. He paused, turning to look at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “And yet, they think they’re better than everyone else,” he murmured.

You let out a dry laugh. “The irony’s almost impressive.”

As he secured his mask over his face, he reached out, placing a gloved hand on your arm. “You know the drill,” he said, his voice now filtered through the mask. “Smile when necessary, stay sharp, and don’t let them get under your skin.”

You nodded, grabbing your own mask and slipping it on. As much as you hated the VIPs, you’d long since learned to play the game smiling at their disgusting comments, feigning politeness as they threw around their wealth and power like toys. But it always left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with,” you said, your voice firm and resolute.

In-ho stepped closer, his gloved hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It was a silent gesture, a subtle reassurance that you were in this together, as always.

With that, the two of you exited the control room, walking side by side down the long, dimly lit corridors of the facility. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the silence, a sharp reminder of the roles you played in this twisted game.

As you approached the VIP lounge, the air grew heavier, charged with the knowledge of what was to come. You could already hear faint laughter and chatter from behind the doors, the grating sound of arrogance and entitlement.

In-ho stopped just before the entrance, turning to look at you. Though his face was obscured by the mask, you could feel the intensity of his gaze. “Remember,” he said quietly, “they think they’re in control. Let them.”

You nodded, your hand brushing briefly against his arm in silent acknowledgment. Together, you pushed open the doors, stepping into the opulent lounge where the VIPs awaited The show had begun.

The VIP lounge was as garish as ever gold accents, velvet seating, and crystal chandeliers designed to impress the kind of people who demanded excess at every turn. The smell of cigars and expensive cologne filled the air, making your nose wrinkle beneath your mask. A group of men lounged around the room, clad in absurd animal-themed masks that barely concealed their smug expressions.

The chatter among them died down as you and In-ho entered, your presence commanding immediate attention. They always reacted this way to the Front Man, but you could feel their eyes lingering on you as well. Over time, you had learned to endure their lingering stares, their hushed whispers about who you might be under the mask.

“Well, well,” one of the VIPs said, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned forward on the couch. His golden tiger mask glinted under the warm light. “The infamous Front Man and his wife. It’s always such a pleasure to see you two.”

In-ho ignored the comment, striding toward the center of the room with an air of authority. His presence silenced any remaining murmurs. You followed closely, your shoulders squared, keeping your posture as composed as ever.

“Welcome back,” In-ho said, his voice firm but polite. “I trust your accommodations have been to your liking?”

Another VIP, this one wearing a mask resembling a lion, let out a low chuckle. “Oh, always. You never disappoint, Front Man. You and your… lovely wife here really know how to host.”

You bit back the sharp retort rising in your throat, instead offering a slight tilt of your head. “We aim to please,” you said smoothly, your voice neutral but calculated.

The lion-masked VIP clapped his hands together, leaning forward with obvious enthusiasm. “So, tell us! What’s in store for today’s games? You’ve outdone yourselves every year, but I hear this batch of contestants is particularly interesting.”

In-ho’s gaze swept over the room, his masked face giving nothing away. “You’ll see soon enough,” he replied, his tone clipped. “The games will begin shortly, and I assure you, they will not disappoint.”

The tiger-masked VIP laughed, his voice echoing through the room. “Ah, you’re always so dramatic, Front Man. I like that about you. And your wife. what a pair you two make. Beauty and control.”

Your jaw clenched beneath your mask, but you maintained your composure, standing silently beside In-ho. He turned his head slightly toward you, just enough for you to feel his unspoken reassurance.

“As I said,” In-ho continued, ignoring the comment, “you’ll see soon enough. For now, enjoy the refreshments.”

He gestured toward the lavish spread of food and drinks set up along one side of the room and the VIP started to dig in laughing as they watched the games and starting to bet their money

“They’re worse than usual,” you muttered, your voice laced with frustration.

In-ho glanced at you, his mask obscuring his face, but his tone carried a hint of dry amusement. “They’re always like this. They enjoy testing boundaries.”

“They enjoy being insufferable,” you corrected, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

“True,” he admitted, his hand brushing briefly against yours as you and him watched. “But they’ll get what they came for. That’s all that matters.”

You nodded, your focus shifting back to the task at hand. The games were about to begin, and you both had a role to play. There was no room for distractions or not yet, at least.

The evening dragged on as the VIPs indulged in their usual excesses, but finally, they departed to their quarters, leaving you and In-ho alone in the observation lounge. The silence that followed was a welcome reprieve from their grating laughter and self-important commentary. You let out a deep sigh, sinking into one of the chairs as you removed your mask and set it on the table.

“Finally,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what’s worse dealing with the players or dealing with them.”

In-ho chuckled softly as he removed his own mask, setting it beside yours. “The VIPs are predictable, at least. The players… they’re the wild cards.” He poured himself a drink from the decanter on the table, then poured one for you, setting it in front of you before taking the seat beside you.

You picked up the glass and swirled the liquid thoughtfully. “Speaking of the players… we need to talk.”

His brow furrowed slightly as he took a sip of his drink. “About what?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I want to join the game.”

His reaction was immediate. He set his glass down with a sharp clink and leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing. “Absolutely not.”

“Honey, listen to me,” you said, leaning closer to him, your tone insistent but calm. “We need to do this. If we don’t, Gi-hun and his group are going to destroy us and everything we’ve built.”

“And what, exactly, makes you think joining the game is the solution?” he asked, his voice laced with frustration. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Of course I know how dangerous it is. But you’re the one who let him back in, remember? If we’re going to contain this, we need someone on the inside. Someone they’ll trust.”

His eyes flashed, and he sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, you’re saying this is my fault?”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Kind of. But it’s my fault too. I let this go on as much as you did.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “That doesn’t mean you need to put yourself in harm’s way. We can handle this without you stepping into the game.”

“No, we can’t,” you argued, your voice firm. “Think about it. I can get close to Gi-hun and the others. Befriend them, earn their trust. And when the time comes…” You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Boom.”

His jaw tightened, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He hated the idea, hated the thought of you being in danger, but he also knew you were right.

“You’re asking me to let you walk into the lion’s den,” he said finally, his voice low and strained. “Do you understand what you’re asking me to do?”

“I do,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand on his. “But it’s the only way, In-ho. We’ve worked too hard to let it all fall apart now.”

For a long moment, he was silent, staring down at your hand on his. Then he exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine,” he said quietly. “But we do this on my terms. I’m not letting you go in there without a plan and without my protection.”

You smiled, relief washing over you. “Thank you.”

He shook his head, his expression softening as he looked at you. “Don’t thank me yet. If anything happens to you…” His voice trailed off, and he reached out to cup your face in his hands. “I can’t lose you, jagiya.”

“You won’t,” you promised, leaning into his touch. “I’ll be careful. And I’ll come back to you.”

He pulled you closer, his lips meeting yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. It was as if he were trying to pour all his fears, all his love, into that single moment. You melted against him, your arms wrapping around his neck as the kiss deepened.

The tension in the room shifted, giving way to something more intimate, more urgent. He pulled you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips moved against yours. For a little while, the danger, the games, and the VIPs all faded away, leaving just the two of you.

Later, as you lay tangled together in the quiet aftermath, he held you close, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your back. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

“I promise,” you said, pressing a kiss to his chest.

And though the morning would bring new challenges, for now, you allowed yourselves this brief moment of peace, holding onto each other as though your lives depended on it.

The door to the dormitory slammed shut behind you with a heavy, metallic clang, the sound reverberating through the cavernous space. The air inside was thick with tension and the unmistakable scent of sweat and fear. Conversations that had been loud and chaotic moments before died down into hushed whispers as every pair of eyes turned toward you.

You could feel their gazes burning into you curious, wary, and filled with suspicion. The other players, clad in identical green tracksuits, sat or stood frozen in place, their numbers emblazoned on their chests. You walked slowly, your movements calculated, as you made your way further into the room. The stark white number 002 stitched onto your suit was impossible to miss, drawing even more attention.

“Who is she?” someone muttered from the corner.

“Number 002? How’d she get that number?” whispered another voice, sharp with curiosity.

“She wasn’t here before… was she?”

You ignored the whispers, your head held high, your face calm and composed. You had expected this reaction. Being one of the lowest numbers in the games wasn’t just a rank. it was a statement of seniority, one that no doubt confused and alarmed the players who were already struggling to make sense of their situation.

Your gaze swept across the room until it landed on a group clustered near the center. Gi-hun and his team—Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, and Gyeong-seok were sitting together, their eyes fixed on you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Unlike the others, they didn’t whisper. They just stared, sizing you up in silence.

Gi-hun, ever the natural leader, was the first to move. He stood up slowly, his expression cautious but not unfriendly. “Hey,” he called out, his voice carrying over the quiet murmurs. “You’re new here, right?”

You stopped a few feet away, crossing your arms as you looked at him. “Something like that.”

The others exchanged glances, their suspicion deepening. Hyun-ju, the sharp-eyed woman who always seemed ready to pounce, narrowed her eyes at you. “How’d you get that number?” she asked bluntly. “002? That’s not just some random assignment.”

You gave a small, enigmatic smile. “Maybe I’ve been here longer than you think.”

That answer only seemed to make them more uneasy, and you could practically see the gears turning in their heads. Dae-ho, the stocky, muscle-bound one, frowned. “If you’ve been here so long, where’ve you been? We’ve never seen you before.”

“Does it matter?” you countered smoothly. “I’m here now.”

Gi-hun studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he gestured to the empty space beside him. “Why don’t you sit with us?”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the offer. “Just like that? No questions, no conditions?”

He shrugged. “We could always use another ally. And something tells me you’re not like the others.”

Hyun-ju scoffed. “You’re too trusting, Gi-hun. She could be dangerous.”

“She’s dangerous,” Jung-bae, the lanky strategist of the group, said quietly. His sharp eyes flickered over you, assessing every detail. “But so is everyone else here. The question is, what’s her angle?”

You met his gaze evenly, unbothered by his scrutiny. “My angle is survival. Same as yours.”

For a moment, the group was silent, tension crackling between you and them like static electricity. Then Gyeong-seok, the quiet but perceptive one, finally spoke up. “If she wanted to hurt us, she would’ve done it already. She had the perfect chance when she walked in.”

Gi-hun nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Exactly. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options. Joining Gi-hun’s group could give you the access and cover you needed to execute your plan, but it also meant placing yourself squarely in their line of fire if they started to suspect your true motives.

Finally, you gave a small nod and walked over to them, lowering yourself onto the bench beside Gi-hun. His group shifted slightly, their body language still guarded, but they didn’t object.

“You won’t regret this,” Gi-hun said, offering you a small, genuine smile.

You returned the smile, though yours was tinged with something darker, something they couldn’t quite place. “I hope not,” you replied, your voice soft but firm.

As the whispers in the dormitory began to die down, the group resumed their quiet planning, and you listened intently, filing away every detail. Already, you could see the cracks in their unity, the subtle power dynamics at play. It was only a matter of time before you found the perfect moment to strike.

For now, though, you played your role, blending into the group while keeping your true intentions hidden. If they suspected anything, they didn’t show it. And as the games loomed ever closer, you couldn’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation.

This was your stage now, and every move you made would bring you one step closer to ensuring your survival and your success.

The group sat in a loose circle around you, their curiosity thick in the air as Gi-hun leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “So,” he began, his voice calm but probing, “you’ve got us all wondering. What’s your story, 002? Where do you come from?”

You hesitated, letting the silence stretch just long enough to draw them in further. The truth of your story wasn’t something you shared lightly, and the thought of dredging it up filled you with a familiar ache. But you knew what you were doing. If you wanted their trust, you had to give them something real, something raw.

“My name is Y/N,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady. “And my story… well, it’s not a happy one.”

The group exchanged glances, sensing the weight in your tone. Gi-hun nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“I lost my family when I was a child,” you said, your gaze fixed on the floor as if the memories were too heavy to meet their eyes. “It happened on my birthday. I was turning nine.”

The words hung in the air, and the room seemed to grow quieter, the faint hum of the facility’s machinery the only sound.

“My dad…” you began, pausing as the memories clawed their way to the surface. “He wasn’t anyone important. Just a worker for a mafia family. But he was smart, loyal. He worked his way up, gained their trust. Eventually, they made him their right hand.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips. “I think he thought we’d finally made it. He was so proud of what he’d accomplished. But not everyone was happy for him.”

The faces around you grew more solemn, their interest genuine now. Even Hyun-ju, who had been the most skeptical, seemed to soften, her sharp gaze fixed on you.

“There was this employee,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly. “He’d been with the family for years, longer than my dad. But he never got promoted, never earned their trust. He was jealous, angry. And one day, he decided to take matters into his own hands.”

Your breath hitched as the memory hit you like a freight train, vivid and merciless. “It was my birthday. My mom and dad had planned a small party. Just us, my older sister, my second brother, and me. We didn’t have much, but my mom baked a cake, and my dad brought home these little party hats. They were so proud.”

The words faltered, and you closed your eyes, the scene playing out in your mind like an old, worn-out film.

Flashback

You were crouched under the couch, your tiny hands clamped over your mouth to stifle your sobs. The scent of birthday candles lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. From your hiding spot, you could see everything.

Your sister had been the first to fall. She’d stood up trying to hide you from the intruders. “Don’t hurt them!” she’d screamed, her voice desperate and defiant. But her bravery hadn’t mattered. The man had raised his gun and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

You’d watched in horror as your brother tried to fight back, his fists clenched in a futile attempt to protect your family. He hadn’t even made it two steps before the gunshot echoed again, and he collapsed beside your sister.

Your parents had begged, pleaded for mercy. Your mom’s voice cracked as she sobbed, “Please, our children… don’t do this!” But their cries had been met with cold indifference. The man had executed them both with mechanical precision, as if they were nothing more than obstacles in his way.

You’d stayed frozen, trembling beneath the couch, too scared to move, too scared to breathe. The last thing you remembered was the man’s boots stepping over your sister’s lifeless body as he walked out the door, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence.

End Flashback

You opened your eyes, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. The group was silent, their faces pale as they absorbed your words.

“I hid under the couch the whole time,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I watched my sister, my brother, my parents… I watched them all die. And I couldn’t do anything.”

Hyun-ju’s hand flew to her mouth, her sharp demeanor crumbling as she muttered, “Oh my god…”

Dae-ho shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tight. Even Jung-bae, usually so composed, looked shaken.

“And then,” you continued, forcing the words out, “after they left, I crawled out and sat there, staring at their bodies, until someone found me. and I was adopted after that, by someone kind. But he died too. It’s like everyone I’ve ever loved has been ripped away from me.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. “So, yeah. That’s my story. That’s why I’m here. I’ve spent my whole life trying to survive, and I’m not going to stop now.”

Gi-hun reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he said softly. “You can stay with us. We’ll look out for you.”

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. “You think you can protect me?”

“We can try,” he said firmly, his gaze unwavering.

You allowed a small, sad smile to cross your lips. “Maybe. But I’ve learned not to rely on anyone. People always let you down.”

“We’re not like those people,” Jung-bae said, his voice steady. “We’ve all lost something. Maybe together, we can figure out how to hold on to what’s left.”

You nodded slowly, letting their words sink in. They were sincere, you could see that. And as much as it pained you to admit it, you needed them. just as much as they now believed they needed you.

But deep down, you knew the truth. This wasn’t about trust or friendship. This was about survival. And if manipulating their sympathy was what it took to win, then so be it.

The atmosphere in the dormitory was tense as always, but mealtime brought a brief reprieve. The clattering of utensils and the occasional muttered conversation filled the space as the group sat together, picking at their trays. You had settled into your spot between Gi-hun and Hyun-ju, trying to appear as casual as possible.

Everything seemed fine until Hyun-ju’s sharp eyes caught the untouched carton of milk sitting beside your tray. She frowned, her gaze flicking between the carton and you. “Hey,” she said, pointing at it. “You’re not drinking your milk.”

The others glanced over, their attention now drawn to the small detail. Gi-hun raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you’ve barely touched it. What’s the deal?”

You hesitated, fiddling with your fork as you debated how much to reveal. Finally, you sighed. “I can’t have white milk,” you said simply, your voice calm but firm.

Hyun-ju blinked, tilting her head. “What do you mean, you can’t have it? Like… you don’t like it, or what?”

“I’m allergic,” you admitted, your tone casual but guarded. You weren’t sure how much sympathy you’d get, especially in a place like this, where survival often meant brushing aside personal discomforts.

Hyun-ju’s expression softened almost immediately, and she pushed back her chair, standing up. “Hold on. I’m going to ask if they can give you water or something.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you reached out to grab her wrist, stopping her. “Hyun-ju, it’s fine,” you said quickly. “Don’t bother.”

“No, it’s not fine,” she shot back, frowning down at you. “You can’t just sit here not drinking anything. What else are you gonna have? You’ll pass out from dehydration, or worse.”

You shook your head, your voice calm but firm. “It’s not worth it. The people running this… they don’t care about us. You really think they’re going to swap out my milk for water just because I can’t drink it?”

Her frown deepened, and she crossed her arms. “Well, someone has to care. If they won’t do it, maybe we can figure something else out. But you’re not just going to sit here and drink nothing.”

Gi-hun leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “She’s got a point, Y/N. You’ve gotta stay hydrated somehow. Even if it’s just water from the bathroom sink.”

Jung-bae, who had been quietly watching the exchange, chimed in. “There’s no use trying to appeal to the guards. They’ll just ignore you or worse, punish you for asking. But we should figure something out.”

“I said it’s fine,” you repeated, your voice sharper this time. You hated the idea of drawing more attention to yourself, even if their concern seemed genuine. “I’ll figure it out.”

Hyun-ju huffed, clearly frustrated. “Stubborn, aren’t you? What are you going to do, just sit here and hope your body magically makes water out of thin air? You’ll die of thirst before we even get through the next round.”

You met her gaze evenly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’ve survived worse.”

The group fell silent at that, your words heavy with unspoken meaning. For a moment, even Hyun-ju seemed at a loss for what to say.

Finally, Gyeong-seok broke the silence. “We’ll find a way,” he said quietly but firmly. “Even if the people running this don’t care, we can watch out for each other. That’s the only way any of us are getting through this.”

The others nodded in agreement, their determination clear. You felt a pang of something unfamiliar. was it gratitude? Guilt? You weren’t sure. All you knew was that their concern was both a risk and a tool.

Hyun-ju sat back down, still looking annoyed but no longer pressing the issue. “Fine,” she muttered. “But if I catch you skipping meals or going without water again, I will drag a guard over here, consequences be damned.”

You smiled faintly, appreciating her tenacity even if it made things more complicated. “Noted,” you said, picking at the food on your tray.

As the group returned to their meal, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth in your chest. Their concern might have been a weakness in this game, but it was also a weapon you could use. And if manipulating their sympathy kept you alive, then you wouldn’t hesitate to wield it.

The dormitory had settled into its usual uneasy quiet after the tense moment about the milk. The group was still seated around you, occasionally glancing your way as if to check you were still okay. You’d just started eating again when an unsettling shift in the atmosphere made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

A shadow fell over the team. It wasn’t just anyone. it was Thanos, a towering, intimidating man whose presence seemed to command the room without him needing to say a word. His number, 230, was stitched boldly on his green tracksuit, and his size alone made it clear why no one dared cross him. Whispers erupted around the dormitory as he approached.

“Well, well,” Thanos rumbled, his voice deep and laced with amusement. “So this is where you’ve been hiding, Number 002.”

You froze for a second, your fork hovering mid-air, before slowly looking up. His grin was smug, a mix of confidence and something unsettlingly charming. You’d noticed him before, of course. It was impossible not to. But this was the first time he’d addressed you directly, and judging by the smirk on his face, he had a very specific intention.

“What do you want, Thanos?” you asked coolly, keeping your tone neutral.

Gi-hun immediately tensed beside you, his jaw tightening. Hyun-ju narrowed her eyes, shifting in her seat like she was ready to jump to your defense if needed. The rest of the group exchanged wary glances, clearly uneasy with the sudden confrontation.

Thanos ignored them entirely, his piercing gaze focused solely on you. “Oh, nothing much,” he said casually, leaning down so his massive frame loomed even closer. “I just wanted to introduce myself properly. It seems rude, doesn’t it? Two… unique individuals like us, sitting in the same room, and I haven’t even said hello.”

“Unique?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your group shift uncomfortably. “Oh, come on. Don’t play coy. We both know you’re not like the rest of these sheep.” He gestured around the room dismissively. “They’re all here by chance. Desperate, pathetic. But you… You walk into this game with confidence. Like you belong here.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be unaffected. “And what does that make you?”

“Me?” His grin widened. “I’m just a man who knows what he wants. And right now…” He leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate murmur. “…I want to get to know you better.”

Gi-hun abruptly stood up, his fists clenched at his sides. “Hey, back off,” he said sharply, stepping between you and Thanos. “She’s not interested.”

Thanos barely spared him a glance, the smirk never leaving his face. “Is that so?” he drawled. “I don’t recall asking you.”

Hyun-ju stood up next, her glare sharp enough to cut. “She doesn’t need to tell you she’s not interested. We will.”

You raised a hand, motioning for them to sit back down. “It’s fine,” you said calmly, your eyes locked on Thanos. “I can handle this.”

They hesitated, but eventually sat down, though their tension was palpable.

You stood, meeting Thanos’s gaze head-on, refusing to let him intimidate you. “You think you know me, Thanos? You think we’re the same?”

His grin faltered slightly, intrigued by your boldness. “Maybe not the same,” he admitted, his voice softening, almost playful. “But we both understand power. How to use it. How to get what we want.”

“Is that what this is?” you asked, crossing your arms. “You think you can just charm your way into whatever it is you want from me?”

He chuckled again, clearly enjoying the banter. “Charm is just one tool in my arsenal. But I have to say, you’re even more fascinating up close. Strong, fearless, beautiful… You’d make an excellent partner.”

Your group bristled at his words, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you stepped closer, your voice dropping to a low, icy tone. “If you think flattery is going to work on me, you’re wasting your time.”

Thanos studied you for a moment, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But I have time to waste. And something tells me you’re worth it.”

Before you could respond, he straightened up and took a deliberate step back, giving you space. “I’ll see you around, 002,” he said, his tone full of promise. “Something tells me this isn’t the last time we’ll talk.”

He turned and walked away, going back to his group buzzing with whispers.

Gi-hun immediately turned to you, his expression concerned. “What the hell was that about?”

“Thanos being Thanos,” you said simply, sitting back down and picking up your fork.

Hyun-ju frowned, her voice laced with irritation. “He’s trouble, Y/N. Don’t let him get to you.”

You nodded, but your mind was already racing. Thanos’s words, his demeanor. it was all calculated. He was testing you, probing for weaknesses. But two could play that game. And if he wanted to get close, you’d make sure it was on your terms.

For now, though, you kept your thoughts to yourself, quietly finishing your meal as the group rallied protectively around you. Whatever Thanos’s game was, you’d be ready.

As the buzz of whispers continued around the dormitory, you kept your focus on your food, pretending to ignore the curious stares and hushed voices from the other players. Thanos’s approach had clearly rattled some of them, but you couldn’t let it rattle you. Not when you knew eyes were always watching.

You stabbed at a piece of bread on your tray, chewing slowly, when a prickling sensation danced along the back of your neck. It wasn’t just the usual attention from the others. This was something sharper, more intense.

Your husband.

You didn’t need to look up to confirm it. you could feel his gaze cutting through the air, piercing through the crowd as if no one else existed in the room but the two of you.

In-ho was somewhere above, watching from the shadows. You had no doubt about that. He always kept an eye on you during the games, ensuring your safety in his own quiet, brooding way. But this time, his presence felt heavier, like a thundercloud waiting to break.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze, scanning the room until your eyes landed on one of the black glass panels where you knew the VIPs and guards often observed. The lighting made it impossible to see through, but you knew he was there. You could practically feel the weight of his stare, and for a moment, your chest tightened.

You knew what that look meant, even if you couldn’t see his face. He’d seen the exchange with Thanos. He’d seen the way the towering man leaned toward you, the way he dared to flirt.

You smiled faintly to yourself, an amused breath escaping your lips. Of course he’d noticed. You could practically hear the silent growl in his mind, the territorial tension that always bubbled to the surface when someone tried to get too close to what was his.

You leaned back against the wall, letting your expression shift into something teasing, knowing full well that he was watching your every move. “What’s wrong?” Hyun-ju asked, noticing the change in your demeanor.

“Nothing,” you replied smoothly, your voice laced with mischief. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Gi-hun asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

“About how some people have a terrible habit of overstepping boundaries,” you said lightly, letting your gaze flicker back to the glass panel. You tilted your head slightly, as though addressing someone who wasn’t physically there.

In your mind, you could picture him, his jaw clenched beneath the smooth, impassive mask he wore as the Frontman. He hated the games. He hated having to watch you play a role among the chaos. But most of all, he hated when someone thought they could challenge his claim to you.

The thought made your smirk widen, and you leaned forward again, grabbing the carton of milk you couldn’t drink and setting it aside.

“Who are you looking at?” Hyun-ju asked, her voice suspicious.

“No one,” you replied with a shrug, though the glint in your eyes suggested otherwise. “Just thinking about how interesting this game is turning out to be.”

You knew you’d pay for this later. The silent message you were sending to your husband. a mix of teasing provocation and reassurance. wouldn’t go unnoticed. But for now, you let the moment hang in the air, the knowledge that he was watching giving you a sense of comfort in a world otherwise filled with uncertainty.

From above, hidden behind his mask, In-ho’s lips curved into a faint, possessive smile.

The tense, buzzing atmosphere in the dormitory shifted suddenly when a squared guard’s voice crackled through the mask, drawing everyone’s attention “A new player has joined the game,” the monotone voice announced.

Whispers broke out immediately, players exchanging confused glances. A new player? This late in the game? It was unheard of. Even Gi-hun and the group seemed caught off guard, their murmurs adding to the noise.

You frowned, feigning curiosity, but your heart raced in your chest. You kept your expression neutral, even as you felt that familiar tingling sensation. the weight of eyes on you. But this time, it wasn’t just the other players.

It was him.

The heavy steel doors at the far end of the dormitory creaked open with a slow, ominous groan. All heads turned as a figure stepped inside, his movements deliberate, almost calculated.

He was tall, dressed in the same green tracksuit as everyone else, his number stitched boldly across the chest: 001.

Your breath hitched, but you caught yourself before anyone could notice. Years of practice helped you keep your expression blank as your husband stepped further into the room.

“Incredible,” whispered Hyun-ju beside you, her eyes widening. “I didn’t think anyone could join this late. Who is he?”

“He must be crazy,” Jung-bae muttered. “Coming in now? When things are already this dangerous?”

Gi-hun’s gaze narrowed as he studied the newcomer. “Something feels… off about him,” he said quietly.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reacting. If they only knew how “off” this situation really was. You could feel In-ho’s presence like a gravitational force, his every step deliberate as he made his way into the room, his face neutral but his eyes sharp, scanning the crowd.

When his gaze landed on you, your stomach flipped. It was subtle. so subtle no one else would have caught it. but there was a flicker of something in his expression. Possessiveness. A warning.

You knew the risk he was taking, stepping into the game like this. For him to leave the shadows, to take off the mask that granted him safety and anonymity, was a gamble. And yet, here he was, playing his part like the consummate professional he was.

You quickly schooled your expression, forcing your lips into a faint smirk as though the sight of him didn’t faze you. To the others, you looked amused, intrigued by the new arrival. Inside, you were anything but calm.

Gi-hun’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “What do you think, Y/N?” he asked, his eyes still on In-ho. “Something about this guy seems… strange, doesn’t it?”

You shrugged, keeping your voice light. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just desperate, like the rest of us.”

Your words drew In-ho’s attention again, his sharp eyes locking on yours. For a moment, the room seemed to freeze.

“Desperate, huh?” he said, his deep voice smooth but edged with something that sent shivers down your spine. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

The group fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances. His presence was unsettling, and his confidence didn’t help. In a room full of people clinging to survival, he stood apart calm, collected, almost untouchable.

Hyun-ju leaned closer to you, her voice low. “I don’t like this guy. There’s something weird about him.”

You smiled faintly, your gaze still on In-ho. “You’re not the only one.”

In-ho finally stopped near the center of the room, folding his arms as he surveyed the other players. “So,” he said, his voice carrying across the dormitory, “which one of you wants to fill me in? What’s the dynamic here?”

The players murmured among themselves, unsure of how to respond.

Gi-hun finally spoke up, his tone cautious. “There’s no ‘dynamic.’ Just survive, follow the rules, and don’t trust anyone.”

“Good advice,” In-ho replied, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. His gaze flicked back to you, lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

You forced yourself to look away, pretending to focus on your tray as though his presence didn’t affect you. Inside, your mind raced. What was his plan? Why had he stepped into the game like this?

As the murmurs continued, you felt his eyes on you again, burning into you like a silent challenge. You straightened your posture, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. If he wanted to play this game, you’d make sure you played it better.

The room eventually settled, players returning to their meals, but the tension lingered. In-ho didn’t sit with anyone, instead choosing a spot along the wall where he could observe the room like a predator watching its prey.

You knew this wasn’t the end of it. Whatever his reason for entering the game, it was only the beginning. And you’d have to play your part perfectly if you wanted to keep your secret safe.

The tension in the room had become unbearable, and you could feel your husband’s gaze following your every move, even as you did your best to remain calm and composed. Your tray of food sat untouched now, and you could sense Gi-hun and his group watching you closely, probably questioning why you seemed so distracted.

You couldn’t let them suspect anything.

Rising to your feet, you casually walked over to one of the pink guards stationed near the exit. Keeping your voice low, you said, “I need to use the bathroom.”

The guard didn’t respond immediately, simply nodding once before signaling for you to follow. You moved quickly but without drawing too much attention to yourself, relieved to step out of the suffocating dormitory.

The moment the heavy door closed behind you, muffling the noise from inside, you allowed yourself a small exhale. You weren’t just escaping the room. you were escaping him. Or so you thought.

As you approached the bathroom, you heard footsteps behind you. Turning your head slightly, you spotted another guard escorting the newest player. your husband, In-ho.

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew this wasn’t a coincidence. His movements were deliberate, and the look in his eyes as he glanced briefly your way made it clear: he was following you.

You entered the small, dimly lit bathroom, hoping to gather your thoughts. But before you could even take a proper breath, the door opened again. You turned sharply, only to see In-ho stepping inside, his tall frame filling the narrow space as he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“In-ho,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper. “What the hell are you doing?”

But before you could say anything more, he crossed the distance between you in two quick strides and pulled you into a deep, heated kiss. His hands cupped your face with an urgency that made your knees weaken, and for a moment, all the tension, all the questions, melted away.

You kissed him back instinctively, your hands clutching the front of his tracksuit as if to ground yourself. The world outside the bathroom the players, the guards, the games ceased to exist.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. “Jagiya,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something between frustration and longing, “what do you think I’m doing here?”

You blinked, trying to steady your breathing. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking. You’re risking everything, In-ho.”

His lips curled into a faint smirk, though there was no humor in his expression. “I couldn’t just sit back and watch him flirt with you. That bastard Thanos thinking he could get close to my wife?”

“In-ho,” you said, your voice firm but soft, “you didn’t have to—”

“And then,” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he pulled back slightly to look at you fully, “I couldn’t help but notice something else. Something important.”

“What?” you asked, frowning.

His hand reached down, gently grabbing yours, lifting it between you. He tilted it to reveal your bare left ring finger. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring.”

Your breath caught, and you stared at him, your mind racing for an explanation. “I… I had to take it off, In-ho,” you said quickly. “You know I couldn’t risk anyone seeing it. They’d ask questions.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a sigh, he released your hand and leaned back against the sink, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he muttered. “But seeing your hand like that… it made me feel like you weren’t mine anymore. Like I’d lost you.”

You stepped closer, reaching out to touch his chest. “You haven’t lost me, In-ho. You never could. This is all part of the plan, remember? We agreed on this.”

“I know,” he said again, his voice softer now, his hand reaching up to cover yours. “But it doesn’t make it any easier. Watching you out there, pretending you’re just another player, knowing I can’t protect you the way I want to…”

“You are protecting me,” you told him firmly. “Just by being here.”

He looked at you, his expression softening as he lifted a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Jagiya,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion, “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll do whatever I have to, as long as it means keeping you safe.”

You smiled faintly, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his tone. “Then trust me,” you whispered. “Trust that I can handle this. We’ll get through it together, just like we always do.”

He nodded slowly, his hand cupping your cheek again. “I do trust you,” he said. “More than anyone. But I need you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t let him or anyone else get too close,” he said, his tone serious. “You’re mine, jagiya. Don’t let them forget that.”

You smiled again, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the chaos of the games forgotten as you shared this quiet, stolen moment together. Then, reluctantly, In-ho straightened and stepped back

“We should get back before anyone notices,” he said, his voice returning to its usual calm authority.

You nodded, adjusting your tracksuit and taking a deep breath. As the two of you stepped out of the bathroom, careful not to leave together, you couldn’t help but glance at him one last time before heading back to the dormitory.

In-ho might be risking everything by being here, but so were you. And as much as you hated the danger, you couldn’t deny that it made your bond even stronger.

The air in the dormitory was thick with tension as you settled back into your spot with the group, pretending to eat while your mind raced. You could feel Gi-hun and them group watching you closely, their curiosity about the mysterious new player. your husband, who now bore the number 001 still lingering.

Across the room, In-ho had taken a spot by one of the walls, leaning casually against it with his arms folded, his sharp eyes observing everything and everyone. To the rest of the players, he might have appeared as just another desperate soul, but you knew better. Every movement, every glance, was deliberate. He was watching, analyzing, and waiting.

But then the tension shifted, the room growing quieter as a heavy, looming figure began to move.

Thanos.

You kept your head down, though your muscles tensed as you noticed him striding purposefully across the room. His hulking presence was impossible to ignore, and it seemed like everyone else in the dormitory was holding their breath, waiting to see what he would do next.

You dared a quick glance and saw him heading straight for your husband.

Your stomach dropped.

In-ho remained still, his posture relaxed and almost dismissive, as though he hadn’t even noticed the giant of a man approaching him. But you knew better. He’d noticed. He noticed everything.

When Thanos finally stopped in front of him, towering over the leaner man, the silence in the room was deafening.

“Hey,” Thanos said, his voice deep and grating, drawing the attention of nearly everyone. “Player 001. Old man.”

In-ho didn’t respond immediately, his dark eyes slowly lifting to meet Thanos’s. There was no fear in his expression only a calm, unnerving indifference that you recognized all too well.

Thanos smirked, clearly taking your husband’s silence as some form of weakness. “I saw you looking over at 002 earlier,” he said, his voice loud enough for the surrounding players to hear. “Let me give you a little piece of advice, old man. Stay away from her.”

The air grew heavier, the other players murmuring softly amongst themselves as they tried to make sense of the brewing confrontation.

Thanos leaned down slightly, his smirk widening as he added, “She’s my flower. Got it?”

You froze, gripping your tray tightly as the words hit your ears. Your first instinct was to intervene, but you knew you couldn’t. Not without risking everything. You had to trust that In-ho could handle this on his own.

In-ho didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if studying Thanos like he were a mildly interesting puzzle. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, and cold.

“Your flower?” he repeated, his tone laced with quiet amusement.

Thanos straightened, crossing his massive arms over his chest. “Yeah. My flower. She’s mine. So whatever you think you’re doing, whatever you think you saw, forget about it.”

In-ho’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile, one that only you would recognize as a warning. “I see,” he said softly, his voice carrying just enough weight to silence the murmurs around him. “You think she’s yours.”

Thanos’s smirk faltered slightly, but he held his ground. “That’s right. So stay in your lane, old man.”

For a moment, In-ho said nothing, simply letting the words hang in the air. Then he took a small step closer, his calm, collected demeanor never wavering.

“You should choose your words carefully,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but somehow more menacing than if he’d shouted. “Because the next time you call her ‘yours,’ I might take it as a challenge. And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Thanos seemed momentarily thrown off, his confidence wavering as he stared down at In-ho, who hadn’t so much as batted an eye.

You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched the silent standoff.

Finally, Thanos let out a bark of laughter, though it sounded forced. “Whatever, old man,” he said, stepping back. “Just remember what I said.”

In-ho didn’t respond, his gaze never leaving Thanos until the larger man turned and walked away. Only then did he relax slightly, leaning back against the wall as if nothing had happened.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, though your hands were still trembling slightly. This was far from over. you could feel it.

As the tension in the room began to dissipate, you caught In-ho’s gaze from across the dormitory. His expression was unreadable, but the subtle flicker in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

He wasn’t just here to watch the game. He was here to protect you, no matter what it took.

The dormitory was still abuzz with murmurs and speculative glances after the tense encounter between Thanos and your husband, though most of the players were doing their best to stay out of it. You sat quietly with Gi-hun and his group, your mind racing as you kept one eye on In-ho who was leaned nonchalantly against the wall, completely unbothered by the attention his presence continued to attract.

Gi-hun, ever the observer, had been watching him carefully. He leaned closer to you, his voice low but curious. “That Player 001. There’s something different about him, don’t you think?”

You shrugged, feigning indifference as you stabbed at your tray of food. “He seems quiet. Maybe he’s just trying to survive like the rest of us.”

Gi-hun didn’t look convinced, but he turned his attention back to In-ho. After a moment, he stood and walked over to him, his usual cautious but friendly demeanor firmly in place.

In-ho glanced at him, his expression unreadable as Gi-hun stopped a few feet away.

“Hey, Player 001,” Gi-hun said, his tone casual. “You seem like you’ve got your wits about you. What do you say to joining our group? It’s safer to stick together, and we could use someone with your… composure.”

In-ho didn’t respond immediately, his sharp gaze flickering briefly to you. You caught his eye for the briefest moment, giving him a subtle nod a silent signal to accept the offer.

After a beat, In-ho smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s generous of you,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “I suppose it would be better than going at it alone.”

Gi-hun smiled, clearly pleased. “Great. We’re stronger together.”

The rest of the group watched the interaction with mixed expressions. Dae-ho, in particular, looked skeptical as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “What’s your name?” he asked bluntly, his tone carrying a slight edge.

For a moment, In-ho hesitated, as though considering how much to share. Then, with practiced ease, he answered, “Young-il. That’s what you can call me.”

Dae-ho squinted, clearly still suspicious, but Gi-hun clapped him on the shoulder, cutting off any further questions. “Come on, Dae-ho. Don’t scare him off. We’re all just trying to survive here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dae-ho muttered, his gaze lingering on In-ho for another moment before he looked away.

Hyun-ju, on the other hand, smiled warmly, clearly trying to ease the tension. “Welcome to the group, Young-il. I’m Hyun-ju, and that’s Gi-hun, Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and, of course, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” In-ho replied simply, his gaze sliding back to you for a fraction of a second. The look was fleeting, but you caught it. the unspoken understanding passing between you.

You forced a small smile, doing your best to appear unaffected. “Welcome,” you said, your voice light.

In-ho gave you a small nod before turning his attention back to Gi-hun. “So, what’s the plan?”

Gi-hun grinned, looking relieved to have a new ally. “For now, we stick together and keep an eye out for the next game. It’s coming soon, and who knows what they’ll throw at us.”

In-ho nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Sounds reasonable.”

As the group began to settle back into their spots, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. This was exactly what you needed a way to get close to Gi-hun and his team, to learn their strengths and weaknesses, and, when the time came, to bring them down from within.

But you also knew this wouldn’t be easy. Gi-hun was sharp, and his instincts were good. It would take every ounce of your cunning and In-ho’s to pull this off.

From across the room, In-ho caught your eye again, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. It was a reminder, a promise: no matter how dangerous this game became, you were in it together. And together, you’d make sure Gi-hun and his group never saw what was coming.

The air was thick with tension as the group finally settled, their murmured conversations dying down into cautious silence. Everyone seemed to be on edge, bracing for whatever the next game might bring. You sat quietly, playing with the edge of your sleeve, your mind racing as you replayed the last few moments.

In-ho or “Young-il” now had integrated himself into the group smoothly, his calm demeanor drawing only minimal suspicion. But you knew better than to relax. This was only the beginning, and the two of you had to stay sharp if you wanted to dismantle this group from within.

The sound of someone approaching pulled you from your thoughts. Looking up, you saw In-ho walking toward you, his expression carefully neutral. To the others, he might have looked like a weary player seeking conversation, but you knew this was deliberate.

Your stomach tightened as he stopped beside you, his dark eyes locking with yours for the briefest moment before he sat down.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, his tone light enough to seem casual but with just the slightest edge that only you would catch.

Gi-hun and the others glanced over but didn’t say anything, apparently content to let him join. You nodded, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “Sure,” you said simply.

In-ho settled beside you, leaning back slightly as though he were relaxing, but you knew better. Every movement he made was calculated. He turned his head slightly toward you, his voice so low that no one else could hear.

“What about the VIPs?” you whispered under your breath, your lips barely moving.

His jaw tightened slightly, his eyes flickering around the room as though ensuring no one was paying too much attention. Then, just as quietly, he murmured, “Handled for now. They won’t interfere.”

You frowned, your fingers twitching slightly as you resisted the urge to press him further. “And by ‘handled,’ you mean?”

“They think I’m monitoring the players,” he replied, his tone almost dismissive. “As far as they’re concerned, this is all part of the plan. Let them think that.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “You’re taking a huge risk being here, In—Young-il,” you corrected quickly, catching yourself before saying his real name. “If they find out—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted, his voice firm but still soft enough that only you could hear. “And neither will anyone else, as long as we stick to the plan.”

You hesitated, glancing briefly at Gi-hun and the others. They seemed to be caught up in their own quiet discussions, paying little attention to you and In-ho. Still, you couldn’t shake the unease settling in your chest.

“What if they suspect us?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

In-ho’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, his confidence almost maddening. “Then we give them something else to focus on,” he said. “Trust me, jagiya. I’ve got it under control.”

You wanted to argue, to push back against his calm assurance, but you knew better. In-ho was always ten steps ahead, always thinking two moves further than anyone else. If he said it was under control, then you had to believe him.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the weight of the situation. The VIPs were dangerous, and their presence was a constant threat not just to the players, but to you and In-ho as well. If they caught wind of what you were planning…

In-ho’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “Focus on the group,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed ahead as though he weren’t speaking to you at all. “The faster we take them down, the faster we can end this.”

You nodded slowly, forcing yourself to push the doubts aside. He was right. There was no room for hesitation, not now.

“Fine,” you murmured. “But if anything changes—”

“I’ll handle it,” he said firmly, his eyes meeting yours briefly, a flicker of something softer passing between you. “Just stick to your role, jagiya. We’ll make it out of this.”

You gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, your fingers clenching into fists as you steeled yourself. The game was far from over, but with In-ho by your side even in the shadows you felt a little more prepared for what was to come.

The group gathered tightly in a circle in the dimly lit dormitory, their faces illuminated only by the faint glow of the ceiling lights. The air was tense, thick with anticipation as Gi-hun leaned forward, his voice low but determined. This wasn’t just idle talk anymore this was a plan.

“Alright,” Gi-hun began, his eyes scanning the group to ensure everyone was paying attention. “I’ve been thinking. If we’re going to survive this, we need to take control. We can’t just keep waiting for the next game and hoping for the best. We have to act.”

Hyun-ju frowned, her arms crossed. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Gi-hun took a deep breath, his expression resolute. “I’m suggesting we create a distraction. Something big. A fight that gets so out of hand it throws the guards off balance. Once the chaos starts, one of us can tackle a guard, take their weapon, and start fighting back.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances.

Jung-bae, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. “And you think that’ll work? They’re armed, Gi-hun. And there are a lot more of them than us.”

Gi-hun nodded, acknowledging the concern. “I know it’s risky, but we don’t have a choice. If we don’t fight back, we’re all going to die in these games anyway. This is our only shot.”

“What happens after we take a gun?” Dae-ho asked, his tone cautious. “Because that’s not exactly the end of the problem.”

Gi-hun leaned forward, his voice dropping even lower. “Once we have the guns, we keep the fight going. We’ll make sure to keep one guard alive just one so we can force them to give us access to the upper levels. That’s where we’ll find the control rooms.”

“And then?” Hyun-ju prompted.

“And then,” Gi-hun said, his eyes blazing with determination, “we take down the rest of the guards and confront the leader of the mask. Him and his wife.”

The mention of the leader’s wife made you stiffen, though you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jung-bae interrupted, holding up a hand. “Back up. How do you know he’s even married? For all we know, that’s just some rumor they cooked up to mess with us.”

Dae-ho nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, and even if it’s true, what makes you so sure she’s involved in all of this? What if she has no idea what’s really going on?”

Hyun-ju chimed in, her voice cautious but thoughtful. “Or worse what if she’s being forced to stay here? Held against her will? We don’t know anything about her. We can’t just assume she’s an enemy.”

Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know all the details, okay? But I’ve heard enough from the whispers around here to believe it’s true. The leader and his wife are the ones calling the shots. They’re the ones keeping us trapped in this nightmare.”

“And what if you’re wrong?” Hyun-ju pressed.

Gi-hun hesitated, his expression faltering for a moment before he steeled himself. “If I’m wrong, then we’ll deal with it when we get there. But right now, we don’t have time to second-guess everything. If we wait too long, we’ll miss our chance.”

You stayed quiet, listening intently as the group debated the plan. Inside, your mind was racing. Gi-hun was smarter than you’d initially given him credit for, but he still didn’t know the full picture.

Dae-ho crossed his arms, clearly skeptical. “Even if this works and that’s a big if we’re going to need more information. We don’t even know how many guards there are, let alone where the control rooms are. We’re going in blind.”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened, frustration flickering in his eyes. “That’s why we have to be smart about this. Once we get a guard, we’ll make them tell us everything. It’s not perfect, but it’s all we’ve got.”

Jung-bae glanced at you, his expression curious. “What do you think, Y/N? You’ve been quiet.”

All eyes turned to you, and for a moment, you felt the weight of their gazes pressing down on you. You hesitated, carefully considering your response. This was a delicate situation. you couldn’t afford to reveal too much, but you also couldn’t appear suspicious.

“I think…” you began slowly, your voice measured, “that Gi-hun has a point. We can’t just sit around and wait for the next game to kill us. But at the same time, we need to be careful. This plan has a lot of moving parts, and if even one thing goes wrong…”

You let your voice trail off, the implication clear.

Hyun-ju nodded, her expression softening. “She’s right. We need to think this through.”

Gi-hun sighed again, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know it’s not perfect. But we’re running out of time. If anyone has a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Silence fell over the group as everyone exchanged uncertain glances.

You glanced at In-ho out of the corner of your eye, his expression unreadable as he sat quietly, observing the conversation without contributing. You knew he was processing everything, analyzing the plan and its potential flaws.

Finally, Gi-hun spoke again, his voice firm. “Alright. Let’s sleep on it. We’ll go over the details tomorrow and finalize the plan then. Agreed?”

The group nodded reluctantly, though the tension in the air remained palpable. As everyone began to disperse, you felt a chill run down your spine. This was it. the moment when the game within the game truly began.

As the tense conversation dwindled and Gi-hun’s group began to settle into an uneasy silence, the sharp crackle of the loudspeaker echoed through the dormitory. Everyone froze, their heads turning instinctively toward the ceiling as the woman’s calm, measured voice filled the room.

“Attention, players,” she announced, her tone devoid of emotion, yet commanding enough to silence even the faintest whispers. “The lights will be turned off in five minutes. All players are instructed to return to their designated sleeping areas immediately. Any player found outside of their area after the lights are out will be eliminated.”

Her words hung heavily in the air, the last phrase chilling enough to send a ripple of unease through the room.

A few murmurs broke out among the players, many of whom were already moving toward their bunks, their footsteps hurried but quiet. Everyone understood what “eliminated” meant, and no one wanted to die 

You glanced at Gi-hun, who was already whispering something to Dae-ho, likely reinforcing parts of the plan they’d just discussed. His eyes flickered briefly toward you, as if to gauge your reaction, before he nodded to himself and began making his way to his assigned bed.

In-ho still posing as “Young-il” stood quietly, his calm demeanor betraying nothing of the storm that brewed within. His dark eyes met yours briefly, and you caught the faintest flicker of something in his gaze: a silent reminder to stay vigilant.

“Looks like we’re out of time for tonight,” Hyun-ju said softly, breaking the silence between the group. She glanced toward you, her brow furrowed with concern. “You okay, Y/N? You’ve been kind of quiet since the meeting.”

You offered a small, reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just thinking about everything. There’s… a lot to take in.”

Hyun-ju nodded sympathetically, her own unease visible on her face. “Yeah, I get that. Try to get some rest, okay? We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

You nodded, though rest felt like an impossible luxury in a place like this.

As you turned to head toward your bunk, you felt a hand graze your arm. You glanced back to see In-ho standing just behind you, his expression as impassive as ever, though his touch lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

“Go to bed,” he murmured quietly, his voice so low only you could hear. “And don’t draw attention to yourself tonight.”

You nodded slightly, acknowledging his warning, before continuing on your way.

The dormitory slowly descended into relative quiet as players shuffled into their beds, the air heavy with anticipation and dread. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead hummed ominously, casting long, eerie shadows on the walls.

As you settled into your bunk, you couldn’t help but scan the room one last time. The sight was grim: rows upon rows of bunks filled with weary, frightened players, each one silently grappling with their own desperation and fear.

Across the room, you spotted In-ho climbing into a lower bunk, his movements unhurried and composed. To anyone else, he looked like just another player trying to survive the night. But you knew better.

The loudspeaker crackled again, jolting you from your thoughts.

“Lights out in one minute,” the woman announced, her monotone voice cutting through the tense silence. “Prepare yourselves for rest.”

A heavy hush fell over the room, broken only by the faint rustling of blankets and the occasional whispered exchange between bunkmates.

You laid back, staring up at the metal frame above you. The seconds seemed to drag on endlessly, your thoughts racing as you replayed the day’s events. The tension between team, the lingering threat of the group , the weight of your mission with In-ho it was all too much.

Finally, the lights flickered once, twice, and then cut out completely, plunging the room into darkness. The hum of the fluorescent bulbs was replaced by an oppressive silence, broken only by the distant sound of footsteps as the guards began their patrols.

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to breathe steadily. The night was far from over, and you knew better than to let your guard down. In this place, even the smallest misstep could be fatal.

Somewhere across the room, you felt In-ho’s presence like a shadow in the dark a steady, silent reminder that, for better or worse, the two of you were in this together.

The soft strains of a melancholic melody filled the dormitory, its haunting tune weaving through the heavy silence of the room. You lay on your back, staring up into the shadows of the bunk above you, the dim emergency lights barely illuminating the rows of beds. The music was a strange choice, almost mocking, as if to remind everyone that their lives were nothing more than a twisted game orchestrated for someone else’s entertainment.

Your mind raced as you tried to piece together the scattered fragments of your plan. You couldn’t afford to make a mistake, not now. the group was determined, but their desperation made them reckless, and that was something you and In-ho could exploit.

They think they’re being clever, you thought bitterly. But they have no idea who they’re dealing with.

As you turned over to adjust your position, you felt the faintest shift in the mattress beneath you. Your muscles tensed instinctively, your hand moving toward the edge of your blanket, ready to act if necessary.

Before you could make a move, a familiar warmth pressed against your side, and a low, teasing whisper reached your ear. “Relax, jagiya,” In-ho murmured, his tone calm and steady. “It’s just me.”

You exhaled softly, letting the tension in your body dissipate as he settled beside you in the impossibly narrow space. Even in the near-total darkness, you could feel his presence steady, grounding, and entirely at odds with the chaotic world around you.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the faint hum of the music. “You know how risky this is.”

“Risky for anyone else, maybe,” he replied, his breath warm against your ear. “But not for me. Besides, I couldn’t let another time go by without checking on my jagiya.”

You rolled your eyes, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at your lips. “Checking on me or making sure I’m not stealing the spotlight?”

“Both,” he said with a quiet chuckle, his fingers brushing against yours. “But mostly to make sure you’re not planning anything without me.”

You huffed softly, shifting so you could face him. “Fine. Since you’re here, we might as well use this time wisely.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “What do you have in mind?”

You glanced around, ensuring no one was awake or paying attention. Most of the players were either asleep or too consumed by their own fears to notice much of anything.

“We need to twist Gi-hun’s plan against him,” you began, your voice low and deliberate. “They think they’re being smart by targeting the guards and using one to get access to the control rooms, but they don’t understand how this place really works.”

In-ho nodded, his tone thoughtful. “They’re underestimating the chain of command. Even if they manage to overpower a guard, they’ll be stuck before they get anywhere near the upper levels.”

“Exactly,” you agreed. “But we need to let them think they’re making progress. We’ll give them just enough freedom to act, and when the time is right—”

“We’ll shut them down,” In-ho finished, his voice laced with quiet satisfaction.

You smirked, leaning in slightly. “I knew you’d understand. Now, here’s the key part…”

The two of you huddled closer, your whispers barely audible even to each other as you detailed the next steps. You mapped out ways to subtly manipulate the group’s actions, feeding them misinformation and false hope to ensure they’d walk right into the trap you and In-ho were carefully setting.

“They’ll never see it coming,” In-ho said, his voice carrying a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

“That’s the idea,” you murmured, allowing yourself a small smile.

For a moment, silence fell between you, the music still playing faintly in the background. You could feel In-ho watching you, his gaze intense even in the dark.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice filled with amusement.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe a little. But mostly, I’m just tired of people underestimating us.”

He chuckled softly, his hand brushing against your cheek. “That’s my jagiya. Always thinking five steps ahead.”

“Someone has to,” you replied, your voice tinged with humor.

In-ho leaned in, his lips brushing against your lips. “Be careful, though. If you’re too clever, you might make me jealous.”

“Jealous?” you teased, arching an eyebrow. “Of what?”

“Of how dangerously brilliant you are,” he said, his tone playful but sincere.

You rolled your eyes, though a warmth spread through you at his words. “Just focus on your part of the plan, Young-il,” you said with a smirk.

He grinned, his hand squeezing yours briefly before he shifted away. “Don’t worry, jagiya. I’ve got it covered.”

As he slipped out of your bunk as silently as he had entered, you watched him disappear into the shadows, your mind already racing with the possibilities ahead. The game was about to change, and you were ready to make your next move.

The next morning, the dormitory was alive with the sounds of shuffling feet, murmured conversations, and the occasional clatter of metal trays as breakfast was distributed. The guards, ever watchful, stood silently at the edges of the room, their presence a constant reminder of the stakes.

You grabbed your tray and made your way over to the group, careful to maintain your role as just another player. Gi-hun was already seated, speaking in hushed tones with Dae-ho and Hyun-ju. Across from him, Gyeong-seok sat with his arms crossed, a skeptical look on his face. Young-il was perched quietly at the end of the table, his posture relaxed but his sharp gaze taking in every detail of the room.

Sliding into the seat beside him, you nudged him lightly with your elbow before addressing the group. “What’s the plan for today?”

Gi-hun leaned forward, lowering his voice. “We’re going to stage a fight,” he said, his tone firm. “If we can cause enough chaos, we’ll distract the guards and create an opening for someone to grab a weapon or—”

You held up a hand, cutting him off. “Hold on. I was thinking of something more… strategic.”

The group turned to you, their faces a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Young-il didn’t say a word, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move.

“What are you thinking?” Hyun-ju asked cautiously.

You set your spoon down and leaned in, lowering your voice. “I can take one of the guards with me to the bathroom. They’ll follow, thinking I’m just some helpless player.”

Hyun-ju frowned. “Okay… and then what?”

You smirked faintly, tapping your fingers against the edge of your tray. “Then, I take him out.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances.

Dae-ho raised an eyebrow. “You? Take out a guard?”

“I know how to fight,” you said firmly, your confidence unwavering. “I’ve taken down men twice my size before. Trust me, it’s not as hard as it looks if you know where to hit.”

Gyeong-seok leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed. “That’s a risky move. What if you screw up?”

“I won’t,” you said sharply. “But that’s not all. I’ve been thinking about the utensils they give us the spoons, the forks.”

Hyun-ju frowned. “What about them?”

You picked up your spoon and held it up, turning it in your hand. “They’re metal, sturdy enough to be used as weapons if you sharpen the edges. We just need to save a few and work on them when the guards aren’t watching.”

There was a brief silence as the group processed your idea.

“Wait,” Dae-ho said, furrowing his brow. “You’re saying we should stockpile the utensils and turn them into weapons?”

You nodded. “Exactly. They won’t suspect a thing. By the time they realize what we’re doing, it’ll be too late.”

The group exchanged glances, their skepticism slowly giving way to understanding.

Gi-hun rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s… bold. But it could work.”

“It will work,” you insisted. “We just need to be smart about it.”

Young-il, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice calm and measured. “She’s right. The guards are predictable. They don’t pay close attention to the small things like what we do with the utensils. If we’re careful, we can pull this off.”

You glanced at him, hiding a smirk. His support was exactly what you needed to push the group toward agreement.

Hyun-ju nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m in.”

Dae-ho sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is crazy, but… fine. Let’s do it.”

Gi-hun looked at you, his expression serious. “We’ll follow your lead on this. But if anything goes wrong…”

“It won’t,” you said firmly, cutting him off.

The group murmured their agreement, and you leaned back in your chair, satisfied.

As the conversation shifted to other details of the plan, you felt Young-il lean slightly closer to you, his voice barely audible as he whispered, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, jagiya?”

You didn’t look at him, keeping your gaze on the group. “You think I’d come this far if I wasn’t?”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and familiar. “Just don’t let them outsmart you. You know I’ll be here to clean up if they do.”

You finally glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I don’t plan on giving you the chance.”

Young-il leaned back, his expression unreadable, though there was a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. Whatever happened next, you both knew the real game was just beginning.

As the group continued discussing the details of their makeshift rebellion, you leaned slightly closer to Young-il, your voice a mere whisper, audible only to him. “You better tell the guards about this,” you murmured, your tone laced with urgency. “If they’re not prepared, Gi-hun’s plan could spiral out of control.”

Young-il kept his expression neutral, his body language relaxed as though you were discussing something as mundane as the weather. His eyes, however, flicked to yours with a sharpness that only you could recognize. “You think I haven’t already thought about that, jagiya?” he whispered back, his voice smooth but edged with a quiet authority.

“I’m serious,” you pressed, your tone firm but still quiet enough to avoid drawing attention. “If the guards don’t know what’s coming, they’ll think we’re actually working with the players. That’s a risk we can’t afford.”

Young-il’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement or irritation it was always hard to tell with him. “You underestimate me,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. “We’ve handled worse than this.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, your hand tightening around the edge of your tray as you leaned in closer. “And what happens if one of those guards messes up?” you hissed. “What if they get themselves trapped? What if they panic and reveal their face?”

He turned his head just enough to look at you fully, his gaze steady and unyielding. “Then we deal with it,” he said calmly. “Like we always do.”

“Don’t be so dismissive,” you snapped quietly. “One mistake could expose everything us, the guards, the entire operation. If even one player gets proof of what’s really going on, this whole game falls apart.”

Young-il tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “You’re worried,” he said softly. “That’s cute.”

You shot him a glare, though your heart skipped a beat at the teasing lilt in his voice. “I’m not worried. I’m realistic,” you countered. “You might enjoy taking risks, but I’m not about to let your recklessness ruin everything we’ve worked for.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Careful, jagiya. You’re starting to sound like you don’t trust me.”

You held his gaze, refusing to back down. “I trust you,” you said evenly. “But I don’t trust the guards. And I don’t trust Gi-hun and his little rebellion not to find a way to exploit them.”

Young-il studied you for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll talk to the guards. Make sure they’re prepared for whatever nonsense these players try to pull.”

“Good,” you said, your tone clipped. “And make sure they stay in line. If one of them so much as flinches in the wrong direction—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through your words like a knife. “I’ll handle it.”

You nodded slightly, your tension easing just a fraction. “See that you do,” you murmured, leaning back in your seat as though nothing had happened.

Young-il’s smirk returned, softer this time, as he leaned closer to you, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. “You really do worry too much, jagiya,” he said, his breath warm against your ear. “But I’ll admit, it’s one of the things I love about you.”

You rolled your eyes, though a faint smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “Just don’t mess this up,” you said quietly. “We’re playing a dangerous game here.”

“Danger’s half the fun,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes dark with meaning.

As he settled back into his seat, you let out a slow breath, your mind already racing ahead to the next move. The pieces were in place, but the board was far from stable. One wrong step, and everything could come crashing down.

The tension in the dormitory was thick, but you masked it well, your posture relaxed as you engaged in idle conversation with the team. The group sat huddled around, discussing the plan for the day with hushed voices, but you made sure to steer their focus toward you. Your words were carefully chosen, your demeanor confident yet unassuming, as if you were fully invested in their rebellion.

“So, Hyun-ju,” you said, tilting your head with an easy smile, “you were saying something earlier about distracting the guards during the fight? What’s your strategy?”

Hyun-ju blinked, startled that you’d singled her out. She shifted nervously in her seat, fumbling for a response. “Uh, I-I guess I could… maybe pretend to faint or something?”

You nodded thoughtfully, pretending to consider her idea. “That’s smart,” you said, your tone encouraging. “The guards would definitely rush over to check on you. It could buy us some time.”

Gi-hun chimed in, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Yeah, but we’d need to make it convincing. If they see through it, it could backfire.”

“True,” you agreed, leaning in slightly to draw the group’s attention further into the conversation. “But maybe we could enhance it somehow. Like, if someone else creates a commotion at the same time, it would divide their focus.”

As the group fell into a heated discussion about the logistics of their plan, you stole a quick glance at Young-il. He was sitting at the edge of the group, his body language casual, almost detached, as though he wasn’t fully invested in the conversation. But you caught the subtle flicker of his eyes, the way they darted toward one of the guards stationed near the far wall.

You knew exactly what he was planning.

Turning your attention back to the group, you leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering your voice just enough to keep their focus locked on you. “What about the utensils we talked about ?” you asked. “Did anyone manage to save theirs?”

Hyun-ju reached into her pocket and produced a spoon, holding it up triumphantly. Dae-ho and Gyeong-seok followed suit, while Gi-hun nodded in approval.

“Good,” you said, a satisfied smile on your face. “We’ll need those later. Just make sure to keep them hidden until the right moment.”

As you continued to keep the team engaged, you subtly shifted your position, angling yourself so that you could see Young-il out of the corner of your eye. He was making his move, slipping away from the group with a quiet, calculated grace that only you would notice.

The other team Team O was completely oblivious, too busy bickering amongst themselves to notice anything outside their circle. You couldn’t help but smirk inwardly at their lack of awareness.

Young-il crossed the room with practiced ease, his steps measured and deliberate. He made his way toward one of the guards, who stood rigidly by the wall, their attention seemingly fixed on the room but their body language betraying a slight lack of focus.

You felt your pulse quicken as you watched from the corner of your eye, keeping your expression neutral as Gi-hun continued to talk.

“What about the timing?” Gi-hun asked, looking around at the group. “We need to make sure everything happens simultaneously. If even one part of the plan goes off too early, we’re screwed.”

“Exactly,” you said, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation. “We need to coordinate perfectly. Maybe we should assign specific roles to each person so there’s no confusion.”

As the group debated who should do what, you noticed Young-il had reached the guard. He leaned in slightly, pretending to adjust his shoe as he whispered something to the masked figure. The guard gave a barely perceptible nod before shifting their stance, subtly acknowledging the message.

You forced yourself to focus back on the group, masking your satisfaction with a thoughtful expression. “Let’s run through the plan one more time,” you said, keeping your tone steady. “We can’t afford any mistakes.”

The group nodded, their attention entirely consumed by the details of their rebellion. They had no idea that their carefully crafted plan was already being unraveled from the inside.

Meanwhile, Young-il slipped back into the group’s circle as if he had never left, his expression calm and unreadable. He caught your eye for the briefest of moments, and you knew without a doubt that the first piece of your counter-plan was in motion.

The atmosphere in the dormitory remained heavy with tension as the groups continued their quiet conversations and whispered plans. Unnoticed by most, one of the guards stationed near the far wall began to shift subtly, their body language signaling a change in duty. A new guard, slightly taller and with an even stiffer posture, approached silently to replace them.

You caught the movement out of the corner of your eye, your attention momentarily drawn to the exchange. It was subtle smooth enough that most players wouldn’t notice but you had spent enough time orchestrating such maneuvers to recognize it for what it was. The first guard nodded briefly at the newcomer before stepping away, their departure almost ghostlike as they disappeared down the hallway.

Your gaze flicked to Young-il, who sat a few feet away, appearing perfectly relaxed. His sharp eyes, however, followed the departing guard just as yours had. He didn’t turn his head or make any overt movements, but you knew he had noticed the switch and understood its significance.

Returning your attention to the group, you forced yourself to stay composed, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Gi-hun was deep in discussion, his voice low but firm as he laid out the next steps of his plan.

“We’ll need to test the guards’ response times,” Gi-hun said, glancing around the circle. “If we can figure out how quickly they react, we’ll know how much time we have to execute our plan.”

Hyun-ju nodded, her expression serious. “What about the rotations? Do they switch positions at specific intervals?”

“Good question,” Gi-hun replied, looking thoughtful. “We need to start paying attention to their movements. If we can predict when they change shifts, we can time our actions perfectly.”

You felt a twinge of unease at how perceptive Gi-hun was becoming. He was piecing things together faster than you had anticipated, and while that was useful for maintaining your cover, it also meant the group was becoming a real threat.

“I think they switch every couple of hours,” you said casually, injecting yourself into the conversation. “I’ve been keeping track, and it seems like they rotate pretty regularly. But we’ll need to confirm it before we make any moves.”

Gi-hun nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. “Good observation,” he said. “We’ll need to work together to keep an eye on them. If you notice anything else, let us know.”

“Of course,” you said, offering him a faint smile. “We’re all in this together, right?”

As the conversation continued, you leaned slightly toward Young-il, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you catch that?” you murmured, your tone barely audible.

He tilted his head slightly, pretending to stretch as he responded under his breath. “The replacement? Yeah. They’re moving fast. Looks like the message is already being delivered.”

“Good,” you whispered back. “But we need to be careful. Gi-hun’s sharper than he looks. If he starts connecting the dots—”

“He won’t,” Young-il interrupted smoothly, his voice calm. “Not with us pulling the strings. Just stick to the plan, jagiya.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to relax. Young-il was right everything was going according to plan so far. But the margin for error was razor-thin, and any slip-up could spell disaster for both of you.

The new guard stood silently at their post, their posture rigid and unyielding. To the untrained eye, they were just another faceless enforcer. But you knew better. This guard was no ordinary sentry. they were a carefully placed operative, ready to relay information back to the Front Man and ensure the rebellion was neutralized before it could truly begin.

As the group’s conversation continued to spiral into detailed strategy, you couldn’t help but feel a small surge of satisfaction. Gi-hun and his team were so focused on their plans that they hadn’t even noticed the subtle shift in the room’s dynamics.

Leaning back slightly, you cast a quick glance at Young-il. His eyes met yours briefly, and in that fleeting moment, you saw the same determination burning in his gaze. The pieces were in place, and the board was set. All that remained was for the game to unfold.

The conversation around the circle shifted, and for a moment, the group fell silent as they all turned toward Young-il. It was clear from their expressions that they were curious about the quiet man who had joined them. While he had blended into the background so far, his calm demeanor and sharp eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Gi-hun leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady but inquisitive. “What do you think, Young-il?” he asked, his tone measured. “You’ve been pretty quiet so far, but we could use your perspective. Any thoughts on the plan?”

Young-il didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, exuding an air of quiet confidence as he scanned the faces around him. His hands rested loosely on his lap, and he seemed completely unfazed by the sudden attention.

“Well,” he began slowly, his voice deep and deliberate, “you’ve got a decent outline. Timing the guards’ rotations, using distractions, and arming yourselves. it’s a good start. But there’s one thing you’re all overlooking.”

The group tensed, leaning in closer to hear what he had to say. Even you, knowing full well he was playing them, felt a flicker of anticipation.

“And what’s that?” Dae-ho asked, his brow furrowed.

Young-il’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Trust,” he said simply.

“Trust?” Gi-hun echoed, his tone skeptical.

“That’s right,” Young-il replied, his gaze sharp as it swept over the group. “You’re putting together a plan that relies on split-second timing, complete cooperation, and absolute loyalty from everyone involved. But how can you be sure everyone here is on the same page?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and you watched as the group exchanged uneasy glances. It was clear the thought hadn’t occurred to them before, and now doubt was beginning to creep into their minds.

Hyun-ju frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. “We’ve been working together this whole time,” she said defensively. “Why wouldn’t we trust each other?”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his expression calm but pointed. “Because trust isn’t built overnight,” he said. “And in a situation like this, where the stakes are life and death, people will do whatever it takes to survive. even if it means betraying the person next to them.”

The tension in the group grew palpable, and you could almost feel the unease settling over them like a heavy blanket.

“But if we don’t trust each other, we’ll fail for sure,” Gi-hun said, his voice steady but strained. “What’s your suggestion, then? How do we build trust when we barely know each other?”

Young-il’s smile widened, though there was something almost predatory about it. “You can start by testing each other,” he said. “Small tasks, small risks. See who follows through and who hesitates. That way, when the time comes for the real plan, you’ll know exactly who you can count on.”

The group exchanged uncertain glances, clearly considering his words.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Dae-ho admitted grudgingly. “If someone can’t handle the small stuff, they’re not going to hold up when things get serious.”

Gi-hun nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll keep that in mind. But for now, let’s focus on getting the basics down. Young-il, do you think we’re missing anything else?”

Young-il glanced at you briefly, so quickly that no one else seemed to notice. Then he shrugged, his demeanor casual. “No, I think you’ve covered most of it,” he said. “Just don’t get overconfident. The guards aren’t stupid, and if even one thing goes wrong, they’ll shut this whole thing down before you can blink.”

His words carried a weight of authority that made the group sit up a little straighter, their expressions somber.

“Noted,” Gi-hun said, his tone firm. “Thanks for the input.”

As the group shifted their focus back to the finer details of their plan, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration for Young-il’s performance. He had played his role perfectly, offering just enough useful advice to gain their trust while subtly planting seeds of doubt and mistrust among them.

Leaning slightly toward him under the guise of adjusting your position, you whispered, “Nicely done.”

He didn’t look at you, but the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was answer enough. “Always, jagiya,” he murmured, his voice so low that only you could hear.

The fluorescent bathroom lights hummed softly, the stark white tiles reflecting your shadowed figures. Pressed against the cool wall, you felt Young-il’s hands trailing along your arms, his touch both reassuring and electrifying. His lips lingered over yours, the warmth of his kiss making you forget, if only for a moment, the deadly games and the rebellion brewing outside these walls.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you slightly breathless, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with that sharp intellect and confidence you found so maddening and magnetic. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering as his expression turned serious.

“Jagiya,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, “listen to me carefully. Things are about to get chaotic, and we need to be ready.”

You nodded, already sensing that he was about to share a crucial piece of his plan. Young-il never spoke without purpose, and in this twisted game, every word carried weight.

“So, here’s what we’re going to do,” he began, his tone measured and calm. “When the rebellion starts and trust me, Gi-hun will make sure it does he’s going to rally as many players as he can. He’ll frame it as their last chance to take down the system, and some of them will be desperate enough to follow him.”

“Of course,” you murmured, leaning closer. “He’ll play the hero, and they’ll eat it up.”

Young-il smirked faintly, pleased by your quick understanding. “Exactly. He’s going to arm them with weapons stolen from the guards. Guns, knives whatever they can get their hands on. That’s where the chaos begins. Some of the players will refuse to join, and some will eagerly accept. But here’s the thing: Gi-hun is smart. He’s going to split the group into smaller teams to cover more ground and increase their chances of success.”

You frowned slightly, already anticipating the danger. “And you’re planning to join one of those teams?”

He nodded. “I’ll volunteer to go with Gi-hun himself or at least the most influential group. Once I’m with them, I’ll kill some guards strategically just enough to make it look like I’m committed to their cause but not too much to draw suspicion. It’ll keep Gi-hun and the others distracted, and they won’t see what’s coming until it’s too late.”

“And me?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

A small, knowing smile played on his lips. “You’ll stay behind in the dormitory, jagiya. Act helpless, scared like you don’t know how to handle yourself in a fight. They’ll underestimate you and leave you there with the others who refuse to join the rebellion.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “Helpless? Really? Have you met me?”

Young-il chuckled softly, leaning closer until his lips brushed against your ear. “I know you’re anything but helpless,” he murmured. “That’s exactly why you’ll pull it off so convincingly. We need to do this, jagiya.”

His confidence in you sent a thrill down your spine, and you nodded, letting him continue.

“Once the rebellion is crushed, I’ll send a guard for you,” he said, his tone firm and precise. “But here’s the catch: the players who stayed behind with you are going to resist. They’ll try to protect you, thinking the guards are coming to punish you for also helping plan the rebellion. It’s going to get messy, but that’s the point. I’ll send multiple guards to make it look serious, like you’re in real trouble. That way, it’s believable.”

“And the players?” you asked softly, already knowing the answer.

“They’ll be eliminated,” he said bluntly, his gaze unwavering. “By the time I get back to you, there won’t be anyone left to question what happened. And if Gi-hun or anyone else from the rebellion survives… they’ll regret ever trying to overthrow the system. We’ll make sure of that.”

You stared at him for a long moment, processing the intricacy of his plan. It was ruthless, calculated, and brilliant everything you’d come to expect from him.

“You’ve thought of everything,” you said quietly.

“I have to,” he replied, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin. “This isn’t just about survival, jagiya. This is about making sure no one dares to challenge us again. They need to know what happens when you defy the system.”

You leaned into his touch, your lips curving into a faint smile. “And here I thought I was the cunning one in this marriage.”

His smirk widened as he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“We’re a team,” he murmured. “Always have been, always will be.”

“Always,” you whispered back, the word carrying a weight of promise.

As the sound of footsteps approached outside, you both straightened, slipping back into your roles. To the outside world, you were just another pair of players trying to survive. But inside the bathroom, you were partners in crime, two masterminds orchestrating a plan that would change everything.