#mind you that is still a work in progress

[fushitoru]

chapter 9: the embers a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

genre/warnings ⸺ enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, suggestive, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly, all they do is bicker 💀, some historical inaccuracies, mentions of sex work

chapter summary ⸺ sukuna takes you on an excurion into town at night, where you both meet a stranger that gives you illustrative insight into gojo. on the other hand, satoru has to suffer his best friend's most terrible plan as of date (10k).

a/n MWAHAHAHA i'll see you at the end :) thank you for my beta readers @/angelina7890, @/purplegemadventures, @/hellowoolf, and @/sinn-clair for helping me salvage bridgerton!gojo efknwekfnw

also note that the warnings have been updated.

prev. the lake | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest Reader,

It seems that the Gojo name has once again stirred the waters of the ton—quite literally, this time. If you were not present at Surrey Park, then you have surely missed a sight that will be etched in the minds (and no doubt dreams) of many a young lady for weeks to come.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

The rhythmic sound of the carriage wheels against the dirt road filled the silence as you sat between Choso and Sukuna, gazing out of the small window. The events of Surrey Park, particularly the lake incident, replayed in your mind with an insistence that made your temples throb. You clenched your hands tightly in your lap, as if the sheer tension in your knuckles could chase away the image of Lord Gojo, drenched and smirking as though he hadn’t just caused your heart to stutter in ways you loathed to admit.

“What a ridiculous display,” Sukuna muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the seat, his tone conveying pure disapproval. “That man cannot seem to go a day without making a spectacle of himself. I wonder if he has any sense of propriety at all.”

You tore your gaze from the window, startled from your reverie. “I hardly think it was his intention to fall into the lake,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. The memory of Gojo's intense gaze before he walked away was still fresh, leaving you both flustered and confused.

Sukuna raised a brow, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. “Intentional or not, it is yet another reason why I cannot fathom what you—or anyone, for that matter—ever saw in him.”

You could not help but think Sukuna’s dismay was not deserved; after all, the man had fallen into the lake in defense of you. Thus, it was not as easy for you to color it obscene and vulgar as easily as Sukuna.

 “Sukuna,” Choso interrupted with a stern look, though his tone was mild. “Let us not belabor the point. What matters is that our sister is no longer tethered to that man. Speaking of which”—he turned to you, his expression softening—“how fares your progress with Duke Nanami? Has he hinted at a proposal?”

You hesitated, shifting uncomfortably under your eldest brother’s watchful gaze. “He is... cordial and kind,” you replied after a pause, your voice measured. “Our conversations are pleasant, and he is undoubtedly a man of good character.”

Choso frowned slightly, clearly unsatisfied with your tepid response. “But is he inclined to offer for you?”

“I suppose,” you murmured, clasping your hands tighter in your lap. The truth, however, was far from what you conveyed. Despite Nanami's quiet, unwavering presence, your thoughts seemed to stray perpetually toward another—toward Lord Gojo, who could unsettle and vex you in equal measure with a single look or word. The mere memory of him emerging from the lake, every detail exaggerated by the sunlight, made your heart flutter treacherously.

Sukuna’s sharp eyes darted toward you, narrowing slightly as he leaned forward. “You suppose?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You are not typically this indecisive, Sister. Tell me, where exactly does your mind wander?”

You stiffened, heat creeping up your neck as you struggled to mask your turmoil. “I am simply... weighing my options,” you replied carefully, returning your gaze to the window to avoid his probing stare.

For a moment, Sukuna studied you in silence, his lips pursed in thought. But he said nothing more as the carriage finally pulled into the familiar drive of your family’s estate.

Once the carriage halted and Choso helped you alight, the three of you headed into the Itadori manor. However, as soon as you crossed the threshold, Sukuna’s hand lightly touched your elbow, indicating that you should linger behind. As Choso continued on to go to his study and fell out of earshot, you turned to him, a questioning look on your face.

“Sister,” he began, his voice low but not unkind. “Would you care to join me on an outing to town this evening? I have... matters to attend to, and I thought you might find it of interest.”

“An outing?” you asked, turning to him with curiosity. “What kind of matters?” 

Sukuna’s smirk widened, his expression almost conspiratorial. “Let us call it a meeting of minds. A discussion on the state of affairs, if you will.”

Your heart quickened with excitement at the prospect. If you recall correctly, you have no plans of balls or any outings with the tons tonight, and you longed to engage with something outside of the season’s mundane practices ever since Gojo had similarly taken you into town. Sukuna had been long gone, and this ritual of yours—sneaking into town to experience political meetings—you had long been deprived of.

“I would be delighted,” you replied, unable to keep the enthusiasm from your voice.

“Good,” Sukuna said, a rare note of approval in his tone as he squeezed your arm lightly. “Then prepare yourself for something far more stimulating than insipid dances and idle chatter.”

The moon’s light shone over the two cloaked figures that were you and Sukuna. As the both of you sneaked towards an apparent meeting point that Sukuna had pre-established, your heart raced—not from fear, but from the thrill of doing something forbidden.

The brisk air bit at your cheeks as the sound of the faint crunch of gravel accompanied you both while creeping across the street.

"Keep up," Sukuna whispered, casting a glance over his shoulder. His expression held that mischievous glint you had come to recognize all too well, as though he relished dragging you into his escapades.

 “I am keeping up,” you shot back, pulling your hood further over your face. “I only hope you know what you’re doing.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and unbothered. “Always.”

Soon enough, you spotted a modest carriage tucked behind a grove of trees, its lanterns dimmed to avoid attention. A figure stood waiting beside it, cloaked and hooded, though far more relaxed than someone trying to avoid detection. Sukuna approached the man with an ease that spoke of familiarity, slapping him on the shoulder as though they were old friends.

“Toji,” Sukuna greeted, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie.

“Toji?” you repeated under your breath, squinting your eyes as you studied the man. He was broad-shouldered, with an air of roughness about him that immediately set him apart from the polished gentlemen of the ton. His sharp eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to Sukuna, clearly unimpressed by the effort you’d gone through to remain inconspicuous.

“This the sister you’ve been talking about?” Toji asked, his tone casual as he nodded in your direction.

“Indeed,” Sukuna replied, smiling as he gestured toward you. “Miss Itadori, meet Toji Fushiguro, a man of many talents.”

“Many talents?” you echoed, shooting Sukuna a skeptical look. “And which talents are we referring to, exactly?”

Toji let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “She’s got a sharp tongue, your sister. I like her.”

You narrowed your eyes at the stranger, unsure whether to feel flattered or annoyed, but Sukuna merely grinned, ushering you toward the carriage. “Come on, we’ve got places to be.”

The interior of the carriage was cramped, but warm, the faint scent of leather and smoke lingering in the air. Toji climbed in after you, settling into the opposite seat with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent many nights in carriages like this one. Sukuna took his place beside you, leaning back as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re very familiar with him,” you remarked to Sukuna, your tone edged with suspicion. “I’d like to know why.”

Toji answered for him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Your brother and I go back. He’s got a knack for finding himself in interesting situations, and I’ve got a knack for getting him out of them.”

“Is that so?” you said, arching a brow amusedly at Sukuna. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Sukuna shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Toji’s got connections. And besides, Sister, you’ll be thanking me soon enough for dragging you into this.”

But you were not one to be fooled. You narrowed your eyes, prying deeper into your brother’s words. “What type of connections?”

He sighs, shaking his head and complaining, “Ah! Enough of that. Aren’t you curious as to where we’re going?”

Your skepticism could not be quelled with a dismissive remark, but you waved it aside anyway, acquiescing. “Fine, but do not think I will rest on the matter.”

Toji, who had been silent thus far, chuckled quietly, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Sukuna. “She’s got your measure, Sukuna. You’re not squirming out of this one so easily.”

“Never does,” Sukuna muttered under his breath before changing tack. “Alright, alright. Since you’re so eager to discuss weighty matters, tell me this—are you familiar with Wollstonecraft’s latest work?”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to recall. “The Vindication? Of course, I’ve read it. Why?”

“Then you’ll have some context for what you’re about to hear,” Toji said. His voice was measured, but there was a weight to it that made you sit up a little straighter. “This isn’t just idle talk—it’s about education, equality, and liberty. Ideas that don’t sit well with those who benefit from keeping things as they are.”

Sukuna nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “It’s more than philosophy, though. These people are living it. Fighting for it.”

Your pulse quickened as the conversation took a turn you hadn’t anticipated. You leaned forward slightly as you met Sukuna’s gaze. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” you began, your voice tinged with both curiosity and eagerness. “Wollstonecraft’s arguments are bold, yes, but they’re also deeply practical. Education as the foundation of equality—what could be more sensible? Yet, it threatens the very structure of society.”

Toji gave a low chuckle, his sharp gaze resting on you with renewed interest. “Well said. And what do you make of it, then? The notion that the world might be turned on its head by ideas like hers?”

Your lips curved into a small, wry smile. “I think the world could use a little turning on its head. Though, I imagine the aristocracy would sooner go to war than concede such ground.”

“That they would,” Sukuna agreed, his tone almost amused. “But it’s not just the aristocracy. The changes Wollstonecraft envisions—education for all, women stepping into the public sphere—these ideas challenge everyone who’s comfortable with the way things are.”

“Which is precisely why they’re so powerful,” you replied quickly, your excitement bubbling over. “People cling to the status quo out of fear, but fear is not insurmountable. Surely, with the right voices, the right leaders, minds could be swayed.”

Toji smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. “Optimistic, aren’t you? Most would say such change requires more than just words. Sacrifices must be made.”

“I’m not naïve, Mr. Fushiguro,” you said, straightening your posture. “I understand that revolutions—whether in thought or action—carry a cost. But is that not the mark of true progress? To be willing to bear the burden for a better future?”

Sukuna exchanged a glance with Toji, the latter’s smirk deepening. “She’s quite the firebrand, isn’t she?” Toji remarked.

“She always has been,” Sukuna replied with a shrug, though the faintest hint of pride flickered in his tone. “Keeps me on my toes.”

You ignored their banter, your thoughts racing ahead to what lay in store. “This meeting,” you pressed, unable to keep the excitement from your voice, “who will be there? What will be discussed?”

Sukuna held up a hand to forestall your questions. “Patience. You’ll hear it all soon enough. But I’ll tell you this much—it’s not just talk. These people are doing what others only dream of.”

Toji nodded, his expression growing somber. “There are risks, of course. The kind of risks that come with challenging the very fabric of society.”

You nodded, your resolve solidifying. “I’m not afraid of risk. Ideas like these are worth fighting for.”

Toji studied you for a long moment, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You might just survive this night, after all.”

The carriage hit a slight bump in the road, jostling all of you, but it did little to break the energy that now thrummed in the small space. The shadows outside grew longer as the journey continued, but your mind was alight with thoughts of what awaited—a world of bold ideas and uncertain promises, one you were eager to step into.

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for the occasional jostling of the carriage over uneven terrain. When you finally arrived, Toji stepped out first, scanning the area before motioning for the two of you to follow. You found yourself in what appeared to be a modest meeting hall, the murmur of voices already audible from within.

Toji pushed open the door, revealing a room filled with a mix of people—some finely dressed, others in simpler attire, all seated in clusters, engaged in quiet but intense discussion. It was clear you had entered a space where class distinctions mattered little, united by a common cause.

“This,” Toji said, his voice low but firm, “is where the real work happens. You wanted to see it, didn’t you?”

You glanced at Sukuna, who gave you a reassuring nod, and then back at Toji. “Lead the way,” you said, your curiosity outweighing your reservations.

The smell of pipe smoke wafted through the air, accompanying the noise of friendly claps on backs, low murmur of conversation, the scrape of chairs against the floor, and a warped sort of revelry that was present in the room. The place was almost like a tavern, and as you, your brother, and Toji made your way through the wooden tables filled with people, ongoers showed familiarity with Sukuna. The contrast with how he conducted himself here and the demeanor he adopted at balls was almost comical; whereas ladies of the ton would get an uncongenial countenance, Sukuna was even grunting in response to some of the greetings he received. It was truly a marvel to perceive, indeed.

While Toji directed you both towards an empty table for the sake of your privacy, you could hear tidbits of conversations, murmurs, and bold declarations alike surrounding you.

“Evening, Sukuna,” a burly man called out, raising his glass in acknowledgment. Sukuna responded with a grunt and a nod, his lips twitching in what might have been a hint of a smile.

As Toji directed you to an empty table near the back of the room, your ears caught snippets of conversation from the surrounding tables.

“I find Burke’s assertions about women rather daft,” a woman sniffed, her voice tinged with disdain. “To claim that their sensibilities preclude them from education—it’s an insult, not an argument.”

A man seated beside her chuckled, shaking his head. “Indeed. The irony is that these so-called rational men are the ones most ruled by their passions when challenged.”

At another table, a younger man spoke with fiery conviction. “It’s not just about reforming laws—it’s about changing the very way we think about liberty and who truly earns it.”

“And it’s not solely for the falsely-refined, immoral, and narcissistic rich; As Wollstonecraft mentioned, they are weak, artificial beings, spreading their corruption though the whole mass of society.”

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at the exchanges, the fervor and intellect on display so different from the superficial chatter of the ton. Toji and Sukuna, however, seemed unfazed, as though this kind of discourse was nothing new to them. You, on the other hand, were very excited; while Sukuna had taken you out on such excursions often, the extent of it was visiting restaurants in common clothes, and eating freshly baked bread and pastries. This was an entirely different scene, and every time someone echoed your thoughts—before, captive on your diary’s pages—out loud, your heart was set aflutter. 

However, you were a bit wary about fully joining the discussion. While you were undeniably confident that you would be able to keep rapport with those debating, you weren’t fully aware of Toji’s position within the ton. Sukuna may have his trust, but you’d rather not risk joining in; after all, if Toji even were to spread the word about your scandalous…hobbies, Sukuna would not be entirely opposed to you leaving the season without finding a husband, as he’s made clear before.

Once seated, Toji leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests as you and Sukuna followed suit.“Quite the crowd tonight,” he remarked, his voice low as his sharp eyes scanned the room. “Seems the common folk are growing bolder.”

Sukuna grinned, leaning back in his chair as though he were entirely at ease. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

You settled into your seat, your hands resting lightly on the edge of the table as you absorbed the atmosphere. The snippets of conversation, the passionate speeches, the clinking of mugs—all of it painted a vivid picture of a world far removed from the ballrooms and drawing rooms you had grown accustomed to. And yet, there was something undeniably captivating about it.

“What do you think?” Sukuna asked, his tone teasing as he leaned closer to you. “Not quite the spectacle of a ball, but it has its charm, doesn’t it?”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “It’s… different,” you admitted, your gaze returning to the dais where the speaker was now gesturing animatedly. “But perhaps that’s what makes it so compelling.” 

As you turned, you now noticed that Toji was observing you thoughtfully and you tilted your head, giving him a questioning look, to which he spoke up, “Well,” his tone light but probing, “discussion aside. How has the glittering world of the ton treating you, Miss Itadori? I hear you’re the diamond of the season. Must be quite the... adventure.”

You offered him a polite, practiced smile. “It has been... illuminating,” you said delicately. “The season has certainly provided its share of experiences.”

“Ah, I see,” Toji drawled, leaning back in his chair and giving you a look that suggested he saw through your carefully crafted response. “Illuminating. That’s a word people use when they’re too polite to say what they really mean.”

Sukuna snorted, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “She’s being diplomatic, Toji. If you really want to know what she thinks, let me tell you—she’s been dodging proposals left and right while trying not to throttle certain lords.”

Your lips parted in indignation, but Sukuna held up a hand to stop you before you could protest. “Don’t deny it, sister. We both know I’m right.”

Toji chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ah, now this is getting interesting. So, who’s the thorn in your side, then? Every diamond has one.”

You stiffened slightly but maintained your composed tone. “I wouldn’t say anyone is a thorn, per se. There have been... challenges, certainly, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Gojo,” Sukuna said bluntly, earning a glare from you. “The thorn is Gojo.”

Toji’s brows shot up. “Satoru Gojo? The golden boy himself? Well, that’s a surprise. What’s he done to earn your ire, Miss Itadori?”

You hesitated, unsure of how much to divulge, but Sukuna, ever the instigator, jumped in. “He courted her, dropped her, and now he’s lurking in the background like some lovesick pup.”

Toji let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Ah, that boy. Always knew he’d trip over his own arrogance one day.”

“Arrogance,” Sukuna muttered, “doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Toji smirked, swirling his glass thoughtfully. “Let me give you some advice, Miss Itadori. The one you hate, the one who gets under your skin, makes your blood boil? That’s usually the one worth keeping around.”

You scoffed, but it was half-hearted; you were intrigued. Straightening in your chair, you probed lightly, “And why, pray tell, would I want to keep someone who vexes me so terribly?”

“Because,” Toji said, leaning forward, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “the ones who challenge you are the ones who see you. Really see you. And from what I’ve heard, Gojo’s stuck around, hasn’t he? Defended you when it counted?”

You frowned, your mind flashing back to the lake incident, his swift intervention, the way he had looked at you—like you were the only person in the world. “That’s hardly enough to excuse his behavior,” you said, though your voice lacked its usual conviction.

Toji grinned knowingly. “Conflict like this doesn’t fizzle out quietly, Miss Itadori. Mark my words—this will blow up sooner or later. And when it does, when Gojo realizes he’s been an idiot and comes crawling back, what are you going to do?”

Your breath hitched at the thought, and you quickly dismissed it with a wave of your hand. “He won’t. He’s far too stubborn for that.”

“Maybe,” Toji conceded with a shrug, though his expression suggested otherwise. “But if he does, you’d better know what you want, because boys like Gojo don’t grovel often.”

Sukuna huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, I’d rather she find someone who isn’t an arrogant prick.”

“Maybe,” Toji said again, his tone calm but firm. “But sometimes it’s the arrogant pricks who surprise you the most.”

You shook your head, unwilling to entertain the notion any further. “This is all highly speculative and entirely unnecessary. Lord Gojo and I are... nothing.”

Toji’s words hung in the air, and though you tried to focus on the speaker at the front of the room, the uneasy stirring in your chest remained. Sukuna’s watchful gaze burned into the side of your face, and after a long moment of silence, you turned back to Toji, unable to resist asking the question that had been gnawing at you.

“How is it,” you began cautiously, your tone laced with both curiosity and a hint of suspicion, “that you seem to know Lord Gojo so well?”

Toji leaned back in his chair, his lips quirking in an almost imperceptible smirk. Sukuna let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms as he observed the exchange, clearly entertained. You really wanted to shoot a dirty glare at both of them, but you persisted, your gaze insistently honing on Toji.

“What makes you think I know him?” Toji asked, his voice carrying that frustratingly unhurried cadence that suggested he was enjoying your discomfort.

You narrowed your eyes, unwilling to let him deflect. “Because you speak of him with far more familiarity than most. And because you called him an ‘arrogant prick’ with such conviction that it could only come from experience.”

Toji laughed at that, a low, amused sound that rumbled from his chest. “Sharp as ever,” he remarked, glancing briefly at Sukuna, who rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you must know—I’ve known the boy since he was barely out of leading strings. My father did lots of business with his, as almost all families of the nobility do business with the Gojo dukedom. And for a time, I was … well, let’s say I was observing the business practices of the family.”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “Oh? Anything of note?”

Toji shrugged, his expression now unreadable at the mention of his family. “Gojo and I… crossed paths more than a few times.” He then snorted, now shaking his head at what seemed a ridiculous memory. “The boy was only four and ten when he was attending those meetings with the rest of the noble families, while the rest of the men in that room were at least two and twenty.”

“Ah.” You didn’t exactly understand how to analyze this; while you’re no stranger to the fact that Gojo was conditioned for the title of duke since his childhood, courtesy of Mrs. Tanaka, you were fazed by it every time.

“And,” Toji snorts, continuing, “the child would be the most ridiculous sight. Sometimes it felt that he was so enamored by the sound of his own voice that he hardly cared what the meeting was about.” Toji smirked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as if reliving the absurdity of the memory. “He’d sit there, bold as brass, making ridiculous suggestions—most of which were promptly dismissed, mind you—but he always had this way of... commanding attention.”

You raised a brow, trying to picture a fourteen-year-old Gojo confidently holding court among seasoned men of business and nobility. The image was surprisingly easy to conjure. “And no one thought to put him in his place?”

Toji let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, they tried. Believe me, they tried. But the boy’s wit was sharper than most men in that room. Even when he was wrong—and he often was—he’d somehow twist the conversation to make it seem like he was the only one making sense. Drove them mad.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought, though it was accompanied by a pang of irritation. Of course, Gojo had been insufferable even as a boy.

“He sounds as impossible then as he is now,” you muttered, earning a chuckle from Sukuna.

Toji tilted his head, a glint of something more serious in his eyes now. “Impossible, yes. But also... determined. Even back then, you could tell he had a weight on his shoulders. He wanted to prove something—to himself, to his family, to everyone in that room. I’d wager that’s still true.”

You frowned, mulling over his words. “And what exactly does he have to prove? He’s already a duke-to-be, with wealth, power, and influence beyond what most could dream of.”

Toji regarded you for a moment, his gaze steady. “Sometimes, those with the most are the ones who feel they have the most to lose. And the most to prove.”

Your chest tightened at the implication, but you quickly shoved the thought aside. “Well,” you said, forcing a lightness into your tone, “it seems Lord Gojo has always been consistent in his… unique qualities.”

Toji’s smirk returned, though there was a knowing edge to it. “That he has. But don’t mistake consistency for simplicity. That boy is a maze, and only a fool would think they’ve figured him out.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were interrupted by Sukuna’s low, dry voice. “Why are we wasting breath on that prick? We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?”

Toji laughed again, a deep, unbothered sound, and gestured for you both to follow him deeper into the meeting hall. “Fair enough. Let’s see if we can find you two a seat before you start debating the virtues—or lack thereof—of Lord Satoru Gojo.”

The sun was low on the horizon, casting the sky in a fiery orange glow as the two men rode side by side along the quiet trails bordering the Gojo estate. The rhythmic clopping of hooves on the dirt path filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional snort or whinny from their steeds. Satoru’s white steed carried him with its usual grace, while Geto’s dark horse moved with a steady, confident gait.

It was indeed a rare moment of calm. Before the season started, these silences would undoubtedly be filled with Geto’s mentions of gossip and business deals, in which investment in the Americas ended up being a damp squib. However, it seems that with the season has come Geto’s new target: his best friend himself, Satoru. And Satoru knew that this moment of calm was before the storm: Geto hopping on his arse.

And indeed, Geto, ever the opportunist, was not one to let peace linger for too long. His lips quirked into a smirk as he glanced sideways at his lifelong friend.

“So,” Geto began, his tone far too casual to be innocent, “why’d you defend her yesterday?”

Satoru groans inwardly; ever since that night of the ball after the Gojo house party, Suguru had been observing him amusedly. It even seemed that Nanami was taking interest in Satoru’s recent affairs; every conversation at White’s had seemed like Kento and Suguru were in collusion together, and it made Satoru very wary. However, outwardly, he continued, his gaze fixed ahead. “Who?” he asked, feigning ignorance. 

Geto snorted. “Don’t play coy with me, Satoru. You know exactly who I mean—Miss Itadori. The lady you so gallantly saved from a rather damp fate.”

Satoru shrugged, leaning slightly forward in his saddle. He would be the air of nonchalance if Suguru didn’t know the subtle signs: his jaw clenching and his posture a bit too tight. “She was being pushed into a lake. Anyone would’ve done the same.”

“Ah,” Suguru drawled, his smirk widening. “Anyone. Of course. But it wasn’t just anyone, was it? It was you.”

“I was simply nearby,” Satoru replied coolly, though his grip on the reins tightened, the leather creaking faintly under his fingers.

Suguru let out a hum, as though he were considering his next move in a chess match. “Nearby? Satoru, you could’ve been halfway across the field, and you’d still have found some excuse to swoop in. It’s rather unlike you to involve yourself in such... trivial matters.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched briefly, but he said nothing.

“You stopped courting her, didn’t you?” Geto pressed, his tone light but with a sharp edge, something almost teasing yet with something to prove. “And yet, here you are, defending her honor like a knight in shining armor. I can’t imagine how she feels about all this... conflicting behavior.”

Satoru scoffed, finally cutting a glance at his friend. “I doubt she thinks of it at all.”

“Hmm,” Geto mused, humming prolongedly. His voice was dripping with skepticism as he drawled, “I doubt that.” 

“I do not see how that is my issue,” Satoru responds bluntly, quelling the irritation inside him at being probed so…closely like this.

To Satoru’s reprieve, Geto had no immediate response. The two rode in silence for a moment, the quiet broken only by the rustling of leaves and the soft sounds of their horses’ hooves. Suguru, however, was far from finished, and Satoru felt that he was going to burst a vein. 

“For someone who has the ton at his feet—every mama scheming, every daughter swooning—you sure are paying a lot of attention to one particular lady,” he said, leaning back slightly in his saddle. “A lady you supposedly have no interest in.”

This was enough. “Drop it, Geto,” Gojo said, his tone low and warning.

But Suguru wouldn’t have earned the title of being Satoru’s closest friend—and now it seemed, his greatest enemy—without crossing his boundaries further, pushing them in, and pulling at his strings. He wasn’t fettered in the least. He tilted his head, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “You know, it’s almost as if—dare I say it—you’re catching feelings.”

The words hit Gojo with the force of a thrown gauntlet, and for a moment, it felt like the air had been knocked clean out of his lungs. His fingers tightened around the reins instinctively, the leather biting into his gloves as his horse came to an abrupt halt. His pulse spiked, not from exertion but from something he refused to name. It spread through him like wildfire—hot, uncontrollable, and unwelcome.

Catch feelings? 

At some point, Satoru was afraid he had. Holding your unconscious body in his arms and foolishly pretending to be your husband in some childish attempt to play house—but no, Satoru does not have space for a mere thing like feelings. No, more like mere infatuation that he was sure would have died out by ending your courtship. 

But when he had been replacing the flowers by your bedside for the nth time, gazing upon your unconscious form once more, he had felt a sort of panic and lack of control. An unbidden feeling bubbled up inside of him, one that he quickly grew to realize, in the days leading up to the house party and you being roused from your state, that it was dangerous.

It’s an idea he’s instilled in himself since he was just a youth, and it’s a law he follows. Love and duty mustn’t cross paths; the covenant of marriage was a duty, a means to uphold the dukedom and his family’s legacy. To cross it with something like mere infatuation over how your eyes widened whenever Satoru said something outrageous, the traces of the smile you contained talking to other foolish suitors, the feel of your surprise when he walked closer to your chair, how dangerous it was for him to be alone with you in the library at night…it would certainly destroy him and the truths that he, Satoru Gojo, based his life upon.

His mind raced to rationalize, to shove the notion of feelings, something deeper than infatuation and a mere fancy, into some dark corner where it could wither and die. What nonsense. It wasn’t feelings. It couldn’t be. It was...what? Irritation? Protectiveness? The natural response of any honorable man when a lady’s dignity was insulted?

Yet, the memory of you standing by the lake crept unbidden into his mind—your face caught between fury and disbelief, the sunlight glinting off the strands of your hair that had escaped their meticulous arrangement. 

And that damnable dress—how it had dared to hint at the curves he had so traced uncountable times his dreams with his hands, with his tongue—

He could still hear your biting words, sharp and unrelenting, even as they softened into something more vulnerable when no one else could hear.

His stomach twisted. No.

His voice was clipped as he snapped at Geto, desperate to redirect the conversation. “You’re starting to pry into matters that don’t concern you.”

But Geto’s smirk didn’t falter, and Gojo hated him for it. It was as if his oldest friend could see every crack forming in his carefully constructed facade, every thin thread of composure threatening to unravel.

“You could make a fine living consulting mamas on the ton’s gossip, you know,” Gojo continued, the words escaping him with uncharacteristic sharpness. “Perhaps even advising them on matchmaking strategies. Should I make introductions for you?”

The deflection was weak, and he knew it. His heart was still racing, his chest tight as if the very idea Geto had planted was a parasite sinking its teeth into his carefully guarded resolve.

Feelings. For you.

Impossible.

And yet, as Geto’s smirk grew wider, his eyes alight with amusement, Gojo realized with a sinking dread that he wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

Geto grinned, unbothered by the sharpness in his friend’s words, and appeared ignorant of the visceral reaction Gojo just had to the notion. “Oh, I don’t need introductions. I’ve already got your whole life figured out, Satoru.”

Gojo rolled his eyes, nudging his horse forward again. “She’s not anything special to me. That’s all there is to it.”

The silence that followed Geto’s pointed observation stretched longer than Gojo would have liked. It hung heavy in the cool evening air, punctuated only by the occasional snort of their horses and the crunch of hooves on gravel. Gojo didn’t dare look at his friend, his jaw clenched tightly as his mind raced. Catch feelings. The words echoed, taunting him as if Geto had struck a nerve he hadn’t even realized was exposed.

Gojo swallowed hard, eyes fixated blankly on the trees in the surrounding scenery, silent as his usual sharp wit suddenly dulled. His silence wasn’t the confident kind that usually unsettled others—it was uneasy, charged, the kind that gave too much away. He shifted in the saddle, his posture stiff, betraying the internal battle raging within him.

But Geto noticed. He always noticed.

And when Gojo finally glanced sideways at him, Geto’s expression had transformed. His dark eyes sparkled with a glint of pure mischief, his lips curving into a grin that promised trouble. It was as though he had just uncovered a hidden treasure—Gojo’s discomfort, his tells, his unwillingness to admit what they both knew.

“Oh,” Geto said, dragging the word out like a cat savoring the moment before pouncing on a mouse. His grin widened, a wicked gleam overtaking his features. “Oh, this is rich.”

Gojo scowled, his face flushing despite himself. “What now?” he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual commanding edge.

Geto didn’t answer immediately, his gaze sweeping over his friend with an almost theatrical sense of revelation. He leaned slightly forward in his saddle, the reins in one hand as his other gestured toward Gojo as if presenting him to an invisible audience.

“I’ve got it,” Geto said, his tone deceptively casual, though the glint in his eyes betrayed the mischief bubbling beneath. “If she’s not anything special, as you’ve so eloquently put it, then we can visit the brothel tonight. Right?”

Gojo’s head snapped toward him, his jaw tightening further, but before he could respond, Geto continued, his voice laced with false innocence. “Think about it—a little distraction, a reset, if you will. It’ll clear everything up for you, including how you’re feeling.”

The silence that followed wasn’t simply quiet—it was a palpable stillness, thick with tension. Geto’s grin only grew as he watched Gojo’s reaction—or lack thereof. His friend had frozen, the reins slack in his hands as he stared straight ahead, his profile bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun.

“What’s the matter?” Geto pressed, his voice practically dripping with faux innocence. “You’re not hesitating, are you? After all, if she means nothing to you, there’s no reason not to go.”

Gojo hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, and Geto pounced on it.

“You’ve got something to prove, don’t you?” he teased, leaning slightly toward Gojo. “Come now, Satoru. Let’s see just how unaffected you truly are.”

And then, like a man trying to prove something—to himself, to his friend, to the world—Gojo finally spoke, his tone clipped, almost defiant. “Fine.”

But Geto wasn’t fooled, and Gojo knew it. He could feel the weight of his friend’s amusement, his sharp gaze cutting through every layer of pretense Gojo had built around himself. And for the first time in a long while, Gojo felt like he was losing control of the narrative.

Geto’s grin widened, triumphant. “Good. Let’s make an evening of it.”

The carriage ride was tense, at least for one of its occupants. Gojo sat stiffly on one of the plush seats, his legs stretched out in front of him, though his right knee bounced incessantly—a restless, nervous tick that betrayed the calm expression he worked hard to maintain. His hands gripped the edge of the seat, his fingers curling into the fabric as he stared out of the window, his pale blue eyes unfocused.

“This,” Satoru finally said, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a knife, “is a truly foolish idea.”

Across from him, Geto reclined with the ease of a man completely at peace with his choices, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat. He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Then why are you here, oh wise one?”

Satoru shot him a flat look, though the movement was stiff, lacking his usual flair. “Because you said so. And because if I didn’t, you’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Geto chuckled, tipping his head back against the carriage wall. “Indulging your closest friend for once in your life—what a burden.” He then sighed, as if truly wounded and continued to lament, “You’ve never once gone with me—or rather, anyone—for an excursion to the establishment.”

Satoru didn’t dignify that with a response, his gaze flickering back out the window. The city rolled by in a blur of dim lantern light and shadowed alleys, but he barely registered it. The air in the carriage felt stifling, pressing down on him despite the open window beside him. His jaw clenched as his thoughts raced, looping over the same nagging feeling that had been gnawing at him since Geto suggested this ridiculous outing.

“I don’t even go to brothels,” Satoru muttered, almost to himself. This was truly a foolish idea.

Geto hummed amusedly, crossing his arms and leaning back. “So you’ve said. But everyone indulges now and again, even you.”

Satoru turned his head sharply to glare at him. “It’s not a fancy of mine.”

Geto leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he grinned. “Not your fancy? What, women? Or fun in general?”

“Brothels,” Satoru snapped, though the edge in his voice lacked conviction. “They’re… I don’t know, pointless. The whole idea is dunce-like. Superficial company cannot satisfy me. I find the banter found in of these establishments lacking conviction, and if I wanted such artificial banter, I would have found it in the balls of the ton. I have never found engaging conversation with any of the ladies of the ton,” except for you, “and I daresay it would not be an oversight to observe that I would not get the company I desire at a brothel.”

“And yet here you are,” Geto quipped, gesturing grandly to the carriage they occupied.

Satoru sighed heavily, his leg bouncing more insistently now. It seemed as if the foolishness of this idea had cast a cloud over his heart, never truly leaving him and permeating him in a sense of anxiousness, as if something was truly amiss. “Just this once. I fear that you may never stop troubling me if I do not.”

“As if I’d believe that.” Geto laughed, leaning back again, clearly enjoying his friend’s discomfort.

When the carriage finally came to a halt, Satoru felt a sinking sense of dread settle in his chest. He stepped down with an unusual stiffness, his body tense and his movements robotic, as though he were forcing himself to go through the motions. The chill of the evening air hit him, but it did little to ease the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Geto followed close behind, his hand coming down heavily on Satoru’s shoulder in a gesture that was equal parts encouragement and teasing. “Relax, Satoru. It’ll be fun,” he said, his tone almost sing-song as he gestured toward the entrance of the establishment ahead.

Satoru gave him a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure,” he replied dryly, though the tension in his shoulders made it clear that he was anything but.

As Geto led the way, Satoru lingered a step behind, his feet dragging just enough to make his reluctance palpable. He couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of unease, the quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him that this was a mistake. And yet, here he was—following Geto into the lion’s den, his heart pounding with a mix of dread and something else he couldn’t quite name.

Suguru and Satoru’s footsteps resound on the wooden floorboards. Feminine perfume wafts through the air, but Satoru finds it a bit too strong. Unbidden, the memory and trace of your scent of sandalwood flashes through his mind, but before he can linger on the memory of your scent got stronger the closer his nose inched to the delicate arch of your neck, Suguru stops in front of him, talking to a woman at the counter. 

As if second nature to Geto, Suguru flirts with the madam in charge of the finances, but to Satoru, it goes in through one ear and out the other. He’s too busy observing the tacky decorations and abundance of flowers that seem to surround the place and the halls he can peer into. And there are women.

They crowd by, some loitering by their doors and peering at the pair that just walked in. They giggle to each other in groups, no doubt wishing that Geto may choose them today, but Satoru knows that it would not be the case, for he hears Suguru murmur something along the lines of the usual girls. While some of them are enraptured by Geto, there are just so many eyes on him.

He’s undoubtedly someone they haven’t seen before; he doesn’t look too young, one that would end the whole session too early. Gojo feels eyes on him, salaciously trailing up his body, but he is unfazed by it. It is rather the prospect of being in a room alone, of having to touch or being touched that has, for some reason, him nauseous for a reason he is yet to figure out. So he attributes it to the waste of coin, for he is sure not to take any enjoyment.

“Satoru, move along this way,” Geto waves him into the hallway he’s walking towards, now that he has sorted out the details with the madam. Begrudgingly—but not before running a hand down his face in exasperation—Satoru follows. It’s almost amusing how whoever Geto gazes upon seems to faint, his siren eyes carrying an allure to them that even makes these ladies shy. Satoru, on the other hand, keeps his gaze trained on the ceiling and traces the detail and design of the crown molding.

When it appears that Geto has finally found the room he intended for, he opens the door and walks into it.

The atmosphere inside the room was surprisingly plush, though it carried the same overpowering floral scent as the rest of the establishment. A low-burning lantern cast a warm, flickering light over the deep reds and golds of the furnishings, creating an almost intimate glow. 

Suguru strode in first, his posture relaxed and his expression bordering on smug. He let out a low whistle as he surveyed the room. “Nice, isn’t it? I always tell them to reserve the best for me.”

Satoru followed reluctantly, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He barely glanced at the room’s opulence, his focus instead on staying as close to the door as possible without actually leaving. “I suppose it’s marginally better than the hallway,” he muttered, his tone as dry as ever. 

Suguru smirked, unbothered by his friend’s sour mood. “Come on, Satoru, don’t sulk. We’re here to unwind.” He dropped onto the sofa with a contented sigh, stretching out his arms along the backrest. “You’re supposed to sit, you know.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe instead. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Suguru groaned, motioning toward the empty seat beside him. “Just sit down before you ruin the ambiance completely. I won’t tell anyone you’re enjoying yourself—promise.”

Reluctantly, Satoru peeled himself away from the door and took a seat at the far end of the sofa, as far from Suguru as the furniture allowed. He sank into the velvet sofa with all the enthusiasm of a man preparing for execution, his long legs stretched in front of him, his arms folded stiffly across his chest. He tried to laze back, be the appearance of equanimity, but inside he was anything but.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Suguru teased, pouring two glasses of wine from a decanter on the side table. He slid one across the table toward Satoru, who eyed it skeptically before finally picking it up.

“This is still a waste of time,” Satoru muttered, swirling the wine in his glass but not drinking it. His gaze wandered toward the window, though the heavy drapes blocked any view of the outside.

Suguru leaned back against the sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he sipped his wine. “You say that, but you’re here, aren’t you? Deep down, you must’ve been at least a little curious.”

“Deep down,” Satoru said, casting Suguru a sideways glance, “I fear I may be losing what little sense I have simply by remaining in this room.”

Suguru laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the room and echoed as if to haunt and taunt Satoru. “You’re impossible. But I’ll give it ten minutes. You’ll relax. You always do.”

Before Satoru could retort, there was a soft knock at the door. Suguru’s smirk widened, and he set his glass down, rising to answer it. “Ah, perfect timing.”

Satoru tensed, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. He leaned back slightly, watching as Suguru opened the door with all the confidence of a man who owned the place. When the door swung open, two women entered with an air of familiarity and charm, their laughter light as they greeted Suguru.

“Back so soon, Mr. Geto?” one of them purred, her hair bouncing with each step. Her gaze lingered on Suguru, enraptured as though she could see no one else. His friend has that effect on women, Satoru supposes. He’s definitely no stranger to it.

 “As if he could stay away,” added the other, her blonde hair catching the warm light as she smiled, all charm and sweetness.

Suguru offered a roguish grin, gesturing broadly to the room as he drew his legs apart impossibly wider. He was truly the epitome of a man relaxed and in bliss. “Ladies, your wit does me a disservice. I couldn’t possibly keep myself from such delightful company.”

The two women giggled, each draping herself over Suguru’s shoulders with the familiarity of longtime favorites. Their laughter chimed softly, though Satoru barely heard it. He was too busy trying to reconcile the absurdity of this situation with his growing discomfort.

“And who’s this?” the blonde asked, her curious gaze flickering toward Satoru, who sat at the far end of the sofa. His unease must not have been apparent to anyone but Suguru, because in Gojo’s periphery, he saw the other girl in between him and Suguru turn her head in surprise, as if she truly hadn’t noticed him but definitely seemed to like what she saw. Soon, she was moving out of Geto’s space and inching herself closer next to Gojo’s seat on the chaise, but Satoru kept his eyes trained on Suguru, awaiting his response to the blonde.

“Oh, that?” Suguru quipped, waving a hand in his direction as though introducing an unruly pet. “That is Satoru, a dear friend of mine—and a woefully inexperienced one at that.”

Satoru shot him a withering glare but said nothing, his lips pressed into a smirk as if to mask his unease and instead show amusement, an air of nonchalance.

“Do be kind to him,” Suguru added with a knowing smirk. “He’s not accustomed to such pleasures as these.”

The other woman rose with a soft laugh, gliding across the chaise with practiced elegance. “Then I shall endeavor to make him feel at home.”’

As she settled beside Satoru, he felt a strange prickle of apprehension, a sense of something amiss. Then he turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Or at least, it felt like you. The resemblance was so striking it bordered on cruel—the shape of her face, the curve of her lips, the lashes framing her warm eyes. She even smiled like you, though this smile carried a polished charm that felt foreign, detached.

“Good heavens,” she murmured, her voice light and lilting. “You’re dreadfully tense, aren’t you? Let me help you with that.”

Her words might as well have been spoken in another language, for they barely reached him. Satoru was still staring, his mind spinning as the room seemed to shrink around him. She shifted closer, the scent of her perfume—a cloying blend of florals—filling the space between them. It made his stomach turn, but not because it was unpleasant. No, it was wrong. It wasn’t your scent.

The memory of sandalwood hit him like a punch to the chest, unbidden and consuming. The delicate trace of it, how it lingered faintly whenever you passed by, how it deepened when he leaned closer, just enough to catch it at the hollow of your throat—

Her touch drew him back abruptly. Her fingers skimmed lightly along his arm, trailing upward to rest against his chest. “You must relax, sir,” she tittered, her tone teasing but soothing in equal measure. “Let me ease your troubles. There’s no need to hold yourself so tightly.”

But Satoru barely felt the pressure of her hand. Instead, all he could feel was you—the ghost of your touch from the salacious dream he’d had not long ago, a dream that had plagued him since. You, standing in his room in nothing but your night shift, your figure outlined faintly by the moonlight filtering through the window. He remembered how his hands had reached for you in that dream, the warmth of your skin beneath his palms, the sound of your breath catching as he—

“Sir?” Her voice broke through the haze, soft and curious. Her brow furrowed slightly as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Are you unwell?”

He blinked, forcing himself to focus, though it felt like dragging his mind out of quicksand. His throat worked, but the words caught. “I’m fine,” he managed, though the stiffness in his tone betrayed him.

Across the room, Suguru observed the exchange with a smirk, his chin resting lazily on his hand. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, I’m afraid,” he drawled, his amusement clear. “The man’s wound tighter than a clock.”

The woman beside Satoru laughed softly, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “No matter,” she said brightly, her hand trailing further across his torso. “We’ve ways of loosening even the most stubborn. You ought to be at ease, my lord,” she teases, “I have no aim to bite you.”

But Satoru wasn’t paying attention. His mind was still back in that dream, with you. It was an image he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he tried. And as she leaned closer, her hand pressing lightly against his chest, his thoughts screamed louder than ever: What am I doing here?

The woman’s touch began to drift lower, her hands brushing over his hips, and Satoru’s entire body went rigid, as though struck by lightning. A peculiar kind of heat climbed up his neck—not the kind born of desire but something closer to panic.

His chest felt tight, his breath shallow. The air in the room seemed to shrink, pressing down on him from all sides. Her laughter, sweet and tinkling, rang in his ears, but it sounded muffled as if he were underwater. He couldn’t do this—not with her, not with anyone. Not when her face, her scent, and even her touch were so painfully wrong. It was truly uncanny, something that put Satoru too much at unease

He knew he must get out of there.

In one sharp motion, Satoru stood. The movement startled the woman, her hands falling away as she looked up at him with wide, confused eyes. Similar to when you both tripped at the stream, you looking up at him, your bosom close to his—

“Sir?” she asked, tilting her head, her voice laced with surprise.

Satoru offered a dazzling smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was charming enough to serve its purpose. He gently took her hands in his, his fingers curling lightly around hers as he raised them to his lips. His kiss was featherlight, fleeting, and entirely calculated.

“My dear,” he began, his tone smooth as silk, though a faint tremor lay hidden beneath it, “while I deeply appreciate your gracious efforts, I am afraid I must take my leave. A rather urgent matter at home has just crossed my mind.”

She blinked, startled and unsure of what to say. “But—”

Satoru stepped back, his smirk widening as he released her hands with a flourish. “Do forgive my abrupt departure. You’ve been nothing short of delightful.” He inclined his head toward her in a courtly gesture, his gaze flicking briefly to Suguru, who was now watching him with one brow arched in amused disbelief.

“Geto,” Satoru said, his voice tight but steady, “it seems I must bid you adieu. Do enjoy yourself. You appear to be in good company.”

Suguru leaned back, his arms draped lazily over the back of the sofa, an almost predatory grin tugging at his lips. “You’re leaving already, Satoru? The night’s barely begun.”

“Oh, but the night is full of pressing demands. I fear I have just remembered a pending task in my ledgers expected to be resolved tomorrow” Satoru replied breezily, though his legs were already moving toward the door. “Another time, perhaps.”

Before Suguru could respond, Satoru slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him with an almost frantic speed. The sound of his boots echoed down the hallway as he strode quickly toward the exit, his pulse racing as though he were fleeing some great calamity.

By the time he stepped outside into the cool night air, his heart was pounding, and his chest felt like it might burst. He inhaled deeply, letting the chill fill his lungs as he tilted his head back to look at the sky. The stars above were cold and distant, but they steadied him.

“Good grief.”

As the door clicked shut behind Satoru, Geto’s smirk deepened, his gaze lingering on the spot where his friend had stood moments ago. The tension in Gojo’s shoulders, the too-tight smirk that barely concealed his panic—it had all been immensely entertaining. Geto couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. For all his bluster and charm, Satoru Gojo was, at his core, so damn oblivious to the raging currents inside of him. 

He sighs inwardly, now excited. He couldn’t wait for the theatrics that would occur soon, for his friend was a ticking time bomb—one to explode very soon.

He leaned back further into the sofa, stretching his arms along the backrest as he glanced at the two women beside him. The blonde was frowning slightly, clearly perplexed by Satoru’s abrupt departure, while the one that had approached Satoru was still staring at the door, her lips parted as if to call him back.

“Don’t fret, my darlings,” Geto drawled, his voice low and smooth as honey. He shifted slightly, letting his arm curl around the blonde’s shoulders, his hand resting lightly at the nape of her neck. “Our dear Lord Gojo is... a complicated man.”

The blonde huffed, crossing her arms in mock indignation. “He didn’t even stay long enough for a proper introduction. Was it something I said?”

“Not at all,” Geto assured her, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “He’s simply overwhelmed by beauty. I’m afraid he’s not accustomed to the kind of attention you so graciously bestowed upon him.”

The other woman’s pout melted into a soft laugh, her earlier confusion replaced by amusement. “Well, that is rather charming, in its own way.” Geto turns his eyes away from the blond to look at the other lady and has to bite his cheek to stop the laugh from coming in. 

He truly did a good job of describing your features to the madam when requesting her.

“Indeed,” Geto said, his smile widening as he turned his attention fully to them. “But let us not waste another thought on him. I, for one, am most delighted to remain in your company.”

His words seemed to ease whatever tension lingered, and the two women exchanged a glance before smiling in unison. The blonde leaned into him, her fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of his coat. “You’re far more gracious than your friend,” she murmured, her voice taking on a playful lilt.

“I do try,” Geto replied, his tone teasing as his other hand came to rest on the woman—the one previously attending to Satoru—’s knee. “And if I may be so bold, I’d say we’ve quite the opportunity here—one we shouldn’t waste.”

She comes closer to him, remarking while looking up at him through her lashes, “I would say you’re rather right.”

With that, the three met passionately in an exchange of limbs, certainly making do…even with the lack of a certain white-haired duke-to-be.

prev. the lake | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n HEY BRIDGERTON!GOJO POOKIES HOW ARE WE!! this chapter was sooo messy for gojo lmaooo. we're sooo close to the slow burn arc ending and this was a biiiggg epiphany for geto. now comes the next stage of the plan 😈

one thing i also wanted to clarify (and make sure everyone noticed) was that we got the reason why gojo dropped reader. he got a lil crush and got scared :( a lot of people have been asking me about it, and a lot of people were already commenting their theories, which nailed it completely on the head. whether surprised or not, i hope it makes sense :3

also idk if this goes without saying but if you didn't like that gojo agree to go to the brothel / dont agree with sex work / dont like that geto indulges / yadda yadda pls dont make it my problem <3 im just writing what was common at the time, it's not indicative of my views on anything

gojo after realizing the woman looked like you

reblog and comment to let me know ur thots! :3

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[luxerians]

The Last Mask (15)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 15 - Behind You

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 16

PREV : Chapter 14

Well, you’re fucked.

You thought you would be safe by disguising as a square guard in this place. But no. The Captain, after declaring that your stunt here was a hide-and-seek game, announced in his deep, commanding voice:

“All guards are to leave immediately, except for the managers. Managers, you will remain in the control room until you are summoned. Each manager will meet me in a private room. This will continue until I have identified each of you personally.”

The words rang out like a death sentence. Your heart sank. Every square guard in the control room, including you, was now locked into a situation you couldn’t easily escape. The Captain’s declaration left no room for argument or hesitation. He knew you were hiding among them, and now, he was closing in, determined to find you.

As the triangle and circle guards filtered out of the control room in near-perfect unison, you remained rooted to your spot, your anxiety bubbling to a near-breaking point. The managers around you stood silently. You tried to mirror their demeanor, even as your pulse pounded in your ears. The Captain’s gaze swept over all of you before he strode out.

The masked officer stayed behind, stepping forward to address the remaining managers. “Everyone, line up. Form four lines in the center.”

All of you lined up. The process began – without any instructions, to your horror – starting from the first line from the left. Everyone moved efficiently like robots. It's like everyone here had been groomed to be like this.

Soon enough, you learned how this worked. Each square guard would meet the Captain personally, one by one. Once the guard finished, they would return to the control room to guide the next in line to the Captain’s room. This cycle continued, with the latest guard becoming the guide for the next.

The summoning progressed one by one in the line first, each guard vanishing into the hallway with their guide. You stood near the back of the third line, giving you time to wait and prepare, though the wait itself was nerve-wracking.

Minutes ticked by, each one slower than the last. Finally, it was your line – the third queue’s turn – to be called. One by one, the guards in your line were summoned. Each time, the manager at the front of the line would straighten their posture, nod briskly, and step forward to follow the guide. Then, they would vanish into the hallway, leaving the line one person shorter.

Your heart thudded louder with every departure. The sound of footsteps echoed faintly each time the door opened and closed, the control room’s stillness amplifying everything. You kept your head down but your mind was elsewhere. Your thoughts raced, trying to rehearse how you would act, what you would say, how you would surrender to the Captain when your turn came.

Because let’s face it. Once you are summoned to see the Captain personally, you would have no choice but to unmask and reveal yourself to him once he commands you to. You can’t run.

The manager in front of you stepped forward, their number called. They followed the guide out into the hallway. Your stomach began to twist uncomfortably. You’re next.

After a few minutes, the square guard from before returned and stood beside you.

“This way,” they said, their tone monotone and detached.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you straightened up and quietly followed them out of the control room under the watchful eye of the Captain’s second-in-command.

Your steps echoed against the walls of the labyrinthine hallways. The path twisted and turned, each corner feeling more ominous than the last. The guide didn’t speak, and you didn’t dare break the silence.

Soon enough, the square guard who led you stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. They held it ajar, gesturing for you to step inside. Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced yourself to move forward. As you entered, you realized the room was a storage area. Dust clung to the shelves, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the air. It looked like the room hadn’t been used in a while.

But what caught your attention wasn’t just the state of the room. It was the figure standing inside. A triangle guard. The Captain was nowhere to be seen.

You stiffened in confusion and alarm, your muscles tensing as you prepared for the worst. Before you could act, the triangle guard, in his distorted voice, called your name. “It’s okay. It’s us.”

The triangle guard reached up and removed their mask, revealing a face partially obscured by a headsock with a wide hole that exposed their eyes. But you didn’t need to see their whole face to recognize them. The moment your gaze locked with theirs, you knew.

“Gyeong-seok?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

He gave you a small, tired smile and tugged the headsock down to his neck, fully revealing his face. Sweat clung to his skin, making his hair stick to his forehead and cheeks. His neck glistened, evidence of the heat trapped in the pink guard’s jumpsuit.

Behind you, the square guard who had led you to the room closed the door and began removing their own mask. As the mask came off, you saw a woman beneath it, also wearing a headsock. She pulled the fabric down to her neck, revealing her full face.

For a moment, you were stunned. She was beautiful, with V-shaped jawline and pretty features that caught you off guard. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, her face flushed and her neck damp with sweat. Strands of her hair clung to her skin, making her look as exhausted as she was captivating. There was a small line of dried cut on her left cheek. It seemed fresh. Nevertheless, you found yourself staring longer than you intended, but Gyeong-seok’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“She’s the one who saved us,” he said, nodding toward the woman. “She took down two square guards before your turn to get you out of there.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to her. “Two guards?”

The unnamed woman’s voice was soft yet strong, no longer distorted by the mask. “I took down the first one to see where you were in those lines. Then I intercepted the guard before you after they finished their meeting with the Captain.”

Her words hung in the air, and you took a moment to process what she had done. The risk she had taken was staggering, and the fact that she had succeeded left you both grateful and in awe.

“Wait here,” she told you. “I’ll guide the guard after you in line so nothing seems amiss.”

You nodded, looking at her appreciatively. She pulled the square mask back over her face, adjusting it carefully before tugging her jumpsuit and hood into place. With her appearance restored, she slipped out the door.

The room fell silent after she left, the faint hum of machinery somewhere in the facility the only sound. You exchanged a look with Gyeong-seok, who leaned back against the dusty shelf, his expression a mixture of relief and worry.

“She’s gutsy,” Gyeong-seok muttered. “I’m not sure how she managed all that.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted as you leaned against the wall. “I wonder how long she has worked here.”

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. You couldn’t shake the unease lingering in the back of your mind, but knowing that the woman was taking steps to protect your cover gave you a small sense of security. Finally, after what felt like forever, the door creaked open again.

She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Her movements were quick but deliberate as she removed her mask, revealing her flushed face once more. With a slight nod, she walked over to you and handed the square mask.

“It’s done,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Guards who had passed their meeting with the Captain are dismissed.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

The lady resumed, “We’ll need to lay low for now. The guards are on high alert and the Captain is watching everything because of your disappearance.”

She glanced at you pointedly. Though her face showed no emotion, you could sense their confusion about the Captain's peculiar behavior toward you. To be fair, you were just as baffled.

You voiced your confusion, though your thoughts were focused on a different matter. “Is it just me, or does he already know that I’m disguised as one of the guards?”

She didn’t hesitate. “He does. There’s no need for him to command every manager to see him personally one by one.”

“Manager?” Gyeong-seok repeated questioningly.

The lady nodded, clarifying further. “The square guards are called managers. The triangle guards are soldiers. The circles are workers. From the lowest to the highest rank, it’s workers, soldiers, and managers. The man in black and pink is referred to as the officer. And the one we call the Captain is officially known as the Front Man.”

You fell silent, letting the explanation sink in. The hierarchy and structure of this place were clearer now, but it was still too much for you. The unknown lady added, “The Captain must have figured out that you disguised yourself as a manager because the one who was supposed to guard you was found with his mask removed.”

The memory surfaced immediately. This same lady had been the one to remove the original manager’s mask and hand it to you, enabling your disguise.

Gyeong-seok broke the silence. “So what do we do now?”

“We lay low,” the lady said firmly. “Try to adapt as much as you can.”

She turned to Gyeong-seok and said, “I gave you a soldier’s mask for number 014. Our rooms are close to each other, and our tasks are almost identical. Just follow my lead, and you’ll blend in.”

Gyeong-seok nodded. She then turned to you. “You will keep disguising yourself as a manager. Here.”

She handed the square mask she had just removed from her face. “Wear this. Number 007. That’s your number.”

You took it and blinked your eyes at them innocently. “What happened to that guard?”

She stared at you quietly, giving you no response, until she finally answered, “They wouldn’t bother anyone. I hid their body somewhere no one knew.”

You and Gyeong-seok exchanged glances before the latter asked her, “Is that okay? How long have you worked as a pink guard?”

“More than five years,” she answered monotonously.

You and Gyeong-seok exchanged a look of wonderment. No wonder she knows so much about this place and so much more.

She then spoke to you, “In your role, you have authority over the soldiers and workers. The other managers won’t pay much attention to you because managers are expected to know their responsibilities. But be cautious. If you act suspiciously, they will confront you.”

“Why couldn’t she become a soldier too?” Gyeong-seok asked, his tone curious but innocent.

She cast her gaze down. “I considered it, but we need someone in a higher position to protect us if another manager starts questioning us. A manager’s authority will give us more leeway to maneuver without raising alarms.”

Both you and Gyeong-seok nodded understandingly before the latter shifted, adjusting his stance, as he inquired, “How long do we have to do this?”

The lady was quiet for a moment before replying, “Until the game finishes. Once this game ends, we will be sent back outside and you can pretend that nothing happened.”

“We can leave earlier if the players vote for X in the majority, right?” you asked, the thought suddenly striking you.

“Yes, that’s one way to end the game.”

“But because of the lights out and the revolt, the Os will have the majority in the next vote,” Gyeong-seok pointed out.

The lady replied, “Yes. It’s inevitable at this point.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing on all of you. Finally, the lady broke the silence. “We should wrap this up. It’s too risky to stay together for too long. Disperse and stick to the plan.”

But before they could turn away, you spoke up. “Wait. What’s your name? Or your number? And is there a way to tell you apart? It’s hard to identify you among the other pink guards.”

The lady hesitated. She was quiet for a moment as if weighing whether to answer. Finally, she said, “Call me 011.”

You nodded, committing her number to memory. The secrecy surrounding her name didn’t bother you. It made sense. She had been working here as a triangle guard for years, shooting eliminated players and probably so much more. Privacy was likely something she clung to.

Although she was someone who should answer for her ‘duties,’ someone who should be handed over to the police, you still felt a surprising sense of protectiveness toward her.

After all, she had saved you and Gyeong-seok. She had risked herself to help complete strangers. Seeing how the Captain worked, if he found out about 011, he would shoot her for disloyalty. She literally risked her life for you and Gyeong-seok.

“Okay. But we need a way to recognize each other quickly. Something that stands out,” you urged.

Gyeong-seok chimed in. “Yeah, there must be a way to differentiate each other from other guards.”

011 considered this for a moment before nodding. “You’re right. We’ll need something subtle but distinct so the others won’t notice.”

“What about a tear in the fabric?” you suggested. “Small, like at the sleeves or something.”

“Or the shoes,” Gyeong-seok added. “We could scratch or mark the shoes. It’s not obvious, but we’ll know to look for it.”

011 nodded thoughtfully. “Both ideas could work. A small tear on the sleeves and back of the jumpsuit and a mark on the shoes. It’ll be subtle but clear enough for us to recognize.”

The three of you worked together to create the subtle wear-and-tear marks on each other’s top. 011 carefully added a small tear to the sleeves and back of your top and did the same thing to Gyeong-seok. The latter returned the favor to 011, creating a similar mark at her sleeves and back of their jacket. For the shoes, each of you crouched down and made small, deliberate scratches or marks on your own footwear.

As the three of you finished, 011 looked up. “We have to go. Soon enough, workers will begin to restore the CCTVs in the dormitory.”

You and Gyeong-seok nodded.

***

You were walking through the labyrinth of colorful stairs, trying to familiarize yourself with the facility’s map and layout. Disguising yourself as a manager meant you needed to know the space like the back of your hand. Understanding the routes, the shortcuts, and the layout of each level felt crucial to maintaining your cover.

True to 011’s word, the workers and soldiers didn’t bother you at all. They didn’t approach or speak to you, their respect for your supposed role evident in their behavior. When the path became too narrow, they even stepped aside to let you pass first. The managers were different; they simply glanced at you before continuing with their tasks. As long as you didn’t act suspiciously, it seemed none of the guards cared to pay you much attention.

You began to relax slightly, finding some reassurance in the lack of scrutiny. That was until your radio crackled to life. The sudden noise made your steps falter for a moment as an announcement rang out.

“Attention. Managers whose numbers are mentioned next, head to the control room immediately.”

The voice began listing off a series of numbers. You walked forward slowly as you listened closely. Then it came.

“Manager 007.”

You froze mid-step. Anxiety shot up like a rocket, making your pulse thunder in your ears. You were being summoned to the control room. After listing a few more numbers, the radio fell silent again, leaving you standing there.

What could they want? Why were you being called? Questions swirled in your mind as you tried to suppress the rising panic. Forcing your feet to move, you adjusted your posture and straightened your mask. There was no time to think. You had to go.

It took you more than seven minutes to reach the control room. You were proud of yourself for remembering the way, even though you got lost for a moment along the winding corridors. But as soon as you stepped inside, the anxiety that had temporarily eased flared up again.

You joined eight other managers in the center of the control room. The nine of you stood together on the floor where pictures of surviving players lit up.

You couldn’t look at the screen beneath you clearly because standing before you was the masked officer. You didn’t want to do anything that might raise alarm or suspicion. Meanwhile, the Front Man was nowhere to be seen.

The masked officer spoke. “Due to the revolt, half of managers that were supposed to operate these monitors were killed. To maintain operational efficiency, some of you will need to alternate tasks. This will involve manning monitors in the control room, supervising the next game, and guarding the Captain. The nine of you will be the first emergency batch to take on these alternating roles.”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “Those who volunteer to operate monitors now will later switch with others when the next game begins, and guard the Captain during the evening. If you wish to volunteer for the first shift, speak up now.”

There was a beat of silence before one of the managers stepped forward. “019. I volunteer to operate the monitors.”

Another manager followed. “009. I will operate the monitors.”

You stayed quiet. You weren’t sure if volunteering would draw more attention to you, so you let the decision rest with the officer. But as you stood there, mulling over the situation, it struck you.

If you volunteer to operate the monitors now, you could keep an eye on your friends during the next game while you are supervising.

Summoning your resolve, you stepped forward and mirrored the others’ phrasing. “007. I volunteer to operate the monitors first.”

The masked officer nodded. “Understood. You three may begin immediately. The other three managers will replace you in monitor operation when the next game begins. The remaining three will begin manning the monitors this evening.”

The conversation ended there, the masked officer dismissing everyone to their new tasks. Moments later, you found yourself seated at a monitor in the second row from the center. The control room was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the soft clicks and taps from other managers working at their stations. You turned your attention to the monitor in front of you, studying the screen and trying to make sense of your assigned task.

Your monitor displayed four live CCTV feeds, each showing hallways leading to the men’s and women’s restrooms for the players. For now, the feeds were empty, the halls devoid of activity.

At the bottom of the screen, you noticed a small arrow pointing to the right. Clicking it, you realized it brought up another page with four more live feeds. This set displayed the labyrinth of colorful staircases, the vibrant pink walls and intersecting paths looking almost surreal through the grainy CCTV footage.

The soft hum of the control room was disrupted by the sound of the elevator sliding open in the back. Instinctively, you glanced over your shoulder. The elevator was glowing with golden light, a sharp contrast to the muted tones of the control room. It was clear this elevator wasn’t for general use. It carried an air of exclusivity, a touch of grandeur that felt out of place in the stark facility. Then, he stepped out.

The Front Man emerged, his presence immediately commanding the room. He strode forward, his black mask catching the dim light of the massive screens on the walls. His imposing figure radiated power and authority. His second-in-command stepped aside, letting the boss walk past him.

The Front Man came to a stop in the center of the room, his gaze fixed on several dark monitors that should have been displaying the dormitory’s live feeds. Managers, including yourself, kept their heads low. You pretended to focus on the screen of your monitor, but you could feel the tension thick in the air.

“The workers are almost finished replacing the CCTVs in the dormitory,” said the masked officer, stepping forward slightly. “23 players have died due to the lights out and the revolt. The remaining players are now a total of 72.”

The Front Man remained still for a moment, processing the information. Then he spoke, his voice deep and commanding. “We will wait until all CCTVs are operational. Ensure it is completed immediately.”

The masked officer lowered his head in acknowledgment. Then, he raised his radio and began issuing orders. The static crackle of the radio was faint, but you could make out fragments of his commands. He was coordinating workers, urging them to move quickly.

Meanwhile, the Front Man continued to stand at the center of the room. His gaze never left the dark monitors. You felt the weight of his authority pressing down on the room like an invisible force. Though he hadn’t said much, his presence was enough to make everyone hyper-aware of their every move.

The Front Man suddenly turned and began walking toward the first row of monitors closest to the center of the room. Multiple managers were stationed there, each one glued to their tasks, pretending not to notice the imposing figure approaching them. He stopped behind one manager, standing silently as he gazed at the screen in front of them. His posture was unreadable as he was supervising or judging their work.

After a few long moments, he moved and stood behind the next manager, repeating the same process. Standing silently, observing, scrutinizing. The air grew heavier with each step he took. You could almost feel the tension radiating off the other managers as they focused on their screens, hoping to avoid his attention.

Your chest tightened as you watched his slow, deliberate movements. The realization struck you like a hammer.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is he going to check everyone’s screen now, including mine?

You turned back to your monitor, forcing yourself to focus on the screen in front of you. The live feeds of empty hallways and colorful staircases stared back at you, but your eyes darted across the interface, desperate to find anything else to do. You clicked through the pages again and again, but no matter what you tried, the only thing available was the live feed.

Or maybe you simply didn’t know how to navigate the monitor. Your hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. Anxiety crept up your spine as you tried to keep your composure. What if he asks me something? What if he realizes I don’t belong here?

Behind you, you could hear the soft shuffling of footsteps as the Captain moved to the next monitor. Each step brought him closer, and with each step, your dread grew. You glanced at the managers near you, trying to gauge their reactions. They were calm, composed, their hands steady as they worked. Or maybe they were just better at hiding their fear than you were.

You clicked through the feeds again, your fingers moving mechanically. The colorful staircases flashed on the screen once more. You tried to focus on the feeds, pretending to study them, but your mind was racing. What am I looking at exactly? Is this all I have to do? What if he notices I’m just pretending?

The footsteps stopped. He was behind someone else now, just three spots away. You didn’t dare look, but you could feel the weight of his presence from across the room. The sound of your own breathing was deafening in your ears. Your fingers tapped lightly against the mouse, an involuntary rhythm born of nerves.

Another step. Now he was just two stations away.

You forced yourself to stare at the screen, willing your hands to stay steady. The live feed showed nothing unusual. It’s just static hallways and staircases. You tried to focus on the smallest details: the faint flicker of the fluorescent lights in one corner of the screen, the subtle shadows cast by the stair railings. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Then, the footsteps started and then stopped again. You didn’t need to look to know he was behind the manager next to you. The air felt thicker, every second stretching endlessly as you waited. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you were sure he could hear it. You braced yourself for what was coming.

And then, finally, the footsteps resumed. He was right behind you now.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing. The screen in front of you blurred as your focus shattered. You could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head, even though he hadn’t spoken a word. You forced yourself to move the mouse, scrolling through the feeds again as if you were searching for something specific.

Don’t look suspicious. Just act normal.

The silence was unbearable. You wanted to turn around, to see if he was watching your screen, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. All you could do was wait and hope that he didn’t say anything.

To your terror, he was lingering behind you longer than he had with the others. You could feel his presence like a predator assessing its prey. Your pulse quickened as the silence stretched out. His proximity was suffocating. You couldn’t help but notice the subtle scent of leather and something sharp, almost metallic, clinging to him.

And then, something black and shiny appeared in your peripheral vision. His left gloved hand slid into view, inching closer to the monitor in front of you. Your breath hitched as his fingers hovered over the buttons, deliberate and slow, as if seeing your reaction. You froze, your entire body going rigid as you felt the warmth of his presence so close on your back.

With a quiet but decisive click, he pressed a specific button on the control panel. The screen flickered for a moment before changing. It now displayed a detailed interface – a task list for managing the movement of workers and supplies within the facility. Each section was labeled: “Dormitory Maintenance,” “Staircase Surveillance,” “Game Preparation,” and more. You stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the information, but the gravity of his presence made it impossible to focus.

The Front Man withdrew his hand, retreating backward, but you could still feel him there. His silence was deafening, his gaze like a physical weight pressing into your back. Your skin prickled with awareness, and your stomach twisted into knots. There was something unsettlingly intimate about his attention as if he could see straight through you.

Your fingers twitched as you forced yourself to move, to engage with the task on the monitor. But your hand trembled uncontrollably as you hovered over the buttons. You cursed yourself inwardly, willing your body to calm down, but the fear gripping you was relentless, leaving you exposed in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

The Front Man remained behind you, silent and still. You could feel the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken weight of whatever thoughts lingered behind that mask.

As you clicked through the tasks, your mind raced. Was he testing you? Waiting for you to slip up? Or was there something else in his silence, something about the way he lingered? Your skin burned under the weight of his gaze.

That’s when a massive screen on the wall lit up, showing a live feed from the corner of the players’ dormitory. The entire control room’s attention snapped to the glowing screen. The sound of the live recording echoed across the space. Moments later, more massive screens illuminated, each displaying different angles of the dormitory.

Your eyes widened as you absorbed the images in front of you, scanning each feed for any sign of your friends. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of relief as the footage revealed their familiar faces, though their expressions told a story of despair.

In the dormitory, multiple pink soldiers stood rigidly by the walls and in front of the main double doors. They were heavily armed. It was clear they weren’t taking any chances this time. These guards were prepared to crush any sign of rebellion without hesitation.

Among the players, your friends sat huddled on the floor between the bunkbeds. Jun-hee and Yong-sik’s mother clutched each other’s hands tightly, their faces flushed and tear-streaked, as if they had just finished crying their hearts out. Yong-sik sat beside his mother, his body tense, his eyes darting nervously toward the pink guards stationed across the room. Hyun-ju sat directly in front of them, completing their small circle. Her shoulders slumped, and her gaze was distant, the look of someone grappling with despair.

A few feet away, Gi-hun and Jung-bae sat side by side on the staircases. Gi-hun looked utterly defeated, his gaze locked onto the floor, a deep glower etched across his features. His body seemed heavy, weighed down by regret and hopelessness. Beside him, Jung-bae sat pale and wide-eyed, as if still processing the events of the revolt. His disbelief was almost palpable.

Behind them, leaning against the wall on one of the beds, was Dae-ho. He appeared physically fine now, but his demeanor was distant, detached. He stared blankly into space, his expression unreadable. Yet, you noticed the way his gaze occasionally flicked toward Gi-hun and the others. It was subtle, almost hesitant, as if he wanted to join them but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Guilt hung over him like a shadow, isolating him even further.

You frowned as you stared at the live feeds, noticing the growing distance among your group of friends. The weight of everything they had endured was starting to show. Cracks in their dynamic were now evident.

The sound of retreating footsteps caught your attention. You glanced to the side and saw the Front Man walking away from behind you. He moved until he reached the center of the room. Standing tall, he gazed at the monitors displaying the dormitory feeds.

The masked officer stepped closer, his voice cutting through the silence. “Captain, everything is ready for the next vote.”

The Front Man remained still, staring at the screens for a moment longer. Then, with a calm but firm tone, he announced, “Proceed.”

The masked officer bowed his head slightly before stepping back. Raising his radio, he began issuing orders. The sound of static crackled briefly before the commands went through. Moments later, the familiar blaring noise echoed through the dormitory – a sound that indicated something was about to happen.

On the live feeds, you watched as the dormitory’s double doors slid open. A single manager stepped forward, flanked by 16 pink soldiers standing in perfect formation. The room went quiet as the manager began to speak, “Due to the brawl in the men's bathroom, the lights out and your failed attempt of a revolt, 27 players have been eliminated.”

The manager paused as the sound of bills dropping into the piggy bank suspended near the ceiling echoed throughout the dormitory, drawing every player's attention to the accumulating prize.

“The remaining players are now a total of 73. Based on these eliminations, an additional 2.7 billion won has been added to the prize pool. The current total now stands at 38.3 billion won. If the remaining 73 players choose to vote to leave, each player will receive an equal share of the accumulated prize money of 524 million won per player.”

Most of the players – the O players – erupted into murmurs of amazement at the staggering numbers announced, their expressions lighting up with greed and excitement. They didn’t seem to care that this money represented the lives of the players who had died. It was as if the reality of those losses had been completely overshadowed by the sheer allure of wealth. In contrast, the X players exchanged uneasy glances.

The manager’s voice cut through the noise. “The next vote will begin immediately.”

Once everything was in place, the players shuffled to the back of the center, gathering as they waited for their turn. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. The voting counter stood ominously at the front.

“Player 006,” the manager called out.

A female player stepped forward. She approached the voting counter, and as you watched her walk, your mind wandered to someone who should have been called before her – Young-il, player 001.

His number had been skipped. The confirmation was undeniable: Young-il’s death was finalized. It was an unchangeable fact now etched into this twisted game. Your gaze fell to the floor, your heart heavy with grief. The memory of him flashed vividly in your mind. His quiet strength, his protective nature, the way he’d look at you with a mix of determination and warmth. He was gone, and you hadn’t even had the chance to mourn him properly.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. This wasn’t the time or place. Still, the weight of his absence was suffocating, wrapping around your chest like a vice. You felt your eyes brim with tears and quickly looked up, hoping to dry them and reduce the risk of them spilling.

You thought of his voice, the way he’d call your name in that calm yet firm tone. You thought of the plan you’d made to meet outside of this nightmare. Seonyudo Park. One month after. At sunset. And now, that plan was gone. He was gone. The thought threatened to crush you, but you forced yourself to stay composed. You couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not here, not now.

The line continued to dwindle, the vote inching closer to its conclusion. And yet, all you could think about was the empty space where Young-il should have been. His absence was a gaping wound, one that no amount of time or wealth could ever heal.

In fifteen minutes, the voting concluded, and the result was no surprise: the majority voted for O. You had braced yourself for this outcome, knowing it was inevitable. After all, so many X players had been eliminated during the lights out and Gi-hun’s failed uprising plan. Hopelessness settled over you like a heavy weight. The realization that the X players were now outnumbered and powerless was unbearable.

You glanced at the group of X players. Some of them had started crying silently, their tears rolling down their cheeks without a sound. Their expressions carried the despair of knowing they were being forced to continue playing this deadly game, robbed of any semblance of choice.

It was a stark contrast to the O players, who erupted in jubilant cheers, their voices echoing across the dormitory like a cruel mockery of those in despair. Some clapped and shouted, grinning widely as they celebrated their supposed triumph over the X players. It was as if they had forgotten – or chose to ignore – that every win came at the cost of someone else's life.

“Based on the majority vote,” the manager announced, their voice cold and detached, “we will proceed with the next game right away. Please form four lines immediately.”

Suddenly, the masked officer standing behind the Front Man spoke up, “Manager 019, 009, and 007, you may proceed to your next task.”

The announcement made your stomach tighten. You had been so focused on the voting process that you almost forgot you were supposed to supervise the next game. You rose from your seat, noticing the other two managers standing as well. They turned and headed for the door, and you followed close behind. You didn’t know what to expect, but the chance to leave the control room – especially the Captain’s suffocating presence – was a small relief.

The next thing you knew, you entered a massive room. Your breath caught as you took in the sight before you. Two gargantuan dolls dominated the space, one instantly recognizable as the girl from Red Light, Green Light. The other was a boy wearing a cap, his face carved with the same eerie precision. The two dolls faced one another, separated by a large gap. In the middle of that gap was a massive conveyor belt, its path forming a wide, perfect circle between the two dolls. Numbers, like those on a clock, surrounded the conveyor belt. The number twelve was positioned directly in front of the boy doll, while the number six faced the girl doll.

On the east side of the conveyor belt, you noticed a railroad crossing sign. Its green and red lights were currently off, but its presence added another layer of confusion to you. To the west was a large playhouse, brightly colored. It faced the conveyor belt and the dolls. A staircase at the back of the playhouse led up into it, while a children’s slide curved down from the front.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together what the next game could be. The surreal setup was unsettling, but you couldn’t afford to let your curiosity show. Asking questions could draw unnecessary attention and make you seem suspicious.

“One of us will manage the game operation,” manager 019 said, breaking the silence. Their voice was steady as they glanced between you and manager 009. “If none of you volunteer, I’ll operate it. Any objections?”

You turned to manager 009, who nodded and replied, “Okay. I’ll watch from the side.”

Then manager 019’s attention shifted to you. “How about you?”

You fell silent, weighing your options carefully. You wanted to keep an eye on your friends, maybe even find a way to help them, but the truth was, you had no idea how to operate this game. If you made mistakes, you’d draw suspicion, and that was a risk you couldn’t afford. After a moment of deliberation, you decided it was best to observe first, learn how the game worked, and then figure out your next move.

“I’m fine with that,” you replied, shaking your head to manager 019’s question.

Manager 019 gave a nod and walked toward the playhouse. As manager 009 moved to another area, you kept your gaze fixed on manager 019, watching them ascend the stairs into the brightly colored structure. Through the small windows of the playhouse, you could see them take a position at the window facing the dolls and look down at something.

It was at that moment the conveyor belt began to hum softly, coming to life. Lights flickered on above the dolls and the conveyor belt, illuminating the massive room in a surreal glow. As the machinery moved, your eyes were drawn upward to the ceiling. It was then you noticed the intricate paintings covering the wallpaper and ceiling.

Above the boy doll was a crescent moon painted on the ceiling, casting a calm, nighttime aura over the walls on his side. On the other hand, above the girl doll was a vibrant sunset, warm and evocative of the end of the day. Suddenly, the numbers on the conveyor belt made sense. Twelve o’clock corresponded to Cheol-su and the moon – midnight. Six o’clock was aligned with Young-hee and the sunset – evening. But even with these details falling into place, you still couldn’t figure out what kind of game this was.

“007, please check the lights beneath the conveyor belt in front of Cheol-su,” manager 009’s voice broke through your thoughts. “I will check the other lights near Young-hee.”

You nodded and glanced around. Assuming that Cheol-su was the boy doll, you walked over to his side of the conveyor belt. Sure enough, there was a light projector beneath the conveyor belt at the 12 o’clock mark. As you inspected it, manager 019 did something from their position in the playhouse. Suddenly, more sections of the conveyor belt lit up at the 3, 6, and 9 o’clock positions. You stared at the glowing sections, wondering what the game would entail and what purpose the lights served.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled your attention back to the present. A group of triangle guards entered the massive room. Behind them came the rest of the players, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear.

“What the hell is this?” one voice called out, tinged with panic.

“Why are there two of them now?” another player asked, pointing at the towering Cheol-su and Young-hee.

Then, the first announcement answered to their questions:

“Welcome to your fourth game. The game you will be playing is Open, Dongdaemun.”

Your eyes widened at the name of the game, a childhood classic one you'd played in kindergarten before. The reaction among the players was immediate. Some began to exchange uneasy glances as realization dawned on them. Jun-hee and the mother shared a worried look. Gi-hun stood quietly, his wide eyes darting around solemnly.

The announcer continued, “All players, please step onto the conveyor belt. Place your hands on the shoulders of the player in front of you to mimic a train. When the game starts, the railroad crossing sign will turn green, and the conveyor belt will move clockwise. The song Open, Dongdaemun will begin to play and mention a number in a clock. When the crossing sign turns red, the conveyor belt will stop, and the numbered area mentioned last in the song will be the area of elimination.”

You felt a chill run down your spine as you listened.

“Four players standing on the selected time will be eliminated.”

The gravity of the announcement hit everyone at once. Whispers of fear filled the air as the players tried to grasp the mechanics of the game. The circle guards soon entered the room to assist in the preparations.

You caught sight of Jun-hee glancing nervously at Yong-sik’s mother, who tried to offer a comforting squeeze of her hand. Gi-hun stared at the conveyor belt, his jaw clenched tightly in suppressed tension. Hyun-ju kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her shoulders hunched as if she was still drowning in despair. Dae-ho lingered a few steps behind the group, hesitating like he couldn’t bring himself to close the gap. Then, you noticed Jung-bae approach him, gently patting his back. Dae-ho flinched slightly at the contact, his expression flickering with unease before he glanced at Jung-bae with a hesitant nod.

Jung-bae gently guided Dae-ho into the group, placing him right beside Gi-hun. Dae-ho avoided meeting Gi-hun’s gaze, his eyes fixed on the floor instead. In that moment, you sensed a lingering tension between them, something unspoken but heavy. Was it because of Dae-ho’s failure to deliver the ammunition during the revolt?

“All players, please step onto the conveyor belt,” the announcer said.

Players began stepping hesitantly onto the unmoving conveyor belt. A few lingered at the edges, their reluctance clear in the way they glanced nervously at the dolls and the machinery. The circle guards moved and guided them into position. One by one, the players were arranged in a single-file line on the conveyor belt, all facing clockwise as instructed.

Once they were in place, the workers bent down and began locking the players’ legs into clamps attached to the conveyor belt. The metal clamps snapped shut around their ankles with an audible click. The players shifted uneasily, realizing the clamps rendered them immobile. Escape was no longer an option.

When the workers finished, they gestured for the players to place their hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them, mimicking the formation of a train. The players obeyed. The workers gave everything a final check before retreating to the walls.

The voice of the announcer echoed through the massive room. “Let the fourth game begin.”

A low hum signaled the conveyor belt coming to life. It began moving clockwise at a slow, deliberate pace. The sudden motion startled the players, and a few gasped audibly. Some tightened their grip on the shoulders in front of them for balance, while others stiffened, their bodies tensing as they tried to adjust.

Above them, the lights flickered on, casting intricate patterns onto the players and the conveyor belt. Then, the music began.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s twelve sharp, the Gates are closed.”

But then, the music repeated, and it picked up speed. The conveyor belt responded in kind, moving faster with each repetition of the song. The sudden acceleration made some players gasp in alarm, and a few stumbled slightly before regaining their footing.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s three sharp, the Gates are closed.”

A sharp ping rang out, silencing the music. The railroad crossing sign turned red, and the conveyor belt came to an abrupt halt. The players nearly fell forward from the sudden stop, but they quickly steadied themselves, clutching the shoulders in front of them for support. A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone processed what had just happened.

Then, the three o’clock area on the conveyor belt lit up with a vivid glow. The light illuminated four players standing in that section, their expressions quickly shifting to panic. The other players turned their heads, their faces pale as they stared at the unlucky individuals caught in the spotlight. The room seemed to hold its breath as the realization set in: those four were marked for elimination.

One of the players in the lit area began shaking their head in disbelief. “No, no, please…”

Four triangle guards appeared beside the conveyor belt. They raised their MP5s, aiming directly at the four players who had begun pleading desperately for mercy. The players’ cries echoed in the vast room, but the guards didn’t hesitate. A series of deafening gunshots filled the air as they opened fire, their bullets tearing through the marked individuals. The remaining players flinched in terror, some even letting out muffled sobs. You felt yourself flinch as well, but you quickly masked your reaction, forcing yourself to remain composed. Drawing attention to yourself was the last thing you needed.

The lifeless bodies of the four players collapsed onto the conveyor belt, their blood pooling beneath them and spreading across the surface. The sight made several players avert their eyes, their expressions twisted with horror and dread. As the tension in the room reached a suffocating peak, the voice of the announcer rang out once again:

“All players, please wait while the workers clean up.”

From the far side of the room, a group of circle guards began to approach. They moved efficiently, splitting into two teams – one to handle the cleanup and the other to tend to the surviving players. The latter team of workers crouched beside the players, unlocking their clamps temporarily. Then, the players were instructed to step aside as the bodies were removed. Once the area was cleared, the guards guided the players back into position, ensuring they filled the gaps left by the deceased. The clamps were locked back onto their ankles.

You took in the scene with a heavy heart. The game was merciless, and the players – your friends among them – were being subjected to unthinkable terror. You couldn’t dwell on it for too long, though. With purpose in your steps, you turned away and began ascending the staircase toward the playhouse.

The interior of the playhouse was cramped but functional, designed to mimic the living room and kitchen of a house while also being made for the sole purpose of operating the mechanics of the game. Manager 019 stood by the controls, their posture relaxed but their focus sharp. As you stepped inside, they glanced over and addressed you.

“What is it? You want to operate this?”

You hesitated briefly before responding. “Yes, but this second round is yours.”

Manager 019 gave a curt nod. “Okay. You can have your turn after the fourth round. Then Manager 009 can take over after your eighth round. That way it’s fair for all three of us getting four rounds each.”

You stayed silent, processing their words. Beneath the square mask concealing your face, your brow furrowed in concern. Twelve rounds. This game would have twelve rounds in total. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest. Your friends would have to endure this ordeal twelve times.

The next round began with the manager pressing on a large green button on the control panel. The railroad crossing sign turned green, and the conveyor belt began its slow, deliberate movement. Above, the lights flickered on, casting those strange, spiraling patterns over the players. The familiar melody of the song started again:

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s twelve sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Twelve. You mentally noted the number.

The song repeated, this time picking up speed. The conveyor belt followed suit, its pace quickening enough to make a few players grip the shoulders in front of them harder.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s three sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Three. The number registered in your mind, but you barely had time to dwell on it before the song repeated again. The pace was almost frantic now, the conveyor belt spinning faster and faster. A few players stumbled slightly, their nervous gasps audible even over the music.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s six sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Six. You held your breath. The song looped back once more, but this time, the tempo eased. The conveyor belt slowed to match, giving the players a brief reprieve.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s nine sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Nine. You noted the number, but the brief relief of the slower pace was quickly overshadowed by manager 019’s movements.

Their gloved hand hovered over a bright red button before pressing it firmly, causing a sharp ping to echo through the room. The railroad crossing sign turned red, and the conveyor belt came to an abrupt halt. The music cut off abruptly, leaving behind a deafening silence that hung heavy in the air.

Manager 019 reached out and pressed the button labeled with the number ‘9.’ It was one of a series of numbered buttons aligned in a row, including ‘12,’ ‘3,’ and ‘6.’ As their gloved finger made contact, the nine o’clock section of the conveyor belt lit up abruptly, casting an intense, unforgiving glow onto the four players standing in that area.

Their faces drained of color as they realized what it meant. The rest of the players turned to look, their expressions ranging from shock to pure terror.

One of the four players began to tremble. “No, no, please.”

The triangle guards stepped forward without hesitation. Each guard took a position beside one of the marked players. The players began pleading, their voices desperate and raw, but the guards raised their MP5s, their fingers steady on the triggers. Without a word, the guards fired.

The gunshots were deafening, each one echoing in your chest. The marked players fell limp, their bodies collapsing onto the conveyor belt. Blood spread across the surface as the remaining players recoiled in horror. Some clamped their hands over their mouths to stifle their cries, while others turned their heads away, unable to look.

“All players, please wait while the workers clean up,” the announcer’s voice rang out.

The circle guards entered once again as they removed the lifeless bodies from the conveyor belt. Other workers crouched to unlock the clamps of the surviving players, guiding them to close the gap left by the fallen. The conveyor belt was reset, and the clamps were resecured.

You glanced at manager 019 as they stood by the controls. Then, your gaze shifted upward to the ceiling of the playhouse. There, mounted inconspicuously, was a CCTV camera overlooking the entire space. Your stomach tightened. You have to take care of that first.

While the workers were still cleaning up the scene, you stepped outside of the playhouse and descended the staircase. Your movements were purposeful as you strode toward the line of triangle guards standing by the wall. Your eyes scanned their jumpsuits and shoes, searching for the subtle marks you, 011, and Gyeong-seok had made to identify one another in the sea of pink uniforms.

The soldiers remained silent, respecting your role without a question. One by one, you scrutinized their outfits, keeping your movements casual to avoid drawing suspicion. Finally, you spotted them – 011 and 014 – standing beside each other, their MP5s slung across their chests. Their attention were already locked on you.

“011 and 014,” you called out, your voice distorted by the square mask.

“Anything I could help with, manager?” 011 asked.

“Follow me,” you instructed without missing a beat.

The two of them obeyed immediately, falling into step behind you as you led them back toward the playhouse. Your eyes darted around the room, ensuring no one was too close to overhear. Once you were certain the path was clear, you lowered your voice and spoke quickly but firmly.

“I want to manipulate the game in the next rounds. But there’s a CCTV in that playhouse.”

011 responded immediately, “Leave it to me. I just need you to distract the guard first.”

You nodded, relief mixing with the tension building in your chest. The plan was risky, but it was your only option if you wanted to take control and help your friends. Just as you were about to say more, the speakers crackled to life, and an announcement echoed through the room.

“Let the third round begin.”

The mechanical hum of the conveyor belt filled the space as the railroad crossing sign turned green. The familiar melody of Open, Dongdaemun began to play once more.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s twelve sharp, the Gates are closed.”

You ascended the stairs, 011 and 014 trailing close behind. But before you could reach the top, a sharp ping echoed through the room, cutting through the eerie melody of the game. The railroad crossing sign turned red. It came sooner than you expected, making you freeze mid-step. Your head snapped toward the conveyor belt.

The twelve section of the conveyor belt lit up, its harsh glow illuminating the players standing in that spot. Four… no, five players were there. Your breath hitched as your eyes widened in fear. Among them were three random players whose faces you barely recognized… and the kind mother and Jun-hee.

“No,” you whispered under your breath, dread pooling in your stomach.

The announcer’s female voice rang out over the speakers, “Attention. Only four players are to be eliminated each round. The five players standing on the twelve section must now decide among themselves. One player will be spared, and the remaining four will be eliminated. You have one minute to come to a decision. Failure to reach a unanimous decision will result in the elimination of all five players.”

Flickering lights were cast from the ceiling, quickening the heartbeat of every player in the room. An LED timer flickered to life on the floor in the middle of the conveyor belt circle, its large numbers beginning the one-minute countdown. The pressure in the air was almost palpable as the reality of the moment settled in.

The mother’s eyes darted between the random players and Jun-hee, who was already trembling violently behind her. The room seemed to shrink, the oppressive silence only broken by the overlapping voices of the random players as they fiercely argued for their lives.

“I have a child back home!” one of the players shouted, their voice cracking with desperation. “I need to go back to them! How can you ask me to give up my life?”

“We all have something to live for!” another spat back, their fists clenched. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse to save yourself.”

The third player, visibly shaking, clutched her chest as she spoke, her words spilling out in a frantic rush. “Please, just let me live. I’ll… I’ll do anything! I can’t die here. Please!”

Amid the heated debate, Jun-hee’s sobs grew louder. Tears streamed down her face, her breathing uneven as she clung desperately and tremblingly to the mother’s hand. You realized then just how deeply Jun-hee had grown attached to the mother, seeing her as a maternal figure. This bond, forged in fear and mutual care, made the thought of being separated unbearable for Jun-hee. Her cries weren’t just of fear for her life but of losing the woman who had comforted and protected her when everything else seemed lost.

The mother turned to her, her expression softening despite the chaos around them. She placed both hands on Jun-hee’s shoulders, steadying her.

“Jun-hee,” she said gently, her voice warm and calming despite the tremor beneath it. She looked like she was about to start crying too but she tried to be strong for the pregnant girl. “Listen to me. You have to stay strong. You… you have to survive. For your baby.”

Jun-hee shook her head frantically, her face red and wet with tears. “No! No, I don't want... you to die! Please, no!”

Her sobs became louder, her hands gripping the mother’s tightly, refusing to let go.

The mother’s lips trembled, but she forced a small, reassuring smile. “You’re carrying a life, Jun-hee. That’s more important than anything else. I… I’ve lived my life. But I'm sad...”

She paused, causing Jun-hee to stare at her with wide eyes. The mother smiled warmly at her and said, “I'm sad that I couldn't be there to help you deliver your baby... I'm sorry, okay?”

“No, you can’t say that!” Jun-hee cried, clinging to her as though letting go would make her disappear. “You can’t die here! I… Please no!”

Across the room, Yong-sik – who was standing behind Jun-hee – stood paralyzed, tears streaming down his face as he watched his mother and Jun-hee. His hands covered his mouth, his sobs muffled but no less heart-wrenching. He stumbled forward slightly, as though his body wanted to reach his mother but due to the clamps around his ankles, he couldn't.

“Mom!” Yong-sik’s voice cracked as he finally spoke. “Mom!”

The mother turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Yong-sik, you need to be strong. Take care of Jun-hee. Take care of yourself. No more gambling. That’s all I want.”

Hyun-ju, standing behind Yong-sik, began to cry, her lips trembling uncontrollably as sadness overtook her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her voice cracked as she called the mother using the halmeoni title. The mother turned to her with a warm, tearful smile, her eyes glistening with emotion. “Hyun-ju, I pray that you survive. You are strong and beautiful, inside and out, and I am so proud to have known you.”

Hyun-ju’s knees wobbled slightly as she lowered her gaze, her shoulders trembling under the weight of the mother’s words. Tears poured down her cheeks more freely.

Gi-hun, standing in the distance, was already frowning in extreme sadness. His eyes were moist with unshed tears, threatening to spill. He was speechless, the weight of everything he’d lost crushing him. He had gotten attached to this group. They were more than just players to him; they had become his friends and family in this nightmare. Watching this scene unfold only deepened his anguish, and he stood frozen, unsure of how to even begin processing the pain of yet another looming loss. 

“No, no, no,” Jung-bae muttered under his breath, his hands trembling uncontrollably. His voice cracked with raw emotion, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stared at the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Not them... not like this," he whispered, his usual optimism and humor buried under the weight of the moment. For once, his voice held no levity, only a deep, aching sorrow that reflected his helplessness.

Dae-ho stood farther back, tears already streaming down his face. He quickly brought his hands to his face, wiping them furiously, as if he didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Still, his emotions betrayed him. His trembling shoulders and red-rimmed eyes revealed just how deeply affected he was by the scene unfolding before him.

The three random players continued their heated argument, their voices rising and overlapping. One of them turned to Jun-hee and the mother, their tone sharp. “We don’t have time for this! Do you think your life is more important than ours?”

Jun-hee flinched at the words, her sobs intensifying. The mother stepped in front of her protectively, her expression firm, though her lips trembled.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “She’s pregnant. She’s the one who should survive.”

The random players exchanged tense glances. One of them, trembling with frustration, finally spat out, “Why is she even here in the first place? We’re all fighting for our lives, and being pregnant doesn’t mean she deserves to live more than the rest of us!”

Another player nodded quickly, latching onto the argument. “Exactly! We’ve all got reasons to live. A baby doesn’t make her special!”

The tension reached its breaking point when player 333, standing behind Dae-ho, shouted, “Are you that selfish? That inhumane? You’d let a pregnant girl die just to save your own skin? She’s carrying a life, for God’s sake! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

The words echoed across the room, silencing the arguing players for a brief moment. But the desperation remained as the timer continued to count down. Every second felt like a hammer driving nails into the fragile hope that hung in the air.

Meanwhile, your heart pounded like a drum as you slipped into the playhouse. Manager 019 stood at the controls, their gloved hands poised over the buttons as they monitored the game from the small window. The scene outside was a horrifying spectacle, but your focus was razor-sharp. You had to act fast.

“019,” you said firmly, stepping closer to the control panel. The urgency in your voice was masked by the distorted tone of your square mask, but it caught their attention. They glanced at you.

“What is it?” they asked, their voice impatient.

You gestured toward the controls. “I need some clarification. There’s a discrepancy in the task parameters.”

As manager 019 turned their full attention to you, you made sure to block their view of the room behind them. Soldier 011, moving with quiet precision, slipped toward the CCTV camera mounted in the corner of the playhouse. She was careful to not get captured in the live feed. With one swift motion, 011 smashed the camera’s lens with the butt of their MP5, the sound of breaking glass ringing out sharply.

Manager 019 stiffened at the noise, spinning around. Their eyes darted toward 011.

“What the hell are you doing?” they barked, reaching for the radio clipped to their belt.

Without thinking, you lunged at them, grabbing their arm to stop them from making the call.

“Get the radio!” you shouted to 011 as you struggled against manager 019’s surprisingly strong resistance.

The two of you grappled, your movements frantic and desperate. 011 joined the fight, trying to pull the radio away, but manager 019 managed to shake you both off with a burst of strength. They stumbled back, reaching for the device again.

But before they could, soldier 014 – Gyeong-seok in disguise – appeared and struck them hard across the head with the butt of the weapon. The force of the blow sent them crumpling to the floor, unconscious.

The room fell into a tense silence. Your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through you making your hands tremble.

“Five.”

Your eyes widened. It was the countdown. Five seconds left for the five players to come to a decision.

“Four.”

Panic seized your thoughts, but you forced yourself into action. You straightened up and rushed to the control panel. Without hesitation, your hand slammed onto the green button you had seen Manager 019 press earlier to start the round.

Suddenly, the railroad crossing sign turned green, and the conveyor belt roared to life, rotating clockwise. The sudden movement caused nearly all the players to stumble in surprise, their startled gasps echoing through the room. Then the familiar, haunting melody began to play again:

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s twelve sharp, the Gates are closed.”

The room was consumed by confusion. Players’ eyes were wide and frantic as they tried to comprehend what had just happened. Jun-hee and the mother stood frozen for a moment, their faces pale and drenched in fear. Then, as the realization dawned on them that they were no longer in immediate danger, they stared at one another in disbelief.

To them, it must have felt like divine intervention. A miracle had spared them from the brutal fate just seconds ago. You could see it in their tear-filled eyes, the way they clung to each other's hands as though afraid this reprieve might vanish at any moment.

But for you, the weight of the moment pressed down like a vice. Sweat dripped from your brow as your hands hovered over the panel. The reality of the situation hit you like a freight train. You are now operating the game. The lives of everyone on that conveyor belt – your friends, strangers, everyone – are in your hands.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s three sharp, the Gates are closed.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, anxiety clawing its way up your chest. The weight of what you were doing – what you were responsible for – hung over you like a storm cloud. But you had made it here for a reason, hadn’t you? To help your friends. To protect Jun-hee and the mother. You had saved them, hadn’t you? You couldn’t stop now. The game had to go on or else the Front Man will get suspicious. And you had to make sure your friends stayed safe, no matter the cost.

The song repeated, faster now, its tempo quickening as the conveyor belt sped up to match:

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s six sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Your eyes darted across the conveyor belt, scanning for your friends. Relief washed over you when you confirmed they weren’t near the six section. Your hand moved almost mechanically as you pressed the red button. A sharp ping cut through the air, the signal that froze everything in place. The railroad crossing sign turned red, and the conveyor belt ground to an abrupt halt. The haunting music stopped.

You felt your breath hitch as you mimicked what manager 019 had done before. This time, your finger pressed firmly on the button labeled ‘6.” A floodlight illuminated the six section on the conveyor belt, casting an unforgiving glow on the players caught there.

Four players stood in that section, their faces pale and their bodies trembling as the reality of their situation set in. All of them were O players. The ones who had dominated the vote. The ones who had celebrated the prize money without a second thought for the lives lost. Now, they were the ones begging for mercy.

“Please! Don’t do this!”

Another dropped to their knees despite the clamps around their ankles. “I’ll do anything! Please, let me live! I have a family! I can’t die here!”

Four triangle guards marched forward. They raised their MP5s, the barrels gleaming under the harsh lights. The players’ desperate pleas hung in the air, but the guards fired without hesitation. The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the room, cutting through the cries and leaving only silence in its wake.

You stared at the scene in a trance, your hands trembling as they hovered over the controls. The enormity of what you had done crashed over you like a tidal wave. You had made this choice. You had pressed the buttons that sealed their fate. Your body froze as the sickening thud of their bodies hitting the conveyor belt reverberated through the room.

That’s when the radio in your jumpsuit’s pocket crackled to life. A deep, distorted voice came through:

“Manager 007, what happened?”

The words sent a cold shiver racing down your spine. Your skin prickled with goosebumps as the realization struck you. It was the Front Man. His voice was as chilling and authoritative as ever, and it held an unspoken expectation for a swift and precise response.

For a moment, your mind went blank, panic threatening to overwhelm you. Before you could speak, soldier 011 stepped closer, her voice distorted behind that mask. “Tell him it’s a maintenance delay. Say the conveyor belt calibration triggered a temporary shutdown and it accidentally restarted.”

You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, your fingers gripping the radio tightly. Pressing the button, you spoke, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the racing of your heart.

“Maintenance delay, captain,” you said, the distortion of the mask hiding the tremor in your tone. “The conveyor belt triggered a temporary shutdown and it accidentally restarted. Everything is now under control.”

The silence that followed was agonizing. You could almost feel the Front Man’s scrutiny through the radio. You could even feel his suffocating presence behind you. Seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity before his voice came through again.

“Proceed.”

The radio went silent, and you released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your hands trembled slightly as you shoved the radio back into your pocket.

“You okay?” Gyeong-seok, still in his disguise, asked, his voice filled with concern.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a few shaky steps backward, hoping to ground yourself, to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions and chaos swirling around you.

“Be care—” Gyeong-seok began, but his words were cut short as your foot caught against something hard. You stumbled but 011 and Gyeong-seok were quick to react. Their hands gripped your shoulders firmly, steadying you before you could fall.

You turned your head and saw what had caused your stumble – the unconscious body of manager 019 sprawled on the floor. The sight made your stomach twist, a stark reminder of how far things had spiraled out of control.

“Crouch down. Let’s switch masks,” 011 said suddenly.

You glanced at her, your eyes widening in confusion.

“I’ll take over the control panel,” she explained. “I’ll make sure your friends stay safe.”

“Yeah,” Gyeong-seok chimed in. “I’ll guide her, point out which players are our friends. Or she could just focus on targeting the O players.”

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. After a brief pause, you nodded. Together, you and 011 crouched down, keeping out of sight beneath the tiny windows of the playhouse.

With trembling hands, you removed your square mask, the cool air hitting your flushed, sweaty face like a relief and a punishment all at once. Your hair clung damply to your skin, the hours spent in the stifling mask and jumpsuit leaving you uncomfortably sticky. Across from you, 011 did the same, her face equally damp.

The exchange was quick. She handed you her triangle mask, and you passed her the square one. Both of you adjusted the masks over your heads, the switch complete in a matter of seconds. The moment her mask was secure, 011 stood and moved to the control panel, taking over with quiet efficiency.

For the rest of the game, she worked in near silence, her hands steady on the controls. Occasionally, Gyeong-seok pointed something out to her but you tuned it out. You stayed where you were, seated on the floor, hidden from view. The coldness of the floor seeped into your body, but it was nothing compared to the icy guilt gnawing at your insides.

Your mind kept replaying the moment you pressed the buttons, the way the floodlight illuminated the O players, the way their desperate pleas filled the air before they were silenced forever. They had celebrated their majority vote, their victory over the X players, but that didn’t erase the humanity in their fear. You had sealed their fate. Their bloods were on your hands.

“Hey,” 011’s voice broke through the thick silence, her tone unexpectedly gentle. You glanced up at her from where you sat on the floor, your body still tense from everything that had just transpired. She kept her gaze fixed on the players through the tiny window of the playhouse, her hands steady on the controls.

“What’s your task after this?” she asked, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of something heavier. Concern, maybe.

You hesitated, your eyes drifting to the floor as you tried to recall the next step in your role.

“I… I will guard the Captain this evening,” you answered, your voice quieter than you intended.

Her silence that followed was tense. The weight of her unspoken thoughts seemed to hang in the air, pressing down on you. Gyeong-seok, standing beside her but a step behind, glanced between the two of you, his curiosity barely hidden.

Finally, 011 spoke again, her voice lower and more solemn than before. “Be careful. Whatever he asks you to do, just do it. Don’t question it. Just follow through.”

Her words made your chest tighten. The weight of what she was implying wasn’t lost on you.

“But,” she added after a pause, “if you can’t handle it… if it’s too much…”

She hesitated for the briefest of moments before continuing, “Just reveal your face.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you turned your head sharply to look at her. Gyeong-seok’s head swiveled toward her too, his posture stiff with tension.

011, still wearing the square mask, didn’t turn to look at you. She kept her focus on the scene outside. “Once he knows who you are, he will spare you.”

Her statement hung in the air. You couldn’t comprehend it at first. Why would the Captain – the Front Man – spare you? What did she know that you didn’t? Questions swirled in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to ask them. All you could do was stare at her in disbelief.

NEXT : Chapter 16

PREV : Chapter 14

Story Masterlist

This is the Dongdaemun song (don't mention about this story in the YouTube comments) I used to envision the fourth game. This is not what will happen in the Season 3 because I made this all up using all the clues we got from the post-credit ending. Still, I'm curious to know what's your theory on the fourth game is.

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! So what do you feel about the Front Man asking all managers to see him personally? Do you think he wouldn't notice about your stunt? I think I should write about his POV because there are so many things happening behind your back. Since this is a 'you' POV, you couldn't really tell what's going on. Next, we finally get to see 011's face. Those who guessed it right in the previous chapter, you're correct. Now, what do you think about the Masked Officer suddenly calling you and eight others to be the first 'emergency batch' to alternate tasks? Then the part when the Front Man was right behind you and supervising you closely? Do you feel that nervousness yourself? Next, how do you think I wrote the voting process? And then, the fourth game. What are your thoughts on this fourth game I wrote? Do you think it makes sense with all the clues from the post-credit ending of Season 2? Do you think it's brutal? And then that part of Jun-hee and the mother. I really want to know your reaction on this! Anyway, thank you very much for giving my story a chance. I love reading and re-reading all of your comments!

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

[venuslarkspur]

can we see a au where Jon and y/n decide to run away to idk get married or find a better place to raise their kid/kids?

I absolutely can Anon 🫶

(This is only short and written in 3rd person I’m Srry 💕)

Alternative Ending To Teen Hero Shenanigans

Note: I can’t see Reader or Jon wanting to actually run away from their families so I imagine this is their own way of escaping the media and paparazzi (also partly because I imagine reader doesn’t want to face her maternal family)

Warnings: Running away, underage marriage (with consent), birth control, the uk IDK.

Note: PLEASE READ MY SERIES FIRST BEFORE READING THIS (this is an alternative ending and not the official ending)

Pairing: Jonathan Kent x Batsis!Reader (who is Damian’s twin)

Words: 600??

- These two run away out of fear for their children, not from their families; of course not. The batfam and superfam know they both have ran off and are safe, but their location is never disclosed.

- You’re actually the one who proposed the idea to Jon, you two could run away with your baby and not have to worry about psychopathic villains and threats from your maternal family.

- He agrees under one condition, you tell your families you’re going and you will be safe. You agreed, you had a gorgeous son. He resembled Jon more than you, that made you happy. When you looked at yourself all you saw was your grandfather staring back at you, despite in charm and appearance you more so resembled Bruce if anything; but you still saw it.

- You told Damian everything, and you also swore him to secrecy. He tried to be strong, but you saw tears fall from his eyes when you told him your plan. You hugged him as if never wanting to let go, you also took a look at your sleeping newborn son. And the worst possible scenarios came to mind, what if one day you can’t save him?

- So it was decided, you eventually agreed moving to a whole new country would be best. As selfish as it sounded, you had just started your career and Jon was at his peak. But you wished the sleeping baby would never have to pick up a sword nor a grappling hook. You and Jon have a secret wedding, only your father and his parents are in attendance and with consent from both parents you’re officially husband and wife.

- You came across a beautiful village in Britain, Castle Comb, it had gorgeous houses, a beach nearby, long winding rivers, the cutest shops and even a local school was built there recently; perfect for your son. You wait a year, just long enough for Jon to finish school, only one long flight and all three of you will be living together finally. So far your son just had to go between you two as both of you were too young to move in together.

- but it would all be okay, as soon as Jon turns 18 and finishes school you’ll get a house together in the village; Jon will attend a college nearby as you stay at home with your baby, with the money your father has given you you can support your whole family until Jon can get a job and become financially independent from your father. Who still wonders and hopes your close by; not knowing you’re in a whole different continent, across a whole ocean.

- You thought you’d hate staying at home while Jon was out making progress for your family. But you didn’t; your son had started walking and you enjoyed your little trips to the beach nearby. If you ever get stressed from the fact you’re such a young mother, you ask the lovely neighbouring old couple for help, they were originally surprised at such an extremely young married couple and their 2 year old; but you’re so grateful for them, you’d never be able to do this without them.

- On a funny note you’re now praying your birth control works, now that your son repeats EVERYTHING you say (including curse words) you can’t deal with another one, for now of course.

- Sometimes you feel guilty, wondering if your family misses you and are looking for you. You’re planning to surprise them for your son’s third birthday, you still want him to know his grandfather, surrogate great grandfather and countless uncles and aunts. Even though your baby boy is a little shy, he’s just like you when you were young, shy and curious about life.

- You still make daisy rings and place them on the same finger as your wedding ring, it reminds you of when you first met Jon. Two silly fifteen year olds bonding over his friend and her brother running away, and here they are 3 years later still making the same rings.

———————

I LOVE THESE TWO <3

[signanothername]

I– I need to ask.

HOW DO YOU DO THIS?? Like, share your thoughts with everyone. Because I've been working on my universe for about three years now, AND I STILL FEEL LIKE IT'S NOT READY. At the same time, I’m still afraid to share these things...

So. How do you do it?D:

Alright my answer will seem a bit harsh and/or cruel, but know that I mean it in the most kind, genuine, and gentle way possible, i just don’t know how to word it any other way

With that in mind

Anon, you’re never going to be ready to share it, and the fear will always linger, you will never be 100% confident of what you share

And that’s ok

Again, I know that i make it seem super easy, but I promise that I’m just as afraid to share my ideas as anyone else (I’m a perfectionist, and that also contributes to my fear to share things)

It’s just, I think of it this way

I have an idea, and I got two choices

Either

1- I keep overthinking it, and succumb to my worries and fears when it comes to my idea, and keep my ideas with me, never to see the light of day

Or

2- I acknowledge that I’m afraid, acknowledge that my idea might not be perfect or ready, acknowledge that there might be flaws that I will probably notice later and even feel stupid about it, and still share my ideas anyway regardless of the voice in my head telling me to “wait a little more”

I usually go for choice number 2

The art and writing process is complicated, it’s so not easy to write something and feel ready to share it, no matter how much time it takes, you will never ever feel truly and utterly ready to share it, you’ll have that worry in your mind that maybe it’s stupid, or incomplete, or inconsistent or whatever else

And guess what? Sometimes, the worried voice in your head is completely right

But what matters is how you tackle it

Even if you share an idea, remember that you can always change your mind about it, you can absolutely go back and say, I don’t like that idea anymore and so I’ll remove/ change/ replace it

Ideas are never set in stone, you change and grow as a person as so do your ideas, they grow and change with you as you learn more and more, and sometimes they don’t, they don’t change at all, and that’s ok too

You can’t keep worrying about whether the story or idea you’re working on is ready or complete, because all you’re going to do is just walk around in circles and end up never sharing anything at all

It’s ok to be worried, but you can’t let your worries control you, of course, it’s not easy to ignore your worries, but it’s better than feeling stuck with your ideas

I myself do deal with these worries a lot, most of the time i just tell my brain “shut up” and share my ideas anyway, other times my worries do get the best of me and i tend to keep some ideas to myself

But sharing your ideas is actually essential for you to actually be able to work on them and refine them, because people might start asking questions or giving really good feedback that you actually sit with yourself to think about

But what if they ask you a question and you don’t know the answer to it? That’s actually a good thing, it’ll make you sit down and think of how to connect the dots and answer it, not only does it mean you’re actually making progress on your story/ideas, but these kinda questions help you understand different perspectives and by that, you learn and grow in your writing

It’s ok to be worried and to keep ideas to yourself sometimes, but don’t let them fester, because believe me, eventually your passion is gonna burn out because you kept overthinking it to the point it became just a worry than something you enjoy doing

In fact, to give you a bit of motivation, imma actually share one of the ideas I never shared cause I was afraid it’ll be a bit stupid and out of character

And I’m very worried about sharing it, but fuck my worry I do what I want

Remember when I mentioned Dream received one gift from Nightmare, and never received anything after? My idea for that gift was an echo flower he gave Dream, and it echoes one thing “I love you”

There, I shared it ouuughh the stress of sharing it is killing me actually, but I mean I can keep worrying about it forever, or actually share it and refine it later if I wanted, I choose the latter

And your ideas are never going to be perfect anyway, but you can improve them with time, even after sharing them

That’s all I do really shzggz

So go out there and start sharing anon, fuck anxiety, you can do whatever you want, you’re unstoppable

[holyguardian]

Aerith had busied herself, and in a stroke of good fortune she lowered her brush to dip it into ink when that helmet clattered. The breath she drew was one of surprise and her paint brush clattered around the ink well. At least it hadn't splattered to places it shouldn't.

Her eyes chased back up to Somnus. He was holding his face, as if he were ashamed of the slip. It made her eyebrows gently crease together. She wanted to say something.

Then he shoved his hair back and resumed his pose stoically. That was what urged her to speak up.

"Hey, it's okay. Nothing is broken." And the urn was fine too. Because honestly, that's what she thought was wrong. That he was being too hard on himself over a small slip after he changed position. The helmet looked heavy, it was probably easy to drop when it wasn't being cradled close and secure.

She went about cleaning the brush a little, not minding the little spots on her legs for now. That would all be washed clean again.

Somnus' words prompted her to look back up, and she met his gaze with a kind little smile that time. "Thankyou."

She was touched by the thought. He was an active man, and she imagined he led a whole life in that regard. Sitting still for a painting was probably torture when he could run around outside instead.

When she resumed her work, it was backed by a little more calm confidence. It felt like she was actually making progress now, not just dotting out a map of reference, but slowly etching in fine details that would make up the most important piece of art displayed on the urn.

"Mmmmmhm." Aerith absently hummed, deeply focused on the fine details of the wreath. The silence hung in the air for a moment before she spoke again. "See them. Speak to them. If we're really focused, and if their soul is... I guess, happy to take a short journey from the Lifestream, we can summon the dead in a kind of... here but not physically here, visiting but not for long kind of meeting."

She couldn't help exhaling a breath through her nose. "You know, even in my own kingdom people tease at me about such things. They ask questions like is it some party trick or if we're just making things up. But you're very open-minded. It's nice."

She had claimed she was milk days ago. And he was honey according to her. But how she sat there, her fingertips already blotched with different colours of paint; her curls a little messy from running to retrieve a few vines, her green eyes lighting up when she smiled at him. That was not milk. That was her being as sweet as honey itself.

And it felt like this moment in time here had just the same color as honey, too.

Warm and slow. Cozy. Somehow.

Her sharing such intimate thoughts, her visiosn with him. It made Somnus relax back and take on a proper pose again. Knowing how serious this must be for her. And there was a question tingling at the tip of his tongue for these visions, because what she had said had made something plop up in his mind.

And yet, when she continued… he felt like she disarmed him and that question melted on his tongue like a chip of ice.

Flustering her.

Well. That mention alone returned this ‘favour’. Somnus stared at her, feeling the skin around his nose and cheeks burn warm, and all the smart comments flee his mind. The helmet he had been holding all along so easily suddenly seemed to get his own consciousness, because it almost slipped out of Somnus’ hand. Reflexes kicking in, he caught it but it left an undignified clattering – and gave away what she had done to him.

He almost scowled a little, though quickly drive a hand across his face, holding it there for a second longer. Breathe.

Why was this making him so nervous?

Pushing his hair back, Somnus tried to get into the pose again. His eyes trained to a far off corner of the room, his lips sealed tight for a moment. His fingertips still felt as if they had magic trickling around them.

And he could not avoid his eyes finally travelling back to Aerith. When he dared to speak again, it was quiet.

“And you are one of the rare ones I let myself be drawn by…”

Others were forced on him by his parents. And most long years ago. He had not even noticed at first how easy it had been to do this for her. But now he became all too aware of this fact. Flustering her – flustering him.

At least with this realization, he could find that lost question again. The little teasing tone banished from his voice entirely. There only was gentle curiosity now. And fascination.

“… you can see people who have died?”

[kirain]

Do I dare ask for Rook and Manfred mourning Emmrich's death together?

Well, that hurts.

Manfred perched on the windowsill, his skeletal form listless as the cool breeze whistled through the house. Outside, beneath the sprawling oak tree, Vae sat alone on a bench—a marble loveseat that Emmrich had commissioned for her long ago. The crisp air tugged at the hem of her shawl, and her head hung low, the odd strand of grey framing her face like echoes of time passed. She'd always loved autumn; her favourite season, but she didn't seem to notice the beauty surrounding her.

She hadn't for months.

Manfred's gemstone eyes reeled as they caught the glint of silver in her hair. Emmrich. The name whirled in his mind, a storm of longing and warmth. He missed him—his patience, his steady presence, his irreverent charm—but he knew Vae missed him more. They shared a type of love he hadn't yet experienced. Yet, he understood it.

With a reverent chirp, he dropped to the ground, his joints clacking faintly as he hurried into the house—the place where the three of them had lived, loved, and built something whole. It had been decades since the Veilguard disbanded, yet the evidence of their happiness lingered in every corner.

Vae and Emmrich, huddled together at the first snowfall, dancing in the lounge after a victorious battle, sharing stolen kisses under the moonlight—and through it all their friends had come to visit as often as they could, supplementing their joy. He wanted to see her like that again. He wanted to see her smile. Truly smile. Not the strained rictus she wore now, pretending she was fine for his sake.

He knew it wasn't real. It was painful.

As he moved through the parlour, his gaze drifted to the corner of the rug, its edges forever singed from his days as an apprentice.

"Go on, Manfred," Emmrich's voice cheered, vibrant as ever. "You're progressing marvellously. Let's try a small flame this time."

From the kitchen, Vae's familiar admonishment rang out. "Not in the house, Emmrich!"

"It'll be fine!" he insisted, leaning forward with an encouraging grin. "Let's show her how capable you've become, yes?"

Manfred remembered the surge of pride as he hissed playfully and conjured a spark. But the spark had grown—too fast, too wild. Flames caught the bottom of his coat, leaping to the edge of the rug.

"Concentrate, Manfred. Pull it back," Emmrich said, his calm tone masking his rising concern.

Manfred flailed in panic, the fire refusing his control.

"Oh, dear..."

Emmrich darted for a bucket of water, shouting reassurances, just as Vae rushed in, rattled by the sound. Her eyes widened at the sight of flames and chaos, but when the fire was finally doused and the two looked up at her, soaked and sheepish, she only laughed.

"It's a good thing Manfred doesn't have skin!" she teased.

Manfred sighed, his bony chest fluttering as if he could breathe. The memory faded, but its emotion lingered, urging him forward.

Soon, he padded into Emmrich's study, the air heavy with the scent of parchment and pleasant traces of cologne. Of all the rooms in the house, this one was unmistakably his—an embodiment Vae hadn't seen fit to empty. As he moved deeper, Manfred's bony fingers skimmed the spines of books and tomes that Emmrich had once cherished, but never finished.

He ran out of time.

When Manfred reached the desk, still buried under endless papers on necromancy and the complexities of reanimation, he opened a drawer and pulled out a small handheld mirror, which Emmrich kept hidden inside.

"A gentleman must always look his best," he used to say. "If you can't disarm your enemy with weapons, do so with poise." He would then place a hand on Manfred's shoulder. "And to those who aren't your enemy, it shows that you care."

Slowly, the solemn skeleton reached for a feathered quill, dipped it into the ink well, and, staring at his reflection, drew two lines under his absent nose. When he was finished, he tilted his head, admiring his work.

Perfect.

He headed for the door, but as he reached for the handle, he caught sight of Emmrich's lilac coat—another memento Vae clung to, even though he'd stopped wearing it long before he passed, his body too frail to bear it. It hung loosely on its hook, pale and tattered, yet alluring. Almost beckoning. With a nostalgic hum, Manfred slipped it on, the fabric swallowing his wiry frame, but it was enough.

Enough to feel the presence of his father.

-----

Vae hadn't moved, her fingers idly tracing the veins of a fallen leaf in her lap. The sharp scent of autumn filled her lungs, mingling with the ache in her heart. A tear rolled down her cheek, unbidden, as she whispered to the wind, "I promised I wouldn't mourn you like this... but I miss you so much, my love. I now understand what you were so afraid of."

A faint rustle made her glance up. Manfred emerged from the house, stumbling slightly as the coat trailed behind him, dragging across the grass. Vae blinked, her sorrow briefly forgotten as she took in the sight. Emmrich's refined mannerisms mimicked with uncanny precision, the hastily drawn moustache, the determined tilt of his skull—it was adorable.

"Manfred," she said, half-laughing despite herself. "What in the world are you doing?"

Without a word, he raised his hands, the oversized sleeves flopping comically. With a flick of his wrist, green sparkles erupted into the air, swirling around them like fireflies.

Vae's breath hitched, a fond but distant memory rekindled.

The Lighthouse. Emmrich's confession. The way the glow of his magic illuminated his face as he fumbled over his words, his cheeks burning. "If your attentions go beyond charming flattery... that would interest me, indeed."

Where it all started.

The lights danced around her, the same as they had that day. Bliss and despair warred within her, tears welling in her eyes even as a smile broke through. Slowly, she stood, her hand reaching out to touch the shimmering glow. And for a moment, she could have sworn she felt Emmrich reaching back.

Then, the lights faded.

Manfred stepped closer, taking her hand in his own and pressing it to his chest. His voice, usually a hollow rasp, came smooth and tender. "Emmrich is here."

Vae's lip quivered, her fingers trembling against his ribs. "I know," she wept, her voice breaking.

She wrapped her arms around him, the weight of her grief lifting as they held each other under the setting sun.

[pmdobt]

... And with that, that's the end of Part 1 of Chapter 10! Info about return date and other thangs below the cut.

That's right, if you're out of the loop, Chapter 10 of OBT is long enough that it'll be getting 3 parts total! This chapter is segmented to separate main plot beats from one another, and to give myself a break between each part as I would in a normal length chapter. And as such, it's break time!

I've mentioned in a few places, but OBT will be going on a longer hiatus than the usual 2 weeks. At this point in time, I don't have a specific return date. I do, however, have a rough goal in mind- I'd like to complete the entirety of Part 2 before I return (don't worry, it's considerably shorter than Part 1), so I have buffer to fall back on! I've been slightly burned out working without a buffer these past few months, and I want the chance to rest and work at my own pace without looming deadlines. While I can't offer a specific return date, I can point y'all in the direction of the chapter progress tracker at the top of any page on Comic Fury. Once that tracker hits 100%, you can keep your eyes peeled for a return announcement! (Or I may end the hiatus sooner than that if I'm feeling comfortable with my pace. I hope it'll be before April, but time will tell!)

In the meantime, OBT's ask blog will come back from hiatus with regular posting, so you can still get some juicy OBT content! If you've got a hankering for comics, my original comic Nothing Gold Can Stay will still be updating even with OBT on hiatus. Or if you didn't already know, OBT has another comic site dedicated to shorter one-off stories! In the next few weeks I plan to sprinkle in the yonkomas from book 1 in there.

Can't wait for the hiatus to end? Updates will be continuing on Patreon, where I'll post pages as they're completed! $5+ patrons get access to 15 pages ahead of schedule, while $15+ patrons will get whatever full buffer I have available. But as always, I appreciate all support, monetary or not! Things are gonna get juicy, and I hope you all are looking forward to it.

[bmbidoll]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑

baekhyun x f!reader

synopsis: you never really let yourself get too close to the friend of your friends, baekhyun, while he got progressively tired of your vanishings everytime you two hooked up. it's only in a pivotal moment in his audi where you two lay your feelings bare. in more ways than one.

content: 6k words one shot with small angst plot, but mostly smut with both rough and fluff undertones ♡

author's notes: hiiiii!!! I'm so so so happy with the incredible response that savor (check it out if you haven't!) received that I've decided to share this one, too! please enjoy it for a while as I'll take some time to try and do something more elaborate with my next work with military!baekhyun

once again, my current and future works will always be created, centered, and catered to adults! so if you're a minor pleeeease don't interact. and to my dear readers, thank you for your tremendous support, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did envisioning it.

warnings: cursing, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, semi but almost public car sex (i'm not sorry), hair pulling, dirty talking, dry humping, fingering, oral sex f!receiving, cumplay, oral fixation, marking, p in v, unprotected sex, spanking, creampie (get used to it), cock warming, overall pure filth! you have been warned!

every adventure with baekhyun was something sort of too good. ever since you became 'acquainted', those shared glances were undeniably wanton. everytime he saw you coming into your mutual friends' parties with your girls, he'd have to put his teeth on something, either his bottom lip or his finger just to not walk into you and take you right in the center of the room.

you had noticed his stares. one would have to be blind not to, since he didn't really keep it discreet. as if sending a message not just to you, but to everyone to assert some type of 'ownership'. you found it ridiculous just as much as you found it hot, because out of the bedroom, you didn’t really know him, always picking someone else to the dance floor knowing he'd see it.

you gave him some sort of a show, grabbing random dudes that would always end up stunned when you left them hanging, even if you were the one who initiated. it was light fun in your mind since you don't ever actually look towards hooking up with any of them.

everyone knew you'd mostly care for your girls, not having eyes for just any guys. of course, you knew how to have fun. you liked it that one time you made out with junmyeon when you met the group before baekhyun came into the picture. junmyeon wanted more, but you kept him at that, mild fun, even if sometimes you pictured letting loose with him or jongin.

you'd dance teasingly, not caring that much for your partner since you know they'd be hypnotized by the way you knew how to work your hips close against their crotch, barely touching it. that was enough to make baekhyun clench his jaw and stand up, leaving his drink behind and walking towards the exit, not giving you a second glance. that's how the game usually starts.

but he swore to himself he'd make it different tonight.

you turn to your dance partner with a sweet grin, interrupting their stunned attempts to get your number with your hand caressing their cheek. excusing yourself from the dance floor, you took your time to kiss your girls goodbye with knowing looks from them.

your steps are quiet against the fading music from inside the house as you walked into the porch, feeling the hot summer night. you were glad you chose a crop top and a skirt combo, as usual. you spotted a certain sillhoutte by the corner, smoking a cigarette as he leaned on the railing.

"you still smoke that shitty stuff?" you asked, not receiving any surprise from him since this type of conversation is normal between you two. when you actually talk, that is.

"you still entertain those shitty guys?" he retorted sharply, making you amused as you walked closer to him, standing on his side as your stare found his sharp profile.

baekhyun gave you the grace of his gaze, even though he was frowning with a certain scowl.

"I don't understand you." you muster with a seductive grin, analyzing how could he get so bothered with things that seemed so simple to you.

"you do. you just pretend you don't so you don't feel guilty of stringing me along." he murmured, dropping the cigarette and stepping on it.

"excuse me? stringing you along to what? exclusive sex?" you quipped, your grin fading quickly. if anything bothered you the most, was his audacity. byun baekhyun's audacity always made you want to give him a real reason to get mad.

he only chuckled, dryly. shaking his head as he turned away from you to walk across the street towards his audi, making you grumble with guilty conscience while you watched him.

you knew through your girlfriends that baekhyun had some sort of 'hard crush' on you. you always found it ridiculous because you'd never even gave him the grace of knowing anything from you from your own mouth, besides sex talk. you were sure everything he knew about your life was piece of info delivered through others like the things you knew about his.

that he was somewhat of a reformed player. that he now didn't mess with just any girl for the fun of it anymore.

you found it hard to believe, considering how he looked, how he talked, and how he danced. how he caught to you before you caught to him.

it started with make out sessions after drinks, then messing around in bathrooms, to spending the night on his penthouse. it scared you, not only for the fact that it happened a lot, but also that you could never refuse him. you wanted him too much.

but for different reasons.

"wait!" you said, trying to follow his large steps. he opened the driver door, but you quickly pushed it closed before he could enter, "fucking wait, goddammit!" you shouted earning a furious glare from how roughly you treated his car. not that you gave a damn.

"if you ever touch my car like that again I swear to god—" you interrupted him.

"I don't mean to string you along!" you snapped, "I just... I'm not good at that part." lowering your voice as your confidence dimmed.

you were never good with honesty, always telling that you're as good as fucked if you ever were the first to fall in every past fling you've had. and that applied to just any type of relationship, especially to yours where you were both... kind of strangers. strangers that loved each other's bodies too much.

"what part are we talking about? the part where you just tease me with some random fuckboy just to get angry sex, or the part where you disappear in the morning without ever giving me the grace of a fucking word?" baekhyun spoke calmly, but you knew he was anything but, narrowing his eyes at your progressively curved stance.

"the latter... the 'figuring out where do we go' part." you murmured, feeling immature under his sharp gaze.

"oh my god. what else do I have to do to get to your fucking head that this," he pointed towards the both of you, "is not just some mediocre hooking up thing? I've been trying to get to know you for almost a year! god, even your girls know how fucking in love I am with you." baekhyun ranted, making you feel slightly embarrassed for being so unable of handling this, handling him, with maturity.

it wasn't that you didn't like him... you just couldn't. couldn't fathom getting involved someone that seemed so perfect without even trying.

"get in." he said, simplistic, walking around the car to the passenger seat and opening the door.

"what?" you asked, confused.

"just get in before I change my mind and leave you alone, for good." his voice said, cold, but you could hear the tiredness. you certainly didn't not want to defy him now, knowing he's good with his word.

you cursed inwards and walked around the sports car with your head down, smiling awkward when he held the door to you as you entered, and got in the driver seat afterwards. his audi was more spacious than his porsche, which made you more comfortable as he drove into the night, both of you too tense to muster up words. your eyes stared pathetically at the car's tinted windows, seeing the droplets of summer rain start, fucking great.

your apartment complex was built in the past century, which meant any light wind could mess up your building's energy, much less with the rain, to which wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. baekhyun knew that, but you never actually invite him over.

you looked at him as he stared at you, seemingly knowing your thoughts. "I'm not taking you to my penthouse again." he said casually.

"baekhyun, please? I'm not even gonna do anything, I just don't wanna stay in the damn dark by myself. plus the air conditioner won't work, so it'll be a humid oven in there." you sighed, but he didn't seem very interested in your lame excuse.

both of you stood quietly as he stopped on a red light, checking his phone in disinterest before stepping on the pedal again, expertly driving through the streets. you'd find him to be a vision in other circumstances.

"I'm sorry."

baekhyun clenched his jaw at your words, but didn't say anything, so you continued. "fuck, baekhyun— i really am. it's just... I'm bad at... everything revolving people. I know it doesn't seem like it since I'm outgoing and 'extroverted', but when it comes to problems like this, I really have no idea about what the fuck I'm doing." you felt the car stop in the middle of the way to your home and his eyes turning to face you, but you continued, "the truth is that I didn't actually believe that I was hurting you. didn't but that you actually, honestly wanted something to do with me that wasn't just stress relieving sex... even though you never actually gave me a concrete reason to disregard your feelings. so I just cowered everytime there was an opportunity to face that, face you. I know none of that shit is your problem and you expected me to at least be honest and own up before it got to this point, but I failed at that. since that's all I've known in past relationships." you finished, ready to just leave the car and walk home on your own. fuck the rain, you just didn't want to face his coldness after all that.

your escape plan was fumbled as quick as it was formed, baekhyun locking the doors from the digital panel and grabbing your hand. he stared at you with conflict, but didn't have the same coldness and reservations from before your speech. he sighed and pushed one strand of your long hair behind your ear.

"why do you push me away, angel...?" baekhyun murmured with a voice sure to make you drop down your defensiveness, frowning as the answer was just as unclear to you as it was to him. you felt so small, and he hated it as much as you did.

"I guess I just..." you started, looking at him waringly only to find soft pupils focused on you so intensely that it made you look down again. "I tend to leave first because I never want to be the one left. I don't ever want to give anyone the ability to leave me again... so it doesn't have anything to do with something you've done or not." you looked at him again, baekhyun finally grasping understanding amidst his hurt from your actions, now sure they were consequences of protecting yourself.

"I had no idea, angel." he squeezed your hand, his thumb caressing it gently, his grasp pulling you into his arms for a soothing hug that you didn’t know you needed right now, the way his cool hand found your lower bare waist beneath your crop top made you shudder softly, resting your head against his spacious shoulder.

the way baekhyun looked at you when you leaned back made you gulp from the closeness. "now we can go to my penthouse, if you want to." he asked, protective of you, which made you nod softly, but when he turned away from you to grab the steering wheel, you impulsively grabbed his arm, making him stare at you in confusion.

"what is it? I figured we could also order something when we get there since there wasn't any food at the..." he trailed off as you stared at him with those eyes. "...party."

you slowly made your way over the panel, thankful he chose his audi today, since it gave you space to cross towards his seat. "what are you—" baekhyun started, but gasped as you straddled him, you legs feeling his jeans.

"angel, I won't do anything before I'm sure you're not leaving me afterwards." he spoke with his jaw clenched, strained, but serious.

"not even kiss me?" your voice murmured, close to him, watching him struggle to control himself.

it's not like you didn't want to take this seriously. not like you didn't mean any of your earlier words.

it was just hard not to want byun baekhyun when he looked into your pupils with such protective eyes. and even harder when he kissed you with such wanton lips. his hand went carefully behind your head as his mouth claimed yours gently in a way that made you pathethically weak, something that you felt was unfair. you pressed the button on the side of the driver seat that made it slowly descend, giving you more space to grind your hips against his, making him growl, parting the kiss with a rough tug on your hair.

"take this seriously if you don't want me to fuck you like you're worthless in the backseat." he hissed in a whisper, making you grin at the delicious tingles his proposition gave you.

but as much as you liked it when he was angry, you didn't want to make him mad anymore. not tonight.

your hand found his cheek, caressing him gently. "if I didn't take you seriously, I wouldn't tell you those things. I may be a coward, but not a liar." that made him release your hair and caress your scalp, "besides... is it truly wrong to want you this much...? to want to be yours right here in the center of the street?" you murmured, resuming your soft moves in his crotch, making him throw his head back in a curse, clearly unable to totally deny you

"you're lucky I'm in love with you." baekhyun grunted, meeting your center with his, the friction of his jeans and your pleated skirt making your breaths shorten. "I know," you purred with a wide smile, "but did I ever make you not love fucking me?"

that made his hands find your rear roughly, squeezing it in a way that made you whimper.

"you fucking minx..." he pulled your hips to his forcefully, making you grin lazily. "making me taint another one of my cars..." you gasped as one of his hands quickly found your heat under your skirt, rubbing up and down as you seeped through it while he spoke. "look at you. you're so damn shameless." he murmured on your ear as you curved from his touch, your hands finding his shoulders as an anchor when he tugged your panties aside and slowly inserted his middle finger, making you curse.

"could you go any slower?" you grunted with frustated sarcasm, but regretted instantly when you saw his annoyingly handsome, deviant grin, feeling his curling digit take his time as he hovered his thumb on your increasingly swollen clit.

"you know, darling? I actually wanted to wait a bit. I was hoping..." baekhyun trailed off, watching his finger pumping in and out of your wetness. "we could have just went to my house and... talked, actually met each other like..." he added his ring finger, making your brows raise in a gasp, "normal people who can actually hold a conversation."

you were practically getting yourself off on his fingers, throwing your head back in uncomposed breaths, before whining when he pulled them out of you.

"but you just had to act like your needy self, hadn't you? firstly... you entered the party with this..." he raked your skimpy outfit, his other hand kneading your ass, "pathetic plea for my attention. now you're in my car, acting like you need me as much as you need air. the rain already stopped, and you're not even ashamed of your weak excuse to get into my bed."

you only smiled recklessly, grinding on him as a counter attack, stealing him a curse. "you're talking like you're so much better, hm? even if I wore something casual in this hot summer night you'd be drooling over my ass, which if I'm not mistaken, you have. the entire night." you caught his eyes on your exposed midriff so you leaned closer, contracting your abdomen in anticipation of his touch on your waist, "I bet even if it wasn't raining, you'd take any reason I gave you just to bring me over and..." you trailed off, biting your lower lip as your stared at him, playful.

you knew those eyes of his, and what you didn't know from spoken words, you recognized from his deep stare, that unlike other guys you met, gazed you with devotion. in less than a second, your lips crash desperately, his hand that was carefully caressing your hips now rushed under your skirt to bruise your pale skin. the way his blunt nails grazed your skin in urgency made you part your lips to moan on his kiss, to which he took advantage and pushed his tongue inside, making you rake up his hair, messing the stylish curls. you honestly thought it looked better that way, especially when you tugged them to make him moan a sound that, in all honesty, made you wetter. a selfish part of you wanted to be the only one to hear it, regardless of the implications. to drink on the deliciousness of his pleasured stares, ever switching from confident playfulness to longing pleas.

your bite on his lip made him puff and thrust upwards in delicious friction of your dry humping, something that you two usually spent long minutes doing. he stopped your attempts of undoing his belt to murmur in your ear. "go to the backseat, let me eat you out." and if you weren't so turned on, you'd laugh at his addiction to your taste.

you only smiled softly, slowly crawling your way to the backseat in a exaggerated raise of your ass that exposed your damp, black lace under your pleated skirt. you eventually sat there with a full blown smile when you turned to face him, his fucked out expression focusing on the way you grabbed the headrest, pulling down your panties with one hand and throwing them carelessly to the front of the car, something that'd normally make him mad. not this time, though. no. in fact, he caught them and stored on his pocket, making you roll your eyes.

"you really know how to act like a teenager when you want too, hm? baekhyunie?" you teased, sliding sideways as he made him way beside you, already separating your thighs and pushing your skirt up on your waist.

"does a teenager know how to eat you out like I do, angel?" baekhyun asked, looking up with a growing grin. and before you could even retort, you had to grab his hair with a curse at the slow lap of his velvet tongue between your folds. he'd start slow with circling movements on your clit before pushing inside in a curling manner that made you moan. the way he made out with your pussy was something you were obsessed with, the intricate manner he took turns with nibbling and sucking made your thighs quiver, and you were sure he loved when you suffocated him between them, rubbing his nose to slobber on your taste in a filthy manner.

your mind was so high that you almost didn't notice the sound of the car window going down behind you, your eyes widened as you saw his hand pressing the button with purpose, his own watched your gasping reaction in determined lust.

"what the fuck! baekhyun, someone's gonna—!" your hand that tried to press the button over his own was caught in a tight grip, your plea interrupted from the absolute need to let out a gasp from the added fingers of his right hand that were paired with his tongue.

"let people hear how pretty you sound when it's me who's eating you out. fuck it, let them see it." the way his voice sounded low and raspy triggered goosebumps from within your cunt, and you were thankful no one was around at this hour. your head was thrown back another time when he started a rapid, skillful assault that would surely make you come within seconds. the thrill of it all was raising your senses even higher, your gasps echoing recklessly into the night with the promise of someone hearing it made you want to scream in ecstasy, the orgasm shattering your reality for a moment. you swore the strength of your grip on his hair hurt baekhyun, but you weren't bothered to let it go when he was determined on drinking your every remnant, only stopping with a push from your hand.

he exhaled with a grunt, panting as he desperately unbuckled his belt and tugged everything off in one go. "turn around." he stated, helping you when your moves were consequently sluggish.

you could already feel his chest on your back when he steadied his cock on your entrance, his lips kissing your neck as he caressed your curves, your hands clutching the — still open – window.

"do you want this? right here?" baekhyun said on your ear, unconsciously making you rub yourself onto him.

it could be considered embarrassing how your mind didn't give a fuck for the spot you were put. how your only desire was to be his in every place you could get, since you knew he'd care for your comfort and needs perfectly.

"yes." was the single word you muttered before slowly moaning from the way he stretched you from behind. you could even smile from how you felt him throb inside of you, elated from the way he cursed on your ear.

the small sting from the already quick pace he settled did nothing to snuff out your lust, only raising it to the max as the both of you moaned on the open car window.

"fuck— I love how your pussy throbs around my cock after you come...!" baekhyun strained his voice behind you, snapping his hips ferociously onto you in a way that made your eyes roll from how deep he hit.

you couldn't even properly speak, only taking what he gave you with grateful noises. when his fingers found your lips and his hand gripped your chin, you instantly opened your mouth to receive his digits lewdly, humming at the way he sucked onto your pulse point.

"such a fucking good girl, right, angel...?" he hissed, thrusting viciously. "do you like this? me fucking your pussy on open air? hm?"

you could barely stop your choked moans as he removed his fingers from your mouth to hear your answer. when he didn't, his open hand hit your ass in a harsh hit, making you yelp loudly.

"y-yes! fuck yes!" you shouted, shaken, whimpering as he caressed the sting he caused amidst his thrusts. baekhyun only chuckled breathlessly, enjoying how you clenched everytime he spanked you. "just look at how good you take me... it's like you're swallowing me whole. such a perfect pussy." he kept changing it from slow to rapid moves, almost making your eyes well up with your inability to respond.

"god— I think I really fucking love you...!" he grunted, raising his pace as he smacked your flesh again. "gonna show you how much I love you by cumming inside, hm?"

you could barely nod, his fingers pressing down your tongue again before baekhyun rammed into you one final time, filling you up with a groan. he kissed your neck amidst love bites and pulled you onto his lap further in the backseat as he closed the window. his hand lovingly went up under your top, caressing your chest through your bra as he muttered multiple praises and turned you to face him, asking if you were okay with everything and if he didn't hurt you in any way. it was so good you almost thought you were already his, even without the two of you putting it into words.

he cleaned you with tissues from the car's glove box before both of you climbed back onto the front seats in a comfortable silence as he drove you to his penthouse confidently. he held your hand even though you said you were fine, walking you to the elevator before you were finally on his couch, facing each other with a water glass on your hand. you gulped silently before setting the glass on his coffee table, hugging yourself as you prepared yourself for the inevitable talk you been delaying for months.

"how are you?" baekhyun's voice muttered as his eyes watched you curled on the edge of the couch, your stockinged feet on it, yet his question made you raise your brows in confusion. that was certainly not the first question you expected.

"I mean— how are you feeling? right now?" he rephrased, making you look down in thought.

"I... feel okay, I suppose." you murmured, unsure.

"do you wanna talk about us...?" baekhyun spoke softly, his hand finding your knee in an attempt to coax a proper response, something that made you feel guilty.

you stayed silent, contemplating everything before you slowly pulled your knee closer to your chest.

"I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to face such thoughts right now." you sighed, closing your eyes while you pushed your face between your knees, frustrated by your inability to express your worries properly.

you heard him standing up from the couch to hover over your figure, pushing your hair back gently without a word. that made you look up with a worried look, but it soon softened as you saw his face, the intentions of making you comfortable clear within his expression.

"you're really serious about this, aren't you?" you spoke, shy as you sat properly to let him sit close to you. "about me and you... getting to know each other?"

"I'm serious about it because I wanna be serious about what I feel for you. for what I want to feel as I get to know you, if you'll let me..." baekhyun hummed, laying his head on your shoulder, which made you grin softly.

"and what would it imply?" you spoke softly, turning your face to his lowered one, watching his lashes flutter as he looked at before starting to visualize.

"oh, you know, the usual. dates, adventures.... lots of cuddles, plenty of kisses..." he paused, grinning at you as you rolled your eyes with a soft smile.

"you're ridiculous, you know that?"

"if being ridiculous makes you smile like that, then I'll take it." he said, making you groan and throw your head onto the cushion in a cringed expression. you heard him laugh, and unconsciously smiled when you faced him again, settling on a comfortable shared gaze.

baekhyun leaned closer, softening his expression as he spoke again "but more than that... supporting each other, trusting each other," you felt him lower his tone as he reached your lips, "being there for each other, through the good times and the bad."

"yeah...?" you whispered at him as you stared at his handsome face.

"yeah." he whispered back.

something about his tone and look made you kiss him, unhurried. it felt even better since he promptly responded by bringing you onto his lap to make out with patience.

"you're crazy" you said between pecks, inhaling his soft, woody, warm fragrance that brought you just as much comfort as it brought you desire.

"you're more." his said, breathy, sending newfound tingles in your lower stomach, and you remembered he still didn't give you back your panties, meaning you'd soon seep onto him if you kept this up.

so you figured, why not make it difficult for him?

you slowly inserted your tongue on his mouth, feeling his own eagerly swirling against yours in a lazy kiss, gently sucking onto him. that, paired with a couple of nibbles on his lower lip got him groaning, so you innocently moved your hand lower between your bodies and introduced your index within your walls, making you gasp. baekhyun only furrowed his brows, confused, but soon widened his eyes when you raised your hand between your faces, exposing the glistening of your juices coating your finger, before you licked the digit clean.

such action made him clench his jaw, exhaling through his nose as he stared at you sucking onto it.

"you wanna know what you'd get in a relationship with me, darling?" baekhyun spoke in a unnervingly calm low voice while his eyes were fixed on yours.

but before you could ask, he lifted you off the couch into his arms with ease, making you yelp as he walked with you further into the apartment, before reaching his master bedroom and tossing you on the bed. you yelped as your back reached his mattress, focusing your eyes on the one who stood before you, taking off his clothes in a hurried manner.

"you get all of me. every part. anytime you want." he stated as he got his shirt off in a manner you could only watch in a surprised awe.

"you get my mind," baekhyun unbucked his belt again, "you get my heart," his jeans and briefs dropped to the ground as he crawled onto the bed, on top of you. "and you get my body. all for you." he finished, pressing the tip of his already leaking cock against your folds. his tongue tracing the shell of your ear.

you cursed, shutting your eyes in overwhelm, just to hear him speak again. "and I get all of you. every part, every sound, every breath. all mine."

you opened them up only to find his face, completely whipped in anticipation for your response. both your breaths were shaken, your hand found his cheek with gentle caressing before your made your decision.

a relationship with baekhyun sounded far fetched from the start, you could already see that. but maybe a part of you longed to get to know him on the day after this. on the morning after, where your bodies are so spent you don't want to move away from each other. and maybe...

maybe you could turn this into something you won't be scared to face in the future.

looking at his eyes, you could see that beyond all the lustful desire, he only does this because that's the only thing you ever allowed him to do. so you breathed in, leaned your face closer to his in a way that lovingly made your noses touch, watching him close his eyes for a second.

"okay." you murmured.

it was another shockwave to feel him enter your walls again, and baekhyun took his time, gently pushing every inch in a painfully slow manner.

"you're still so damn tight, doll." he strained, hissing when he finally settled within in a torturous pace.

"s-so what, hm?" you stuttered, still adjusting to his thickness, making him chuckle at your attitude.

"so I think about it everytime I'm not thinking about dating you." baekhyun hummed, deliberately patient with his thrusts as he watched your facial expressions. "I love picturing us together for real, even when all I've seen is you like this... like..." he trailed off, closing his eyes to keep composure.

"like...?" you coaxed, meeting his hips halfway in a lazy manner.

"like a goddess." he murmured lowly, his dark eyes completely fixated on the way your face reacted to pleasure.

you only pushed your hand to his chest to stop his shallow thrusts and sat back with unhurried movements. you stared at him with intent to make sure he knew what you felt in the moment, finally taking off your skirt and crop top, then sprawling yourself on his bed, naked under his eyes for the first time tonight.

"then why don't you love me like one...?" your voice murmured in honest desire, your legs high as you exposed your center to him, bewitching baekhyun.

the suddenness of his next thrust caught both of you off guard, with a deep moan being ripped from his throat as he was, once again, completely enveloped by you. your legs wrapped around his waist as his body shuddered uncontrollably, the intensity of the sensation as big as ever.

"you little minx..." baekhyun grunted as he steadied his breath, pounding you against his bed in a way that made you cry out numerous curses, fighting for composure.

"I love that I can make you speechless." he whispered, rolling his hips repeatedly. and if you thought it was hard to keep your head clear amidst everything, it was ever harder for him. feeling your grip around him in a continuous pulse.

"not my fault your cock fits so perfectly." you choked, making him grin in a surge of satisfaction.

"and it's all yours." he murmured, his teeth finding your pulse point once again as he slowed his thrusts in a manner that accentuated the depth of his movements. "do you like it like this, doll? can you feel me like this, hm?"

you'd swear you'll kill him for this, for teasing you like this, but the only thing you could ever do right now is respond in a way that could appease both of your fires. even if it sounded pathetic. "th—there... right there...!"

baekhyun smiled against your neck, his body responding to your words.

"here...?" he asked, repeating the motion, his hips circling against yours in a deep, deliberate motion, his body rubbing against yours in all the right places.

when he picked up the pace again, your hands went behind you in an attempt to achor yourself, trying to grab his headboard, but failing. baekhyun noticed and hummed, leaning back to watch your face with a small sheen against his temples, "hold onto me," his voice rough and ragged while his body continued in a fast, hard movement. "hold onto me, angel. I got you..."

even in your light minded state, you still replied, worried, "I'll scratch you..." with a breathy voice amidst pants.

"I don't care. scratch me, bite me. do whatever you need, but hold onto me." he rumbled roughly.

at a certain rough thrust, you cried out, digging your long nails on his broad back in a way that surely marked him. baekhyun hissed, the counterpoint of the pain making him go delirious as he kept whispering praises on your ear.

"I can't— can't take it much longer...!" you whimpered, feeling your tight coil extremely close to snap for the third time that night. he wasn't very far, either.

"I can feel it, angel. let—" he moaned, "let it go for me, I'm right there with you."

baekhyun grabbed you thighs securely, looking up at your face as you asked "together...?", making him nod his head.

"together," he panted, "let yourself go and come with me. I got you."

with guttural sounds from him, you silently screamed while tugging his hair and back, feeling both of your releases hit intensely. baekhyun cursed loudly, drawing out both your orgasms as he filled you up again, shaking with aftershocks on top of you.

there was a moment of mutual comfort in the silence that follow, both of you uncaring for how long you actually spent with him inside of you, since he settled beside your body, holding you close.

"you know I'll do anything..." baekhyun hummed in your hair, nuzzling your neck as you stared at the ceiling, finding his face in a soft, confused hum.

he knew it could sound repetitive to you, but he just had to say it again. and a part of you likes it. a lot.

"for you to be mine." the way he spoke your name afterwards felt good, sending shivers from inside of your body.

he raised his head to look at you, locking your gazes in a silent understanding with serious, but pleading eyes.

"say yes." he told you, fixed on the way you raked his sculpted face. the way his moles adorned his features.

"you'll never let this go, hm?" you grinned, looking down in more comfort than you'd expect.

"no." baekhyun said, with a clear tone that made you look back at him with shy eyes as he continued.

"I'm never letting you go."

[bitchface24-7]

Could you do part 2 of Yanderes Viktor and Jayce, please... What would it be like if the reader chose one of the boys to follow?

(Maybe you could do what it would be like for each route, for Yanderes Jayce and Viktor)

THE CHOICE IS NO LONGER YOURS PT 2 - VIKTOR X READER | JAYCE X READER

synopsis: you couldn't choose who to side with, so they decided for you. Here are the routes if you went with either Viktor or Jayce. Hopefully, everything goes well…

warnings: yandere V + J, possession, obsession, suggestiveness, angst, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/f or m/m

p.s. this is pt2 to “It’s time to choose…” but I wanted to name it something different that still applies to the first fic. Thisll be under pt1 in my masterlist. Hope y'all enjoy our boys being unhinged for us!

VIKTOR X READER

You don't know who to choose, so they choose for you.

Viktor takes one of your hands and leads you out the lab as you look back and see an enraged Jayce watching you two. His jaw is clenched and his fists are shaking at his side.

Viktor just continues to walk, ignoring everything around him but you. He ignored the people in the academy, the people out and about in Piltover, and walks down to Zaun.

He heals Huck, he becomes a well-known miracle, a desperate plea many have prayed for. He heals the land, builds a forge, and a commune. He becomes a messiah. He becomes the Herald.

And you're right there by his side. You're his. His right hand, his partner, his heart. Everyone knows not to mess with you. You're essentially royalty to the commune.

You help Viktor keep his humanity, your very presence fights back against the arcane. The arcane whispers to Viktor to be rid of you, he’ll never listen to it.

You're his and his alone, nothing will change his mind.

He cares for you, loves you, and worships you. He's unbelievably perfect. Sometimes you miss Jayce, and you tell Viktor. He always grimaces and looks upset, but he admits the same.

Vi, Jinx, Isha, and Vander show up for some healing, it almost works. Then everything kind of goes wrong. You fight, you live, your life continues on.

The two of you are quite happy at the commune, until Jayce shows up to kill Viktor.

You won't let that happen.

He's yours, and you're his.

JAYCE X READER

You don't know who to choose, so they choose for you.

Jayce's arm wraps around your waist as Viktor leaves solemnly. You ache to reach out and grab him, force him to stay; but Jayce's grip on you is too tight.

The two of you are despondent as you watch Viktor’s frame exits into the darkness of the unknown.

The two of you have work to do.

You aimlessly search and research into the arcane. You try your best to find the answers you are desperately seeking.

You don't find it.

Then you go on a wild goose chase with Jayce, Ekko, and Heimerdinger, getting touched by the arcane, and you all split up.

Ekko and Heimerdinger are no where to be found as you and Jayce are transported to a post-apocalyptic version of Piltover.

Its horrifying, terrifying. The humanoid monsters, the wasteland that was once the city of progress. You're not sure how it happened, everything was happening to fast for you to process anything; but you both fall into a cave of a canyon. Two massive rock walls surrounding you, and the only way to escape is up.

Jayce cushioned your fall, and his hammer broke his leg. You try your best to care for him, but there aren’t many supplies you can use.

The two of you get extremely close. Huddling for warmth alongside the fire, tending to his leg and helping him destroy his hammer to make a brace, carving on the wall as you feel like you’re losing your mind, crying together.

Eventually the two of you slowly climb the rocks, helping each other out to the best of your abilities. The two of come across a stone figure that looks eerily familiar, and a mage that shares a face with a man you thought you’d never see again.

He tells you that in all timelines, and all possibilities, only we could show him this. And that we must stop him.

We must kill him.

The stone figure gives Jayce a modified version of his hammer, and you’re sent back to your timeline.

Your bond is intrinsic, unshakeable. But the two of you hesitate to harm Viktor. He’s changed, but he’s still your partner.

You’ll stick by Jayce no matter what, but you can’t be there when he kills Viktor. You almost lost Jayce and freaked out, you don’t know what you’ll do if you see a friend die.

But you’re Jayce’s rock, his pillar, his shield. You’ll be there to pick the broken pieces up.

He’s yours, and you’re his.

Jayce’s is longer accidentally. I did just post about herald Viktor x reader and I guess my brain went “i don’t think many people want to read the same thing twice.” So yeah… hope y’all enjoyed this pt2!! ❤️❤️

[aspenmissing]

ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴋɪᴛᴛʏ ᴋɪᴛᴛʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ||

8704 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅɪꜱᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴇꜱ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴠᴀꜱᴛᴀʏᴀ! ʏᴏᴜ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

Jayce had heard whispers about the new professor of Arts at Piltover Academy long before he’d ever seen her. The faculty was buzzing with excitement about her arrival, her reputation as an accomplished artist preceding her. But the one detail that caught his attention most was the fact that she’d come from an entirely different background—one that was described as both mystical and far removed from Piltover’s strict focus on science and progress. He hadn’t thought much about it, assuming it was just another eccentric professor, but his curiosity got the better of him.

When Jayce first walked past the door to the art classroom, he noticed the faint sound of brushes against canvas, the soft swish that was both rhythmic and calming. He paused, peering inside to see who was creating such an intricate sound. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, the room was filled with the scent of paints, the glimmer of sunlight filtering through the windows, and the tranquil yet focused air of someone deep in their craft.

There she was, the new professor, wearing a well-worn apron that hung loosely over her clothes, her fingers stained with a medley of bright colours. She was crouched over a piece on the canvas, her movements fluid and graceful, as though each stroke of the brush was an extension of herself. Jayce’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of her—something about the way she moved, the way the fabric of her apron swished as she worked, seemed to echo something far deeper than art. It was as though the act of creation was woven into the very fibre of her being.

Her long hair, a deep mix of hues that reminded Jayce of a sunset, was tied back loosely, strands falling around her face as she worked with quiet intensity. Her tail—something he hadn’t noticed at first—was flicking behind her, the motions nearly hypnotic. She was completely engrossed in her work, yet there was an undeniable aura of calm that radiated from her, almost as though the room itself had come alive with her presence.

Jayce leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to interrupt but unable to tear his eyes away. He’d heard about her being a professor of the arts, but no one had mentioned the quiet elegance with which she carried herself, nor had they described the sheer focus she brought to her work.

"Professor Y/N?" Jayce called out after a moment, his voice cutting through the silence of the room, though it was softer than usual. He hadn’t intended to startle her, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.

Y/N slowly turned, her gaze meeting his for the first time. Her eyes were a striking amber that seemed to glow faintly in the light of the room. She blinked, her lips curling into a soft smile as if she hadn’t been surprised to find him standing there. The warmth of her expression gave him an immediate sense of ease, though his mind was still racing with questions.

"Ah, Jayce, I see you’ve found me," she said, her voice melodic, almost ethereal in its softness, as if each word held its own weight. She wiped her hands on her apron and straightened, stepping away from the canvas. "But please, Y/N is fine. I am not a fan of titles."

Jayce shifted, feeling slightly flustered—this was his own academy, and yet, in this moment, he felt entirely out of his element. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he began, his voice carrying the hint of apology. “I just... heard about you, and thought I’d come by and see your work for myself.”

Y/N tilted her head, her feline features accentuating the gesture. “Ah, you’ve heard the rumours then,” she said, her tone light, with a playful undercurrent that was as mysterious as it was captivating. “There’s no need to be shy. Art is meant to be shared, after all.”

Jayce stepped fully into the room, trying to act as though he wasn’t mesmerised by the scene before him. But the sight of her work—alive with vibrant colours, hues of blues, purples, and golds blending seamlessly—pulled him in. It wasn’t just a painting; it was a living, breathing piece of art, as though the canvas itself was in the midst of its own transformation. The unspoken power within it felt almost tangible.

“That’s incredible,” Jayce said before he could stop himself, stepping closer to take in the detail. “The colours... the blending. It’s not like anything I’ve seen before.”

Y/N smiled, the corners of her lips curling up with a mix of pride and amusement. “Thank you. It’s still a work in progress, but I find that’s often the way with art. It takes time to reveal itself, just like people do.”

The phrase stuck with him, stirring something deep within. Jayce’s mind raced with curiosity, wanting to ask a hundred questions—about her process, her background, the world she came from. There was something in the way she spoke, something in her choice of words that hinted at a depth of experience far beyond what he’d expected.

“I’ve heard you come from... quite a different background,” Jayce ventured carefully, the words slipping out before he could think them through. “From what I understand, you’re... not from Piltover?”

Y/N chuckled, the sound light and melodic, and her eyes sparkled with a knowing gleam. She moved toward the window, her gaze distant, as though she were seeing something far beyond the walls of the classroom. “Not exactly,” she said, her voice turning reflective. “I come from lands far beyond Piltover, where the magic of the world still flows freely. I’m here to teach art, but... I suppose I have much to learn about Piltover as well.”

Jayce’s eyes widened, and his pulse quickened at her words. He had heard whispers about distant lands, ancient magics, and secrets beyond the borders of Piltover. But hearing it from her—seeing the truth in her eyes—made it all feel so much more real. She wasn’t just a professor; she was a living connection to a world he had only ever dreamed of.

“I’d love to hear more about it,” Jayce blurted out before he could stop himself. “The magic, the lands you come from... I’m fascinated by the unknown.”

Y/N turned back to him, her gaze softer now, though still with that playful gleam. “Perhaps in time, Jayce,” she said with a sly smile. “After all, you’re not the only one who finds the unknown fascinating.”

A quiet challenge lingered in the air between them, unspoken but present. Jayce realised that, if he wanted to truly understand her—and the world she came from—he would need to open his mind beyond the rigid structure of science and logic that had always defined his thinking. There was more to learn here than he had anticipated.

“Well, I’ll certainly be attending your classes more often then,” Jayce said with a grin, his excitement and curiosity growing by the second. "I think I have a lot to learn from you, Y/N."

She gave a small nod, her smile widening as she returned to her canvas. “And I, you, Jayce.”

With that, their worlds—science, art, and magic—began to intertwine in ways neither of them had expected, each of them unknowingly stepping into the beginning of a shared journey that would challenge everything they thought they knew.

VIKTOR

Viktor had been wandering the streets of Zaun, more accustomed to the harshness of the city than he liked to admit. His young feet carried him down narrow alleyways, past discarded scraps and dim-lit corners. The air was thick with the stench of machinery and metal, the noise of industry surrounding him, but it was a strange hiss that caught his attention.

He froze, his heart skipping a beat. It was a familiar sound, like a cat in distress, but something felt different about it. Curiosity pushed him closer, his footsteps quiet on the cold cobblestones. With his cane tapping gently against the ground, Viktor moved carefully, the brace on his leg giving a subtle tug with every step. Turning a corner, he saw her: a small figure wrapped in a tattered blanket, her back hunched defensively. A group of stray mutts circled around her, their eyes glinting with hunger.

Viktor’s first instinct was to run—he had no love for dogs, much less the dangerous ones prowling the alleyways—but something held him in place. The girl was unlike anyone he had ever seen. Her hood was pulled low, but the way she moved, the slight hissing sounds she made, intrigued him.

The dogs lunged, their growls rising in the air, and Viktor’s heart raced. But before he could do anything rash, the girl hissed again, her body coiling, showing her sharp teeth. The animals hesitated, growling in response, but she was clearly in pain, defensive, cornered.

“Hey!” Viktor called out, taking a tentative step forward. “Leave her alone!”

With a quick, sharp motion, he threw a stone toward the mutts, distracting them for just a moment. It was enough. They scattered, growling their discontent but retreating into the shadows. Viktor took another step forward, his voice soft and steady.

“It’s okay... You’re safe now,” he said gently, kneeling down. His cane rested against the cobblestone as he balanced himself, careful not to startle the girl.

She flinched, pressing further into the corner, her large eyes filled with suspicion. She hissed again, the sound unnerving and primal. Viktor paused, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, feeling a surge of empathy. "You're hurt." His gaze landed on her arm, where a deep gash had formed. It wasn't a fatal wound, but it looked painful.

She looked at him with a mix of fear and wariness, as though deciding whether to trust him or not. Viktor could sense the tension in her small body, her muscles coiled, ready to spring into action. He slowly reached into his satchel and pulled out a small piece of cloth. Gently, he approached her, not wanting to startle her further.

“I... I can help,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached out to her injured arm. “It’ll stop the pain.”

At first, she recoiled, the hissing louder now, but Viktor remained still, showing no signs of aggression. He didn’t want to force her, just to offer help. Slowly, as though she had made a decision, the girl relaxed her body slightly, allowing him closer.

With careful hands, Viktor wrapped the cloth around the injury, doing his best to secure it. The girl winced but didn’t pull away, and Viktor smiled softly.

“There,” he said. “It’ll be okay now.” His voice was warm, comforting in the way only a child’s voice could be. “You don’t have to be alone.”

The girl, still cautious, looked up at him through the veil of her hood. Her eyes, deep and knowing, met his for the first time, and something in the moment shifted.

“I... I’m Viktor,” he added, his words soft and sincere.

The Vastaya girl didn’t respond, but for the first time, she didn’t seem afraid. She tilted her head, her ears twitching slightly as she studied him. In that brief, quiet moment, the two children shared a silent understanding, the beginnings of a bond formed in the heart of Zaun.

Viktor’s heart beat faster in his chest as the girl’s piercing gaze locked onto his. He couldn’t read her thoughts, but he felt a strange connection, like a spark igniting in the dark alley. The air between them seemed to hang in a fragile balance, thick with uncertainty and unspoken understanding.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Viktor was acutely aware of the dim, flickering streetlights above, the distant sounds of the city carrying on as if nothing extraordinary had just happened. But in that quiet corner of Zaun, with the girl’s injury and the odd calm that had settled between them, it felt as though time had stopped.

Viktor shifted his weight, unsure of what to do next. He didn’t want to leave her alone—he didn’t even know why he cared so much. But something about her presence, the vulnerability in her eyes, tugged at him. She was so small, so different from him, yet he could sense she was capable of more than just surviving. She was something beyond human, something powerful, but there was an edge of rawness to her—something that spoke of pain and hardship.

After a long silence, the girl finally shifted, her movements hesitant. She glanced down at the cloth that Viktor had wrapped around her arm, and for a split second, he thought she might lash out. But she didn’t. Instead, she slowly reached up and pulled back her hood, revealing her full face. Her features were sharp, with feline-like eyes, golden in the dim light, and ears that twitched ever so slightly. She was a Vastaya, no doubt about it. Her skin, a faint shade of gray, was marred with cuts and bruises, but her eyes... her eyes held a world of untold stories, of loneliness, and something Viktor couldn’t quite name.

She looked at him with a strange mixture of confusion and curiosity. Despite her initial defensiveness, there was a softness there now, a flicker of trust in the way she regarded him. Viktor hesitated, unsure whether to push further or leave her to her own devices.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated gently, this time more earnestly. “I promise.”

The girl didn’t respond at first, but she slowly took a deep breath, her sharp teeth glinting in the weak light as she let out a long, calming hiss. It was a sound Viktor now recognised as a form of communication, one that told him she was settling down, at least for the moment.

“I can’t leave you like this,” Viktor said softly, his voice thick with a mix of determination and concern. “You need to get better.”

His words seemed to spark something in her. She blinked slowly, then leaned back against the wall, her gaze shifting to the ground, as if processing his offer. Viktor watched her closely, every second feeling like a fragile thread that could snap at any moment. She wasn’t just a wounded creature; she was something entirely different, something that didn’t belong in the streets of Zaun, a world that was harsh and unforgiving to those who weren’t human.

Suddenly, the girl spoke, her voice soft, rough around the edges as though she hadn’t used it in a while.

“Why... why help?” she asked, her words slow, as though trying to figure out if they were real. “No one... helps.”

Viktor swallowed, the weight of her words settling heavily in his chest. He couldn’t quite explain it, but something inside him, something that felt stronger than his fear or hesitation, made him want to protect her, to give her something she hadn’t had before—kindness.

“I don’t know,” Viktor admitted, his voice a whisper. “But I don’t think you should be alone. And you shouldn’t have to fight so hard just to survive.”

The girl, still warily watching him, slowly nodded as though considering his words. She shifted a little, the blanket wrapping around her tighter as though shielding her from the world around her. Viktor wasn’t sure if she was acknowledging his help or simply lost in her own thoughts, but he sensed that she was, at least, a little more willing to trust him.

“I’ll... find a way to help,” Viktor promised. “I’ll find a place where you can rest.”

The girl tilted her head again, as if trying to understand the boy’s intentions. But as she did, Viktor noticed something else—there was a faint glow to her eyes, an intensity that seemed almost... magical. The power of the Vastaya was unmistakable, even in her weakened state.

Viktor’s gaze softened, and without thinking, he held out his hand to her once more, palm open. “Come with me,” he said, his voice gentle but earnest, inviting her to take that first step.

The girl looked at his hand, her golden eyes reflecting a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. For a moment, she hesitated, her body tense as though weighing the offer. Then, as though deciding something in her heart, she slowly reached out and placed her hand in his.

Viktor gave a small, reassuring smile as he gently pulled her to her feet, his grip firm but not forceful. She stood a little shakily, her movements still cautious but less defensive now. He could feel the slight tremble in her touch, but there was no more hesitation.

Together, they began to walk down the alley, side by side, as Viktor led the way. The streets of Zaun stretched before them, dark and unforgiving, but for the first time, Viktor didn’t feel as alone in the world. And though he didn’t know where this strange journey would take them, he knew that he couldn’t let her face it alone either.

As they walked, the girl’s eyes remained fixed ahead, though Viktor could feel her studying him from time to time. After a while, she spoke, her voice quieter than before, but more certain.

“I'm Y/N," she said, her words careful, as though testing them in the air. She glanced at him, her golden eyes meeting his with a newfound softness.

Viktor nodded, her name settling in his mind as something important. Something he would not forget. ”I'm glad I found you, Y/N" he said softly, glancing at her as they walked together, side by side.

Y/N didn’t reply immediately, but there was a slight nod from her, a small acknowledgment of his words. The bond that had formed between them in that quiet, dim-lit corner of Zaun felt like a thread, tenuous but growing stronger with each step they took together.

They didn’t speak much more as they moved through the streets, but the connection between them was undeniable. Two lost souls finding a moment of understanding, walking the harsh streets of Zaun side by side. Neither knew exactly where their path would lead, but for the first time in what felt like a long while, they had each other’s presence. And that, for now, was

JAYVIK

After an exhausting day, Y/N’s journey through the streets of Piltover had become nothing short of an emotional gauntlet. The murmurs behind her back, those hushed voices and sideways glances, crept into her every thought. It wasn’t just the casual dismissal one might expect from those who looked upon her as a mere outsider—it was the disdain, the quiet hatred, the refusal to accept her because of what she was. Her Vastaya heritage was a mark she couldn't escape, no matter how hard she tried to fit in.

Her tail swished anxiously behind her, brushing the cobbled streets as her sharp ears picked up each whisper, each derogatory remark. Some muttered about her kind being ‘dangerous’ or ‘unnatural,’ others discussed her marriage to Viktor and Jayce with barely veiled incredulity, as though it were some grand farce. But it was the looks—the looks of disgust and fear—that clung to her the most. It was as if her presence itself unsettled them, as though her very existence was a reminder of something they feared.

By the time she reached the lab, she was exhausted—exhausted from the harsh words, exhausted from the constant vigilance, and, most of all, exhausted from the weight of being something they couldn’t understand. She felt small, as though she had no right to exist in this world that never truly accepted her. Her furrowed brow, her tail dragged low and twitching, spoke volumes, but it was her body language—slumped, defeated—that really gave it away.

Viktor had been working in his lab, seated in a couch near the far corner, his cane leaning against the desk. He heard the soft click of the door as it opened, followed by the telltale quiet steps of Y/N entering. He didn’t need to ask her what had happened. He could see it in the way her ears drooped, the tension in her shoulders, the weariness in her movements. He could feel her distress as if it were his own.

Without a word, Y/N curled up on the couch, her body instinctively seeking comfort, as though it knew exactly where it could find solace. Her head came to rest in Viktor’s lap, and he immediately reached out, his fingers tracing the edges of her feline ears with a tenderness that seemed to melt away the first layer of her exhaustion. The touch was slow and deliberate, his fingers brushing against the silky fur with the same careful affection he always showed her. She sighed quietly, letting herself sink further into the moment, her eyelids fluttering in a delicate mix of relief and lingering tension.

“You’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?” Viktor’s accented voice was low, almost a murmur, as he continued to gently run his fingers along the sensitive appendages. His tone held a quiet sympathy, as though he had already guessed the source of her weariness.

Before she could respond, the sound of Jayce’s footsteps echoed through the lab. He had been pacing, his mind undoubtedly preoccupied with work, as he often did when there was something on his mind. But as soon as he entered the room, he stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze landed on Y/N, and the moment his eyes met hers, he knew something was wrong. She was curled up on the couch, her body language all too telling, and her tail twitched anxiously behind her.

For a brief moment, Jayce stood still, confusion and concern flashing across his face. He hadn’t expected to find her in this state, certainly not after a long day. His heart tightened as he noticed the tear on her cheek and the slight tremor in her form. He quickly closed the distance between them, dropping to his knees beside the couch, his hand instinctively reaching out to cup her cheek.

His thumb brushed away the tear, and he stared at her, his expression softening with a mixture of worry and helplessness. He had never wanted to see her like this. “What happened, love?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, the concern unmistakable in every syllable. His gaze searched hers, trying to find the right words, but all he could feel was the overwhelming urge to make it better, to take away whatever pain she was carrying.

Y/N closed her eyes as the steady rhythm of Viktor’s fingers along her ears and Jayce’s hand against her cheek worked to calm the storm inside her. Their presence, their touch, felt like an anchor, grounding her to the present and pulling her away from the harshness of the world outside. It was as if, in this moment, the lab, their sanctuary, existed in a bubble—safe from the judgmental whispers, from the cruel stares, and from everything else that sought to diminish her.

“I hate it,” Y/N finally spoke, her voice soft, almost lost in the quiet. Her words came out in a whisper, as if she feared even saying them out loud would make them more real. “I hate walking through those streets, knowing that the moment they see me, they don’t see me. They just see… a beast. Something to fear.”

Viktor’s hand paused on her ear for just a moment, a slight tightening of his grip as he heard the raw pain in her voice. His gaze softened, the sympathy in his eyes obvious, but he didn’t need to speak right away. Instead, he simply continued his gentle strokes along her fur, as though his touch alone could offer comfort.

Jayce, kneeling beside the couch, reached forward again, his thumb brushing against her cheek in an attempt to offer reassurance. “You’re not a beast,” he said, his voice steady but laced with the emotions he was careful not to let show too much. He took a moment before continuing, his voice firm with an unwavering certainty, “They’re scared of what they don’t understand. And it’s not you they fear, Y/N. It’s what you represent. What you are.”

She let out a sigh, a tired sound that spoke volumes, and her tail twitched behind her. “I know,” she whispered, her eyes still closed. “But that doesn’t make it easier. Every time I walk through those streets, it’s like I’m being reminded that, no matter how much I try to fit in… I’ll never be truly accepted. Not by them. Not ever.”

Jayce’s brow furrowed, the sense of frustration building within him as he listened to her words. He could feel it, too—the anger at the injustice, the hurt that she tried so hard to mask. His fingers curled into a fist briefly, before he forced himself to relax. “No one should have to deal with that,” he muttered under his breath, a flicker of something darker in his tone. “If I could, I would make them understand—force them to see you for who you really are.”

Viktor, hearing the sharp edge to Jayce’s words, placed a hand gently on his shoulder. There was a quiet weight in his touch, a calmness that reminded Jayce of the necessity of patience. Viktor’s voice was cool and measured, his words always laced with that quiet wisdom he was known for. “I know you mean well, Jayce,” he said softly, “but forcing them to understand isn’t the way. It’ll only breed more fear, more hostility.”

Jayce looked at Viktor, the frustration in his eyes still apparent, but he nodded slowly. “I know… I just hate seeing her like this.” His voice softened as he turned back to Y/N, his thumb now gently running along the curve of her ear. “You don’t deserve this, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to carry their ignorance, their hatred. But, I promise you this—you will never face it alone. Not while I’m here. Not while Viktor’s here.”

Y/N felt a tear slip down her cheek at his words, a soft, almost imperceptible sound escaping her lips. She couldn’t help it; the tension in her chest, the constant pressure of feeling unwanted, unloved by the world, had finally broken free. But even in that moment of weakness, she didn’t feel ashamed. She knew that Viktor and Jayce wouldn’t judge her. They would only shield her from the world’s cruelty, just as they always had.

Viktor continued to run his fingers through her fur, not speaking for a moment as he let her emotions settle. When he finally did speak, it was with a quiet, unwavering resolve. “No matter what they say or think, Y/N,” he began softly, his gaze intense as he met her eyes, “you are ours. And nothing will ever change that.”

Jayce’s hand remained against her cheek, the warmth of his touch a constant reminder of his love for her. “They’ll come around,” he said, his voice steady but hopeful. “But until then, we’ll keep you safe. Keep you sheltered from the storm outside. And we'll keep reminding you every day that you’re everything we could ever want.”

Y/N closed her eyes again, letting their words wash over her, letting their assurances settle into her heart. The tears that had flowed freely just moments before began to slow, the peace that came from their comfort beginning to heal the raw ache inside her. She finally let out a slow breath, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time that day.

“I don’t want to feel like a burden,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t want to drag you into this mess.”

Viktor’s hand, still resting gently on her ear, gave a soft, reassuring squeeze. “You’re not a burden, Miláčku,” he said, his voice filled with tenderness. “You’re our world. We chose you, not because we had to, but because we want to be with you. You’re everything we need, and nothing—no one—can ever make us feel otherwise.” (Darling)

Jayce nodded firmly, his voice a gentle promise. “We didn’t marry you out of obligation. We married you because we love you—because you’re the one we want by our side. No matter what the world says, we’re not going anywhere, love. And neither are you. Together, we’re stronger than anything they can throw at us.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with love for them, the weight of the day beginning to fade as she realized, yet again, how deeply she was cherished by these two men. For the first time in hours, she smiled, a small, tired but genuine smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you both.”

Jayce’s hand cupped her cheek one last time, his fingers tracing the soft lines of her face with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “You’ll never have to find out, Y/N. We’re here, always. We made this choice, and we’ll never regret it.”

VANDER

Vander sat at the bar, wiping down a mug as the usual crowd filled the room with chatter. He had seen it all in his time running the Last Drop—thieves, mercenaries, gamblers, and all kinds of other souls looking to escape their troubles. But when the door swung open and a figure entered, the room seemed to momentarily still.

Her presence was unlike anything Vander had ever felt before. The moment she walked through the door, the atmosphere in the bar shifted. She was a Vastaya—a rare sight in the undercity—and her striking appearance immediately commanded attention. There was something almost ethereal about her, a quiet elegance in her every movement, like she was part of the very soul of the land itself. Her sharp eyes carried a mystery, a depth, and Vander couldn’t help but watch as she made her way towards the counter.

"You're a rare one," Vander remarked, his voice easy but genuine, his gaze lingering on her with genuine curiosity. "What brings a Vastaya like you down here?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she leaned in slightly. "A rare one, huh?" she teased. "I imagine you use that line on all the girls who come through here."

Vander chuckled, the edge of his smile deepening. "Only the ones worth mentioning," he replied, pouring a drink with ease, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of intrigue and amusement.

Y/N’s smile softened as she settled onto the barstool, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "A drink sounds good after a long day," she said, her voice light, but there was something about it that made Vander feel like there was more she wasn’t saying.

"I’ll make sure it’s to your liking," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he slid the drink toward her, watching her every move.

=

Vander’s gaze lingered on Y/N as she sipped her drink, her features soft yet impossibly captivating. She had settled into the corner of the bar, seemingly at ease despite the ruckus of the surrounding patrons. Her eyes scanned the room with an almost knowing expression, as though she saw more than just the people around her, something beneath the surface. It was the way she carried herself—a subtle, quiet strength—that intrigued him most. There was a deep connection to the land, the city, the very air that she breathed, something that made her presence feel both foreign and strangely familiar at the same time.

As Vander continued serving his regulars, the atmosphere in the bar shifted. The usual noise of clinking glasses and rowdy chatter seemed to subside around her. Even the children, usually so full of energy and mischief, were drawn to her, fascinated by her serene calmness.

Powder, unable to contain her excitement, spent the better part of the evening in a state of pure wonder. She couldn’t seem to stop touching Y/N’s tail, her small hands running over the long, shimmering fur with unabashed joy. Y/N was more than patient, her soft laughter filling the space, her gentle nature evident in the way she responded to Powder’s innocent fascination. She shifted her tail playfully, letting the little girl chase after it in a circle, until even the other children couldn't resist joining in, laughing and mimicking Powder’s antics.

Vi watched from a distance, her arms crossed but a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She was always the protector, but seeing how easily Y/N connected with the younger ones put her at ease. There was something about Y/N that made Vi feel... safer, somehow. It was an unfamiliar sensation, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Claggor was quieter than usual, taking in the scene with his usual curiosity. He hadn't said much since meeting Y/N, but there was a certain respect in his gaze, a quiet acknowledgement of something extraordinary in her. Mylo, ever the joker, had already teased Powder about being "captured by the tail," but his tone was light-hearted. He could see that this was different. The children looked up to Y/N with an awe that couldn’t be faked, and he could sense that, beyond the playful exchanges, there was something deeper—something important.

But it wasn’t just the kids who felt it. Vander noticed it too. There was a sense of quiet power in the air whenever she was near. He’d run this bar for years, and he’d seen every type of person—mercenaries, criminals, drunks—but none had commanded the space quite like Y/N did. The way she held herself, the way she didn’t seem fazed by the rough surroundings, spoke volumes about her strength.

As the evening drew on, the rough man who had started the commotion earlier was still stewing in the corner. He was looking for trouble, scanning the room for someone weaker to take his anger out on. When he noticed Y/N again, his foul mood flared up, and this time, he stumbled over to her with malicious intent.

"You think you can just waltz in here, some freak with your weird tail, and not expect someone to call you out on it?" he slurred, his breath heavy with alcohol. The tension in the bar thickened as everyone realised what was coming.

Vi was the first to move, standing up from her seat and blocking the man's path. Her posture was rigid, and her eyes were hard, challenging him without a word. "You want to try again?" she said, her voice dangerously calm.

Mylo and Claggor followed suit, their expressions serious now, no longer the playful kids they usually were. Mylo gave the man a wicked grin, though there was no humour in it. "You’re in the wrong place,"

Y/N remained seated, her expression serene but her gaze never leaving the man. There was no fear in her eyes, just an unspoken understanding that she didn’t need to prove anything. Powder, small but fiercely protective, had already taken her position beside Y/N, hugging her leg tightly and glaring at the man with a protective fire that only the youngest could muster.

The man sneered, clearly not used to being challenged, and took a step forward. But before he could utter another word, Vander’s booming voice cut through the tension.

"You heard them," Vander said, his voice low and commanding. His presence filled the room as he made his way toward the troublemaker. "You’ll apologise, or you’ll be escorted out. I don’t care which."

The man hesitated, realising too late that he was surrounded. With a muttered curse, he took a step back, his bravado crumbling under the weight of the room’s collective gaze. "Whatever," he grumbled, stumbling toward the exit. "Freaks," he muttered, but the words were nothing more than a whimper as he left the bar.

As the man disappeared, the tension in the room melted away, and the kids immediately returned to their playful antics, a sense of security having settled over them once again. Powder looked up at Y/N, her eyes wide and full of admiration. "You’re not scared, are you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N smiled down at her, brushing a strand of hair from the girl's face. "Scared of what, little one?" she replied softly, her voice a balm to the chaos of the night. "There’s nothing to fear when you’re surrounded by friends."

Vander stood nearby, watching the children and Y/N with a warmth that didn’t quite fit the hard exterior he had built over the years. He found himself admiring her strength, her ability to make those around her feel like they belonged. It was a rare quality, and he hadn’t realised how much he had missed seeing something so pure in this city of decay.

As the night continued, Vander couldn’t tear his eyes away from Y/N. He had never been one for attachments—he had a bar to run, a community to protect, and a reputation to maintain. But something about her made him want to break all the rules he had set for himself. Something about the way she cared for those kids, the way she moved through the world with grace, made him feel like there was still hope in this city.

And maybe, just maybe, that rare connection was something worth holding onto.

SILCO

The air was thick with tension in the dimly lit alley, the heavy scent of industry and smoke hanging around the exchange. Silco’s focus remained sharp, his gaze unwavering as he handled the deal with practiced precision. Every detail was accounted for, every movement deliberate. Yet something, or rather someone, caught his eye in the midst of the transaction.

On the opposite side of the exchange, a tall, imposing figure gripped a leash in one hand, the other held by a woman tethered to him like an animal. The collar around her neck was cruelly tight, the chains dragging beneath her feet as she knelt on the cold ground, her posture slumped in submission. The sight of her—diminished, shackled—stirred something inside Silco. Her ears, long and pointed, betrayed her as one of the Vastaya, and the terror in her eyes cut through the hardened façade he’d built over the years.

Silco’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening. He had dealt with many types of business, many different kinds of people, but something about seeing her like this—like a mere possession—churned in his gut.

"Finish the deal," Sevika’s voice broke his concentration. Her eyes, too, had landed on the woman, her gaze flickering between the two parties. Silco’s eyes flicked to Sevika momentarily, then returned to the woman, still kneeling before the leash-holder.

The deal concluded, the exchange seemingly done, but Silco couldn’t shake the image of the woman bound before him. The way they treated her, as though she had no life outside the chains—no future—gnawed at him.

“Hold on,” Silco’s voice was sudden, sharp, his eyes fixed on the leader, a broad man who bore an arrogant smirk. He stepped forward, his tone colder than ice. “How much?”

The leader glanced at Silco, then down at the woman at his feet, before tugging on the leash, pulling her closer to him. “She’s not for sale,” he growled, tightening the chain around her neck with a cruel jerk. Y/N gasped, her chest rising sharply as she struggled for breath, her hands instinctively grasping at the collar in a futile attempt to loosen it.

Silco’s expression darkened as the air seemed to freeze around him. His voice dropped low, each word wrapped in a lethal calm. “I didn't asking is she was for sale” he said, his eyes narrowing into slits. “I asked how much. Everything has a price.”

The tension in the alley grew thick, palpable, the threat of violence crackling between them like a live wire. The leader smirked, too comfortable in his arrogance, and flicked his wrist dismissively. “You think you can just take her?” he sneered. “She’s not worth your time.”

Just as Silco took a step forward, ready to make good on his threat, Sevika stepped in, her towering form casting a shadow over the exchange. She cracked her knuckles, her lips curling into a dangerous grin as her eyes locked on the leader, her posture poised for a fight.

The leader hesitated, his bravado faltering in the face of Sevika’s imposing presence. He scoffed, but the tension was palpable, and after a moment of standoff, he dropped the leash with a huff, spinning on his heel to walk away, his pride still intact but his anger boiling under the surface.

Silco’s eyes remained locked on Y/N, who still knelt on the ground, her shoulders hunched, her gaze cast downward. Her fear was suffocating, her trembling hands still clutching the collar, as though she feared even the slightest movement would result in punishment.

For a moment, Silco did nothing, simply watching her. He had never been one to show kindness, but there was something about her—something that spoke to him more than he cared to admit.

He approached her slowly, every movement measured, his steps silent on the cobblestone. Kneeling before her, Silco’s cold eyes softened ever so slightly as he gently took hold of the collar, his fingers brushing against her skin with surprising care. Y/N flinched, her entire body tensing as she instinctively recoiled from his touch, but Silco’s gaze was unyielding.

“Don’t be afraid,” he muttered, his voice almost too low for anyone but her to hear. His fingers worked quickly, unclasping the collar with a flick of his wrist. The chains fell away, clattering softly on the stone beneath them. Y/N’s breath shuddered, the weight of the collar finally lifted from her throat, but she remained still, her body trembling with both relief and uncertainty.

Silco took a step back, his eyes not leaving hers. He studied her carefully, his gaze flickering between the trembling woman before him and the desolation in her eyes. “I don’t care what your… ‘master’ called you,” he said, his voice growing colder with each word. “Who are you?”

Y/N hesitated, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to steady herself. For so long, she had been nothing more than a tool, a creature to be controlled. No one had ever cared to ask her name, to see her as more than a possession. And now, in the face of Silco's steady, unwavering gaze, she was unsure what to say, unsure if she even had the right to speak.

Her voice came out in a barely audible whisper. “I’m… I’m Y/N.”

The name hung in the air for a moment, as Silco processed it. There was something in the way she spoke it—soft, but filled with a quiet strength—that caught his attention. Y/N.

Silco stood slowly, his eyes never leaving her. There was a spark in her—a resilience that hadn’t been entirely crushed. He found himself intrigued by that spark, that flicker of defiance still hiding beneath her fear.

For the first time in a long while, Silco allowed himself a small, calculating smile. “Y/N,” he repeated, tasting the name, letting it roll off his tongue.

He extended a hand toward her, a silent invitation. “Come with me,” he said, the command in his voice unmistakable, but there was something else there, something softer beneath the icy surface.

Y/N stared at his hand, the disbelief in her eyes palpable. No one had ever given her such an offer. No one had ever wanted her for anything more than what they could control. But Silco was different. She wasn’t sure what it meant, what he saw in her, but for the first time in a long while, there was a flicker of something—hope, perhaps—deep in her chest.

Without a word, Y/N stood, hesitantly reaching out to grasp his hand.

And with that simple gesture, she stepped into a future unknown, away from the life that had shackled her, and toward something far more dangerous, far more promising than she could have ever imagined.

POWDER/JINX

The warm glow of the streetlamp bathed the alley in a soft, golden light, casting long shadows across the cobblestone. Y/N stood beneath its glow, her long, graceful tail swaying behind her, the quiet rustling of her fur almost blending with the sounds of Zaun’s endless hum. She was the kind of person who seemed to soften the harshness of the city, a gentle spirit amidst the chaos, a protector without ever lifting a hand in violence. Her presence brought a kind of peace to the children who often ran to her for advice or comfort, though that same peace made her a target for those who didn’t understand her.

Jinx had always watched her from the sidelines, her electric blue hair a sharp contrast to the darkness of Zaun. She had seen how the world treated Y/N, how they whispered and mocked her for being different. It hurt Jinx, the way people could be so cruel to someone so kind, and every time it happened, she couldn’t help but step in.

Tonight, she perched on a stack of crates, hidden in the shadows, her eyes flashing with a knowing grin. Y/N hadn’t noticed the group gathering around her yet—rough-looking men, their eyes narrowed with malice, clearly up to no good. Jinx’s heart sped up, sensing the tension before it even started. She knew what was coming.

Y/N’s ears twitched as the group approached, her tail flicking nervously. She turned her head slightly, her warm gaze meeting theirs, but she said nothing, never one to escalate a situation. She always tried to de-escalate, even when people saw her as nothing more than an outsider, something strange to be poked at and prodded.

The leader of the group stepped closer, his sneer almost as sharp as the knife on his belt. “What’s a beast like you doing here, huh? Don’t you know your kind doesn’t belong in the city?” He reached for Y/N’s fur, fingers outstretched as though she were some sort of exotic animal on display.

Before he could touch her, Jinx’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Touch her again, and I’ll make sure you’ll never be able to touch anything ever again,” she threatened, her voice filled with that familiar manic energy. Her eyes were wild with defiance, her grin unhinged as she leapt from the crates and landed in front of Y/N, her stance protective.

The man stopped dead in his tracks, recognition flashing across his face. The wild, electric-haired girl was no stranger to him, and her threat was all too real. Jinx’s grin widened, her eyes dark with fury. “Get lost, idiot,” she spat, “or I’ll make sure the next thing you touch is a bullet.”

Y/N reached out gently, placing a calming hand on Jinx’s shoulder. “Jinx, it’s alright,” she murmured, her voice a soft, grounding force. “Please, you don’t need to fight.”

But Jinx wasn’t listening. “No!” she snapped, spinning to face Y/N. “These assholes need to know you’re not their punching bag!” The words poured out of her like a storm, a mixture of frustration and protectiveness. Her eyes were burning with a fierce love for Y/N, the only one who had never judged her or feared her. “I don’t care what they say about you, or your tail, or your fur! They have no right to treat you like that!”

Y/N’s eyes softened, a small smile curving her lips as she looked at Jinx with affection. She could see the raw emotion behind Jinx’s anger, the desperate need to protect. It was something Y/N had seen before, something she recognised. Jinx wasn’t just protecting her. She was protecting everything they had—everything that was good between them.

Slowly, Y/N pulled Jinx into a hug, her arms wrapping around her tightly. Her soft fur pressed against Jinx’s skin, the familiar purring vibrating gently in her chest. It was comforting, soothing—a reminder that no matter how much chaos surrounded them, they had each other. Jinx's frantic energy settled for a moment, the warmth of Y/N’s embrace grounding her.

“I know, Jinx,” Y/N whispered, her voice gentle. “I know you’re trying to protect me. But I don’t want to fight. You know that.”

Jinx looked at her for a long moment, her breath ragged from the adrenaline. But as she met Y/N’s eyes, something shifted inside her. The anger that had burned so fiercely faded into something softer, something more tender. She remembered how Y/N had always been there for her, how she had never treated Jinx as anything less than a person, even when the world saw her as a monster.

The man, now realising that his words and actions had no place here, muttered a curse under his breath and slowly retreated, taking his followers with him. Jinx stood still, watching them leave with a satisfied smirk, her eyes still blazing. “Yeah, that’s right. Go cry to your momma,” she yelled after them, her voice dripping with disdain.

Y/N pulled back from the hug, brushing her tail against Jinx’s leg playfully. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” she said with a teasing smile. “But I appreciate it.”

Jinx grinned back, her eyes still fiery, though there was a softness to them now. “I told you, you’re mine to protect,” she said with a wink. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you. Not on my watch.”

Y/N’s heart swelled with warmth at the words. She knew Jinx meant every one of them. “I know, Jinx. And I’ll always be here for you too,” she replied, her voice filled with sincerity.

Jinx’s expression softened even more, her usual chaotic energy tempered by a rare tenderness. She remembered the first time she met a Vastaya, a long time ago, when she was just a young girl. She had been in the Last Drop, just talking with her sister and brothers, when she saw a Vastaya walk in—a woman with long, flowing hair and bright, knowing eyes. Powder Jinx had been curious, intrigued by this creature who seemed so calm, so serene. She had approached her shyly, unsure of what to expect.

But the Vastaya had bent down to her level, a soft smile curling on her lips. “Hello little one, I see you have the curiosity of a cat, hm?” she had said, her voice like honey, full of warmth and understanding. She hadn’t looked at Jinx as though she were strange, as though she didn’t belong. Instead, she had reached out, offering Jinx her hand. That moment had been brief, but it had left an imprint on Jinx’s heart.

And now, standing in front of Y/N—another Vastaya, another being with that same quiet grace—Jinx couldn’t help but feel the same sense of belonging, the same warmth. Y/N wasn’t just someone different. She was a friend, a protector, a person who had never judged her for the wildness in her spirit. And Jinx wouldn’t let anyone take that away from her.

The man was gone, but Jinx was still filled with a burst of energy. She turned to Y/N with a grin, the playfulness returning. “You want to go grab some candy? I’m feeling like celebrating another victory!” she asked, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Y/N chuckled, her tail flicking behind her in amusement. “Only if you promise not to steal all the good ones this time,” she teased, giving Jinx a playful nudge.

Jinx gave a wide, wicked grin. “No promises,” she laughed. “But hey, I’ll save you a gummy worm or two. Maybe.”

Together, they walked off into the night, the bond between them stronger than any threat or insult from the outside world. They had each other, and that was all that mattered. The city of Zaun could try to tear them down, but they would always stand tall, side by side.

[changingplumbob]

The pregnancy progressed and Glenn found himself getting more and more clumsy. If he wasn't sneezing apart his flower arrangements then he was almost slipping in puddles. Silver did try and fix whatever plumbing he broke but he often forgot about the water left behind. Luckily Glenn had been taught a quick spell to dissipate the water.

Eventually Glenn relented to the werewolf's pleading and stopped going for runs. He found a good number of work out videos he could do with little stress. Well, little stress at the start. As he got rounder and rounder the same workouts got harder and harder.

Silver seemed to get more protective as time passed. He wouldn't stop Glenn visiting friends or having friends come and visit but the werewolf started staying closer to the house. He did all his workouts inside where he could be easily reached if Glenn needed help for anything. What do you know, getting up off the floor while pregnant? Actually difficult.

Glenn began to stock up on potions of plentiful needs, he loved food but sometimes a potion to fix an empty belly or a sleepless night was needed. He also figured that when the baby was born he and Silver might well be to busy for woohoo, if he could even have it without being in pain. It made sense to brew potions that would help them get through while he could.

Sure, Ophelia was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but she was Glenn's friend. So he and Silver began taking more time to talk to Oakley about what was happening in the house and in the world. If Oakley could actually understand he was bound to appreciate the insight. If he didn't understand, well what was the harm?

Silver: I'm so excited to meet our kid

Glenn: Yeah, me to Beefcake

Silver: What do you think they'll be like

Glenn: Honestly? I have no clue. From the sounds of the tests and imaging, they're pretty adaptable

The due date neared and Silver took Glenn on one last date to the local pub while they were simply two and not three. They were both excited to meet their kid but didn't want to risk forgetting what they had together as a couple. Before they knew it they were in a sterile room getting ready for the caesarean.

Glenn: You don't mind that I wanted to wait until they were born before we got married? I swear I am going to marry you

Silver: I know Babycakes. Just breathe and sway with me

Glenn: If I don't have a cervix why does it hurt so much

Silver: Miranda said it looks like the womb sack is migrating closer to the surface to make delivery easier. So things are still moving inside you, that's got to hurt

The procedure was pretty straight forward in the end, much like the ones male werewolves had. Glenn and Silver had their first kid. It turned out that the imaging issues were due to them being intersex. Deciding to follow Ophelia's comment that they hadn't decided who they wanted to be yet the dad's decided to treat their newborn as non-binary until they could indicate their preference.

Eden Sutherland joined the household

To say the two men were proud of their kid was an understatement.

Glenn: Papa has planted some veges here, right by your crib, so you can have some outside even if you can't go outside yet

Silver: They don't have bugs do they

Glenn: Did you hear that Eden? Your Daddy thinks bugs on indoor plants are bad. Don't you want to get nice and big so you can correct him

Silver: Don't start ganging up on me before they can even talk

Glenn: Do you want to hold our tadpole while I sort dinner

Silver: Oh yes, come to Daddy little froggy

Glenn: You know, some frogs can change their sex

Silver: They can?

Glenn: Yeah so froggy and tadpole are good nicknames for Eden

Silver: Biology classes have progressed since I grew up

Glenn: Oh no, I learnt that from Jurassic Park

The first few days of having Eden in the house were a breeze. Glenn had made enough plentiful needs potions that both he and Silver could spend the majority of their time looking after or just watching Eden.

Previous ... Next (conclusion)

[river-in-the-woods]

Elemental Dice Oracle

Heavily inspired by Stephen Ball's Elemental Divination: A Dice Oracle, I've developed my own system of a quick and versatile dice oracle. All you need is a set of 3 six-sided dice.

The d6 numbers are associated with 6 elements as per Elemental Divination. In brief, they are:

1 - Air 2 - Fire 3 - Water 4 - Earth 5 - Sun 6 - Moon

If you enjoy this divination method, Elemental Divination is excellent supplementary reading, but you do not need to read the book as I will detail my method in full.

Note: Unlike Stephen's method, I read all three dice and infer the answer based on elemental interactions, and the elemental nature of my question. This means a "Greater X over Y" and "Lesser X over Y" oracle can exist in the same reading.

A great read on a similar concept using tarot can be found eloquently written by @windvexer in this post 😊

The elemental nature of the question:

Depending on your approach to the subject of divination, you can associate yourself and your efforts with one of these elements should they appear in the reading, or treat the question's element as a secret 4th dice.

Air: matters of the mind, learning, logic, memory, intellect, communication, travel, work relationships (acquaintances, colleagues, customers/clients), persuasion and public speaking, matters where rapid action and quick thinking is needed.

Fire: matters of desire, motivation, passion, sexuality, willpower, inspiration, and health (in terms of innate constitution and vitality), situations where might and zealousness is needed.

Water: matters of subjectivity, emotion, connection, personal/intimate relationships (partner(s), family, close friends), overseas travel, opinions and perception, dreaming, intuition, charisma.

Earth: matters of objectivity, physical health and circumstances, money and savings, long-term projects, practical skills, practical relationships (business partners, teachers, neighbours).

Sun: activity, growth, visibility, reputation, self-expression, expansion, public life - outcome is inclined to be positive and have an observable change.

Moon: passivity, stillness, self-reflection, retreating inwards, invisibility, private life - outcome is inclined to be negative or have no outward effect.

Method

Very simply, throw 3 dice and read the interactions between them, whether the interactions are auspicious, or inclined towards a certain behaviour.

The most positive outcome is a balance of elements that interact well with each other. For instance, Water, Earth and Sun is a very auspicious omen as these elements are optimal for growth and life.

Alternatively, if you have a strong desire for a certain outcome, then the appearance of an element associated with your goals may indicate how things will play out.

3 of any element strongly indicates an outcome that is based on the nature of that element. This can be positive or negative, but is usually undesirable. This is because there is nothing to balance out the activity of that element, so its activities can spin out of control.

Sometimes an element in Excess is a great omen and exactly what you want, other times it shows something is in overdrive. It all depends on the circumstances and the question asked.

Elements on a 1:1 basis are Moderate and have unique interactions with each other.

When 2 dice are the same element, this element is Greater.

When 3 dice are the same element, this element is in Excess.

An element that is Greater can match or overcome another element it is weak to, or completely diminish a weaker element.

It is up to you how you interpret elements that are Moderate, Greater or in Excess, as they can represent different omens depending on your situation.

Elemental attributes & relationships

This is a general overview of each element and how they can be interpreted in an oracle.

Air

Air is active, fast-moving, multi-directional and erratic.

Moderate Air (that is, Air in balance) allows movement and progression, it brings novel ideas and fresh experiences, it facilitates communication and understanding, enables learning and critical thinking.

Excess Air is pure thought and fantasy, plans not grounded in reality, communication that lacks empathy, empty promises and unconfirmed speculation.

Air feeds Fire, but can also drive it out of control. Hence, Air is weak to Fire, benefits Fire, but Greater Air can influence Fire.

Air balances Water, as aerated water supports life. In symbolic terms it is a balance between heart and mind. Greater Air can stir up Water, as thoughts stir up emotions, symbolising persuasive speech shaping perspectives. Whereas Greater Water indicates the strength of emotion overpowering logic and reason.

Air is weak to Earth and moves around Earth, as Earth directs Air the way a fan or musical instrument does. Air and Earth are a positive combination in the creation of music, song and speech. Greater Air can move Earth, as a tornado does, but the effects are disastrous and short-lived.

Fire

Fire is active, expansive, transformative and destructive, and is greatly influenced by the other elements.

Moderate Fire (that is, Fire in balance) brings the spark of creativity and inspiration, invigorates the will, and grants the energy and vitality to overcome challenges.

Excess Fire is inflammation, unmitigated destruction, conflict, anger without reason, passion unrequited, and burnout.

Fire depends on a balance of Air and Earth to thrive; without these, it is short-lived and diminishes over time. Just as one's motivations can be limited by external factors and one's ability to plan and strategise.

Fire feeds on Air, symbolising passion and zeal that is balanced by a clear mind. But Greater Fire becomes violent and unreasonable, lacking the rationality of Air. Contrarily, Greater Air can manipulate Fire, it can spur Fire in a different direction, but cannot mitigate Fire's destructive nature. Greater Air can also extinguish Fire, as wind blows out a candle, but this depends on the strength of Fire.

Fire feeds on Earth, indicating a goal that is achievable, but Greater Fire is unsustainable and depletes Earth's resources. Contrarily, Greater Earth smothers and extinguishes Fire.

Fire is weak to Water, but Greater Fire can influence Water, as heat turns water into steam, as passion and charisma stirs the heart's emotions.

Water

Water is passive, slow-moving, fluid, soft and mutable.

Moderate Water (that is, Water in balance) inspires connection, empathy, shared identity, culture and experiences. It cools, enables, cradles and nourishes. It softens the rough, and brings relief and growth.

Excess Water is a treacherous ocean of emotions and subjectivity, opinions and perspectives unchecked by reason, obsession and infatuation, a lack of boundaries, unhappy outcomes, and improbable goals.

Water and Air are a harmonious pair, as heart and mind are in balance. However, Greater Air can stir up Water into a storm, as persuasion and propaganda shapes one's perspective.

Water diminishes Fire and keeps it in check, but Greater Fire transforms and diminishes Water, for good or ill. Either way, they are always in conflict.

Water and Earth create life. Water nourishes Earth, and follows the paths laid out by Earth. Greater Earth restricts Water and keeps it contained. Contrarily, Greater Water erodes Earth, and turns Earth to mud, creating stagnation and difficulty.

Earth

Earth is passive, inactive, stable, unmoving and persistent.

Moderate Earth (that is, Earth in balance) indicates favourable circumstances, available resources, and long-lasting results. It defines boundaries, lends form and structure, and creates strong foundations upon which other things can be built.

Excess Earth becomes rigidity, authoritarianism, stubbornness, unnecessary sternness, and leads to stagnation, repeated errors, and fruitless results.

Earth and Air are a harmonious pair, embodying plans that are feasible and bear fruit in the real world. Greater Air can mean overthinking, or that one's ideas are hit-or-miss, with only moderate chances of success. Greater Earth indicates physical constraints, but success is still possible using clever strategy.

Earth and Water are very auspicious together, enabling growth and life. Greater Earth symbolises ground water, i.e. some effort is needed before the benefits of Water can be obtained. For instance, rules and boundaries need to be established before people can work together. Contrarily, Greater Water symbolises muddy earth which slows progress and creates stagnation.

Sun & Moon

The 4 elements of Air, Fire, Water and Earth do not affect the Sun and Moon. Rather, the 4 elements are impacted by the light of Sun or Moon.

Sun brings out the more positive, active, or extroverted qualities of the 4 elements.

Moon brings out the more negative, passive, or introverted qualities of each element. Moon can indicate a blind spot or unknown influence.

When appearing in a reading together, Sun and Moon can indicate a balance of their respective domains.

However, Moon is weak to Sun, and Greater Sun thoroughly defeats the influence of Moon.

Alternatively, Greater Moon can overcome Sun (an eclipse) and indicates inner qualities overcoming outer circumstances – this can be positive, as in the case of personal resilience overcoming external challenges. Or, it can be negative in terms of self-sabotage.

Excess Sun is where personal joy and self-expression turns into self-gratification and arrogance.

Excess Moon indicates unknown influence, delusion and deceit.

3 element oracles

We've covered 2:1 oracles and 3:0 where one element is Greater or in Excess. Here are some examples of interpretation where all three dice differ in the elements shown. As always, remember that every oracle can have multiple interpretations depending on how the question is phrased.

Water, Earth, Sun: As mentioned before, this is an excellent omen of fortune and growth. Success will come easily.

Water, Earth, Moon: Gestation. Growth is possible, but halted. Patience is advised. Wait until conditions ripen, it is a matter of time.

Air, Earth, Fire: Take action and pursue your goals ardently, you have all the resources you need for success.

Water, Earth, Fire: Success is possible, but be wary of possible conflict and difficulty.

Water, Air, Fire: Strong likelihood of conflict and disagreement. Create distance, or be prepared to be diplomatic and compromise.

Fire, Sun, Moon: You are going up against a stronger and more skilled opponent and have very low chances of success. Retreating is advised.

Fire, Sun, Air: Your opponent is stronger, but you can obtain some success if you re-think your plans and method of interaction. There is a good learning opportunity here.

Fire, Sun, Earth: Your opponent is strong, but conditions are favourable and you can hold out for now. However, plan for your current strategy to fail in the near future.

Sun, Moon, Earth: Neutral oracle, everything is as it seems. Patience is key, wait for the situation to unfold over time.

Air, Earth, Sun: Your plans are likely to bear fruit, so long as you stay focused and maintain your efforts.

Air, Earth, Moon: Your efforts and plans will have little effect, as the situation is not ripe for change. Turn inwards and work on yourself.

Air, Water, Moon: Expect a period of sadness and difficulty. Your perspective needs to adapt to the situation. More understanding and open-mindedness is needed.

Conclusion

I hope I have demonstrated just how versatile this oracle can be, and there are even more possibilities than what is written in this post. It has become my favourite method of divination, as the dice can be thrown and read quickly, while offering a precise and in-depth answer.

Please feel welcome to message me about the Elemental Dice Oracle for further discussion! Thanks for reading! 🌿

[galactic-rhea]

So like, with Empress Padme, what the more nefarious side of that government? Like yeah we focus on the goofy bits but is she doing massive military expansions so they can “better fight lawlessness in the outer rim”? Are they murdering political opponents? Is there an Inquisition still? I’m curious.

All these are good questions that I do want to draw, but days just have certain number of hours nksdfjnsdfsdf

Padmé's regency is actually trying to revert a lot of Palpatine's, lots of laws to amend lots of changes in the system, lots of how power is held. In her mind, she's actually trying to do control damage. The massive murders are mostly at the high profile generals and lots of Palpatine's aligned politicians. Padmé's seize of power left a lot of people unhappy, and the most unhappy ones are the ones that were quite alright with Palpatine's, she's dealing with like, 3 murders attempts per day, plus a bunch of generals and politicians with money trying to do a coup because she seems too soft and too progressive (why the hell is she diverting the money from the military?).

Don't get me wrong, she's still evil, is just that Palpatine put the bar so damn low 😂

To give you an idea, most of Vader's job these days are focused in stopping uprisings right and left comming from super rich generals and moffs like Tarkin and the like that aren't very happy about having their power and place questioned. She's mostly enforcing agressively, what she never could accomplish as a senator, which also includes stopping slavery (vader's giddy about this), and probably in her future plans there's some little agressive negotiations with the Hutts (vader's more than giddy about this, he's on his knees actually).

So, to summarize, it seems contradictory because Padmé at heart still believes in democracy, she just doesn't believe that anyone in the imperial senate as it is would vote for a politician on their right mind (spoiler: she isnt' in her right mind) and thus she's doing lots of good stuff in the bad way. In general her goverment is way less brutal than Palpatine's, which makes a lot of people very complacent and less likely to go actively against her because wow, social programs! That's nice, thank you. But she's still like, inviting adversary politicians for dinner and then they get murdered ala red wedding. There's actually a fair degree of demilitarization.

Inquisitors are still there, and their job is, well, for more stealth missions stuff and tracking radicals and spying and the like, rather than looking for jedi. They're more of a secret service with super powers.

Considering she quite literally worked with the rebellion before being able to reunite with her little wheeze wheeze and kill Palps, Bail and Mon know that the only reason they aren't dead is probably because she just doesn't want to, lol, they're in such a bad spot there, like imagine the awkward meetings.

And I do promise the darker stuff is coming bhjbdskhbhjs

[caitlynkirammansrifle]

Ch. 31: Epilogue "Heart Made of Glass, My Mind of Stone" CaitVi FanFic

Vi walked through the City of Progress, the cool Piltovan breeze blowing gently through her hair. It was a beautiful, late summer night as the light of the moon glinted off of the gold and white marble stone that decorated the arched buildings of Piltover. She passed several Enforcers, but as she caught the eye of a few of them, they gave her a respectful bow of their head and carried on with their patrols. Still not used to that, Vi thought as she approached a familiar area. She shook off the old, ever-burning embers of anger at seeing those uniforms. Even after a year of getting used to the idea that she was now part of the upper echelons of Piltover, she doesn’t think she’ll ever truly get over the resentment she held for its law enforcement officers. Especially after tonight, came a bitter thought.

Heart Made of Glass, My Mind of Stone - Chapter 31 - Phoenix314 - Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) [Archive of Our Own]

One year later...

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We fucking did it, everyone. 31 chapters, 180,00 words written in a month and a half, and we have finished "Heart Made of Glass, My Mind of Stone."

I talk about it in the end notes of this chapter, but thank you again for everyone who has followed this story. Whether you commented, left a kudos or even just read it and liked it, I am so thankful for you all and that so many people seemed to enjoy it. It's crazy to me that what started as just a funny little joke I thought of about Cassandra chastising Vi for checking out her daughter when Vi was supposed to be working turned into this. I never imagined I would actually ever finish a fic of this magnitude before. It's been so fun and you are all just the best.

See you in the sequel! 💙💙

[kivino]

PROMISE KEPT || ZOMBIE AU || PLATONIC!SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X KID!READER

sum. Among blood and whispering ghosts of the past, you would never dream your caretaker Simon to keep a spur-of-the-moment promise to forever stay with you. Yet he did.

tags. hurt/comfort, parental struggles once again, teenager reader yay, arguments, fluff in the end, obviously this is platonic

w. c. 2.9k

a. n. I’m so glad I got the request to continue this Ghost fic, because that was one of the hardest and rewarding works of mine. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link to this fic || ko-fi

Sun scorched your eyelids, insistently urging you to wake up. But you didn’t move, half-expecting a gruff, deep voice to accompany the sunshine in waking you up. Something certainly felt missing when you didn’t hear it. A wave of panic rose within you, which you forcefully suppressed, almost like pushing down on the trash in an overflowing garbage can.

Everything’s fine. He’s around somewhere. You should stop worrying so much.

He wouldn’t abandon you.

A soft, uneven sigh escaped you, and finally, you get up from the bottom of a bunk bed that was so generously left by the previous owners of the cabins. Whatever was the case with the family of four that would stay here on so many holidays and vacations, it was safe to assume that they were not coming back. That’s what Simon said, anyway.  You didn’t want to think much about what the people who lived here were like. Always made you sad. Who were the siblings whose stuff you were now using, strangers connected to you beyond the time and space, through a blanket littered with bees and flowers, or a ski jacket that was a tad too loose on you. Simon said you’ll grow into that jacket. You’ve been waiting for it to happen for months. Didn’t make much progress, though.

You shuffle out of the room, eyes still darting from one corner to another, looking for Simon, but all in vain. The man wasn’t in the cramped living room, either. Still, your eyes find his sleeping spot – right there, on the couch, a dent from his heavy body pressing the old, dusty couch pillows down, right under a messily thrown checkered blanket with some stains on it. You weren’t sure why he was still sleeping on a couch – it certainly wasn’t made to accommodate his giant form, but you didn’t question his quirks. A bedroom right across from yours was waiting for him, untouched, yet he chose to spend his nights beside the stove, on a couch too uncomfortable to get some actual sleep. You could never stop being amazed at his logic.

By the looks of it, it was already late afternoon and Simon was nowhere to be found in this cabin, a little too cold for your liking. Your eyes quickly dart towards the furnace in the middle of the room. You wrap a longer sleeve of your top around the palm of your hand, reaching out towards the handle you expected to be quite hot. Instead, you’re greeted with lukewarm metal, and underneath it, the sight of dull embers, with their blooming scarlet light generously pouring out onto the floor. Yeah, you definitely needed to add some more firewood to the pile. Or, if luck has it and the day was going to be warm, you could leave it as is. It was still winter, you had to keep that in mind, but even here in the mountains, it was much warmer than where you and Simon started your journey.

It wasn’t easy getting to the cabin, either. After that horrible day at the infested hospital, your sickness worsened, you were feverish, but thankfully, the stuff Simon grabbed from there was enough to keep your temperature down, and keep you on your feet. It also took you quite some time to let Simon out of your sight for more than a couple of minutes without breaking out into a silent crying fit, irrational fear taking over your mind completely. You…didn’t talk about it anymore, but before you found this house, it was quite tough. It still was, but not as much. Here you at least had a roof over your head, and you were warm, gifted with the spoils of the forest.

“Morning. You sure slept in today.” The door suddenly slides open, and a low, painfully familiar voice greets you, flowing through the room. You watch Simon shaking off the snow from his boots, the bag over his shoulder heavy with game, and roll on your heels, keeping yourself from running over to hug the man in greeting. How weird would that be. Simon, however, seemed to have noticed that, be it your downturned eyes, or fiddling with your fingers. So, he propped his rifle on the wall beside the door and approached you instead, affection in the form of a firm, reassuring side hug is given to you. A gloved hand rubs your shoulder and your worries melt away, even if your receiving of the gesture is quite stiff and awkward, you appreciate it nonetheless.

“Well, you know me. I’d rather be asleep than do something useful once in a while.” You say with a crooked smile, reminding him of his recent remark, which only causes the man to avert his eyes from you in an indiscernible manner. Shameful? Guilty? No, that’s ridiculous. Why would he feel something of sorts? Simon promptly let go of you, stomping towards the kitchen, silent and broody, as usual.

Your eyes follow his hands, putting the game bag on the counter, taking out his beloved knife, sharpening, methodical and slow. His motions almost hypnotize you, working at the blade with precision and care, silent in his concentration and focus. In those moments, you realized how you admired this big nuisance of a parent. You’d be gone for sure if he wasn’t there for you. He would’ve lived just the same if you weren’t there. A tear suddenly burns your eye and you rub it off in a hurried, rough motion.

“What’s for dinner?” You plop down on the counter, eyeing his back, feet dangling in the air. Not really thinking, just…enjoying the moment. Who knows, maybe in a few months you’ll have to be on the road again. It wouldn’t make sense, though. Simon told you that you’ve reached this mysterious “South” already, even if it was in mountains. So that’s well.

“Rabbit.” You nod and linger behind him, waiting for some instructions, words, a request… Anything. It went without saying that you were to help Simon around the house, he always had stuff for you to do (you weren’t quite sure how he managed to come up with all the tasks that seemed to never have an end to them), but now he was silent. Which only reinforced the uncertainty within you. Something must’ve happened. He won’t tell you, though. No way.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“What is it?” Simon’s voice cuts you off a little too rough, but you didn’t mind. He was just like that.

“Take me hunting with you, please?” You turn on your best pleading eyes, which is probably unnecessary, since the man is standing with his back turned to you. Simon is silent, giving you no response, while his knife expertly carves away at the small animal under his hands. Of course, you were used to him not talking, but for some reason, him not giving you an answer and choosing to play silent treatment scared and infuriated you all at the same time. “Da… Simon?” You call out to him, correcting yourself mid-word, poorly masking your mishap with a cough.

“This again, kid?” Simon mumbles, after letting out a heavy, weighed sigh. You didn’t know if you should feel offended or discouraged.

“What do you mean?” You gave him an incredulous expression, as if not getting what he was talking about. It was not your first time asking, and it definitely wasn’t his first time refusing to grant your request. Simon’s head turns towards you slightly, and he answers with “the look”, one he gives you when you’re being bratty or just too much. You wanted to hunt your own food. And you wanted to help him. It couldn’t have been easy, being up at five in the morning, pulling on heavy boots and dragging behind a rifle to hunt something down, but he insisted on doing it by himself.

“You damn well know what I mean. We’ve been over this over ten times.” It’s true, you asked him to take you with quite a lot, especially in the past month. Just because he said “no”, didn’t mean you couldn’t ask again. “It’s dangerous. You stay here, like I told you. Both of us have our own responsibilities. Yours just happen to be involving more of the housework, but they’re just as important as mine.” You open your mouth to respond, refute his statement and finally convince him, but he puts his finger up, already anticipating your antagonistic position. “It’s final, the discussion is over. For good.”

“But…” You’re effectively cut off by Simon’s booming voice once again.

“What’s the first rule?” He demands of you, daring you to defy him further. Your breathing is suddenly labored, heartbeat drumming in your ears. You could tell him all your opinions about him forbidding you things, all about his dismissal and overbearing behavior, but you’re silent. A minute passes, but Simon doesn’t turn around, patiently waiting for an answer from you, knife steadily carving away at a rabbit. You realize you’ve been biting back your lip so hard it started bleeding.

“Whatever you say goes.” You choke out from the depths of your chest, feeling a wild tremble within from how unfair it felt. To escape this overwhelming, strong feeling you jump down from the counter, free of your momentary paralysis, and retreat back to your room, not calm and collected in your defeat, but seething and shaky.

Deep down, you knew it was true. Up where you were living, the undead weren’t much of a problem, instead, there were quite many animals. In your time hiking the mountain you’ve heard the occasional variety of howls, yips and whatnot, saw an array of footprints left in the snow or mud, and some of them were of terrifying size. But there was no chance you’d just stumble into animals that dangerous. But more so, Simon was going on about it again. Danger. Your safety. Like you couldn’t take care of yourself. Like you were still that scared child, cowering in the corner with your cheeks stained by the tears.

You know he’s right. And you don’t want to fight. But damn you, if it didn’t feel shitty to be dismissed like that. Not even given a chance. You couldn’t help the bitterness that welled up within you at the mere notion of your lack of usefulness. You were tired of being taken care of. Not only that, but you wanted to do something for once, to help Simon. But he was stubborn as a bull, so fighting against him was like fighting against the tide of a river – fruitless and tiring.

The next reminder you get of him is a knock on your door, unsure and very quiet, unlike the man himself. Well, you’ve noticed he could be very quiet when he wanted to. More than on one occasion, he made you almost jump out of your own skin, sneaking around the cabin at night. The knock pulls you out of the state of uncertainty, almost a trance, staring at the wall with thoughts swarming inside your mind, much like a restless hive. With this uncertain knock comes an invitation to eat – you were supposed to be making dinner together today, but you…obviously skipped out on your cooking duty. Nonetheless, you accept it with some underlying reluctance lurking deep within.

“Listen, kid, I understand that you want to help out.” Simon finally drops, fed up with the silence that didn’t help the tension from the argument in the slightest. His face is uncovered, which still feels unusual, an occasion that became more frequent since the two of you managed to settle down for a while. For some reason, without that rancid balaclava, he looks vulnerable. Simon always seemed so untouchable, impervious, almost inhuman in his strength. But now, exposed like that in front of you, he looked…tired, more than anything. “I’m just…worried. I don’t want you getting hurt. One time was enough of a scare for the both of us, don’t you think?” His eyes find yours, but you don’t return his stare, eyes drilling holes in the plate of the stew on your lap.

“I know, I just…” You pause, thinking carefully about your next words. Not daring to look up from the spoon, submerged in the food. For some reason, looking at Simon right now felt like some violation of his privacy. “I don’t want to have to rely on you all the time.” You finally settle on something simple. Truthful. To the point. If he has something to say, he better be just as forward with you.

“Alright. I’ll think about bringing you with. How does that sound? Good?” Simon gives you a final verdict after a short pause, and that’s enough. Just considering an idea of you hunting together. You’re not asking for more. Simon is given a small nod from you, eyes still staring at the plate, like it was going to solve all your problems for you.

“Simon…can you be honest with me?” You finally blurt out before you can stop yourself, but it feels…right. Vulnerable and weak, and desperate for his love, his attention, his protection, but right nonetheless. How could it not be?

“I don’t know, can I?” Simon’s head tips slightly to the left, and the smile you see on his face warms you up better than any fire in the world could, even if made by his calloused, big hands, hardened by labor. You won’t ever tell him that, though. How weird would that be.

“Wow, you’re so funny, haha. Anyway.” Accompanied by your flat tone, the remarks cause the corners of his mouth to tug upright even further, but he stays silent. “You’re not really a mechanic, are you?” The look he gives you, especially with his face bare for you to see, would probably be accurate to call “deer in the headlights”. You heard him say it a long time ago, but these eyes, as big as saucers, were definitely it.

 “Of course not.” Simon finally answers, shaking off the aftershock of being caught on telling a lie. It was a white lie, though. To keep you safe. Trusting. Not scared of what he was.

“Thought so.” You shrug, and Simon can’t help yet another smile. He didn’t care how you concluded that he was lying, what mattered is you saw right through him. Did him proud. He knows you were always a smart one.

“So, just for curiosity’s sake… How long has it been since you figure that out?” Simon finally asks, brown eyes finding yours once again.

“A long time. Not long after you told me, that’s for sure.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I used to be in the military.” Simon says with a sense of finality after a couple of minutes filled with silence. This chapter in his life will remain forever closed. There is no military anymore, no government, nothing at all that composed his life a long time ago. Only him and you, his little one that he…wants to take care of, protect. For as long as his body would allow him.

“It…makes a lot of sense, actually.” You nod along with a teasing glint in your eye. You notice Simon arch his brow at you, a silent ask to elaborate on what you mean. “You have this “sunshine and rainbows” thing going about you, that just screams “military”.”

“Yeah-yeah, laugh away at me, that’s what I’m here for.” The man waves off your ridicule with a kind-hearted, toothy grin. In the dull, orange light of the furnace, you could count each scar marring the skin of his face. Putting together a map of a life that didn’t exist anymore, one that had nothing to do with you.

“I will, thank you very much.” A comfortable silence falls over you in warm, flowing cascades, enveloping you in a pleasant feeling that would get lost on you in days of desperate hunger and cold. This, what you had here, allowed you to be…well, you. And you’d guess the Simon you had now was probably closest to what he was back when the world was not in pieces. You wondered what that Simon saw in you that day to take you in. What made him think it was a good idea, to grab a kid he didn’t know and run farther than the eye could see. At times, it was hard to crawl inside his head and try on his thoughts like that. “Hey, Simon… Why’d you save me?”

The question hit him like a damn fucking bus. Even the fact that you were questioning the reason behind it somehow made him want to ask only one question: “How could I not?”.

“Honest.” You warn the man in front of you, spoon pointing towards his chest in a bold demand.

“Honest?” Simon repeats with a heavy sigh tearing out of him. “I don’t have an answer you seek.” Simon watches your face fall, defeated. He didn’t really understand what you were trying to gouge from his psyche, yet continued, recalling his feelings when those eyes, soaked with tears, fell on him, fear and hope intertwined. “I don’t know. It was never in my plans, it just seemed right at the moment. I saw you, and right then I knew I had to protect you.” Simon answers, as honest as he could. You deserved that much.

Simon waits for an answer, an acknowledgment, anything from you, but no sound escapes your lips. You just stay silent. However, anticipating what your next question could be, he mutters, averting his eyes while making the simplest of confessions:

“I never regretted it. Not for a single moment.”

“Honest?” It is the only thing Simon hears you croak, barely audible and weak, after moments of silence that stretch for so long he’s almost sure the time stopped. 

“Honest, kid. Honest.”

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[sofiatarot]

Guided by the Moon: A message meant for you

It was 3 a.m. when I found myself waking from sleep, an idea circling endlessly in my mind. As I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the moonlight—faint, spilling gently into my room. It was as if she were speaking to me in a language only we could understand, her message clear yet unspoken.

Guided by her presence, I felt an irresistible pull to my cards. This wasn’t a planned reading; it was born purely from intuition and the energy of the moment. What emerged was a message that feels sacred, a guidance meant to reach whoever needs it most.

Today, I share this offering with you, a reading illuminated by the Moon herself. May it resonate with those it is meant for and find its way to the hearts that need to hear it.

To the one who finds comfort in the moon’s embrace,

I see you standing amidst uncertainty, feeling as though you are suspended in a mist where truths are elusive. The world around you seems distorted, and you wonder if the path you walk is real or just a trick of the light. You’re uncovering hidden truths about yourself and those around you. There’s fear in what you’re discovering, but know that this is a sacred unveiling. Trust your intuition to lead you, even when clarity feels distant.

You feel trapped, don’t you? As if the walls are closing in and your choices are limited. But, my dear, the cage you feel bound by is an illusion. You hold the key to your freedom, though fear clouds your judgment. It’s time to look beyond the doubts and insecurities keeping you still. Even when it feels impossible, take the smallest step forward, and you’ll see the light begin to seep through the cracks.

I sense a quiet unease in your heart, a suspicion that not all around you is what it seems. There is deception in the air—whether from another or from the stories you’ve told yourself. Look closely at the motives behind actions, both yours and others'. This is a moment for honesty, a time to align your actions with your highest truths. Guard your energy wisely, and don’t let distractions lead you astray.

Your mind is racing, your spirit ready to charge ahead. The fire within you burns brightly, fueling your ambitions. You are determined to cut through obstacles and make things happen, but I ask you to pause, if only for a moment. Reflect on your direction before you rush forward. There’s power in your decisiveness, but balance it with thoughtfulness to ensure you don’t leave chaos in your wake.

I see instability weighing on you—a sense of disruption in what once felt secure. Whether it’s within your family, your finances, or the legacy you’ve been striving to build, something feels out of alignment. This is not a loss, but a moment to redefine your foundation. Release the fear of change and allow yourself to rebuild in a way that serves the person you are becoming.

You are shedding chains that once held you captive. Old patterns, toxic connections, and fears that gripped you tightly are beginning to fall away. This is a moment of liberation, though it may feel daunting. Embrace the discomfort of letting go, for it is leading you to a freer, more authentic version of yourself.

I see you working tirelessly, pouring your energy into your craft, your growth, your dreams. Every effort you make is a step closer to mastery. Do not grow weary, even when progress feels slow. Trust in the process, and know that your dedication will yield rewards that far surpass your expectations.

A great transformation is unfolding in your life. Endings are here, but not as punishments. They are the necessary closing of doors that no longer lead anywhere. Grieve if you must, but do not resist this change—it is bringing you closer to your purpose. Embrace this rebirth, and let the old fall away with grace.

Harmony is calling to you. Balance, though elusive, is within reach if you allow yourself to flow. Where chaos or extremes have ruled, it’s time to find the middle ground. Trust that all things are being brought into alignment, even if it feels slow or uncertain. Be patient with yourself and the process. Peace is not a destination—it is something you create within.

Finally, I see your power waiting to emerge. You have the ability to build something lasting, to create security not only for yourself but for those around you. You are wise, resourceful, and capable. Trust in your skills and in the abundance that is already flowing toward you. Let your confidence lead you as you step into this role as a creator and provider.

Beneath all this, I see a deep longing for structure, for order. There is strength in taking control of your life, in standing firm and confident in the face of challenges. You have the authority to shape your destiny—claim it boldly.

Trust in the tides, for they are carrying you where you are meant to go. My light is yours, now and always, to guide you through the night.

Always watching over you,

The Moon

Astro influences: Neptune and the twelfth house, Saturn, Pluto, Sagittarius and the ninth house, Aries and the first house.

xoxo