#this next chapter is probably not going to be what you expect it to be

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (21)

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

Chapter 21 - Surrender

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 22

PREV : Chapter 20.1

[Hwang In-ho’s Flashback…]

“Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us,” informed Gi-hun.

Finally, In-ho thought. This was the moment he’d been waiting for – when the masks of caring and kindness would drop and desperation would drag out the raw, selfish instincts buried within every human.

He glanced at you, watching your face pale as you gaped at Gi-hun. The wide-eyed shock, the flicker of fear – it was all too telling. You didn’t expect this.

Yong-sik’s voice quivered as he asked, “Really?”

Gi-hun nodded solemnly. “Because if they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the prize.”

Yong-sik’s next words practically trembled with panic. “So what do we do?”

In-ho spoke up without hesitation, “Let’s attack them first.”

He didn’t miss the sharp look Gi-hun shot him, surprise flickering behind the man’s usual stoicism. It was as if Gi-hun didn’t expect someone like In-ho, calm, wise, seemingly rational, to propose something so brutal.

But In-ho met his gaze steadily and continued, “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use that to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

Player 047 quickly voiced his support. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

Player 145 nodded, his voice grim. “I agree.”

In-ho swept his gaze over the circle of players. No one objected. Of course not. When survival was on the line, no one ever wanted to be the one left defenseless. Even the quiet ones and those who hesitated would follow when the alternative was death.

Plus, if everyone gets to leave, Gi-hun’s entire plan to sabotage this game would end in failure too. In-ho wouldn’t have to play this double role anymore. The games would continue next year, this time without Gi-hun’s interference standing in the way.

But then Gi-hun’s voice cut through the agreement like a knife. “We can’t do that.”

The silence was immediate. In-ho locked eyes with him again, widening his eyes ever so slightly, as if trying to get him to realize something.

“But we have to get out of here,” In-ho said, injecting confusion and hidden frustration into his voice. “You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

Gi-hun remained undeterred. “That doesn’t mean we should kill each other. That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

Jung-bae asked questioningly. “They?”

Gi-hun’s eyes scanned the group before he replied, “The ones who created this game. The ones who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Bold. Stupid. But bold, In-ho mused.

Dae-ho frowned. “Where are they?”

Gi-hun’s gaze lifted upward. Instinctively, everyone followed his line of sight, heads tilting toward the unreachable heights above. In-ho did the same but only for appearance's sake. He already knew exactly what was up there. He’d spent enough time behind those very walls.

His gaze dropped back to Gi-hun, his face the perfect mask of dark realization and tension. Is this his plan?

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from,” Gi-hun continued confidently. “The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

The irony of the moment wasn’t lost on In-ho. Gi-hun was talking about the masked leader, the mastermind behind it all – without realizing that the very man he wanted to overthrow was sitting right in front of him. In-ho, the one in disguise, the one pulling the strings, was right there, hidden in plain sight.

Nevertheless, In-ho stayed quiet, his gaze locked onto Gi-hun with an almost calculating patience. This was exactly what he had been waiting for – the moment when Gi-hun would finally reveal his plan to dismantle the entire game management. And now, Gi-hun had spilled it, right to the man he was aiming to destroy.

Still, In-ho could easily spot the problems in Gi-hun’s plan. It felt rushed and made out of pure emotion instead of careful thinking. It was like a last-minute attempt to go after something huge, without really understanding how risky it was.

That's when you spoke up, “Are you saying you plan to overthrow this whole management?”

There was something in your tone – a mix of disbelief and curiosity – that made him glance at you a beat longer than necessary.

Gi-hun’s determined, grave eyes locked onto yours. “Yes.”

The room plunged into a heavy silence. In-ho could sense the weight of his words sinking into everyone. The enormity of the plan hung in the air like a storm cloud.

In-ho broke the silence, speaking calmly yet there was an edge in his tone and face. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae chimed in.

Gi-hun turned to him, unflinching. “We’ll take their guns.”

Jung-bae stared, caught between shock and exasperation. Gyeong-seok hesitated, then asked for certainty. “From those masked men?”

Gi-hun gave a single, firm nod.

“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho interjected, letting just enough caution seep into his tone. He needed to play this carefully to convince Gi-hun to rethink this. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

Gi-hun didn’t back down. “What then? Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?”

In-ho froze.

Gi-hun pressed further. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

In-ho didn’t answer. He kept his dark, contemplative gaze fixed on Gi-hun. It was at that moment In-ho noticed something else - Gi-hun had changed. Whether for the better, the worse, or exactly as In-ho had expected, he wasn’t sure. But the shift was undeniable.

“Do we…” Hyun-ju’s voice broke the tension, “...stand a chance?”

Gi-hun’s gaze shifted to her. His determination never wavered. “We do if we catch them off guard. Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

In-ho kept the act intact as he asked, “How are you going to take their guns?”

Gi-hun scowled, his mind clearly racing. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, everyone waiting for him to elaborate.

“When the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends.”

In-ho's gaze turned dark. Hide? That’s your plan? And let the rest of the X players not in this group get ambushed?

“Don’t get caught up in the fight,” Gi-hun added firmly.

“What?” you interjected out of the blue, your voice sharp with frustration.

In-ho looked at you right away. He was intrigued by your reaction, knowing how consistently kind you had been towards other players. Would you challenge this plan? Or would you, like so many others, choose self-preservation and let others fend for themselves?

In-ho knew this would be the moment when your true nature revealed itself. Was your kindness genuine or merely a fragile façade, easily cracked under pressure?

Jung-bae then echoed the unspoken concern. “But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage. Without us in the fight, they’ll be outnumbered.”

In-ho watched Gi-hun carefully, waiting for the hero's justification.

“I know,” Gi-hun said, his eyes flicking between you and Jung-bae before shifting to the rest of the group. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

In-ho's gaze darkened as he realized something. “Are you suggesting that... we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes locked with In-ho’s, reading the weight behind the question. Yet, he still nodded.

“If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater,” Gi-hun replied, voice thick with resolve. “Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.”

In-ho’s gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw clenching. He felt the bitter irony sting at the back of his throat. How poetic, he mused. The so-called hero willing to let others bleed for his vision of the greater good.

In-ho recognized Gi-hun’s desperation – not just to defy the management, but to prove something deeper, something personal. Gi-hun was fighting back to show that he wouldn’t become what the game wanted him to be. Yet, the irony wasn’t lost on In-ho. In trying so hard to resist the system, Gi-hun was playing right into its hands.

In-ho's lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a disbelieving smile, before he forced it down. He realized in this moment, that all this time, before this, he was silently rooting for Gi-hun. Not because he believed in him, but because there was a part of him that wanted to be proven wrong. Just like Gi-hun had once proven Oh Il-nam wrong, In-ho wondered if he could do the same for him. To prove that humanity still had something worth fighting for. That someone could stop this entire game and still walk away with their soul intact. But now, he knew the answer.

Gi-hun, the so-called hero, was willing to let others die for his plan – a sacrifice for what he called the greater good. Isn’t this exactly what the game is about? In-ho mused darkly. Sacrificing the ‘trashes’, letting only one stand victorious. The world out there no longer have to deal with those 455 trashes who got eliminated. Gi-hun hadn’t broken the cycle; he had fallen into its trap.

If Gi-hun continued with this kind of view, he could become the very role he despised, becoming the next Front Man. It was ironic, almost poetic. In his fight to dismantle the system, Gi-hun was unknowingly positioning himself to inherit it, repeating the same cycle he swore to end.

Gi-hun pressed on. “Once the lights come on, the soldiers will come to settle the situation. They’ll try to break up the fight first. They won’t pay attention to the dead. They will scan our trackers to identify us. That’ll be our window.”

In-ho barely heard the next words over the building tension, until your voice broke through, sharp and angry. “Are you really going to leave our allies like that?”

Every head turned to you. In-ho's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. His dark gaze brightened, an unexpected spark of curiosity igniting as he studied you.

“You’re telling me you’d hide under the bed and let the O players attack everyone in this zone? All for your plan?” you countered in a heated tone.

For the first time, Gi-hun faltered, the iron in his expression cracking just for a moment. But then the walls slammed back into place, and his face stiffened into resolve.

“This is the only chance we have. Once this game is stopped, this game will no longer use us as pawns,” he said.

In-ho’s gaze flicked to you again, studying the frustration burning behind your eyes.

“If I weren’t close to your group or involved with any of you, would I even know about this attack? Would you warn me?” your voice rose, the emotion cracking through your words. “Would I be left to fend for myself against an ambush while you and the others hide?”

A flicker of intrigue deepened in In-ho’s gaze. He noticed how fiercely determined you were to challenge Gi-hun’s plan, driven not by self-preservation but by a rare, precious sense of kindness. You really care about them all, In-ho thought, unlike the others here who remained quiet and agreed with Gi-hun's reckless plan.

Gi-hun’s jaw clenched, the pressure mounting. “It’s not about leaving anyone behind. It’s about ending this game once and for all.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t help our people now,” you shot back. “We have to fight back, not just accept them as inevitable.”

In-ho felt a sharp tug of interest. You weren’t playing the same game as Gi-hun, weren’t blinded by some self-righteous end goal. You saw the people around you as it is – people with family and lives.

But will that kindness survive when the lights go out? he wondered.

Gi-hun’s brows furrowed, his voice rising in frustration. “Do you think it’s better to retaliate and play into their hands? Attacking back is exactly what they want. They want us to kill each other. To entertain them.”

Undeterred, you spoke up, “We’re not going to kill them. We will defend ourselves. We can alert our people about the attack. Get them prepared. Get them to a safe spot where capable men can protect them. If needed, we can subdue the O players without bloodshed.”

Gi-hun faltered, your words cutting through his confidence. But, as always, he clung to his plan. “If we join the fight and lose even a few, it will ruin our chances of overthrowing this game. We must preserve all the best men we have right now.”

You didn’t back down. “Then we have to join the fight. Defend without bloodshed. Defend as a team. If we join the fight, more capable men will survive the ambush. They will join you willingly.”

In-ho studied you carefully, a flicker of something deeper sparking within him. There it was again. That unwavering kindness, that relentless fairness, that loyalty that refused to bend, even here. In this brutal place, where humanity was stripped bare, your kindness still burned bright.

While Gi-hun had crumbled, you stood firm. It was you – not Gi-hun – who defied his cynical belief in humanity’s rot. And in that moment, as he watched you push back against Gi-hun’s cold logic, In-ho felt it again – a spark of admiration. He should feel bitter at being proven wrong, but he liked it.

Still, he must wait until the lights go out.

Gi-hun stared at you, and for once, he had no response. His jaw tensed, his mouth opened slightly as if to argue but nothing came out. The group sat in thick, uncomfortable silence.

You rose to a crouching position, your focus never leaving Gi-hun. “Go ahead with your plan. I’m not stopping you. If you don’t want to join the fight, that’s fine. But the others deserve to know about the attack.”

The weight of your words lingered in the air as you stood fully, turned on your heel, and walked toward the other X players, ready to warn them, to prepare them.

In-ho’s gaze followed you, a sharp curiosity burning behind his eyes. You’re willing to risk everything. Not for some grand victory, but just to protect the people around you.

For a moment, In-ho felt the strong urge to follow you. To watch you closely, to see if your kindness was truly as genuine as it appeared. But he stopped himself. He turned his focus to Gi-hun. The latter was staring in the direction where you had left. He looked conflicted. He looked like he wanted to say more, to justify his plan, but the words caught in his throat.

In-ho’s gaze shifted, catching the subtle ripple through the group. Your words had landed deeper than he expected. The others seemed to have snapped out of whatever spell Gi-hun’s logic had placed them under. Yong-sik’s mother and Jun-hee watched you from a distance, their worry etched deep in their expressions. Gyeong-seok and Hyun-ju were on the verge of standing up. Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged uncertain glances.

You, your thoughtfulness and your kindness managed to sway them more than Gi-hun ever did.

In-ho seized the moment, staring darkly at the speechless Gi-hun. “Rethink your plan, Gi-hun. I know you’re angry at the game makers and that you’re still grieving your friends from the last game, but don’t lose sight of the people here too. They’re counting on you.”

Gi-hun didn’t respond right away. His jaw tensed, the inner turmoil clear but there was something in In-ho’s words that anchored him, pulling him back from his tunnel vision.

With that, In-ho stood up. Without another word, he left the circle, his eyes locked on where you had disappeared. Player 047 and 145 followed him immediately. Gyeong-seok and Hyun-ju exchanged a look before standing too, clearly choosing to follow where you had gone. In-ho didn’t look back but he could feel the balance tipping away from Gi-hun’s plan and toward something else entirely.

In-ho watched you as you moved between the beds, warning other X players about the danger. He noticed how determined you looked, how focused you were. But you were alone and that was enough for him to step in.

He walked over quietly and placed a hand on your shoulder.

You jumped a little, spinning around fast. But when you saw it was him, you relaxed, though you were still catching your breath.

“How many people have you warned?” In-ho asked gently.

“A couple,” you answered.

Before he could say anything else, more footsteps approached. Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, player 047, and player 145 came over, gathering around you. Their eyes shifted between you and In-ho, waiting to hear what to do next.

“What else can we do?” Gyeong-seok asked, his voice serious.

You answered quickly, “Warn all the X players if you can. Tell them we’re only defending ourselves, not attacking. Make sure they hold onto their forks and water bottles to use as protection. Get the women and older people to safer spots, under the stairs, or near the walls. And before the Os attack, have them hide under the beds for more safety.”

In-ho raised an eyebrow, impressed by your quick thinking. It made him want to help you more. “We should also have some people guarding those spots. We need to make sure someone’s watching over them during the attack.”

“Got it. I’ll take the left side of the zone,” Hyun-ju said right away.

Player 047 pointed to the right. “We’ll cover this side. Let’s keep it quiet so the Os don’t figure out what we’re doing.”

They split up, leaving you and In-ho standing there. His hand stayed on your shoulder for a moment longer, steady but gentle.

“You’ve done enough,” he said softly. “Now go find two beds next to each other. One for you, one for me.”

He saw it in your eyes. You understood exactly what he was doing. He wanted to stay close, to watch over you when the chaos started, to guide you, maybe even protect you.

***

“Lights out in ten seconds.”

In-ho lay flat on his back, the thin blanket pulled casually over his chest. His gaze traced the high ceiling, his mind already calculating the next moves. You were on the bed right beside him. He could sense the tension in the way you lay still. Alert and waiting.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”

Darkness swallowed the dormitory, leaving only the faint glow of the O and X lights on the floor. The piggy bank light was dark tonight. A small twist for effect done intentionally, In-ho mused.

He didn’t move yet. But from the corner of his eye, he saw you slip quietly out of bed. You weren’t the only one. Other figures – women, elderly – moved through the shadows, hurrying to hide beneath beds or shuffle toward safer spots.

You crawled under your bed, positioning yourself carefully. In-ho stayed where he was, eyes closed now, feigning sleep. It was the perfect bait.

In a few seconds, loud and fast footsteps echoed through the dormitory, growing closer as the ill-intent O players approached the X zone. In-ho could almost feel the adrenaline spike before the chaos erupted.

The silence shattered by heavy footsteps, metal scraping, and the first shrieks of panic. In-ho didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that it had begun. Then, he felt it. Someone was lunging for him.

In-ho snapped into motion, grabbing his blanket and yanking it around the attacker’s neck. The O player barely had time to react before he was pulled hard, the blanket tightening like a noose, his body jerked against the bed’s metal frame. A clean, swift maneuver. The attacker struggled as In-ho tied him to the railing.

Screams erupted across the dormitory – raw, human, desperate.

In-ho sat up, his calm broken only by the sharp flicker of the dormitory lights as they began to pulse erratically. Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark. With each flash, he caught snapshots of the chaos. X players grappling with O attackers, beds flipping, shadows lunging with glinting forks.

A loud thud yanked his attention back.

A body hit the floor right beside your hiding spot. In-ho’s gaze dropped to it. It was a fallen O player, groaning, clutching his arm where a shard of glass was lodged deep into his flesh.

He cast a glance under your bed, watching as you tensed, but stayed hidden. Smart. But there was fire in your eyes. He could see it even now. You wouldn’t sit still for long.

And he was right. You didn’t stay under the bed for long.

The moment you noticed X women being cornered by O players, you bolted out from your hiding spot. No hesitation. No second-guessing. You sprinted toward them, leaving the safety of the shadows behind. You didn’t even glance back to see if In-ho was following. You didn’t care about the odds or the danger. You cared about saving them.

Reckless, In-ho thought, rising from his position and following close behind. But kind. Genuinely kind.

It was that rare kind of kindness that burned too bright in a place like this. Selfless, dangerous, but undeniably real. He found himself watching you more than the enemies, waiting for the moment when that kindness would finally crack under pressure. But it didn’t.

And he didn’t let you fall.

Every time an O player lunged your way, In-ho was there, intercepting the attack. Every time a broken glass bottle or a fork came close, he blocked it.

Then, chaos brought you both face-to-face with six O players, their forks raised, teeth gritted. In-ho didn’t think. He grabbed you and pulled you behind him, shielding you with his entire body as he backed you against a wall.

No one’s getting through me to her, he thought grimly.

In-ho swiftly subdued five of the six attackers without any bloodshed, just like you wanted. The last one staggered to strike, but before In-ho could finish him off, Gi-hun intervened, his blow knocking the man unconscious. It was timely, but entirely unnecessary.

His dark eyes flicked to Gi-hun, studying him. Something had shifted. This wasn’t the Gi-hun who’d planned to hide while the Os attack the other X players. No, this was the Seong Gi-hun in 2020 who couldn’t stop himself from interfering, from saving everyone he could.

You changed him, In-ho realized. You reverted him to the man who tried to save everyone no matter how doomed the effort.

It was ironic. Gi-hun was supposed to be the one proving In-ho wrong. Instead, it was you – your stubborn, your naivety, your relentless kindness – that was doing it.

***

The brief but intense shootout between In-ho, Gi-hun, Hyun-ju, and the remaining capable players against the pink guards ended in their victory.

In-ho remembered during the shootout that the pink guards were caught off guard by him fighting alongside the players. Their hesitation was thick with disbelief. They expected him to drop the act right then, to step forward as the Front Man and end this charade.

Not yet, In-ho thought. I still have work to do.

He needed to stay embedded within Gi-hun’s plan, to sabotage it from the inside. But more than that, his gaze drifted briefly to you. We’re not finished. Not yet.

A furious yell snapped him out of his thoughts. “You goddamn bastards!”

In-ho’s head jerked toward the sound. Player 047 stood with his MP5 raised, his face twisted in rage. Five O players stood before him, their hands thrown high in surrender, eyes wide with fear.

But before a shot could be fired, Gi-hun sprinted into the scene. He grabbed the barrel of 047’s gun and shoved it downward. “No!”

“Move!” 047 barked, struggling against Gi-hun’s grip. “Do you not see this?!”

In-ho followed his gaze. Blood smeared across the floor, bodies crumpled like discarded toys. The dormitory had become a graveyard of greed and desperation.

“They are not human,” 047 spat, voice trembling. “They’re vermin, blinded by money!”

He raised his weapon again, fury crackling off him in waves.

But Gi-hun didn’t flinch. He gripped the gun tighter, locking eyes with 047. “This is not why we took these guns. If we do this, we’re no better than the masked men.”

In-ho watched intently, his gun resting against his abdomen, though his focus was far from idle. From the corner of his eye, he noticed you approaching, your eyes darting between Gi-hun and player 047. In-ho’s dark, contemplative gaze didn’t waver from the two men locked in their standoff.

047’s grip on the MP5 finally slackened. His teeth clenched, his face a twisted mask of rage and grief, but he lowered the weapon. His shoulders sagged with defeat, the fight draining out of him.

Gi-hun gave him a solid pat on the shoulder before he turned and walked toward the center of the dormitory, raising his voice above the low hum of scattered whispers.

“Everyone! Don’t be scared. Gather round, please!”

The command echoed through the space, pulling X and O players out from hiding.

In-ho didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on Gi-hun, his face an unreadable mask hiding a storm of irritation. The hypocrisy was hard to ignore. Gi-hun now stood there, posturing as the leader, the savior of the players, when not long ago, he had been perfectly willing to sacrifice others for the so-called greater good.

How convenient, In-ho thought bitterly. First, he's okay with hiding under beds and letting others take the hit, and now he acts like a brave leader? It annoyed him. Gi-hun's idea of being a hero was full of contradictions, and In-ho wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Young-il, you okay?”

Your voice cut through the lingering tension, soft but laced with concern. In-ho shifted his gaze toward you, his cold, calculated mask softening like ice melting under the sun. His sharp eyes scanned you, checking for injuries or anything out of place.

Once he ensured you were unharmed, a smile stretch across his face, warm and disarming. “I’m okay. How about you?”

Before you could answer, he lifted his left hand and placed it gently on your head. He felt the way you stiffened – surprised – before your cheeks flushed. You nodded, voice soft, almost shy. “I’m fine.”

The reaction tugged at something unexpected inside him. His smile widened as he brushed his hand through your messy hair, smoothing it down before tucking a stray strand behind your ear. It was a simple act, but the way you smiled back, soft and genuine, sent a ripple through him.

Withdrawing his hand, he returned both to his gun, resting it easily but alert. But he couldn’t shake the pull of curiosity.

“Where did you learn to use a pistol?” he asked, his tone light but intrigued.

“Oh,” you said, patting your pocket where the weapon was tucked. “I bought one after… the loan sharks attacked my parents.”

In-ho’s smile faded instantly. He locked eyes with you, something heavier slipping into his gaze. “Have you ever used it before?”

Your gaze dropped to the floor, hesitation thick between the words. “I have. I was scared.”

There was a rawness to your voice, enough to pull his focus deeper.

“They stalked me at my part-time job,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of the memory. “They threatened me, said they’d… hurt me if I didn’t pay up. I didn’t think they’d wait for my shift to end, but they did. They followed me home.”

Something dark stirred within In-ho. Anger, sharp and biting, clawing its way to the surface. It wasn’t anger at you, but at the world that forced you into that situation.

“They chased me through alleyways,” you continued, “but I got lucky. Before they could grab me, I managed to pull the pistol and I… I shot them.”

You were kind, too kind. And bastards like those loan sharks took advantage of that. But they didn't know you were prepared for self-defense.

You didn’t look at him as you spoke. You didn’t need to. In-ho could feel the weight of your words. The fear, the survival instinct, the guilt tangled in it all.

He stayed silent, not out of judgment, but because he wasn’t sure what the right words would even be. You did what you had to do, he thought. But saying it aloud? It didn’t feel right.

“Then I ran to the subway,” you added quietly, your voice thinner now. “That’s where I met a man in a suit. He asked me to play Ddakji with him.”

The recruiter, In-ho realized. Of course.

The memory lingered, thick in the air between you. He could see how deeply it still clawed at you, but you tried to mask it, chuckling weakly.

“Now, I’m here. I didn’t think I’d be fighting for my life here too. But at least… well, I hope I’ll survive and go home with a share of the prize money.”

In-ho studied you for a beat longer. There was no mask here. No act from him. Just raw hope, frayed around the edges but still burning.

“You will,” he said softly.

For the first time since he stepped into this place, In-ho felt something felt it. A hope for a player to survive. He wanted you to walk out of here unscathed, prize money in hand, free from the cruelty that had swallowed so many before. You deserved that much. In a world rotten at its core, you were like a rare bloom pushing through concrete. Fragile, yet stubbornly alive.

This realization stirred something deeper, darker within him. His admiration for your kindness had evolved into something more potent, more dangerous. Seeing your raw, selfless nature untouched by the corruption around you made it harder for him to fight the growing infatuation. And for once, it felt less like a crime to let himself feel it. It felt safe to love you because he knew you cared for him too and that you would never disappoint him.

“You will survive,” In-ho said again, nodding slightly, the words almost foreign on his tongue. “Those loan sharks won’t trouble you anymore once you leave this place.”

He watched as you offered a small, warm smile, your shoulders easing for the first time in what felt like forever. His words had actually soothed you.

But then, you lifted your gaze back to him, and your next words hit him harder than he expected.

“You will survive too,” you said, your tone filled with quiet conviction. “You must survive this place too. You must win this game again and… maybe we can meet up outside...?”

Your voice faltered slightly at the end, uncertainty bleeding through, but the sincerity was unmistakable. In-ho blinked, momentarily caught off guard. For a split second, his mind short-circuited.

You want to see me again? he thought. He wasn’t used to this. To someone caring, without an ulterior motive.

But the pause lasted only a breath before he pulled himself together. He smiled – a small but genuine one – and let out a quiet chuckle, glancing at the floor to hide the flicker of something warmer in his eyes. Then, stepping closer, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you forward.

“Of course,” he said, voice softer than he intended. Then, as if the thought had just struck him, he added, “Why don’t we set up a meeting place now?”

You froze for a beat, your wide eyes locking onto his, before your expression broke into something lighter – almost hopeful.

“Now?” you asked, half-laughing in disbelief.

He nodded, his grip still gentle but firm around your shoulders. “Yeah. Time and place.”

You hesitated, clearly caught off guard, but after a few moments, you glanced up at him, determination creeping into your features.

“How about Seonyudo Park?” you suggested.

A soft chuckle escaped In-ho before he could stop it. “Oh, that one park with the bridge where you can look out over the Han River?”

You nodded, visibly nervous, but he could see the hope shining behind your eyes. He tilted his head, pretending to think it over, although in truth, he’d already decided.

“Sure,” he finally agreed, locking eyes with you again. “When do you want to meet?”

You hesitated before blurting out, “One month after we leave?”

In-ho blinked, your suggestion catching him off guard again. One month? What's with that big time period?

You rushed to explain, “It’ll give us time to heal and sort things out. But if one month is too long, I’m fine with sooner – maybe one or two weeks?”

But In-ho shook his head, a real smile creeping onto his face. “One month it is. Seonyudo Park, a month after we’re out. Around sunset? The view’s amazing at that time.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, smiling now too. “That sounds perfect.”

Perfect, In-ho echoed in his mind, though the word tasted strange. Hopeful. It was a dangerous emotion. And yet, he didn’t hate it.

As you smiled at him, something heavy and unfamiliar twisted in In-ho’s chest. It wasn’t just admiration anymore – this was deeper. Every soft glance you gave him, every hesitant yet hopeful word, was tightening the hold you unknowingly had on him.

He’d spent years building walls so high nothing could get through. But you? You’d somehow slipped past every defense without even trying. Your kindness, your resilience, the way you still held onto hope in a place designed to crush it. It pulled at something he thought had died long ago.

A small smile lingered on his lips as he watched you look away, clearly flustered. He found himself wanting more of that – to see you smile like that again, to be the reason for it.

Not only that. He found himself anticipating your upcoming meeting. He felt normal – like a man anxiously overthinking about his upcoming date with someone he’s been looking for for years. He no longer felt like a husk of man. He had a purpose now – to pursue a life with you outside this island.

***

[Back to present…]

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, watching the live feeds of the current game. The players had finished selecting their gumballs, and it wasn’t until they grouped into their assigned teams that you noticed it – player 100, the greedy old man, was on the same red team as Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Yong-sik’s mother.

Your stomach twisted. That's not good.

Even worse, Thanos’ deranged old friend, player 124, had also landed on the red team.

But then your gaze flicked to the blue team. Player 226 – player 100’s most loyal lapdog – stood stiffly with them. You could sense the frustration simmering beneath the surface of his face. The separation between him and player 100 wasn’t sitting well with him.

You noticed your fellow friends were already on edge, and Jun-hee’s frown deepened as her gaze locked onto player 100. You could practically read her thoughts. She hadn’t forgotten how vocal he’d been during her labor.

The tension didn’t last long. Triangle-masked guards then motioned for the players to move. The players were led out of the room and into the next game’s location.

You watched as the cameras shifted into another massive room. The floor stretched out in a massive expanse, either painted or pasted over with a giant image of white and orange flowers arranged in circular patterns, each ring drawing closer to the center. This room looked more like a surreal park playground. Scattered around the corners were pieces of park equipments: a colourful swing set, a metal slide, and colorful merry-go-rounds.

Suddenly, the announcer’s voice echoed through the massive space. “Welcome to your fifth game. The game you will be playing is Why Did You Come to My House.”

The players exchanged tense glances, some frowning deeply as they recognized the title right away. Gi-hun’s jaw tensed. Jun-hee glanced at Yong-sik’s mother with concern, while Dae-ho visibly swallowed hard, his face pale.

The announcer continued. “All players have been split into two teams. At the start, one player from each team will compete in rock-paper-scissors to determine which team attacks first.

“The two teams will form parallel lines, standing hand-in-hand. The game begins with the defending team moving forward, singing the first line of the song. The attacking team will step back. Then, the attackers will step forward, singing the next line. This continues until the defenders ask, ‘Which flower?’ Each player in the attacking team will then point at a player from the defending side. The targeted player will be determined based on the majority votes.

“The mentioned player and an attacker will face off in rock-paper-scissors. The loser will be immediately eliminated. The rounds will continue until one team loses all its players.”

The announcement ended, leaving only a chilling silence.

Gi-hun’s friends exchanged glances. You realized then that Jun-hee must have told them about the game. None of them looked surprised but it still pressed down heavily on them. Knowing what was coming hadn’t eased the fear. If anything, it made the hopelessness clearer.

They were separated by half into opposite teams. They would be forced to play against each other.

Gi-hun stood quietly, his brows furrowed deeply as he stared at the ground, lost in thought. You could see it in his eyes – he was already trying to figure out a plan. A loophole. Something. Anything that could get them all out of this alive.

Seeing that the game hadn’t started yet, your friends on the blue team moved toward Gi-hun and the others. Dae-ho looked the worst of them all. His face was pale, his hands shaking as he wrung them nervously. His eyes darted between his friends, searching for answers.

“There’s gotta be a trick, right?” Dae-ho stammered, his voice thin with panic. “Some kind of loophole that’ll let us all make it through? We can’t j-just play this straight!”

Gi-hun didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched tightly as he stared down at the floor, lost in thought or maybe just lost in the hopelessness of it all. The silence dragged on, heavy and suffocating.

Dae-ho’s panic grew. He turned toward Jung-bae, calling him along with his ‘hyungnim’ honorifics. “Right, Jung-bae? There’s gotta be a way, right?”

Jung-bae hesitated. His eyes locked onto Dae-ho’s trembling figure, and for a moment, he looked as lost as the rest of them. Then he forced a wide, playful smile. It seemed clearly exaggerated, but laced with forced optimism. He even chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension.

“Of course,” Jung-bae replied, nodding. “There must be a way. We just have to look for it. It’s not gonna hurt to try something, right?”

Dae-ho let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly in relief at the small sliver of hope.

Hyun-ju, ever the calm one, stepped forward, her arms crossed as she looked over both teams. “What if we just… avoid targeting each other?”

She paused as her friends turned their gaze onto her. She glanced at each of them as she continued, “Like, you guys in red team avoids targeting us from the blue team. And us from the blue team does the same.”

Jung-bae perked up at that. “Oh, that’s possible! That way, we can at least hold off eliminating each other.”

But Myung-gi quickly shook his head. “That won’t last. The other players will do the same for their friends.”

“Then it’s not just the other team we have to worry about,” Se-mi spoke up, forcing a wry smile. “We’ll be fighting our own teammates too. That’s where things get ugly.”

Jung-bae shifted his gaze between Myung-gi and Se-mi, looking hopeless again, as he said, “Wah, you two really know how to kill the mood, huh?”

The mechanical hum of the loudspeaker kicked in, followed by the cold, distorted voice of the announcer.

“All players, the game is about to begin. Please form a line with your team. Position yourselves parallel to the opposing team. Select one representative from each side to play rock-paper-scissors to determine the attacking and defending teams.”

Slowly, the players began to shift, their feet dragging across the floor, but one thing was clear. Everyone was hesitant to part ways with their friends.

Gi-hun hesitated, exchanging glances with his friends. There was an unspoken reluctance, a deep-rooted fear in parting ways. The reality was sinking in. This was the first game that separated them to compete against each other.

Jun-hee’s gaze lingered on Myung-gi, her eyes filled with unspoken thoughts. Myung-gi was quick to notice and gazed back at her.

“Don’t worry,” he said calmly with a tight smile. “We’ll figure things out later.”

Jun-hee didn’t speak for the first few seconds. Then, she gave a small nod. They then parted to join their respective teams.

Dae-ho's entire body was visibly trembling now. He looked like he didn’t want to part with his friends in the red team at all, his wide eyes darting desperately between Gi-hun and Jung-bae, silently pleading for someone to stop this. Just then, Hyun-ju stepped closer. She placed a firm hand on Dae-ho’s shoulder.

Startled, Dae-ho turned his head to her, noticing the grim yet forced smile on Hyun-ju’s face.

With that, Dae-ho took a shaky breath and, though still trembling, followed Hyun-ju as they made their way back to the blue team, Myung-gi walking alongside them in heavy silence.

Yong-sik, gripping his mother’s hand, hesitated before finally releasing it. “Be careful, Mom.”

Yong-sik’s mother refused to let go of his hand, her grip tightening. She pulled him closer, her voice trembling as she spoke, “Yong-sik, I know this is hard, but we’ll figure something out. I promise. Just... stay out of trouble, okay? Don’t do anything reckless.”

Yong-sik looked at her with wide, fearful eyes, his hand shaking slightly in hers. He didn’t want to let go either, but he knew he had to. They had to play the game. Finally, with a shaky breath, he nodded. She managed a strained smile, swallowing her tears as she slowly released his hand.

With heavy hearts, they slowly moved into position. The red and blue teams now faced each other, a straight line of anxious faces and clenched fists. The space between them felt massive, like there was a line they shouldn't cross.

“Pick your representative,” the announcer’s voice echoed again.

Player 100, the greedy old man, stepped forward with a wide, smug grin.

“I’ll volunteer for the red team,” he announced, his voice loud and filled with cocky confidence.

Gi-hun and his friends stayed perfectly still, exchanging tense glances but saying nothing. They all knew better. Staying in the shadows seemed like the safest bet. Volunteering would only make them a bigger target.

As soon as player 100 made his move, player 226 – his ever-loyal lackey – stepped forward from the blue team.

“Then it's me for blue,” he said, his voice carrying a similar arrogance.

They faced each other across the divide.

“So, we’re not brothers anymore, huh?” Player 226 smirked, his jaw tight.

Player 100 chuckled darkly. “Tch. Brothers? In this place? I was only ever looking out for myself.”

Player 226’s face twisted with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “I followed your lead this whole time, and now you’re just throwing that away? Like a coward? Shows how pathetic you really are, old rot.”

Player 100 sneered, his grin widening. “Pathetic? Boy, you were the fool who followed me around like a lost puppy. And now you expect loyalty? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. You just have no brains.”

Player 226’s jaw tightened, fury rising. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one out, old fucker.”

“That is, if you get the chance,” player 100 snapped back. “If I win as the attacking team, you better believe I’m coming for you first, son of a bitch.”

The other players couldn’t help but react to the heated exchange. Gi-hun glowered. Jung-bae and Jun-hee exchanged glances. The mother stayed quiet. Dae-ho and Yong-sik's gaze flitted between the two. Hyun-ju, Semi, and Myung-gi simply watched on impassively.

Player 100 and 226 then raised their fists, preparing for the most important form of decision-making in their entire life.

“On my mark,” a manager spoke up as he stood to their side. “Rock. Paper. Scissors.”

Player 100 threw out a rock. Player 226 put out a scissor. The result was instant.

The room filled with tense silence before the loudspeaker blared, “The red team will be the attacking team.”

Player 226 paled while player 100 immediately threw his fists into the air, cheering loudly and with wild exaggeration.

“Hah! I told you! You scummy bastard!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the vast room. He spun around with his arms stretched wide, pumping his fists into the air as if he’d won the entire game already. His laughter was sharp, echoing mockingly as he shot a smug glance at player 226.

Player 100 then spun around to face his fellow red teammates, his grin wide and malicious. “Alright, listen up! For the first round, we vote for player 226. No mercy!”

The red team stood silent for a tense beat, most of Gi-hun’s friends exchanging uneasy glances but staying quiet. However, the O players on the same team quickly nodded in agreement. Their movements were stiff and forced. It was clear they were just trying to appease him, hoping to stay off his radar for as long as possible.

Player 100 sneered, clearly pleased with their response. “Good. Stick with me, and maybe you’ll last longer.”

Player 226 clicked his tongue in annoyance, his face twisted in frustration as he muttered under his breath, “Rotten old bastard.”

He shot a final glare at player 100 before storming off to stand in line with the blue team.

Player 100, still riding the high of his victory, threw an agitating smirk at him before casually strolling back to join the red team.

Before the tension could stretch any further, the loudspeaker blared to life again. The announcer stated, “All players, the game will begin shortly. Teams, form your lines and hold hands with your teammates.”

The players hesitated only for a moment before moving into position. The red and blue teams formed two parallel lines as instructed.

The announcer added, “A song will play to guide your movements. Teams will step forward or backward in turn. Follow the lyrics accordingly. Once the song sings ‘rock, paper, scissors’, players of the attacking team will point at a player from the defending team. The targeted player will be based on the majority of votes.”

The players braced themselves as a children's song began to fill the massive room, its playful melody clashing cruelly with the deadly game. Everyone was tense as they held their teammates’ hand.

Meanwhile, player 100 grinned wildly. He swayed mockingly to the beat of the song, his over-the-top movements making it clear he was savoring every moment. Across the field, player 226 glared daggers at him.

The song’s melody echoed through the vast room, its cheerful tone a cruel contrast to the tension crackling in the air.

As the first line rang out—

“Why did you come, why did you come, why did you come to our house?”

—the blue team, acting as the defenders, stepped forward in unison as if they were the ones asking the attacking team with the lyrics. The red team, as the attackers, stepped backward.

The second line followed:

“He said he came, came, came to look for flowers.”

Now it was the red team’s turn to advance, delivering the answer to the defending team through the lyrics. Player 100 led the charge, taking exaggerated, wide strides, his grin stretched from ear to ear. He locked eyes with player 226, his manic glee on full display. The blue team retreated, their steps cautious and calculated.

When the third line echoed—

“What kind of flowers did he come, come to find?”

—the blue team moved forward again. Player 226 pushed himself to the front, his chest puffed out as if trying to mask the nerves twisting in his gut. He fixed player 100 with a hard glare, attempting to show bravado.

The fourth line dropped.

“He said he came, came to look for rose flowers.”

The red team advanced again, but this time player 100 didn’t just walk. He lunged ahead of his teammates, rushing forward with his malicious grin stretching wider. His eyes locked on player 226, the sheer venom in his stare unmistakable. The blue team hastily stepped back.

Then came the fifth and final line.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

It was the moment of decision.

Almost immediately, most of the red team thrust out their dominant arms, fingers aimed squarely at player 226. The aggressive, near-unison movement felt like a death sentence, their fingers all pointing at the same target.

But not everyone joined in.

Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Yong-sik’s mother pointed toward other blue team members, deliberately avoiding their own friends in the opposing team: Yong-sik, Myung-gi, Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, and Se-mi.

The majority had spoken. Eight out of 12 red team members picked player 226. He stood under the crosshairs of almost every outstretched arm, his face paling. Across from him, player 100’s grin widened even more as he muttered, “Don’t run away now, boy.”

The manager overseeing the game stepped forward, his voice booming even behind that square mask of theirs.

“Eight people have voted for player 226. Now, player 226 will get to choose one out of the eight to compete in a rock, paper, scissors match. The one who loses the match will be eliminated.”

Player 226 scoffed loudly, his frustration boiling over. Without a moment’s hesitation, he jabbed a finger straight at player 100. “You. I’m not going down without dragging you with me, you self-righteous gramps.”

Player 100 blinked, clearly not expecting to be singled out so directly. His smug grin faltered for a second before he quickly masked it with bravado, though there was a nervous twitch in his eye.

“Hah! You really think I’m wasting my time on you?” player 100 sneered. “You should be picking someone weaker. Someone you actually stand a chance against.”

Player 226’s eyes darkened with pure loathing. “What’s wrong? Scared?”

He turned to the manager, raising his voice. “It’s the rules, right? I get to choose?”

The manager, calm and unbothered, nodded once. “Correct.”

Player 100’s jaw tensed. His cocky mask wavered again before he threw his shoulders back, forcing a wide, arrogant grin. “Fine! Let’s play your stupid game. But don’t cry when you lose, kid.”

Player 226 clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. The supervising manager then stated, “Player 226 and player 100, please step forward.”

Both of them stepped forward from their respective teams. They then stood face-to-face. The manager stood silently at their side. The air between them crackled with palpable tension. Every eye was locked on them. Player 226’s jaw was clenched tight, while player 100's forced bravado was starting to crack, beads of sweat glistening at his temple despite his wide grin.

“On my mark,” the manager’s voice cut in, monotone and cold.

Both players raised their fists, ready for the throw.

The manager began, “Rock. Paper. Scissors.”

Their hands shot out in unison.

Player 100 threw out rock. Player 226 put out scissors.

The manager announced with finality, “Player 100 wins. Player 226 is eliminated.”

Player 100 hollered triumphantly, his voice echoing off the high walls as he pumped both fists into the air. “Ha! I told you I’d crush you! Look at you now!”

His laughter rang out, loud and mocking, as he exaggerated every move, basking in his victory. But player 226 wasn’t hearing any of it.

His face went pale, eyes wide with disbelief as the realization hit him. He’d lost. Completely and utterly. His chest rose and fell in sharp, panicked breaths as he staggered back a step.

The other players stood frozen. Gi-hun’s jaw clenched as he watched player 100 revel in the moment, disgust flickering in his eyes.

“Over-the-top prick,” Jung-bae muttered, glaring at player 100’s dramatic celebration.

Jun-hee and Yong-sik's mother frowned deeply.

You, watching from the Front Man’s quarters, frowned in distaste. Player 100’s smugness was unbearable, the pure glee in his face making your stomach turn. But your focus quickly shifted to player 226, who stood frozen, panic now flooding his expression.

The heavy stomp of boots echoed as triangle-masked guards began advancing toward him.

Player 226 snapped out of his shock, his survival instincts kicking in. He threw his hands up, waving frantically. “Wait! Just-just one more round! I can do better! I-I wasn’t ready!”

But the guards didn’t slow. They raised their MP5s in perfect unison.

“No, wait—!”

The gunfire was deafening.

Player 226’s body jerked violently in each shot hitting his body before crumpling to the ground, a growing pool of red staining the white floor beneath him. His outstretched hand twitched once before going limp.

The massive room fell into an eerie silence, the echoes of the gunfire lingering in the heavy air.

Player 100 let out one last victorious laugh, though it was quieter now, almost uneasy as the reality of what had just happened set in. The other players stood rigid, their faces pale, the brutality of it all sinking deeper than before.

You inhaled sharply from where you sat. The guards then stepped back towards the wall, their weapons lowered, as the manager announced, “The next round will begin with the attacking and defending teams switching positions. The blue team will now be the attacking team, and the red team will be the defending team.”

As the rounds progressed, you noticed the plan in action. Gi-hun, Jun-hee, Jung-bae, Yong-sik’s mother, and the others subtly avoided voting for their friends on the opposing team. They were careful, trying to be subtle, ensuring no majority votes landed on their allies. By staying in the shadows and never drawing attention, they reduced their chances of being singled out for the deadly rock, paper, scissors match.

The strategy worked for a while. One by one, the O players on the blue team, were picked off. Each elimination was met with the same cold routine – play the which flower procedure, votes, a quick game, and then gunshots. The pool of players shrank in each round.

You noticed player 100’s smug demeanor slowly fade as he observed the pattern. His eyes darted between the remaining players, realization creeping over him. Being an O player himself, he couldn’t ignore the fact that the blue team’s O players were being taken out systematically. His cocky grin faltered.

Player 100’s frustration boiled over, his voice rising above the murmurs of the room. “They’re taking out all the O players! We’re next if we don’t do something!”

He jabbed a finger toward the blue team, his face twisted with indignation. “Switch it up! Start voting out the X players on their side!”

His voice echoed through the vast space, making heads turn.

You felt a sinking feeling in your chest as you watched from the Front Man’s quarters. Your eyes scanned the blue team, picking out the X players. They were:

Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, Yong-sik, Se-mi, and Myung-gi. All of them were your friends or acquaintances. There was one more X player, a quiet man who had kept to himself.

Only one O player remained on their side, standing nervously at the far end, clearly aware that his time was running out.

Shifting your focus to the red team, you tallied the survivors. The X players there were Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, Yong-sik’s mother, and a short boy labeled player 125.

But what truly caught your attention were the remaining O players. It was player 100 himself, the malicious player 124, and another nondescript man who hadn’t spoken a word the entire game.

The room fell into a heavy silence as the red team prepared for their turn. The manager’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Red team, you will be the attacking team this round. Make your selection once the song reaches–”

“Rock, paper, scissors, I know!” player 100 barked. He then pivoted to face his fellow red teammates. “Everyone! Next, we vote for the X!”

Before anyone could react, player 124 stepped forward, his finger jabbing out toward the blue team. “Let’s vote for him!”

All eyes shifted to Myung-gi, who froze as the accusing finger landed squarely on him. His expression twisted into surprise before he quickly masked it, his jaw tightening as he glowered at player 124. The two locked eyes, past grudges crackling between them.

From where you sat in the Front Man’s quarters, you couldn’t help but glance over at Jun-hee. Her face had gone pale. Her worry was written all over her.

Myung-gi, however, chose to stay silent. He didn’t protest, didn’t argue. Instead, he squared his shoulders and stood still, his fists clenched at his sides.

That’s when you noticed player 124 sidling closer to another red team member. It was the nervous boy labeled player 125. He told him, “Min-su, don’t make me mad now. Let’s win this again. One more game.”

Min-su flinched at the tone, his head dropping as he refused to make eye contact. He nodded once, his shoulders shaking slightly in fear.

The next round began. The melody played again, leading into the inevitable moment.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

Hands from the red team shot forward.

You held your breath, leaning forward in your seat while carefully supporting the baby sleeping in your arms.

Player 100, player 124, another O player, and Min-su all pointed at Myung-gi, their votes locking him into the spotlight. Meanwhile, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Yong-sik’s mother each pointed at the last O player left on the blue team.

The female announcer’s voice rang out. “Player 333 and player 104 received four votes each. In this case, player 333 and player 104 are required to break the tie by competing in a rock, paper, scissors game.”

All eyes turned to the supervising manager. Myung-gi and player 104 stood frozen. The former’s face was unreadable, but player 104 looked as though he might faint.

“Wait,” Myung-gi called out. “If one of us loses… does that mean we’re eliminated?”

The manager shook his head. “No. The loser of this rock, paper, scissors will be the chosen player and will get to pick their competitor from the red team for another match.”

A beat of silence passed before Myung-gi and player 104 raised their hands.

The manager began, “On my mark. Rock, paper, scissors.”

Both players threw their choices forward.

Myung-gi’s hand came down as scissors.

Player 104 laid out rock.

The result was immediate.

“Player 333 loses. You will be the targeted player. You will now select your opponent.”

Myung-gi exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the ground.

Jun-hee’s eyes shimmered with pure desperation. Her hands trembled at her sides, her lips parting in terrifying dread. Her wide, glassy eyes locked onto Myung-gi, The fear, the worry. They were all there, visible on her face, but she forced herself to stay silent.

Myung-gi finally lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Jun-hee for a long while. Something unspoken passed between them – regret, apologies, and fear. He swallowed hard before shifting his stare to player 124. He glowered resentfully.

“Fine,” Myung-gi said suddenly, his voice sharp and cold.

It was as if something inside him had snapped into place, as if resigned to fate. But there was a part of him that still burned to fight back. He straightened his shoulders, exhaling slowly before lifting his arm, his finger pointing straight at player 124.

“I’m dragging you with me,” he growled.

Player 124 scoffed, the sound dripping with derision and loathing. “Tch. Brave talk for a scammer.”

The manager’s voice echoed through the room. “Player 333 and player 124, please step forward.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Myung-gi stepped out from the blue team’s line, his face a hardened mask of resolve. There was no fear in his eyes – only sheer defiance – as he strode forward, positioning himself before the manager. He glared at player 124.

Player 124, meanwhile, was livid. His jaw worked as he struggled to suppress his rage and another emotion, but he forced a chuckle, then broke into a mocking laugh.

“Oh, MG Coin, you really think you have outplayed me?” he sneered. “You’ve been a walking failure since the start. This’ll just be another loss for your record.”

The insult hit like a slap, but Myung-gi didn’t flinch. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared but he kept his focus locked.

Suddenly, player 124 turned around and reached beneath his white shirt, pulling out a necklace shaped like a small ‘t’. His hands trembled as he unclasped it, revealing a hidden compartment inside. Nestled within were two small, circular pills. You frowned in confusion. Is that his meds?

With a sharp flick of his shaky wrist, he popped both pills into his mouth, his head tilting back as he forced them down. His hands trembled violently, but he clenched his jaw. For a moment, the shaking intensified. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, his body stilled. The trembling faded completely, leaving him standing eerily calm.

Everyone watched him quietly. Some players exchanged tense glances, clearly understanding what he had taken, while others remained baffled. The silence thickened until the hot pink-clad manager broke it. “Player 124, step forward.”

Player 124's demeanor shifted entirely. Gone was the twitchy, agitated man from before. Now, he carried himself with an unsettling calm and confidence. His eyes gleamed with a kind of clarity, though a faint, manic edge still lingered.

He waved the manager off with a casual flick of his wrist.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he drawled, striding toward Myung-gi with an easy swagger. His smirk widened as he closed the distance, his voice lowering into a taunting sneer. “Still think you can beat me, MG Coin? You’re about to fold faster than your worthless crypto.”

You narrowed your eyes from the Front Man’s quarters, suspicion prickling at the back of your mind. He’s high. It explained the sudden calmness and confidence.

“On my mark,” the manager declared.

The two players squared up, their hands raised in preparation. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Even you, watching from the Front Man’s quarters, leaned forward, feeling the pounding of your own heart echoing in your ears. The baby in your arms shifted slightly, but you barely noticed.

Everyone was silent – so silent it was suffocating.

The manager said, “Rock.”

Both Myung-gi and player 124 tensed, their fingers twitching.

“Paper.”

Myung-gi’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving player 124’s.

“Scissors.”

Their hands shot out. Your breath hitched.

Myung-gi chose paper. Player 124 threw rock.

“Player 333 wins. Player 124 is eliminated,” the manager’s voice echoed.

Gasps of relief rippled through both the red and blue teams. You quickly scanned the players, recognizing the source of the reactions to be Myung-gi's acquaintances and even his ex-girlfriend. Jun-hee stood among them, her hands pressed firmly against her chest. Her expression, a mix of exhaustion and quiet joy, made it clear just how much she had been holding her breath.

Meanwhile, player 124 didn’t flinch. Instead, he stood perfectly still, his head tilted slightly to the side, a lazy smile curling at the edge of his lips. His wide eyes glistened, glassy and calm, almost... serene.

“Ha,” player 124 chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Well, would you look at that?”

His voice was light, easy, devoid of any tension. He turned his head toward Myung-gi, his grin stretching wider. “You are a really lucky bastard, MG Coin. Real lucky shot.”

Myung-gi stared at him, stunned by the reaction. There was no rage, no screaming, no accusations. It’s just that eerie calmness.

Player 124 walked closer to Myung-gi and daringly inched his face closer to his menacingly. “What kind of person are you, really? You scammed hundreds or thousands of people. You already got a girlfriend and a baby. And now you got really lucky in this game too. Meanwhile, I'm one of your victims. I used up all my money on your coin scam. My whole family disowned me. And I got unlucky? This is really, really unfair.”

Myung-gi stayed silent, locking eyes with the manic yet eerily calm gaze of player 124. The words cut deeper than he expected, hitting something raw inside him. In that moment, it all sank in about how lucky he really was and how many lives he’d left in ruin. The people who had fallen for his scam weren’t just faceless victims; they were desperate and broken too. Deep down, he knew he should be the one standing in player 124’s place. Maybe then, he could finally begin to atone for everything he’d done.

Two triangle guards advanced toward player 124 and Myung-gi, their shoes thudding against the floor. The sound echoed, drawing both players’ attention. Player 124 remained eerily calm. He straightened his back, lifting his chin with a strange serenity, his glassy eyes still glinting with that unsettling, drug-fueled calmness.

With a soft sigh, he exhaled through his nose, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So, this is it, huh?”

The guards arrived to stand before player 124. Still, he didn’t flinch. He let out another chuckle, almost giddy now. “Man, you guys are so serious all the time. Relax! It’s just a game, right?”

Even as the guards raised their weapons, player 124 remained eerily calm, as if the weight of reality hadn’t hit him… or more likely, the pills numbed him beyond fear.

“Later, losers,” player 124 murmured, flashing one last grin.

Multiple gunshots cracked through the massive room. Player 124’s body collapsed to the floor, still wearing that unsettling smile.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. Myung-gi exhaled shakily, his heart still pounding as he processed what had just happened. Even in victory, the unease lingered.

Player 100 muttered curses under his breath. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he glared at Myung-gi’s retreating figure. “Damn cockroach… can’t believe he pulled that off.”

But the victory wasn’t what gnawed at him. It was the numbers. There were only three O players left.

In the red team, it was just him and another unknown male player. In the blue team, it was the last O player who had won against Myung-gi and narrowly escaped being the targeted player.

Player 100 could feel the walls closing in. His eyes darted toward Gi-hun, who stood quietly, hands at his sides, gaze calm. Too calm.

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” player 100 yelled, pointing a shaking finger at him. “You planned this from the start! You’ve been whittling us down!”

Gi-hun turned his attention to him.

“Don’t act like you’re innocent,” player 100 spat, taking a step closer, his voice rising with each word. “You’ve been playing the long game, getting rid of every O one by one. Keeping your little friends safe while the rest of us drop like flies. You slimy little rat!”

Jung-bae couldn’t stay quiet anymore. He stepped forward, placing himself between Gi-hun and player 100.

“Hey, back off,” he snapped, his eyes wide. “You’re the one who’s been throwing people under the bus since the start. You act like you’re a top dog when all you’ve been doing is stabbing people in the back.”

Player 100 sneered. “Oh, look, Gi-hun’s little lapdog has something to say.”

Jung-bae didn’t miss a beat. “Hey! At least I’ve got loyalty. something you wouldn’t recognize if it bit you.”

Before the tension could escalate further, Yong-sik’s mother stepped forward, her hands raised slightly in a calming gesture. “Enough, enough. This isn’t the time for bickering. We’re all barely holding on here. Fighting each other won’t change that.”

For a moment, there was silence. But player 100 wasn’t having it.

He whipped around to face her, his face contorted with frustration. “Oh, great! The fragile mother wants to play peacemaker now? You think you’re innocent in all this? You helped take out my fellow O players too! Don’t act like you’re some kind-hearted saint.”

His words cut through the tension like a knife, and the sheer force of his accusation made several players shift uncomfortably. He continued, “Spare me your pity act, grandma!”

Yong-sik’s mother flinched but quickly squared her shoulders, refusing to back down despite the sting of his words. Her hands trembled, but her chin lifted in quiet defiance.

“How dare you speak to me that way?” she snapped, her voice cracking with emotion, though she tried to hold her ground.

“Back off, you greedy old scum!” Yong-sik shouted from the blue team's line. “You don’t talk to my mother like that!”

Player 100's face twisted in rage, veins bulging at his temple as he jabbed a finger at Yong-sik. “You little brat! Always hiding behind your mommy! You think that’s gonna save you in here? You will sacrifice your mother sooner or later!”

Yong-sik’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, but he said nothing. It's as if player 100 hit a nerve that stunned him.

Player 100 then swung his gaze toward Gi-hun and Jung-bae. “And you two, and your friends? Don’t think for a second I don’t see what you’re doing. You’re nothing but cowards, hiding behind everyone else’s sacrifices.”

Gi-hun stayed silent, his face solemn, while Jung-bae rolled his eyes. “Fine, old man. Whatever. Are you done yet?”

Player 100 snorted but didn’t push it. He turned sharply on his heel and stormed back toward the red team’s line. He made sure to position himself as far from Gi-hun and the others as possible, sidling up next to the only remaining O player on his team – a man who flinched slightly as player 100 stood beside him.

Player 100 crossed his arms and threw one last glare at Gi-hun’s group before muttering under his breath, “Bunch of backstabbing rats. We have to do something fast.”

However, player 100 didn’t have time to form a plan. The next round began swiftly, with the blue team taking on the role of attackers while the red team stood defensively. As the song reached its final line of lyrics, the blue team reacted in near-perfect unison. Hands snapped forward, every finger – except one – pointing directly at player 100. The lone exception, the solo O player, hesitated for a fraction of a second before shifting his aim toward Jung-bae.

“Player 100 has been chosen as the targeted player,” the manager’s voice echoed coldly through the room.

For a split second, player 100 stood frozen, his mind racing to catch up with reality. Then, his face contorted in disbelief and pure rage.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls. “You all voted for me? ME?”

His eyes darted wildly between the blue team members, searching for anyone who looked even remotely guilty but they all stood firm and determined. His gaze finally locked onto Gi-hun as if instinctively blaming him.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?!” player 100 snarled. “You wanted me out from the start!”

Gi-hun didn’t flinch. He simply stared back, his face unreadable.

Jung-bae responded instead. “No plan, old man. You just made yourself the biggest target in here.”

“Cowards!” player 100 spat, though the edge of desperation in his voice was impossible to miss. “You all ganged up on me because you’re too scared to face me one-on-one!”

The manager’s voice cut through the noise again. “Player 100, step forward and choose your opponent from the blue team.”

Player 100’s chest heaved as he clenched his fists. His bravado was clearly cracking, but he still barked, “Fine!”

He jabbed his finger straight at someone in the blue team. All eyes followed. Your heart sank as your eyes widened in shock, dread tightening in your chest. It was Dae-ho.

Dae-ho, naturally pale, now looked as if all color had drained completely from his face. His skin was ghostly white, his wide eyes shimmering with panic. His arms trembled uncontrollably. It's like his body couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee.

Player 100 grinned wickedly, the sadistic pleasure unmistakable on his face. “You, ex-marine. Let’s see if all that training makes a difference here.”

Dae-ho didn’t respond. He could barely breathe, his throat dry, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out the noise around him. His legs felt like they might give out at any second.

Gi-hun’s mouth went ajar. He was obviously worried. Jung-bae, however, wasn’t one to stay quiet.

“Pick on someone your own size, you pathetic old man!” he shouted across the room, his voice sharp with anger.

Player 100 threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, please. I’m giving him a chance to prove himself. Ex-marine, right? Big, tough guy? C’mon!”

Jun-hee stood rigid, her face once again displaying immense concern towards another friend of hers – a man who had taken good care of her since they met here. Yong-sik’s mother pressed a hand to her chest, her face pale with concern. “Oh no...”

Meanwhile, Dae-ho stood there, frozen. His mind replayed the worst-case scenarios over and over. He knew the rules. He knew what would happen if he lost. He knew what would happen if he refused to play.

Player 100 then stepped out of the red team's line, standing before the awaiting manager. “Move it, ex-marine!”

The manager glanced at Dae-ho and finally stated, “Player 100 and player 388, please step forward.”

Swallowing hard, Dae-ho finally stepped forward, his legs shaky beneath him. His shoulders hunched slightly, as though he was carrying the weight of his past along with him.

Watching from the Front Man’s quarters, you felt a pang of concern cut deep. You knew Dae-ho carried some heavy burden from his past. You remembered the way he ran and hid during the gunfight in the revolt. His fear was palpable. His instinct to flee overpowered his marine training. It wasn’t cowardice; it was trauma.

Seeing him now, trembling and vulnerable, stirred something in you. He wasn’t just another player in this nightmare. He was your friend. He was someone you’d laughed with, and someone who encouraged you when things got rough. Now, he stood alone, facing off against player 100’s cruelty with barely a thread of composure holding him together. It hurt to see him like this, knowing there was nothing you could do but watch, hope, and silently will him to survive.

Once the two of them stood before each other next to the supervising manager, player 100, smug as ever, derided, “Don’t pass out before we start. Wouldn’t want this to be too easy.”

Dae-ho swallowed visibly. Everyone could tell drops of sweat began to roll down his temple and neck. His trembling hands betrayed him as he tried to pretend to be brave in front of the smug player 100, but failed spectacularly. You frowned deeply for him. You wished you could be there for him.

“On my mark,” the manager announced without hesitation.

Dae-ho jolted violently, his wide-eyed gaze snapping between the guard and player 100. His entire body trembled so intensely that it looked as though his knees might buckle beneath him at any moment. His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths as fear clawed at every part of him. The weight of the moment crushed down on him, leaving him paralyzed for a beat too long.

The manager began, “Rock.”

Player 100 grinned maniacally as he prepared one fist.

“Paper.”

Dae-ho hastily braced himself as his entire body still trembled immensely.

“Scissors.”

Both hands shot out. You and the entire room held its breath as the outcome was revealed.

Dae-ho’s hand shot out, the movement rushed and desperate. He laid out scissors. Across from him, Player 100 threw down paper.

For a heartbeat, the room was silent. Then the manager’s distorted voice echoed through the space. “Player 388 wins. Player 100 is eliminated.”

The words hit Dae-ho like a delayed shockwave. He blinked, his mind taking an agonizing moment to catch up to the reality of what had just happened. He’d won. Against all odds, he’d actually won.

The realization slammed into him, and with it came an uncontrollable surge of emotion. He let out a shriek, his voice cracking into a high-pitched yell that echoed through the room. His whole body trembled, this time not from fear, but from the sheer overwhelming relief flooding through him.

Cheers erupted almost immediately. From the blue team, his friends shouted loudest. Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, Myung-gi, and Se-mi sprinted toward him. Without hesitation, they crashed into him in a messy, joy-filled group hug, their arms wrapping tightly around each other as they bounced in place, laughing and crying at the same time. Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and the mother joined in afterward.

You sat forward in your seat, heart racing, hands tightening around the baby sleeping in your arms. Relief surged through you so hard it nearly made you dizzy. Dae-ho had done it. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, but it was bittersweet. Seeing him so close to breaking hit you in the chest. You wished you could be there, to tell him how proud you were.

But this moment? This victory? It was his. And you felt every ounce of his triumph, your heart full of hope… and fear for what came next.

“You did it!” Yong-sik hollered, gripping Dae-ho’s shoulder.

“You did great, Kang Dae-ho!” cheered Jung-bae.

Dae-ho couldn’t stop smiling, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The fear that had almost consumed him moments ago was gone, replaced with the comforting weight of his friends surrounding him.

But not everyone was celebrating.

Player 100 stood frozen, his face twisted in disbelief. “No! No! That’s not possible! You cheated! That was rigged! I had him beat!”

His protests grew more frantic as triangle-masked guards began to advance, their weapons raised and ready.

“Wait! Listen to me! He didn’t win fair!” player 100 shrieked, backing away as the guards closed in. “He was hesitating and saw I was about to throw a paper! You all saw it!”

But the guards didn’t falter. In a final act of desperation, player 100 tried to run. But it was too late.

Gunfire echoed through the room. The cheers stopped instantly. Everyone turned in time to see player 100’s body jerk violently before collapsing to the ground, a dark pool spreading beneath him.

Dae-ho’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene. The room hung heavy with silence, the weight of the moment pressing down hard.

The next few rounds blurred by in a haze of quick decisions and swift eliminations. Hands darted out, rock-paper-scissors was played, and gunfire echoed when the unlucky ones lost. There was no time to process, no room for emotions. The game had taken full control.

Minutes passed until the room thinned out, leaving only those who mattered most to you as the survivors.

In the red team stood Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, Yong-sik’s mother, and Min-su. Their faces were pale, their shoulders heavy with the weight of what was coming next.

On the blue team were Myung-gi, Dae-ho, Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, and Se-mi. They stood in a tense line, their eyes darting between the players on the opposite side, fear written clearly on their faces.

You sat back in the Front Man’s quarters, heart pounding, your hands trembling as you cradled the sleeping baby in your arms. These were your friends. Every single one of them, except for Min-su whom you had never talked with before. For your friends, however, they were people you had fought alongside, cried with, and in some cases, nearly died for. And now, they stood lined up against each other.

They can’t possibly vote for each other… right?

But deep down, you knew this game wouldn’t stop until it forced them to. After all, In-ho did say: “The rounds continue until one team loses all its players. The survivors on the winning team move on.”

The victorious energy from Dae-ho’s win had been snuffed out completely, replaced by an oppressive sense of dread. Eyes met across the room. Some glanced away quickly, unable to handle the weight of it. Others, like Gi-hun, held the gaze of his friends on the opposing team.

No one spoke for a long time. Until Jun-hee’s soft voice broke through the tension. “What are we going to do now…?”

Her question floated in the air, unanswered. The words were fragile, barely above a whisper, but they echoed loudly in the hollow space.

Yong-sik rubbed the back of his neck. “This… we can't really back out now, right?”

“No,” the manager suddenly spoke up, surprising Yong-sik since he didn't intent on asking them. The manager continued, “The game will continue until one team loses all its players.”

Everyone fell quiet. The manager's words echoed in the tense space like a chilling reminder. Eyes dropped to the floor, shoulders sagged under the oppressive weight, and the air thickened with a heavy, suffocating silence.

Gi-hun’s fists clenched at his sides, the pressure almost visible in his posture. He spoke up, “There has to be another way.”

Gi-hun’s eyes flicked upward, landing on the cluster of CCTVs positioned high on the room walls. Because of this, it felt like he was staring right at you.

You stiffened in your seat, the baby still cradled safely in your arms, but all your focus locked onto Gi-hun. It wasn’t possible for him to see you but somehow, it felt like he could. His eyes burned with intensity with the weight of a plan forming in his mind.

Gi-hun stepped forward, leaving his team’s line and walking straight toward the supervising manager, who stood silent by the side.

“What if the majority of us decide to stop right here, right now?” Gi-hun asked, his voice calm but loud enough to echo across the room.

A ripple of hope stirred through the surviving players. Heads turned, eyes widened. Everyone was caught off guard by the question.

Gi-hun turned his head again, glancing up at the CCTVs, as if daring whoever was on the other side – daring the Front Man – to intervene.

“It’s in the rules, isn’t it?” he said, his voice grew stronger, the conviction clear. “Rule No. 3: ‘The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie, players will vote again.’”

You felt your heart pound harder. He was right. The rule was there, buried in the fine print of the consent form every player had signed. You remembered it, as did they.

The players glanced around at each other, their eyes now wide with hope. Jun-hee clutched her chest, tears glistening as the realization dawned. Yong-sik’s mother whispered something inaudible, her hands shaking as if in prayer. Even Myung-gi, who had stood hardened for most of the game, allowed a sliver of hope to creep into his expression.

“Come on,” Gi-hun pressed, looking directly at the manager now. “We’re following the rules. If the majority of us want out, if we decide that this is over, then it’s justified.”

For a moment, there was silence. Thick, heavy, and pregnant with the weight of possibility.

You sat at the edge of your seat, your throat dry, silently begging for it to work. Let this be it. Let this nightmare end here.

But then the manager tilted his head slightly, his distorted voice cutting through the room. “That rule does not apply during the game. It only applies to the vote after every game.”

The words hit like a physical blow. The hope that had bloomed so fast was snuffed out in an instant. The players froze, their faces draining of color, the weight of their situation crashing back in with brutal force.

Gi-hun’s shoulders sagged, the fight momentarily leaving him.

You frowned in despair. The anger and helplessness clawed at your chest. It had been so close. Too close.

The players stood motionless in their lines. Each one of them stared blankly ahead, their minds spiraling into dark corners.

Jung-bae, standing in the red team’s line, let out a long, ragged exhale, rubbing his temples as if the headache building inside was finally too much to bear.

Yong-sik stood stiffly in the blue team’s line. Across the room, his mother stood in the red team’s line, her gaze locked onto her son. Neither could reach out, neither could offer the comfort they both craved. Yong-sik’s eyes shimmered with unspoken fear. His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her chin quivering slightly, but she lifted her hand just enough for him to see. It was a small, fragile wave. It was a desperate attempt to reassure him. Yong-sik’s throat tightened, and he managed a weak nod in return, but it felt hollow.

Jun-hee stood in the red team’s line, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles bone-white. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep tears at bay, but her focus wasn’t on her surroundings. It was across the room. Her eyes locked onto Myung-gi, who stood rigid in the blue team’s line.

Myung-gi’s eyes darted across the room until they landed on her. Their gazes met, a silent current of emotions passing between them. Myung-gi didn’t need her to speak. The way her shoulders sagged and her jaw trembled said enough.

He offered her the faintest nod, though his own expression was tight with pain. His mind raced even now, desperately searching for a loophole that didn’t exist. But in this moment, with Jun-hee’s gaze locked onto his, there was only the bitter truth of their situation.

Dae-ho shifted uncomfortably, wringing his hands together,. His breathing was shallow, and his gaze flicked nervously to his friends before falling to the ground.

Then there was Hyun-ju. She stood still, her posture rigid, but there was a hollow look in her eyes like she had already seen this ending long before anyone else. Her shoulders rose and fell with slow, measured breaths as if she was forcing herself to stay grounded while everything crumbled around her.

And then, so slowly it was almost imperceptible, she nodded so slowly.

Her gaze was downcast, unfocused, as though she was staring through the ground rather than at it. The smallest, most fragile smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was an expression so soft, so hollow, it almost didn’t feel real.

It wasn’t a smile of joy or hope. It was the kind of smile someone wore when they’d accepted something too painful to say aloud.

“Maybe... maybe this is it,” she whispered to herself, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the heavy silence. “At least... half of us still make it out.”

The words hung in the air, delicate yet heavy, but her fellow blue team members heard her all the same. Their heads subtly turned toward her, their eyes filled with a mix of surprise and sorrow. No one spoke, but the glances they exchanged reflected the same haunting thought. They all knew she was right, even if none of them wanted to admit it.

Hyun-ju lifted her head slightly, her hollow smile softening into something faintly warmer. It wasn’t a smile of hope or joy, but a gentle, almost sad acceptance, like someone making peace with the inevitable. Her eyes flickered toward her fellow teammates, landing first on Myung-gi.

He caught her gaze almost instantly. After a beat of hesitation, he gave her a slow, solemn nod. The tension in his jaw relaxed just enough to show he understood what she meant. There was no malice in it, no bitterness. It’s just reluctant agreement.

Next was Se-mi. She didn’t hesitate. She nodded back to Hyun-ju before casting her gaze toward Dae-ho. Her eyes softened as she noticed him trembling again, his whole body rigid with barely contained fear.

Meanwhile, Yong-sik’s attention had shifted. Instead of reacting to Hyun-ju, his eyes flicked across the room to his mother. She stood with her head lowered, lost in her own thoughts, oblivious to his gaze. Yong-sik bit his lower lip, the weight of the moment crushing him, but he didn’t call out to her. He just pondered.

Dae-ho, however, was falling apart. His breath came out in short, shallow bursts, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as his body trembled in trepidation. Every second dragged out, thick with pressure, until he flinched at a sudden bump against his arm.

Se-mi had nudged him lightly with her elbow. He jolted in surprise, whipping his head toward her, his eyes wide and panicked. She simply raised an eyebrow, her usual laidback demeanor revealing itself.

“Don’t think too much about it,” she said, her tone casual despite the situation. She offered him the smallest of smirks before adding, “It’ll go how it goes. Freaking out doesn’t change that.”

Dae-ho blinked at her, caught off guard by how calm she was, but a tiny bit of the panic ebbed away. He sucked in a shaky breath and managed a weak nod in return.

But Hyun-ju’s smile didn’t waver. She let out a soft sigh, her voice barely more than a whisper as she spoke, “I'm sorry if this feels forced on you. Of course, you all are free to continue with this game.”

For a moment, no one spoke, the weight of her words settling over them. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Yong-sik finally broke the silence. He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. “No, it’s alright. It’s hard to accept, but... the red team deserves to pass this more than we do.”

His words hung in the air, fragile and somber, yet they carried something. It wasn’t the answer anyone wanted, but it was the one they needed. A sense of reluctant acceptance washed over the blue team.

Hyun-ju’s smile widened before she slowly turned to the supervising manager. Her shoulders straightened as she braced herself.

“Excuse me,” she called out, her tone loud and clear, cutting through the thick tension of the room. “Is it possible if we, as a team, surrender altogether?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Every head snapped toward her, wide, shocked eyes landing on Hyun-ju and the entire blue team. Even some of the guards visibly turned their head to her at the question.

On the red team, reactions rippled like shockwaves.

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly as if he wanted to speak but found no words. Jung-bae’s face contorted in pure disbelief, his jaw dropping as he gawked at Hyun-ju. Jun-hee gasped softly, then turned her gaze to Myung-gi, her heart sinking when she noticed the calm, resigned acceptance etched across his face. Yong-sik’s mother clutched her chest as she stared helplessly at the blue team before locking eyes with her son across the distance. His solemn, distant expression confirmed the fear blooming in her chest, leaving her paralyzed.

Min-su, on the other hand, simply stared in stunned silence, his gaze locking on Se-mi. There was something in the way he stared. But Se-mi didn’t meet his gaze, her focus and resigned smile fixed on the ground.

From the Front Man’s quarters, your heart raced in your chest, your hands tightening protectively around the baby in your arms. The suddenness of Hyun-ju’s request left you breathless. You knew her – knew the way she held things in – but this? This was more than courage. It was sacrifice.

A storm of emotions swirled in your chest. Sadness. Fear. And a gnawing helplessness that you couldn’t do anything but watch.

The manager, silent for what felt like an eternity, finally spoke. “If a team collectively wishes to forfeit, it is within their right. If you are certain, all players in the blue team will be eliminated.”

Hyun-ju slowly turned her head, her calm eyes meeting each member of the blue team. Myung-gi was the first to nod, steady but quiet in his acceptance. Yong-sik followed, his jaw tight as he dipped his head. Se-mi, laidback as ever, offered a small, resigned smile before her nod. Dae-ho hesitated, his whole body trembling with fear, but he eventually looked back at Hyun-ju and nodded albeit tremblingly.

Hyun-ju’s smile widened, still faint but now with a hint of gratitude, before she faced the supervising manager once more. Her voice was firm. “Then, we wish to surrender as a team.”

Your felt overwhelming cold of fear grip your heart. Your chest tightened painfully. Hyun-ju’s voice echoed in your mind, the strength in it, the acceptance… it cut deeper than you expected. You hated this feeling, this helplessness, watching the people you cared about walk willingly into their end. It felt like your heart had cracked open.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Yong-sik’s mother’s voice ripped through the silence, raw with fury and panic. Her hand shot out toward the blue team, trembling violently, her knuckles white as she gripped her chest. “Are you all out of your minds?!”

Her face twisted with anguish, eyes darting between the members of the blue team, but her gaze locked hard on her son. Yong-sik stood rigid in the blue team’s line, his jaw clenched, refusing to meet her eyes. Her voice cracked as she tried again. “Yong-sik! Say something! You can’t…! You can’t be okay with this!”

But he didn’t respond. His silence said everything.

“Damn it!” she shouted, her voice breaking.

Gi-hun stepped forward, his jaw tight. His voice was rough, caught somewhere between anger and pleading. “This is suicide! There must be another way, everyone! Don't give up yet!”

Jung-bae scoffed in disbelief, throwing his arms up. “Hey! You think sacrificing yourselves is going to fix anything? Didn't we promise to have a drink together once we leave? Hey, Kang Dae-ho!”

Dae-ho jumped in surprise upon hearing his full name, his wide eyes snapping to Jung-bae. His entire body trembled, though not as violently as before. But he remained silent. You realized that fear was still there, but he believed this was the right thing to do.

Jun-hee didn’t say anything at first. But then, she stepped out of her red team's line with quick strides, each step echoing in the heavy silence. Myung-gi’s head jerked up at the sound, his eyes widening as she approached. Her glare was sharp, but there was a crack of vulnerability beneath it.

“Don’t be stupid, Myung-gi,” she snapped once she stood before him, her voice thick with emotion. “You said you wanted to make it up to me. This isn’t how you do it!”

Her words hung between them, raw and trembling, leaving Myung-gi frozen. His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he let out a slow breath, his expression softening. Then, after a beat, he smiled – not out of amusement, not out of defiance, but with a quiet sadness, a smile that held both regret and acceptance, as if he had already come to terms with this.

“Jun-hee,” Myung-gi began softly, his voice steady but filled with a quiet sorrow. “Once you pass this game, you finally get to leave. There are no more O players left, so you’ll have the majority vote. You can end this. Take our daughter and the money, and start over. Give her the life we always dreamed of.”

Jun-hee’s glare faltered. She recognized that look on his face – calm, responsible, determined. It was everything she had once wanted from him, the very thing she had begged to see in him. And now, when she finally did, it was for something she never wanted. Her breath hitched as her vision blurred, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“I really want to be there for you and our daughter,” Myung-gi continued, his lips pulling into a resigned smile. “But what matters most is you two surviving. You need to live, Jun-hee. You need to take care of her. If I know you two are safe, I can leave this world without regret.”

A tear slipped down Jun-hee’s cheek, then another, until they came freely, streaming silently as she stared at him, disbelief and heartbreak written all over her face. Her hands trembled at her sides.

Myung-gi stepped forward. He reached up and gently brushed her tears away with his thumb, his touch warm despite the cold finality in his words. “Tell my daughter I love her. Tell her that I love her mother.”

A sob finally broke past Jun-hee’s lips, her body shaking as she let the tears fall. Myung-gi didn’t move away. He stayed, brushing away every tear as they came, holding onto this fleeting moment with her for as long as he could.

You watched from the Front Man’s quarters, your grip tightening on the sleeping baby in your arms. The rawness of their exchange cut through you like a blade. You glanced down at the baby, a deep ache settling in your chest. She had no idea what was happening, oblivious to the sacrifice unfolding for her. Her tiny fingers twitched in her sleep, curled against your chest, as if searching for something she would never get to hold. Her father was about to leave this world, choosing to give her a future he would never be a part of.

Then, as you brought your gaze back to the live feed, you noticed something else.

Beside them, Dae-ho, who had been trembling moments ago, now stood still. The violent shaking of his limbs had quieted. He had been terrified – of death, of the unknown – but now, something in Myung-gi’s words seemed to settle the war inside him. His eyes no longer darted around in panic. Instead, they were calm and downcast, almost at peace.

Yong-sik took a shaky breath before finally speaking, his voice quiet but filled with emotion. “I’m sorry, Mom... for everything I did. I have always inconvenienced you. But you never gave up on me, even when I made things hard.”

His mother’s eyes widened, her lips parting as if to say something, but instead, she shook her head, tears already welling in her eyes. Without hesitation, she rushed toward him, her trembling hands reaching for him as though afraid he would disappear the moment she let go.

“No, my sweet boy, no,” she whispered desperately, her voice cracking as she grasped his arms tightly. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way. Please, my son, I can’t—”

Her breath hitched, and she cupped his face between her hands. “Let’s go home. Let’s get out of this together.”

Yong-sik’s body tensed as he fought to hold back his tears, but as his mother pulled him into a tight embrace, he finally let go. His arms wrapped around her, clinging to her like he had when he was a child. His chin rested over her shoulder, and his voice broke as he said, “It’s my fault you almost died in the third game, mom. I always put you in a tough spot. Now it’s my turn to repay you.”

His mother let out a soft sob, shaking her head fiercely. “No, you don’t owe me anything, Yong-sik! You’re my son. I would do anything for you!”

She gripped him tighter, her fingers clutching his back as if refusing to let him go. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

But Yong-sik didn’t respond. He just held her, his own tears finally slipping free, soaking into the fabric of her clothes. The two of them stood there, locked in their grief, their cries blending into the suffocating silence of the room. Nothing else existed in that moment. There was only a mother and her son, clinging to each other as their world fell apart.

Dae-ho shifted his gaze toward Jung-bae and Gi-hun, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something. But hesitation flickered in his eyes. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words.

Before he could speak, Jung-bae cut in, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Hey! Don’t you dare say anything sentimental!” he barked, his tone attempting to mask the thick emotion wavering beneath.

For a moment, Dae-ho just stared at him. Then, an amused chuckle escaped his lips, shaking his shoulders. He sniffed, wiping at his nose before suddenly straightening his form.

With a snap, he raised his hand in a crisp salute. His posture stiffened, mimicking a soldier standing before his commander. And then, in a loud voice – though cracking mid-sentence – he yelled, “Victory at all cost! Thank you for everything!”

He paused as a wave of emotions surged through him, his salute hand trembling ever so slightly. With a sharp inhale, he clenched his jaw and forced himself to stay composed. Then, with a deep breath, he yelled, “I apologize for every mistake I made!”

Jung-bae’s expression twisted, his brows furrowing as if deeply offended. He scoffed loudly, shaking his head. He muttered something under his breath, low and unintelligible, before striding toward Dae-ho with sharp and wide steps.

For a tense moment, it seemed like he might hit him. But instead, once he reached him, he placed both hands firmly on Dae-ho's shoulders. His brows furrowed as he searched Dae-ho’s face.

“Are you sure about this?” Jung-bae asked, his voice lower now.

Dae-ho held his gaze for a moment before giving a few rapid and repeated nods. “I'm sure. I get to die like a man, and my father will be proud of me.”

Jung-bae exhaled sharply, blinking rapidly as his eyes glistened, but he held it in.

Gi-hun came to stand with them, his expression now clouded with frustration and concern. He exhaled sharply, his gaze locking onto Dae-ho. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

Dae-ho held his stare for a long moment before shaking his head with a faint, sorrowful smile. “Not this time. But I'm sorry. At least I can make up for my mistakes this way.”

“Don't be an idiot,” Gi-hun snapped, his voice laced with agitation and concern. “I understand why you left us in the revolt, so stop sulking and rethink this!”

Dae-ho forced a chuckle, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “Eh, Gi-hun, let me go with some dignity! I was starting to look all cool there for a second!”

Jung-bae scoffed, shaking his head in frustration. “Dae-ho, you should at least try to fight back. Maybe there’s another way.”

Dae-ho turned toward him, his smile tinged with sadness. “Nah, it’s fine. At least this way, I get to decide my own elimination, not through losing a game.”

A tense silence settled between them. Gi-hun glanced down as if searching for the right words.

Suddenly, he let out a slow breath, lifting his gaze once more. “I’m sorry… for getting mad at you. About that time. I should've understood what you were going through.”

You perked up at this, your curiosity piqued. What happened to Dae-ho? Did he tell them what caused his PTSD-like reaction?

Dae-ho’s eyes widened, as if caught off guard by the apology. He hesitated before forcing a grin, reaching out to pat Gi-hun’s shoulder playfully. “Eh, it’s alright. No hard feelings.”

But as his hand lingered for just a second, his smile wavered. A shadow passed over his face, as if a memory was pressing too heavily on his mind. “I… sometimes wonder why I was the one left standing when they weren’t. When I hear a gunshot, it all comes back. Every moment on that island. I should’ve done more. Or maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have made it out at all.”

His voice barely rose above a whisper, but the weight of his words settled heavily in the air.

Dae-ho finally looked back up at Gi-hun and Jung-bae, his expression shifting. It was no longer sorrowful, but determined yet nervous. “That’s why I don’t want to go out feeling sorry for myself. If this is how it ends, then I want to face it on my own terms. So let’s not turn this into some depressing farewell, alright? Just promise me one thing. You two better make it to the end.”

Gi-hun and Jung-bae stared at Dae-ho for a long while, their expressions unreadable at first, but the weight of his words settled between them like an immovable wall.

Jung-bae's face twitched, his eyes glistening as he struggled to hold himself together. With a sharp sniff, he quickly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, muttering under his breath, “Damn dust...” as if trying to convince himself he wasn’t about to break.

Dae-ho noticed immediately. A small, sad chuckle left his lips, though his voice cracked as he spoke, “You’re such a lousy liar, Jung-bae.”

Jung-bae scoffed, still refusing to meet Dae-ho’s gaze. “And you’re crazy for doing this.”

Dae-ho’s smile wavered. His throat tightened, and before he knew it, his own vision blurred. He sniffed and blinked rapidly, trying to fight the wave of emotions washing over him. But there was no use. He could feel the tears threatening to spill.

Gi-hun watched Jung-bae and Dae-ho tear up. And before he could stop it, he felt it too – his own vision blurring as his throat tightened. He blinked rapidly, tilting his head up slightly, willing the tears away. Taking in a sharp breath, he exhaled in frustration.

Then, as if gathering every ounce of strength he had left, he turned to Dae-ho and glanced at everyone else. His voice, though steady, carried an unmistakable plea. “At least wait, everyone. Play a little longer. Give it more time. Just... don’t be so quick to throw everything away.”

Hyun-ju challenged his gaze as she responded calmly, “It’s pointless. You know it as well as we do. Instead of fighting something we can’t change, we’re choosing to go on our own terms.”

Gi-hun clenched his fists. “That’s not true. We’ve found ways before, we’ve made it through when it seemed impossible. Why are you giving up now?”

“Because this game isn’t made for us to win,” Myung-gi cut in, shaking his head. “The only way to win this is to have the other team lose all its players. It cannot be you guys.”

“That’s not a reason to just accept it!” Gi-hun shot back. “If we keep playing, we might find another way!”

“But I don't want to play anymore,” Yong-sik countered, his voice quieter but no less firm. He had pulled away from his mother's embrace but they still side-hugged one another. “I don't want to experience losing in this game. I want to die voluntarily.”

Gi-hun’s eyes darted between them, searching for something that would change their minds. But there was no hesitation in their faces, no flicker of doubt. It was a decision they had already made.

Nearby, Min-su hesitantly stepped toward Se-mi, his expression unsure.

“Se-mi...” he called with her ‘noona’ title. His voice was quiet, almost pleading. “Are you really going to do this?”

Se-mi, standing with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, glanced at him before flashing a small, laidback smile.

“Yeah,” she said simply, nodding. “At least this way, I feel like I win. Not on this game’s terms, but mine.”

Min-su stared at her, his eyes wide, his frown deepening with sadness. “But...”

He trailed off, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of her choice had just hit him.

Se-mi let out a small chuckle, shaking her head. “Don’t look at me like that. I made up my mind a long time ago.”

Min-su swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He looked down, struggling to find the words, but Se-mi simply patted him on the shoulder. She then told him, “After this, leave. Now you don't have Nam-gyu bullying you.”

Min-su's lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. His wide eyes shimmered with something unreadable – frustration, sadness, maybe even guilt. He blinked rapidly, looking anywhere but at Se-mi, as though forcing himself not to break.

Yong-sik’s mother desperately tried to reason with them, her voice cracking as she pleaded, “Please, all of you, think this through! You don’t have to do this! There has to be another way!”

But Hyun-ju turned to her with a gentle smile. “There’s no need. This is what we want. And more than that…”

She hesitated for a moment, then continued, her voice softer now, “I’m grateful. Truly. For everything. Even if it ends here, I got to experience what it’s like to have a mother who loves unconditionally, without judgment. That was more than enough for me.”

Yong-sik’s mother’s breath hitched, her hands trembling as she gawked at her, overwhelmed by the words. She shook her head slowly, grief-stricken, but Hyun-ju simply gave her a final, reassuring nod. The mother immediately rushed over, embracing her tightly.

The hot pink-clad supervising manager stepped forward, his voice booming through the room in a deep, distorted tone. “All players, return to your team's line.”

Jun-hee visibly flinched before she turned toward Myung-gi, her lips parting as if to speak but unable to find the words. Myung-gi closed his eyes briefly, as if steeling himself, before exhaling and offering Jun-hee a small, sad smile.

Yong-sik’s mother’s grip on Hyun-ju tightened, her head shaking in silent denial, even as she knew there was nothing left to be said. Yong-sik, standing beside her and Hyun-ju, swallowed hard. His eyes were red-rimmed.

Min-su turned away from Se-mi. He took a hesitant step back toward the red team’s line but his movements were reluctant. Se-mi, however, remained as she was, hands in her pockets, her gaze steady, unflinching, as if she had already accepted this moment long before it arrived.

Dae-ho swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he turned to Jung-bae and Gi-hun one last time. No words were spoken, but the message was clear. Jung-bae blinked rapidly before he let out a slow, shaky breath.

Gi-hun froze in place, his breath hitching as the reality of the moment sank in. His mind screamed for a solution, something that could stop this, but deep down, he knew nothing could save them. His friends, the people he had fought alongside, were about to be taken away, and once again, he was powerless to stop it. A deep ache settled in his chest. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let this happen again, yet here he was – watching, helpless, as the game prepared to take them away.

The triangle guards positioned themselves directly behind the blue team. They did not wait for the red team members to walk back to their team's line. Instead, they raised their MP5s without hesitation, aiming them at the red team members' back.

The supervising manager stepped forward and announced, “The blue team has been eliminated. The red team wins. All surviving players, return to the dormitory.”

The blue team did not flinch. They remained still, standing tall despite the doom that hovered just inches behind them. The red team, on the other hand, froze.

Yong-sik was the first to break the silence, his voice shaking but he knew what must be done. He turned to his mother, gently gripping her arms. “Mom, please… you need to go. You don’t have to see this.”

His mother shook her head fiercely, tears streaming down her face. “No! I won’t leave you! I can’t!”

His jaw tightened, and his hands trembled as he gave her a pleading look. “If you stay… then what’s the point of me doing this? If you die too, then my choice means nothing!”

His voice cracked toward the end, a mix of desperation and frustration seeping through. His mother opened her mouth to argue but found herself unable to speak. Her whole body trembled, her heart shattering.

"Please, mom," he whispered, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Go. Just go.”

Yong-sik took a shaky breath and gently pried his mother’s hands off of him. She resisted at first, her grip tightening in desperation, but he held firm, his fingers pressing gently over hers until she finally let go. Once her hands slipped away, she stood there, her arms limp at her sides, her hollow eyes filled with unspeakable sorrow as she looked at him.

Myung-gi turned to Jun-hee next, his voice quieter but just as firm. “Jun-hee, you have to go.”

Jun-hee shook her head slowly, her tears falling freely. “But...”

Myung-gi smiled sadly. “Come on. This is for her, for us. If you stay, all of this will be for nothing.”

Jun-hee’s breath hitched. But as she stared into his steady eyes, her resistance wavered. With a choked sob, she took a step back.

Dae-ho, standing beside them, turned to Gi-hun and Jung-bae, his expression lighter than the situation deserved. “Alright, you two need to get out of here. No second chances.”

Gi-hun clenched his jaw, glaring at the guards. Jung-bae only stared at him in despair with a pair of glassy eyes. He then spoke up, “Dae-ho...”

Dae-ho placed his hands firmly on Gi-hun and Jung-bae’s backs. Without a word, he pushed them back, forcing them to walk away. His expression, though calm, carried a quiet finality.

“Enough of that,” he said, his voice lighter than the moment deserved. “Ex-marines like us shouldn’t cry anyway.”

Gi-hun inhaled sharply, his vision blurring for a moment, but he didn’t resist. Jung-bae, on the other hand, exhaled harshly, rubbing his face as if trying to erase the emotions threatening to surface.

Dae-ho offered them one last big grin that revealed all teeth, eyes teary and shining with something between acceptance and defiance. “Go on. Get out of here already.”

The red team members hesitated, their feet unwilling to move, but the inevitability of the moment forced them into action. Slowly, begrudgingly, they took a step back. Then another. Their eyes never left the blue team, their expressions a mix of heartbreak, frustration, and helplessness.

A sharp metallic click shattered the heavy silence. Then another. The sound of the triangle soldiers unlocking the safety of their MP5s sent a ripple of dread through the red team. Their breath hitched collectively, their bodies stiffening in response.

Yet, the blue team did not waver.

Despite the tension pressing down on them, they smiled. Some were grinning widely, while others were barely-there curves of their lips. Though they smiled, each one carried a tinge of anxiety, their resolve fighting against instinct. But the message in their eyes was clear. This is our choice.

Jun-hee bit down on her lip, her hands trembling as she forced herself to step back. Gi-hun’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Jung-bae frowned forlornly. Yong-sik’s mother covered her mouth, muffling a sob as her tears spilled freely. Min-su’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his gaze darting between the soldiers and Se-mi.

But the blue team remained steady.

From the Front Man’s quarters, you sat frozen, gently holding the sleeping baby. You wanted to look away, to shut your eyes and block out what was about to happen but you couldn’t. Your friends, the ones you had laughed with, fought with, survived with, were standing on the precipice of death, and all you could do was watch.

You felt tears roll down your cheeks, silent and unchecked, as you watched helplessly. The weight of the moment crushed down on you, suffocating, unbearable. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to look away, to spare yourself from what was about to happen but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The triangle soldiers adjusted their grips on their weapons, fingers hovering over the triggers. The sound of your own heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else.

From the live feed, you noticed the red team members were still walking backward, their movements heavy with reluctance. The first to turn away was Yong-sik’s mother. She forced herself to turn, her back now facing her son. You knew why. She couldn't bear to watch. A strangled sob escaped her lips as tears streamed down her face, her shoulders trembling as she walked away, each step dragging.

Min-su was the next to turn away, his shoulders hunched with guilt. Jun-hee followed, her silent tears streaking down her face. Jung-bae was next as he furiously wiped at his eyes, unwilling to let the emotions show. Gi-hun, however, couldn’t bring himself to look away.

The triangle guards braced themselves, their fingers tightening around the triggers. The blue team stood still, their backs facing the soldiers.

Then—

Gunshots.

You, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, Yong-sik's mother, and Min-su jolted in surprise and frightening anticipation. The deafening sound tore through the tension, cutting through the air like a knife.

Your eyes widened.

The shots didn’t come from the massive room where the fifth game was playing out.

They came from below.

For a brief second, confusion flickered across the red team’s faces. The blue team, who had braced themselves for their fate, also hesitated, their gazes shifting ever so slightly. And then, just as quickly, they snapped their attention back to the triangle guards.

But none of them had fired.

Instead, the guards themselves stiffened, their heads snapping toward the source of the sound. A moment of eerie silence followed, save for the distant echoes of more gunfire reverberating from beneath them.

A blaring alarm resounded through the facility, its sharp wails bouncing off the walls and shaking the already tense atmosphere. The sudden noise startled the baby in your arms, causing her to stir before breaking into distressed cries. Your breath hitched as you looked around, uncertainty crawling up your spine. Something else is happening.

Then, the female announcer's robotic voice cut through the alarm, steady and void of emotion. “Attention, all guards. Maintain position and prepare for immediate engagement. Execute defensive measures as required. Repeat: Maintain position and prepare for immediate engagement.”

It was that moment you remembered about the kind 011 guard and Gyeong-seok.

NEXT : Chapter 22

PREV : Chapter 20.1

Story Masterlist

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! In-ho's Flashback P.O.V. is here again. What do you think about his P.O.V? Then, what about the fifth game? What do you think about Nam-gyu and player 100, and Min-su being put in the same time as Gi-hun? What do you think about player 100, 226 and Nam-gyu's death? How about the fact that Myung-gi and Dae-ho were at risk of getting eliminated? Then, about the blue team volunteering to surrender, what do you think about them all? And about the emotional aspects? And theeen, what about the gunshots that came from below? What do you think that was? 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!

Anyway, plagiarism is incredibly frustrating, especially after I had countless all-nighters spent writing and refining ideas. So it’s disheartening when readers told me that they see someone lift entire scripts/dialogues that I wrote (and not even in the Squid Game series) and romantic concepts from my story into theirs. If my work inspires you, the least you can do is give proper credit. That’s all it takes to keep things fair. Respect me as a writer, and respect the readers who deserve diverse styles and fresh perspectives, especially in Hwang In-ho fanfics. Readers, if you see any stories that do this, please alert me and leave a comment for them.

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

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you think that we are getting book 8 that will focus on Grim since we almost are on the end of book 7? And how do you feel if that what happened and we get book 8 that focus on Grim and Yuu like why are they here all of that? Do you want to see a specific thing that wasn't mentioned in the main story?

Last question how do you feel about twst ending? Would you stay in the fandom or find another interest? I'm not ready for that like if twst ended I will move to twst fanfics 🥲

But to be honest with how they are using the 3D animation as inspiration too now for the new events I have hope that even if the main story ended we will still have plenty of new events coming plus we have the anime coming too and manga chapters still going. I don't want this fandom to die as soon as main story end.

Honestly I don't mind if the game kept going forever 😂 not necessarily the main story but with events and talk about the world.

Imagine something like twst: The New NRC Generation like they did with many animes XD

Okay I talked so much sorry for the rambling.

As I have stated in the FAQ section of my pinned post (I kindly ask that people check that first before sending asks because I have been asked some variant of “what do you think about a potential book 8”/“how do you want book 7 to end” dozens of times; I don’t answer them because the answer is already out there but overlooked, but I feel bad for ignoring so many people 😅):

"I want to actually see Yuu going home and the current students moving on to the next year of schooling. We could focus on how the guys have grown and are growing, how these more mature versions of the characters interact with the incoming freshmen/first years, or the long-term consequences of their OBs (particularly Malleus's, which probably caused an international crisis). It would also be cool to learn more about RSA students after book 7, but I don’t want them to rehash the OB formula."

"As for a potential book 8, I don’t know if there’s enough evidence for it? Book 7 is cramming a lot in right now so it’s possible that all the loose ends will be tied up there. Book 8 also implies a strong focus on Ramhackle, which… I know we love Yuusonas and all, but the game cannot canonically fill in their backstory a ton or it will ruin player self-inserting/projection. That means we’d have to rely on Grim and Grim alone to be the emotional crux that somehow transcends even Malleus’s chapter. I think that’d be hard to pull off, especially since we'd be expecting book 8 to be even LONGER than the 290+ book 7 is. If there's a book 8 at all, it might have to be closer to prologue length...? Because even if they push the Mickey stuff and revealing Crowley's motives to a theoretical book 8, I can't imagine this would take up more parts than book 7 already has 💦"

Secondly, I don’t think “Twst ending” is… the best phrasing? It’s not like the game is going to shut down as soon as book 7 finishes. Live service games close when they’re no longer financially viable, not because they finished a main story arc. Several of these kinds of games continue the main story into a new arc—and while we don’t have any official confirmation of this for Twst, it would be just silly for a money and merch machine to be shut down for an arbitrary reason. If it's not broken, then don't axe it. I would be genuinely shocked if Twst just left the main story untouched after book 7, though it may take some time before new main story stuff comes out, as the writers would have to... you know, write. Running the servers based on events alone, especially when we are not guaranteed new story events every month, doesn't sound sustainable in the long term. There's still going to be new Twst stuff coming out for a long time between the manga, anime, and light novels too. That's at least a good couple of years.

dyugaoydaswqyb Anyway, I'll be staying in the fandom even once book 7 finished; it's very near and dear to my heart ^^ Like I said, I think Twst will probably continue its service for a while. And it's not like you can only have one interest at a time, right??

[matcha-milkies]

How are things going with fanfiction, I hope it will be released soon:3

Considering I just blitzed through almost 3k words in the span of a few hours, I’d say it’s PRETTY safe to expect it within the next few days. I’m going to sit on it and then proofread it and if I still like it tomorrow I’ll probably post

[ywpd-translations]

Ride 758: The senpai's few words

Pag 2

1: Aoyagi-san!!

Pag 3

1: Wha- what happened, Danchiku, you stopped so suddenly

2: Why is he here, in Kyushu!?

What is it, what is it

4: He's probably the person I'd want to see the most right now!!

5: What is it, is there someone in the audience area?

Someone you know? You look so surprised

I wouldn't be so surprised even if someone was there

Pag 4

2: He-hello!! You... you came to... cheer us on!?

3: It's been a while, Danchiku

4: Yes.... yes!!

Thank you so much for coming so far to see us!!

5: You got bigger

Pag 5

2: Thank you so much

3: Uhm, actually

There's something I'd like to talk to you about, is that....

4: Aoyagi-saaaan!!

-okay!?

Pag 6

1: What, for real!?

What, are you really here- amaaazing!!

Oi, Issa, I was....

2: Wait... did you just made Aoyagi-san lose consciousness with your tackle!?

3: Aoyagi-saaan!! Hahahaha!!

You're attacking him when he's already down...!!

4: I'm... o... okay...

No, he keeps pausing while talking!!

Hahaha

5: I'll lead you to our tent!! Carry him, Danchiku!!

'Carry him'....

Pag 7

2: Thank you

2: I wished you had told me you'd come though, Aoyagi!!

You forgot to add “san”, Kabuagi

3: There was something... I wanted to talk to you about but

4: I guess it can't be helped....

(You're ending up yielding again, Danchiku)

5: Ah right

6: Aoyagi-san is

Pag 8

1: A member of last year's team!!

He's the column who supported Sohoku from below last year!!

2: Someone who gained experience through hard work and difficulties and debuted in his third year, ran as a sprinter, pulled the team, and brought back the members so many times

3: Without talking, without refusing, he just did it silently!!

5: Even when he was in a pinch, when he was injured, he moved forward with all his might without ever standing out!!

If he hadn't been there, there's no way Sohoku could have won!!

Pag 9

1: He-he sounds amazing, teh

Right!! I'm really flashy, so his way of running is probably the exact opposite of mine

2: Hearing it again, he really is an amazing person.....

and I also know well what happened with his leg on the third day

4: If I was in the same position and got injured.... would I be able to run the same way?

5: “He'll run away right away”

“He's a chicken”

Pag 10

1: In this Inter High that is about to start

Pag 11

1: Since Aoyagi-san came to see us, I'll smash the starting dash!

There's no need to smash, run calmly

2: Should I get subbed out?

I'm still in time

4: “No one will blame you”

“I can be done in fifteen minutes”

5: I'm at my peak now!!

Save it for the race

6: You're an idiot as usual

I'll forgive everything you say, Aoyagi-san!!

7: What can I do, what......

Nothing....!!

Pag 12

1: The stage event is starting soon

Last year's champions, Sohoku High School, representative of Chiba, please come to the stage

Kakaka, it's our turn!!

2: Teh.... I'm nervous, the

There's gonna be tons of spectators!!

3: Do-do we take a video? I'll do it, Sugimoto-san

I'll leave it to you then. I'll finish up here

4: Su-

Sugimoto-san!!

6: Ao.... yagi-san.....

Pag 13

1: Could you do me one favor?

2: Ah- yes!

Do you want something to eat!! Right away!!

3: The food truck is there... is curry alright?

4: …. no

5: A band-aid!? A nail-clipper!?

Leave it to me, after all I worked a lot behind-the-scene last year

6: Oi, Danchiku, what are you doing. Let's go

8: Ye.... yes

Pag 14

1: Take care of that idiot

Pag 15

3: The Inter High is harsh and long

But he's reckless and can't read the air

5: You, on the other hand

6: You always keep an eye on your surroundings and pay attention to what people say and do

And that means

Pag 16

1: That you can make an accurate judgment of risk in any situation

3: The ability to read small details when you're in a pinch is essential in road racing

4: Earlier in the midst of more than a hundred people in the audience area, you

Pag 17

1: found me at one glance

4: I think you know this too, but he can only look ahead

Please support him, take a step back and, as always

5: be watchful

Pag 18

2: Yessir!! Thank you so much!!

4: “Take a step back”.....!! Taking a step back.... yielding, are my...

5: If this small heart is my ability

Pag 19

2: then I'll be the one running, Issa!!

Together with you!!

At full throttle!!

Pag 20

1: Run, Danchiku

Just like I did last year

2: with Junta

3: I'm sure your feelings will give you strength

These are the members of Sohoku, the Chiba prefecture representative who won the championship last year

Pag 21

1: So far they have won two times in a row

3: What's wrong.... your balloon... shall I get it for you?

Pag 22

2: Thank you, Onii-chan

3: That's surprising, Midosuji-san

You're so kind

4: Puku.... I am kind, though?

To

5: anyone who doesn't wear a number bib, that is!!

[keferon]

My hands are shaky and my head is refusing to work properly! But! I made it!

The Blurr chapter for Mecha au >:D

Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.

Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.

He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.

And people believe him.

And they love him.

Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.

Under the cut

————————————

Nobody likes Blurr.

Okay, if you think on a large scale, everyone loooves Blurr. His face is on every poster, his brand is in every possible store, his voice and is in every cool commercial. You literally can't exist without knowing who Blurr is, or at least seeing his face once. It's a “Luke I'm your father” level phenomenon. How massive a rock do you have to live under to miss something like that?

Everybody loves Blurr. You can go buy a t-shirt with his face on it. You can go listen to his interviews or purchase a tiny replica of his action figure. There are incredibly many ways a Blurr fan can blow a hole in their budget.

Swerve knows, because he's done it many times. And recently, it's stopped being something he's proud of. To be precise, it was exactly four days ago when Blurr first stepped into his office. Swerve had just finished his shift and was finishing his tea when his boss suddenly appeared in the doorway, with the best racer in the world right behind him.

The tea was instantly dropped, adrenaline was released, and the brain was turned off.

In that moment, Swerve thought that this is what it must look like. The moment when all your good karma comes together in one pile to reward you for all the times you dropped a sandwich butter side down or missed a deadline.

Both of which happened with annoying regularity. Swerve is unlucky. Sometimes things seem to fall through his hands.

It started out great.

Swindle, their boss, showed up in the office space one day looking simultaneously jubilant, nervous, and very inspired. Usually on such occasions, Swerve could almost see the dollar signs reflected in his boss's glasses.

“Attention everyone. We have an important guest arriving in an hour.”

Swindle expressively pushed his glasses down on his nose and looked around the room

“I promised him a tour and I expect you all to behave yourselves.”

He meticulously looks around the floor beneath his feet

“Send someone to clean up all the trash. This place is unbelievably filthy. The floors should be sparkling in twenty minutes! And, oh! Hey you, go buy some good drinks.”

Having finished inspecting the floor Swindle hurriedly runs off, probably to say the same thing to the neighboring department.

Swerve stretches his neck out curiously, listening in

“Is the president coming to see us?”

Walking by, Jazz shrugs

“When the president was coming Swindle said the floor was dirty and made him wear boot covers.”

It's not the president

Swindle gestures generously to the entire office at once and looks overall like a bird trying his best to primp up

“And here we have the engineering department offices. In the next building is the assembly plant, that's where the mechs are put on their feet so to speak. And this is where all the computing, design, and planning happens.”

Just over his shoulder stands and looks around at none other than

Oh, dear God.

Swerve's tea flies to the floor next to his thought processes.

He's seen Blurr countless times, but never in person. How can this guy look as good in person as he does in expensive retouched-until-squeaky-clean photos? Mystery.

Blurr's gaze slides lazily over the simple office setting and for those two seconds when it's directed at Swerve it feels like sheer madness. He tries to look normal. He's not sure he's succeeding, but he's making an effort.

Swindle waltzes through the office, heading for the next door

“Come on I'll show you the mech hangar.”

Blurr grins.

“A highlight of the show I suppose~”

His voice is like a needle bursting a ball of stunned silence. People begin to rise from their seats and scramble to say hello. Someone asks for an autograph, others ask for a bunch of selfies, a couple people in the corner hastily fix their hair, one of the employees just pulls out his phone and shamelessly starts filming.

Swindle looks at the this with an unchanging commercial smile, but his gaze promises all kinds of punishment.

Perhaps if it had been the president, the buffoonery would have been smaller.

______________

For the next few days, Blurr is the big news and the center of all discussion.

Officially? He's becoming one of the pilots in the Mecha program.

In fact? Swindle's greedy soul couldn't get enough of the idea that the Mech concept could be monetized.

The dust is blown off Blurr and his boots are licked. He doesn't go to general training, he doesn't participate in ordinary or overly dangerous missions. He's allowed everything and a little more. His job is to look pretty on camera, speak his lines, smile and wink. He's a walking advertisement and Swindle's incredibly powerful tool in negotiating with investors.

Swerve once saw him called to a negotiation in the middle of the night, and even sleep-deprived and exhausted after a full day of filming, Blurr had the strength to pull that charming expression on his face and flawlessly play along with Swindle wherever he needed to.

His mech was a work of art. And that's not even an exaggeration. Usually the main purpose of mechs is to be efficient and practical. Blurr's Mech was made separately and so many people worked on its design that it could have its own end credits. It's beautiful, sleek, shiny and show-offy. It's designed to be awe-inspiring, but not so decorated that it's ridiculous.

When Swerve looks at its specs, he almost feels sick. Maneuverability, mobility, everything is absolutely top-notch. But most importantly, speed.

The technology to accelerate Mechs to incredible speeds has been around for some time, but the average robot doesn't reach even half of the technically possible maximum. Because even the fastest machine can't outrun the human brain.

After a certain threshold, pilots are no longer capable of controlling their own Mech. Human reaction speed is simply not enough to maneuver without crashing into anything or losing their orientation in space. And. Well. Without losing consciousness.

This has led to Mech manufacturers sort of tacitly agreeing on a rough speed limit and tending to stick to it. Just to make the technology safer and more suitable for everyone.

Regardless. Everyone except Blurr apparently.

Because the numbers across from his Mech's speed specs are horrifying. Swerve looks at the blueprints and thinks it's either freaking awesome or absolute suicide. Maybe something in between. Can a human being have reflexes like that? What about this turning mechanism? The numbers tell him that these levels of g-force make a large percentage of pilots just pass out.

Is Blurr really going to pilot this death wagon??

To achieve that kind of speed and mobility, they'd have to cut off half the armor or make it very light. Which would almost be like inviting a dangerous injury.

But if the Mech is made primarily to flaunt rather than fight...well... it probably makes sense.

Swerve's inner fan is sliding down the wall.

Blurr is incredible. And what's even more incredible is that he's kind of sort of almost Swerve's coworker now.

It only takes him a couple days to realize.

Everyone loves Blurr.

But the one who loves Blurr the most is Blurr himself.

The rose-tinted glasses are breaking slowly but surely. On the first day, Sverve walks up on shaky legs to get introduced. He tells himself that this is definitely not an attempt to get an autograph. They're coworkers. He's just...uh...greeting a new employee.

Blurr looks slightly bored.

“You're from this department....uh.. What's its name, whatever.”

Swerve clutches his hands in front of him so he doesn't accidentally drop anything

“OH.Uh yeah. Swerve! Engineering Department. You were there on a tour the other day. I usually work in the assembly plant, making armor for Mechs, developing new alloys. But I design too! I, uh.

(Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. Don't talk about Blurr. He'll think you're a crazy fan. Don't talk about Blurr.)

Blurr starts to get sidetracked by his phone.

Swerve swallows awkwardly.

“I'm uh. I'm a big fan of yours. Sir.”

(Good job...)

Blurr chuckles softly and offers out his hand

“Well, nice to meet you.”

Sverve's hand is shaking like crazy, he hopes he isn't squeezing too hard. Working in the assembly has made his hands rough. Blurr's narrow, soft palm is almost sinking in his grip.

“ 'Nice to meet you, yes. Nice to meet you sir! If you, ah, if you have any problems or questions or uh, well. You know, if you need help with your Mech or upgrades or or.”

Blurr chuckles.

“I'll be counting on you~”

Swerve feels like his soul is about to break away from his body.

The next, day when they cross paths in the hallway Blurr waves to him.

“Hey you. Whatever your name is. Can you tell me how to get to Block D?

Swerve stops awkwardly.

“Ah. Of course! I'm Swerve sir. Come, I'll show you.”

Blurr smiles a beautiful, ad-libbed smile and follows him in

“Thank you darling.”

From this point on, the entire program gradually learns a simple but unpleasant truth.

Blurr is an asshole.

And nobody likes him.

He always has everyone at his beck and call. You rarely get to see him on his own. There's always someone swirling around him with a guilty or annoyed face. A sort of serve-get-show-explain designated poor guy.

Swindle treats Blurr like a precious antique vase.

Blurr treats people like his servants.

The whole world is in love with the glittering cover, the image polished to a squeak. Until recently, Swerve was doing the same thing. Now it feels more like an embarrassing crush.

Blurr still doesn't remember his name. He actually remembers at most three to four people by name, and calls everyone else “hey you” or “ darling”. After Swerve reintroduced himself to him for the fourth time he just sort of...stopped trying.

On the field, Blurr is incredible. No one can deny that. The tremendous speed of his Mech leaves all the other pilots in the dust. Whoever said human reflexes weren't fast enough? HA. When Swerve sees his reports and results, he gets dizzy.

The combination of such incredible speeds and light armor means Blurr simply can't miss. If he hesitates, if he falters. If he gets confused. The whole metal thing will smash him to smithereens.

And yet Blurr comes back untouched time after time.

Swerve's no longer inclined to think it's just because of his mad skills. He knows that Swindle is paying Blurr a lot of money for his cooperation. No one would let Blurr fight on the front lines, no. It would be too dangerous. He has to do just enough so that Swindle can record a commercial and in it call Blurr a badass pilot without adding small print to that statement.

Blurr's job is not to fight for humanity.

Blurr's job is to smile for the camera and take the applause of people who praise him for his bravery and sacrifice. Blurr's job is to sell his face, his voice and his skills to millions of viewers. He must impress investors, show off advanced technology and make a determined face saying that to save mankind he is ready for anything. And then get in a luxury car and drive off to some expensive place to burn a whole bunch of zeros out of his paycheck.

He's not someone who stays after work to help his coworkers. And he's not the one who spends his nights trying to save as many people as possible. But he is the first person every citizen would name if asked to say something about the Mech program. He signs autographs, makes big statements, and promises people he'll protect them.

And people believe him.

And they love him.

A month later, he still can't remember anyone's names and sometimes calls people by the colors of their clothes, laughing as if they should take it as a cute joke.

Swerve is sick of this spectacle. Swerve is sick of this man.

That's okay.

It's not like fanboying over Blurr is Swerve's only passion.

He gets upset.

Then he gets mad and rips down all the posters.

Then he has no time to be angry because Swindle wants to launch Mechs into outer space and damn it, Jazz flies off the planet and doesn't fucking come back. The engineering department stays up nights trying to figure out where he's gone, but they can't.

Unlike Blurr, everybody loved Jazz.

Unlike Blurr, Jazz deserved every ounce of that love.

The ground beneath his feet is starting to shake.

At first, all that happens is panic. Everyone starts making a confused noise, someone assumes an earthquake.

A voice on the speakers says that everyone needs to evacuate immediately, but no one hears it because huge mechanical tentacles start coming through the windows and the whole building starts shaking, creaking and crumbling.

Sverve has seen the monsters humanity has to fight many times. But never this close. And their size leaves him absolutely terrified. These things are huge, they take up all visible space. And what's most damning is that they can break down the walls around Swerve like a fucking cookie.

He's gonna die. Oh god he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die, he's going to die here under this stupid rubble or get eaten or turned into one of the ugly bloody stains on the wall. His heart is doing a million beats a minute and his eyes are starting to sting. He tries to get to the emergency exit, but the door is blocked by one of the huge toothy creatures that is actively trying to get in.

Next to him, Swindle is shouting to someone on his comm, trying to sound louder than the rumble of the collapsing building and the hungry aliens.

The floor tilts at a very disturbing angle and Swerve grabs one of the interior doorways to stay in place. A second later, he reaches out and pulls Swindle, who has already slowly begun to slip toward the monster's huge hungry maw, to the same doorway.

Swindle grabs onto the frame of the door and Swerve at the same time. His glasses are cracked and his usually neat expensive coat is all dust and debris.

“It was a trap.”

Swerve can't hear a word over the grinding of breaking structures.

“What?”

Swindle almost slips and falls, but Swerve grabs him by the scruff of his coat and puts him back on his feet. Working in an assembly shop gives a man strong arms and right now he's very grateful for it.

Swindle makes a second, louder attempt

“It was a trap!!! All available pilots are now on the other side of the country! I've called for backup, but who knows how fast they'll get here.”

A smooth, silky voice comes from a walkie-talkie strapped to his coat.

“Ouch Swindle. So little faith in my professional skills?”

Swindle rounds his eyes

“Blurr??! Where are you!”

Blurr's voice sounds...not quite as it usually does. It's missing the habitual lazy note. The one that makes him sound like the whole world owes him money.

“Give me another minute and the answer will be 'here'.”

The building shakes again. Swindle swears so eloquently that Swerve can't help but admire it.

Swerve can't stand Blurr's smug face, but when he spots the first glimpse of blue metal in the window, joy floods his brain.

He usually associates Blurr with dumb nicknames, dismissive treatment, and commercials.

Now he watches the sleek, fast Mech lunge fearlessly at the monsters surrounding the building and thinks that. Fuck this. He's an asshole, but if he buys Swerve enough time to evacuate, he'll bring him a thank you card or something later. Though it's unlikely Blurr will care about that of course.

Swindle continues to shout instructions over the walkie-talkie. Swerve basically drags him outside by. He jumps up probably a full meter when very near him one of the monsters falls to the ground.

Blurr's Mech stands proudly on top of the fresh corpse and looks...actually really bad. Swerve knows that this particular robot was not built for rough, open confrontation. Its armor is too thin. Designed for speed and agility, not strength. He assembled it himself, after all.

Many of the plates are crumpled. Some are torn off. His legs are intact, but one of the joints sparks funny.

Blurr quickly looks around and Swerve unwittingly follows his example. The whole place is on fire. Office buildings are in ruins and a huge column of black smoke rises above the assembly plant.

Blurr's Mech drops to the ground and gets down on one knee. The plates on its chest are pulled aside and Blurr sticks his head out of the cockpit while simultaneously opening the visor on his helmet.

“Everyone okay?”

Swindle clutches the walkie-talkie

“The office areas are empty, but there still could be people left on the lower floors of the assembly plant. But we have no access there!”

Blurr drums his fingers quickly on the metal plate

“Fire?”

Swindle shrugs his dusty shoulders

“Something exploded at the bottom of the building. It's a real smelter down there.

Even if we send a Mech, it won't last more than a minute before it overheats. Or make the building collapse.”

Blurr's gaze becomes focused. Sharp. Swerve has seen that look many times on tough front line fighters like Jazz. On Blurr, never.

“'That's enough time for me.”

Swindle waves his hands

“Are you crazy?”

Blurr slaps his palm against the armor of his Mech

“This baby is light. Lighter than anything you've got! If anyone can do it without dropping the building, it's me. They make Mechs in the assembly hall, it's got high ceilings right?”

Swerve wants to snap. He wants to throw his hands up angrily and yell something along the lines of “you were literally there!”

Who else is down there on those lower floors??? Tailgate? Maybe Wheeljack? If something exploded, Wheeljack was definitely there. And probably closest to the explosion.

Swindle curses furiously, but retreats and runs off to give orders to someone else.

“”Be a hero if you want, but I'm not going in there. For all I know there could be melting metal in there instead of a floor! It's just not reasonable.”

Swerve's brain stumbles over that statement. Why...Swindle is acting like he's being forced to climb into that building too...?

Blurr looks nervous.

“You know what. Fine. I got it. Hey, you--”

And there it is. The good old namelesness.

Blurr pays no attention to Swerve's frowning face, nor his hands shaking with fear

“ You're familiar with those buildings. You know who was there and where to find them right? I need you to walk me through.”

Swerve feels the urge to snap again and this time doesn't hold it back

“If you cared about something other than yourself, you'd know this damn building and the people who work in it too and !”

“I don't fucking remember!” Blurr interrupts him.

Swerve doesn't have time to put anything in after that. Though a sarcastic comment is begging to be made.

Blurr quickly takes off his helmet and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

“I don't remember okay! This isn't a fad or posing or whatever else you think of me. This is what an accident can do to you if you miss a turn! I can't remember shit, okay?! Do you need a medical report?!”

Swerve just...stands there with his mouth open and probably looks like an idiot.

Blurr nervously tucks back his disheveled hair. The longer he talks, the faster he does it.

“Now. I know you don't want to die in a pit of fire. But I need your help to save them. Don't do anything, just take the map. I promise I won't let you die.”

He sounds determined. And holds out his hand to Swerve, silently inviting him to climb up onto the Mech.

His face is stained in sticky dust, his hair is an absolute mess, and his narrow palm is covered in streaks of soot. It's as if he's been dragged face down a muddy road.

He's. Very Handsome, Swerve thinks.

He takes his hand.

Blurr helps him up, pushes him into the space next to the pilot's seat, and closes the cockpit.

“Been inside a working Mech ever?”

Swerve clenches his hands nervously on the back of the seat

“No.”

The lights of the consoles around him come to life as Blurr puts on his helmet. The space around him hums. It's a strange noise. At once unsettling and calm.

Mech feels alive, he thinks. Then corrects himself. Blurr is mind-linked to this Mech. This Mech can technically be considered alive in a sense.

Blurr moves one of the monitors toward him and opens the map.

“Just mark the path here. Don't touch anything else. And hold on tight. I won't be going too fast anyway, but it'll be shaky.”

Swerve swallows nervously.

“Understood.”

After that, everything turns into motion. Watching the Mech work while being inside is mesmerizing.

Blurr doesn't say much, concentrating on the controls. His hands aren't shaking anymore, Swerve notices. Not even a little.

He steers the machine forward confidently and smoothly, dodging falling debris and avoiding the biggest pockets of fire without panic or hesitation.

He's also strictly following the path Swerve is laying out for him.

The air filtration system is doing well so far. Swerve can feel the smell of burning and the heat slowly creeping up, but it's bearable for now. For now.

They find a man on the nearside of the emergency exit.

Two more people a floor below. A small group stuck in the elevator.

Wheeljack's on the doorstep of his lab.

Blurr pulls them all out. Picks up the first group of people and carries them outside, goes back into the fiery furnace, finds more survivors, pulls them out, goes back, searches, rescues, goes back, searches, rescues.

The heat is coming up. Swerve can feel it. The plates around him are getting hot. The air smells like burnt wires.

Blurr’s Mech wasn't designed for this kind of thing.

His Mech was made to flash for the camera and accelerate to impossible speeds. To deceive and confuse the enemy. Its armor is thin and cools easily in the air, which usually helps it avoid overheating.

This also means that this Mech heats up very quickly as well.

Now, with the air around him feeling like a red-hot frying pan, Swerve regrets not saying anything back then. He regrets that he didn't make any changes to the blueprint.

More and more warnings pop up on the screens. The map stopped working correctly some time ago and Swerve is forced to give directions verbally.

He nervously grips the back of the pilot seat with one hand and, without noticing, Blurr's shoulder with the other.

Blurr carries two more people outside and hands them to the rescuers. Then turns back to the building again and. OH FUCK. Right in front of him, a huge crack begins to creep along the structure. This thing is on the verge of collapse. The roof is already starting to fold down in a very bad way.

Swerve clenches his grip fearfully and hears Blurr hiss through his teeth.

Suddenly, the cockpit opens. The fresh air of the street feels like a cold sledgehammer blow after the heat and stuffiness of the lower levels.

Swerve is about to ask something, but doesn't have time because Blurr uses Mech's hand to gently but quickly pull him outside and set him on the ground.

“You were going to mark another spot.”

Swerve nods hurriedly.

“Tailgate is still there.”

Blurr wrinkles his face.

Swerve corrects himself and clarifies

“Bright blue uniform. Short. Considering all the places we've been, I think he's in the staff quarters. It's...”

He chews his fingers, trying to remember numbers and directions without a map

“...two floors down, left, another floor down and straight ahead.”

As he speaks Blurr bends over the side of the open cockpit and spits...blood on the ground. His nose is bleeding, Swerve realizes. That's not good. It's a clear sign of a malfunctioning neural connection. Or damage to his respiratory system? Possibly both.

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his worried look

“Two down, left down then. Shit. Wait. Two down, left then down, straight ahead yeah?”

Swerve nods.

Blurr keeps repeating these directions like a mantra. A very fast and creepy mantra.

His gaze roams strangely and his breaths sound hoarse. His teeth and chin are covered in blood and his face is streaked with soot.

Swerve understands. He's about to do another go.

Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight. Two down, left, down, straight.

Alone. He's going, and he's going to fry himself alive in there for a stranger he doesn't even remember.

Swerve doesn't have time to say anything. What's he gonna say? Stop? But he wants to save Tailgate? Go on, I believe in you? But it's certain death.

Swerve rarely has nothing to say, but this time he can't find the right words.

Blurr wipes the blood with his sleeve, wrinkles his nose, and storms off, heading back into the flaming mess the plant has become.

Not twenty seconds later, the roof collapses, spewing a huge cloud of smoke, ash, and fire into the sky.

Swerve wrinkles his shirt nervously in his hands.

The walls are still in place, right? If the roof is gone but the walls are still standing it's... it's. It's.

Damn it. He's trying to remember the blueprints. It means the ejector will work. It means Blurr can still get out through the top. That--

Blurr's not getting out. As the small, bright blue escape pod appears above the falling walls of the building, Swerve feels his brain stop. Remember the blueprints, remember the damn blueprints. The Mech is light, the design is compact, the space in the pod is for only one person.

In the capsule lies an unconscious Tailgate.

Swindle grasps the radio

“Blurr? BLURR!”

Swerve looks at the smoke and ash and feels numb. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He has to know. He doesn't...

He feels weird. The same kind of weird as when objects fly seemingly through him. Everything just stops being real.

The thought comes out of nowhere. You don't have to obey the rules. You can see more. Just look.

He's not sure how or why he's doing it.

No one around him is paying much attention to him. Everyone's busy with survivors and damage assessment or just stunned by the chaos.

And him? He disappears.

And then he appears at the bottom. Under the rubble.

All around him is ugly, molten and red-hot chaos, but he doesn't care anymore. He feels like whatever is happening is about to end and he just has to be in time. Time for him to find out.

Blurr's Mech lies crushed by the fallen roof. Its cockpit is open. A gaping hole where his chest was, the place where the escape pod had undocked.

Wall debris has pinned him in a crooked, grotesque pose.

Blurr is here. His legs are wedged between crumpled metal plates inside the cockpit, leaving him hanging upside down. His suit is charred. Half of his face is destroyed. It looks like a horrible bloody and burned mess. It's ugly and gruesome.

Blurr opens his only working eye and gives Swerve a cloudy look.

“I must be seeing things...”

Swerve shrugs in daze. He knows he shouldn't be here.

Blurr spits up a mouthful of blood

“I'm sorry I hurt you uh...”

“Swerve.”

“Yes. Swerve. It's hard for me to remember things unless they're...akgh...hell... not in my face all the time.”

Swerve moves closer and frowns

“You know, that explains but doesn't excuse you.”

Blurr closes his eye and coughs. That sounds really bad.

“No...I guess not.”

He huffs off the blood again. The burned half of his face is oozing with it. The blood runs down his forehead, collecting in a small puddle on the floor.

“It was better than letting everyone know what's wrong with me. I can't even begin to think about the amount of messes I'd be dragged into.”

Swerve notes that the fire seems to be getting closer.

This whole bit of dialog is so unnatural. Who even talks about that kind of stuff before they die. On the other hand. Well. Character development?

“So you think it's better to have everyone assume you're a jerk than that you got your head screwed on?”

Blurr wrinkles his nose.

“ You're a very specific kind of ghost.”

Swerve shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away

“I needed to know. Before you die.”

“That's ...akghhh...ha....it's good to know. Can you tell me something Swerve? As..agh...

As a last wish?”

Swerve shrugs again. He stares at the dripping blood. At the ugly, bubbling burns. At the burst vessels in his eye and the paths of blood from his bleeding nose. He looks at the broken and scorched and dying bloody mess.

He looks at Blurr.

And he thinks, until today, he didn't really love Blurr. Not with the posters and figurines. Not with the disdain and dislike.

He loved an image. And hated an image.

He reaches out and tries to touch Blurr's hand, but goes through it.

“I'm sorry. But we're both not really here. And I have to go.”

He can feel the cold metal around him, which is strange because he's standing in the middle of smoking and burning ruins

“But if it makes you happy, I guess you're my favorite character after all.”

Blurr doesn't answer. Swerve isn't sure he even heard him.

The feeling of metal around him grows sharper.

Someone shines a flashlight in his face.

Swerve blinks stupidly and tries to move away.

The unknown Autobot medic standing over him smiles happily and puts the flashlight away

“Welcome back. You've been in a coma Primus knows how long.”

The other medic to the side frowns

“You have zero tact.”

Swerve blinks his optics puzzled, raises his servo and for a while just stares at it like some movie character. All around him is an Autobot medbay. Metal walls. Metal instruments. And him. Metal.

Yes. Seems so. That's the way he's always been. That's right.

“Doc, you won't believe what kind of weird dream I had.”

___________

Swerve feels like he's going crazy.

He's standing in the middle of a hallway on one of the Autobot ships, and he's staring. shamelessly.

There's Prowl standing at the end of the hallway. And on his shoulder is...

“ JAZZ????”

Both bot and human turn around abruptly at his scream. And both look equally puzzled.

Jazz waves his hand

“Do I know you?”

Swerve is definitely going crazy. It's Jazz. The same one. From his...dream??? But he's real and tangible??? Sitting on Prowl's shoulder, talking and breathing and being seen by everyone not only Swerve????

“You're...real...?”

Jazz raises his eyebrows

“I am. Yes. Really Mech, you sound very familiar.

But I can tell you for a fact that I have not been friends with any Cybertronians before...”

This can't be, this can't be, this isn't....

It was a dream. The spawn of his TV series-addled mind. A hallucination. It wasn't real. It wasn't, was it?

But Jazz is here. And he disappeared from Earth. And now he's here.

And.

What the..

Swerve blurts out something like “sorry-sorry-see-you-later-now-I've got to go” and runs off.

“HEY DOC????”

The autobot, already familiar to him, flinches

“Primus...Swerve? Is something wrong?”

Swerve realizes that everything is about to either make sense or lose it completely.

“Tell me...is it possible to project a holoform...like...very far away?”

The Doctor tilts his head.

“Depends on power consumption. If you channel all the energy available in a frame, you can go very far. But that would send you into a...coma...if you...tried...Swerve, is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

“Doc do you know where Earth is?”

“Wha...no?”

Swerve chuckles nervously and bites his knuckles.

“I don't either. But I think I've been there...”

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of Mister(s) Steal Your Girl

Long awaited, but no Johnny smut just yet. Soon, I promise. (And Kyle will be back. It's been so long since he's gotten to smooch our dear reader.)

Also! A little reminder than you can check the queue to see what I plan to post for next. I try to update it often as the worms wiggle. Next I plan to do the final chapter of Greater Bad. (Unless I get my not-so-secret, no-longer-a-surprise oneshot out first)

Lastly! Please note that I wrote the "posts" from his perspective. So inconsistencies with the actual story and any grammar/spelling errors were purposeful or for "authenticity".

Content: Brandon.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ I asked my fiancé for an open relationship before marriage. It worked. A while ago I posted on r/adultery about the affairs (yes, multiple) I was having behind my then-gf’s back. We’d already been dating for ~4 years and I was seeing one of my coworkers (my “work wife”) regularly and one of her coworkers on and off. People on my other post were critical and called me all sorts of things like selfish and pig. I know it’s not traditional, but I genuinely don’t think I could ever be satisfied by one woman. My work wife (Rachel) and fiance’s coworker (Lucy) provide things my fiancé just can’t but I still love my fiancé. She’s the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. When I posted on r/adultery I was trying to figure out how to propose without her finding out. I knew she’d expect me to help with stuff and possibly want to look at my phone more often. It would have been harder to sneak off to meet up with Lucy or Rachel with wedding planning and I was sick of being stressed she would find out. Some nicer people on the post suggested I ask for an open relationship. I took their advice and sat her down to sell the idea. It’s a good thing I’m so good at sales (top 3% in my company for 5 years in a row) because she agreed. Yes, actually agreed. At first she got kind of pale and her eyes got really big and blank. I thought for sure she was about to start crying and run off. Maybe even kick me out. She doesn’t really get angry but she gets upset and it freaks me out. After I explained everything about how good it would be for us though, she agreed. This is my official unlimited hallpass. I’ve been seeing Rachel on weekends and Lucy once or twice during the week for drinks. Tonight I’m going to sign up for every dating site I can. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge. If anyone has other suggestions, I’ll check those out too. Fiance has been kind of off but I think it’s just an adjustment period. Sometimes I can tell she’s been crying but she hasn’t come to me about it so she’s probably just being emotional about all the changes. At least she’s got our house to focus on while she gets used to things. I feel a little bad about running out every night but she’s just so mopey and sad all the time and it’s not enjoyable to be around. I know she probably feels like I’m abandoning her a little but once she starts getting back to normal I’ll spend time with her again. You really can have your cake (all the cakes heh) and eat them too. Edit: no, I never told her that I already had Lucy and Rachel and I’m not going to. What good would it do? She’s already agreed to an open relationship and telling her that I didn’t have permission first would just hurt her for no reason.

Kyle’s been gone for two (long, lonely) weeks when he finally gets a chance to call. So far, he’s only been able to send scattered texts at odd hours. Always something sweet – telling you he’s alright, or that he’s thinking of you. Sometimes you even catch him for a brief exchange before he apologizes and “goes dark” again.

Not that you begrudge it. This is part and parcel of dating him and you knew that going in. You’re not complaining when he’s putting his life on the line so that the public can live in blissful peace.

That doesn’t stop you from missing him though. His hugs, his smile. Getting his voice - even roughened by distance - is a nice compromise though.

“How have you been holding up, chickadee?” he asks after the initial reassurance that he’s whole and hale. 

“Easier this time!” you answer proudly. “I know what to expect with you gone and Johnny’s good company.”

“Yeah?” he asks, sounding pleased.

You can just imagine him now, leaning his hip against the nearest surface, arms crossed over his broad chest. He tends to duck his head when he smiles, and you unintentionally grin to yourself, thinking of him hiding into his phone. God, you miss him. 

“Mhmm! We found a board game bar that you’re going to love. Oh, and we’re going to the Hay Festival this weekend.”

He hums. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to take you, luv, but I knew Johnny would be good to you.”

More than good to you, really. There’s not been a day he doesn’t call to check up on you - if he doesn’t see you in person, that is. Dinner, movies, coffee. He’s somehow both a gentleman and an incorrigible flirt, but only with you. He’s nothing more than polite to anyone else, keeping his focus on you and whatever the two of you are doing.

You don’t know what to do with the undivided attention. If you didn’t know better…

“You two are getting close,” Kyle observes.

“I think so,” you admit, then hesitate. “Is… that okay?”

“‘Course, luv. I’m glad.”

You blink. “You are?”

“He’s my best mate and you’re my best girl.”

An odd pang of anxiety pierces your chest. Johnny calls you that too. His “best girl.” You love hearing it - but maybe you shouldn’t?

“It… doesn’t bother you? That we’re spending so much time together.”

He snorts softly, but it’s not derisive. It’s a noise he makes whenever he thinks you’re being silly, but his voice comes out soft and warm. Not an ounce of condescension.

“No, baby, I’m not fussed. You spend your time with whoever you want, however you want. Yeah?”

Your chest floods with warmth. “Okay.”

“There’s a love. I’ve got a brief, so I have to go. I’ll call soon as I can.”

“Be safe, Ky.”

“Do my best. Give Soap a smooch for us, aye?”

You blink as he hangs up. That’s a new one.

You ponder over it while packing on Thursday night. Was it just a joke? A tease at the little crush you’ve developed for Johnny?

Because it is a crush, you know it is. It’s impossible not to be attracted to him. Not with that smile, that laugh, the goofy humor and sweet mannerisms. He still sends you flowers every few weeks - just as the previous ones are about to die. It’s so thoughtful; you’ve started feeling a bit warm every time you look at them.

But you feel greedy, being even remotely interested in anyone else. You have Kyle and Brandon (even if you two are going through a… patch) and that should be enough for you. Shouldn’t it? You’ve never been with more than one person at a time before; it took you weeks to shake the compulsory guilt when you first met Kyle. It feels almost unforgivably audacious to want Johnny too, especially since he’s Kyle’s best mate.

Still… Kyle’s not a jealous or passive-aggressive guy. You’ve been with him long enough now that you know he’d just tell you outright if he was unhappy about something. And he’s been with you long enough that he can surely tell you’re more than a bit fond of Johnny.

Maybe that’s why he made the joke about “smooching” him.

Regardless, you want to talk to him about it. Things always make sense when you think out loud to him. His levelheaded and practical approach to difficult topics always straightens your panic spirals out into neat lines.

Plus, it’s not as comforting to hold your own hand. (God, when is he getting back?)

“Where are you going?”

You blink up at Brandon, folded pajamas in hand.

“The Hay Festival,” you answer.

Speaking of - you slip past him into the bathroom. He doesn’t follow, rooted to the spot spinning his phone around in his hands.

“Alone?”

You snort. “Of course not, I’m going with a friend.”

The allergy pills are at the bottom of the medicine basket beneath the sink. You really need to organize it the next time Johnny’s too busy to hang out. There’s no way you need three bottles of paracetamol. 

“I need that suitcase.”

You toss the bottle in and pivot for the dresser. “What for?”

He shifts, eyes sliding away. “An… overnight.”

Ah. That’s what he’s calling it now?

You snatch a few (too many) pairs of underwear from the dresser.

“Just bring them here,” you say over your shoulder.

There’s a long, tense beat of silence but you’re too busy rummaging for socks to break it first. Will it be too warm for thigh-highs? Eh, you’ll go with the sheer ones; the little lace roses match one of your dresses anyway.

“Bring who here?” Brandon asks slowly.

When you turn, he looks paler than usual. You shrug, trying to project casual comfort.

This is a totally normal and reasonable conversation to have. Just a couple in an open relationship, discussing a stranger coming to the house for a shag. Nothing to make a fuss over.

“Whoever you need the suitcase for? I know you’ve had people over before anyway, and I’ll be gone all weekend.”

He stutters, color returning to his face in bright pink blooms. “Why do you think I’ve had people over before?”

You arch an eyebrow. “I do the laundry, remember? And there was lipstick on one of the wine glasses.”

That had sent you into a tizzy at the time, disgusted that some stranger was in your bed, with your fiancé. You washed the sheets twice on the hottest setting and tossed in a bit of bleach for good measure. Hadn’t been able to look at him the whole week - not that he was there much to not look at.

Now, though, you seem to have adjusted to the idea, even if you’re still not thrilled. Brandon can have his… whoever over, and you’ll goof around with Johnny in Wales.

“Just toss the bedding in the wash afterwards,” you add.

“I thought you do the laundry,” he sniffs.

“I’m not traveling all day just to do chores when I get home,” you answer. He does a double take like you’ve started speaking a new language. “You’ll be here all weekend, I’m sure you’ll have time.”

He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s about to argue - though you don’t really know what about. It’s not like he can’t do laundry or dishes, after all. He lived alone before you moved in together.

Thankfully, his phone distracts him before he can form the words. He spins away to tap at the screen and shuffles out of the room, shoulders till tense. You go back to packing and teasing Johnny about the amount of hair gel he’ll bring.

Friday afternoon can’t come fast enough. Even though you’ve taken a half day from work, the few hours seem to drag. You’re practically daydreaming about the food and drinks, music and activities. There’s a baker’s dozen art stalls you want to check out as well, and a gift to pick out for Kyle…

“Hope yer thinkin’ o’ me when ye make tha’ face.”

Your head snaps around so fast, you nearly give yourself whiplash. Johnny grins down at you in all his casually handsome glory – ripped jeans, green tee, and brown boots. Angels are singing somewhere, you think. Or maybe that’s just your nosy coworkers ogling from their own cubicles.

The reality of him sinks in a moment later and you leap up from your cushy chair – and right into his arms. He’s like a furnace compared to the cool, conditioned air of your office, a welcome source of warmth for your chilly fingers.

“What are you doing here?” you giggle. “Who let a rowdy guy like you in?”

He smells like bergamot and pine. It takes active thought to resist pressing your face into the crook of his neck. It looks cozy there.

As always, he squeezes you a bit tighter just before letting go.

“Hey now, Marcy’s a discerning lady. She knows a fine gentleman when she sees one.”

You snort, belied by the smile curling your lips. “She may need new glass then.”

“Och, don’t go talkin’ poor about my second-best gal now.”

“Is it that easy to get in your good graces?” you scoff, glancing at the time on your computer. It’s later than you expected; no wonder he came up to retrieve you. You spent so long daydreaming that you’ve lost track of time.

“Aw don’ be green, dove, you’re still my number one. Send ye flowers ‘n all.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, and now I’m wondering just how special that is.”

He stands close, proclaiming his case for how obviously special you are while you shut everything down for the weekend. You’re only half listening to the bit, admittedly. Mostly just basking in your excitement for the mini road trip and the weekend to come. You have no doubt that it’s going to be fun, even if it would be better with Kyle along too.

“Where are you headed off to?” Lucy asks.

“Hay Festival,” you answer shortly.

You’ve never been a big fan of Lucy, but lately she’s been insufferable. Talking over you during meetings, leaving you out of emails, throwing away papers at the printer. (Okay, you haven’t seen her do that last one, but you know.) Worst of all, she can help but make backhanded comments about every flower delivery.

“You’re not taking Brandon?” she simpers. “Something wrong?”

“He’s hanging out with a friend this weekend too,” you correct, “and he doesn’t like hay.”

“Shame that,” Johnny adds, sounding like it’s not a shame at all.

You haven’t told him much about Brandon – but you’re sure that Kyle has. From the face Johnny makes the rare times your fiancé comes up in conversation, he doesn’t think much of Brandon.

“Have fun you two!” your manager, Selene, calls.

You wave and shoot Lucy one last, unimpressed glance before stepping onto the elevator with Johnny.

r/CakeEater _OnBrand_ My fiancé is going on a weekend getaway with another man. I’ve posted in r/adultery and r/cakeeater before. I’m not looking for judgement or insults here. I really just want advice.

A little context: my fiancé and I are in an open relationship and it’s been like this for a few months now. I originally asked her to ope the relationship and for a while she was weird about it but lately she’s been getting sbetter. I thought she was finally getting used to me going out with other women and things were getting back to normal.

A few weeks ago, I noticed she was on her phone more. Like, all the time. Even at dinner when she used to be really picky about phones at the table. One day I came home from work and she was talking on the phone to someone. Giggling and laughing. When I turned the corner she was kind of blushing too. It kind of bothered me but I figured she was talking to a friend and just hot from cooking or something.

Lucy texted me pissed off one day, asking why I was sending my fiancé flowers but not her. I told her I hadn’t sent any flowers. I think they’re way too expensive for how long they realistically last and that they take up a lot of unnecessary space. But I thought it was weird that someone was sending my fiancé flowers and got kind of uncomfortable. That’s a pretty romantic gesture and her family isn’t the type to randomly send flowers either.

I tried taking her out on a date but she was all mopey again and turned her phone to ‘do not disturb’ so I wouldn’t even see if she was texting someone. We don’t have much to talk about now. I love her but she’s not a good storyteller or into very interesting things. All her ‘funny stories’ are just mundane things that happen during the day. We’ve run out of interesting topics about because we’ve been together so long. (That’s why I like having more than one partner.)

Yesterday she randomly started packing for a trip. I don’t even think she was planning to tell me until I asked her. She was packing a bunch of cute clothes too. Like dresses and tights and things like that. Stuff she only used to wear on our dates. I asked who she was going with and she just said ‘a friend’ which is weird because she would usually say the name of someone even if I don’t remember who they are.

Well today Lucy sent me a picture of my fiancé leaving her job with some guy. I couldn’t see his face because he was turned away, but I could see the side of my fiancé’s face and she was smiling at him. I got this awful sinking feeling in my chest like it was hard to breathe. It took me a few minutes to process that she’s going away for a weekend with a complete stranger.

Doesn’t she know how dangerous that is? Where did she even meet this guy? They’ll be gone all weekend so are they sharing a room? A bed? I nearly threw up thinking all these things as I called her.

I asked her to cancel her plans and come home. She seemed confused and reminded me that her plans were with someone else and it would be rude to ditch last minute. I told her I wanted to spend the weekend with her and that I’d been missing her. She seemed surprised and said that she’d see me on Sunday night, but she was looking forward to the festival with her ‘friend’ and wanted to go. As a last ditch effort I asked if her friend was more important than me, nearly begging at that point. She must have heard the desperation in my voice, but she just told me that she was already on the road and it was too late.

My fiancé doesn’t like lying but it’s hard to believe this guy was just a friend. Even if she sees him as a friend I know how men think and I doubt he sees her the same way.

She said some other weird stuff before she left about having someone over while she was gone. I don’t get it. How could she just casually invite someone else into our house like that? Has she had other people over? Is she dating now?

I’m not sure what to do. I don’t like that she put this trip over me. Should I talk to her about how bad this makes me feel? Should I call again and tell her to come home more forcefully? Am I blowing all of this out of proportion?

Edit: she doesn’t know that I’ve been seeing Lucy. I haven’t told my fiancé about any of the women I’ve been seeing. (mostly just Lucy and Rachel. I’ve done a lot of texting through apps and gone on a bunch of first place, but most women don’t put out right away and I usually can’t be bothered to get to know them better). Even then, I wouldn’t tell her about lucy. They don’t get along and never have. It would cause a lot of unnecessary drama.

First | Previous | TBC... Masterlist

[lady-ashfade]

All Is Far In Love And Farming

Chapter 1: Getting Started

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Yandere!Mha!Hybrids × Farmer! Fem!Reader. Chapter 1.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ storyline: The calling of being a professional farmer had been your dream since you were young. Growing up on your granddad’s farm was the best thing, many years later you happen to be back. And the property is now yours to restore. With some hard work, you want to restore hybrid caretaking back to what it once was.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ Chapters: Previous // Next

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 2.5k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: short chapters, stardew valley au, yandere behaviors, obsession, stalking, hybrid abuse, slightly sick love, possessive, manipulative, gaslighting. platonic yandere, hybrid and human relationships, and future warnings when more chapters come out, spelling mistakes and grammar who?

╰･ﾟ✧☽ characters for now: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Mina Ashido, Ochako Uraraka, Tenya lida, Denki Kaminari, Kyoka Jiro, Tsuyu Asui, Shoto Todoroki, Eijiro Kirishima, Hanta Sero, Mashirao Ojiro, Koji Koda, Momo Yaoyorozu

series masterlist

-`｡ﾟ˘: ﾟ⋆ ––✷☽ ᱬ ☽✷––⋆ ﾟ: ˘ ﾟ｡.`-

Everything you once saw, the brightest of grass and the crops ripe and perfect, and the animals in the barns chirping of happiness— it was all gone. once a happy place you roamed in the summer as a kid was now a abandoned filthy place, old bards with holes and damaged walls. Nothing was what it used to be, the grass was as tall as small trees and it was going to take a lot of lovin.

But if your granddad taught you one thing is that; working for a better future would make everything you did it worth it.

And that’s exactly why you are here, to make your future. Everything in your life was about becoming a farmer, like your grandfather. and like him, you believed hybrids deserved to be in a safe and open land to roam, not such in some metal factory and enclosed to live their life.

“Come join the number one hybrid farm in Japan, The League.” the tv rung in your ears back at the college room, the place had been taking over everything and running all the local and good places out. at one point the only place you probably could work at was The League, since they seemed to be everywhere. “New locations, New Areas, And New Pay. Call the number on your screen for more information.” you had heard the commercial so many times you rolled your eyes everytime.

Never did you believe they would come out here, and be the competition. 

Honestly, the first day your body was drained easily from all the work. The labor wasn’t exactly what you were expecting to start off with, moving the rooks and weeding. But you had supplies to start off with thankfully, the money he left you was so much, and ready for a new purpose. But the only thing that was helping you in all of this, your holy grail was a local store owner. Arthur, who happened to be your grandfathers best friend.

slapping the metal truck with the gloved hand, the old man smiled and stepped down from the back of the moving truck. you whipped off the sweat from your skin and catch your breath as the unpacked heavy boxes placed besides you and man.

“The old man used to buy twice as much as this and unload it all him, then complain when his back hurt afterwards. Lucky, he had me to talk some since into him.” the white haired man spoke breathlessly. you didn’t want him to have to help, seeing his age but he was in better shape then you by the looks of things. “Old bat was stubborn, you got that in you kid?”

taking a deep breath you arose from the bend down position you were in and look at the man, smiling a bit you commented back. “Used to give granddad a run for his money, I think I have it in me.” you were earned with a deep chuckle and a small one from yourself. starting back up again you closed the doors and gave the man who drove the truck the okay and he drove away.

the next day was worse then the first, your body was sore and tired, you wore sunscreen all over your body to protect you from the heat damage and the illnesses you could catch. unpacking all the equipment, getting them put together, and make sure the starter crops are taken care of. you took many breaks. and Arthur was the greatest help you could ask for.

you heard the story of how he met your granddad many times before, but you didn’t mind hearing it from his side. Arthur had moved from the United States to start his business with his family, and your grandfather was just started out in town. they were younger and bonded right away, and there for marriages, children and grandchildren. knowing he wasn’t as alone when you left was comforting in a away but you knew the full story. just before your tenth birthday you were moved away from the small town with your parents and left the farm behind.

“He talked about you every day.” The words perked up your ears. You looked at Arthur as he continued to work on a huge fan.

“Everything that happened in your life, he would tell me. What happened at middle school sport events, to dances and even show pictures of the dresses you wore. And man, when you went to college for Hybrid Education he was bursting with energy again.” It’s been a long time since he was able to leave the cabin. You knew that, but knowing still punched you in the guts.

“Was he proud?” asking was a waste of time.

“Proud as hell, there should be no doubt about it. His pride and joy was you, more then anything he did here, and now you have a legacy to continue.” smiling you continue to work to hold yourself from the weight building up in your chest. you missed him so much.

Each day there was something new to fix and call in, you knew granddad was rich from the bank account he left you. but boy, it sure was a lot of money. and now, you finally had a starting point. you had scheduled a barn repair on the electrical and building. the crops were set up along with the sprinklers and scare crows, even cleaned out the well…but not without getting algae all over you.

Smalltowns in the country side where the best, everyone in the community was helpful towards one other. And since The League had a location down the road, the people really came together. Businesses were losing in hybrid projects and animals, but the crops were the same. But this met more hybrids lost there homes, and had to be relocated elsewhere else or to The League…You hated it.

A big wooden sign at one of the joint shop centers made you smile and turn into the lot. today was the weekly event, selling of many things of local produces. you remember coming here as a kid and always getting blueberry jam from the market lady. and just like then, it was crowded. and with a lot of stalls and moving trucks. Arthur had told you they still had them and that you should check it out. of course you wouldn’t miss this for anything.

you shut the truck door and fixed your clothes before started the walk around. everyone was selling amazing things at their booths. the first table you saw was one cover in homemade soap bars and honey products. a sweet older couple ran that shop. some stalls were for hybrids for sale but you didn’t have room for them, at least until the barns are rebuilt. but milk, crops and seeds where your thing anyway to look at.

“how much for this?” the only person behind the table was a young girl who looked angry and ready to chew off your head, it was laughable. she was going to be hard to haggle, but a amazing work ethic. “I don’t know you, so twenty bucks.” your eyes widen and look down at the honey in your hand. it was a very small jar…and not worth it, I mean for the bigger bottles sure.

“Hmm, how about ten?” the small girl glared at your words and huffed. she shook her head in annoyance and pointed to the tag, “you trying to get out of paying hard working people lady? This is the best honey you’ll find in the whole country! Haggling is only for people I know,” her finger pointed at you and you back up a little at her shouting voice. “And you ain’t it!”

signing you pull out a twenty and handed it to her, she smiles so kindly you forget about the anger she had. placing it in your cloth bag you continue walking down the path, smiling and looking around. not much you could buy yet, though you did buy from groceries and loaded the up in the bed of the truck.

“well if it ain’t the talk of the town,” a sweet woman’s voice called out loudly. you turn your gaze and see a almost forgotten face, but one that filled you with joy and nostalgia. “Aunty Hoshiko.” You scream and rush over, the older woman comes out form her booth and takes you into her arms. only now did you realize the sweet small of jam and the jar’s decorated like they used to be, but this area was bigger and a extra tent was behind it.

“I couldn’t believe you moved back here after moving to the city, heard you got into a good college.” She smiled from cheek to cheek while pulling away. “Why come back here?” it was flattering how much she thought of you, but you couldn’t have stayed away from this place for much longer.

“Well, grandpa left me the farm and I needed to start my new life. Can’t get much better then a already laid for land, and with great soil.” she hummed but her eyes dropped a little and her smile became different. “I’m so sorry, he was a good man. you tell me if you need any help okay? Your granddad helped us a lot, so many people in town will be willing to do help too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smile and take a peek at the table, “mind if I look?” she is excited to show you all the new flavors and jars she has, letting you smell each one. she even offers you a discount for family.

you had a few jams picked out but you keep looking at everything, knowing you’ll come home with more. then there was a sign and paperwork around on a tables end.“Hybrid Rescues” is what you read and your hands reached for it immediately. seeing your interested, Hoshiko started to talk.

“The League has been running out businesses, hybrids are either purchased or…end up alone and abandoned. My friend runs a rescue company, we help her out here trying to give some of them a home.” you clinch the paper in your hand and want both more then to go punch the owners of the company. No hybrid deserves to be left alone.

“I usually have a few here with me, but today only one is for sale. He’s very special. And a house animal, or helper if you will since I know you don’t have much room for more yet.” the next step was to always get hybrids, but you weren’t sure if today was the best idea today…

“Oh!” that wasn’t your choice since she pulled your arm and lend you into the tent where only one hybrids sat. you struggled to look away from the hybrid laying in the floor.

He was huge. he looked peaceful tho, curled up on a bed and resting peacefully. he had long and pointed ears, a middle tail that curled. “he’s a special breed, no idea why they didn’t keep him since he must have cost a fortune.” there was a small scar on his arm and you hated to see, it looked like cattle whip strokes.

“tenya,” she called out quietly to wake the dog. you really didn’t know if you should get a hybrid, but seeing him already you knew you couldn’t say no. his furry ears twitched and his body rolled over ready to see what was happening. he was fast, and he was built. a pure breed for herding and hard labor. “I have someone here who needs a dog to help around the farm.” she patted you on the back and you got shy for some reason.

His tail was sticking up, his eyes glancing over and panicked. he was on high alert. “Hey buddy, my names y/n.” You smile softly. You don’t want to move until he gives you a sign. his nose sniffs into the air for a moment and his body freezes, you both stop for a minute too.

until the thumping of his tail was heard and he jumped up to greet you properly. you are taken aback and he gets excited and starts to shout, you can’t help but to smile. “My names Tenya, I am apart of the Iida breed. I have experience in herding, working and defending territory. I have many skills,” his hands reaches for hers and stuffs it into his nose to get a proper smell.

“Hello to you too,” you giggle. having some help now would be good, and a herding dog would the best thing.

“Tell me iida, are you okay with maybe coming home with me?” if it was only a dog he would for sure be jumping on you from how happy he seems to be.

Iida didn’t want you to leave to get things needed, saying it was his job to be with you now but you need to find food and things before leaving. he whined forever until he saw you again.

you came back to get him…like you said you would. he loved you, loved you so much. the kindest human he’s met.

Riding back to the farm was a journey. he was talking every second about all the things he could do, from each animal, hybrid or not. boy, was so happy to be by your side. and he was asking about you too. why you picked him? what you wanted him to do.

your heart broke once you got back to the cabin.

you held the door open and called for him to come in, but he just stood on the porch looking at you almost guilty. “Hybrids aren’t aloud inside, I must protect you from out here.” he was already looking for a place to set up for the night. it was a miracle you didn’t start crying again.

“Well, whoever told you that was a idiot. Many dog hybrids are aloud inside, and it’s my house so my roles go.” you tap the door again. he was hesitant, and it took about ten minutes to get him inside. and you told him to stay put while you get the things from the car…then told him it was a order to get him to stay.

you placed the things on the floor and smiled, proud of yourself. “Okay, so I got a large mattress for you. We can place it anywhere you want, also got you special food, hybrids approved.” he looked at the mattress for a long minute. Iida couldn’t believe it was his, he hadn’t slept on one of them since he was little, and then at the market earlier. And this one was his, made for his height and weight for him to sleep…inside.

“Your bought this for me?” He asked while poking at the bed, it’s softness amazed him. once he accepted his reality his tail starts to swing like crazy and crawled over to you, and hugged you lovingly.

“I’ll be the best boy I promise. anything you need I will do, anything.” his grip tightened around your waist and pushed his head into your plush stomach. you patted his head and thanked him, and told him he deserved to be loved and cared for.

That night, he placed his bed in front of your bedroom door and stood watch in his bed. to protect you, his master…his.

next chapter.

series master list.

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@ please don’t repost my stuff to any other platform. This is my writing so don’t claim it as your own.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.

[astonmartingf]

YOU'RE SO REAL FOR THAT! ; F1 GRID

f1 grid x driver!reader . . . gen z f1 driver ranks previous crushes in f1 in a new tiktok video that sends fans in a coma /real

amgf well well well, guess who's back (hopefully) uhm i'm enrolled and officially an intern 😀👍 we love to see that, i made this before hungary i think? but yeah, i have too many drafts and no will to write, i'm blaming the new season in wild rift 😋 and because i've been busy with the internship thingy... a lot of seminars and preparations to do sooooo i hope you enjoy this like always

yourusername uploaded a new video

. . . view 736,937 comments

user73 hello? came running from twt, everyone talking about this

user62 i thought people were making a big deal on twt like usual but this is actual next levels of insane

user32 yn was bored with summer break and decided to break the internet and possibly the team's pr manager

user50 i relate because i too am not immune to blond hair and blued eyed men...

landonorris i think you forgot to message one more driver on the grid...

→ yourusername you're right @/yukitsunoda0511 i had a crush on you before 😌☝️

→ landonorris i meant a british driver on the grid...

→ yourusername alex is already there???

→ landonorris a mclaren driver perhaps.....

→ yourusername oh my gosh you reminded me!!!! i definitely had a really tiny crush on mclaren @/carlossainz 😋🫶

→ yourusername look lando i specifically said in the second slide that if you're not there then i probably hated you, people said you have poor reading comprehension, didn't think it'd be true 🫤

user38 cleared lando fr!!!!!!

user93 no charles leclerc, max verstappen, daniel ricciardo? fraud 🤥

→ user05 wtf not everyone likes them????

→ user17 y'all it's not that deep, this is yn's crush ranking why are y'all projecting////

georgerussell catching strays on a post about you having a crush on alex before????

→ yourusername oh well... i say it the way i see it and i see the way you look at alex 🙄🙏

logansargeant well well well

→ yourusername shut up logan 🙄

→ oscarpiastri no... but this is interesting ✍️ ain't it @/logansargeant?

→ yourusername shut your traps, i didn't give y'all exclusive content for you to run your mouth online

→ user48 honey i fear you're already running your mouth enough 🥹

user72 is no one taking about the mick one???? like??? i'm thinking about their f3 and f2 moments now and i see it

→ user49 OMG!NNN exactly! i get it now, the tension when they're together

jensonbutton reading your message at 2am asking for permission is not something i expected, my question though is... am i p1?

→ yourusername technically you're p-last atm but considering you're my first f1 crush i guess you're p1

→ jensonbutton i see... one rank higher than @/nicorosberg 👍

→ nicorosberg is this what catching strays mean @/yourusername?

→ yourusername yes 😭

dennis_hauger this is not what i said to you, i'm about to sue for defamation

→ yourusername you can't do that, i need a wag to bring for races

→ dennis_hauger i'm racing too?

→ yourusername and?

user85 mr dennis hauger??? did we miss three chapters here?

→ user69 no!!! they've been going at it since the beginning look up the 2022 f2 season

→ user03 there are various compilations in youtube and in yn's youtube channel !!!!

mickshumacher what is this? this is not what you sent me?

→ yourusername is it slander yn day? i'm out here airing my business and y'all say i'm a fraud istg

→ mickshumacher hahahahahaha but i agree with everything you said, i felt the same way

→ yourusername hello? when was this?

→ mickshumacher probably three, four years ago? same year with you, things didn't just work out

→ yourusername dang so you could've been my wag? ngl glad it's not you 😂🫵

→ mickshumacher i agree, who would want to be with you atp

→ yourusername slander and defamation?????

→ mickshumacher well who doesn't have a wag now? exactly, not me

yourusername wow i made this so we could have fun, but now everyone is just making fun of me, might as well delete this before the PR team sees this 😮‍💨

→ user52 noooooo please keep this up

→ user17 this is actually very slayful if you!!! don't ❌❌ let 🫵 the haters 🤡😈💩 stop 🛑✋ you

→ user28 this is actually what we want this summer, i'm begging 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Here"

Ok yall I'm back with chapter 7!! Hopefully this posts bc it wasn't working yesterday. Sorry if it's confusing, I rewrote it like 5 times! I tried not to use {y/n} but i mightve slipped up! Hope ya'll enjoy!! The plot is finally moving!! Lmk if you have any questions. Likes, reblogs, and asks motivate me! I love when yall send me your ideas and comments and asks! Wish me luck, I'm posting this and then taking my math exam! If you don't like it, don't read, stop sending mean asks and submissions!

Breakfast the next morning was horrible.

The awkward silence lingered, thick with unspoken words and eyes that felt like they were scanning every inch of you. You could feel their weight on your back, like a thousand invisible hands pushing you deeper into your seat, forcing you to stay in this uncomfortable moment.

You could already feel the heat rising in your chest, but you bit your lip, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You weren’t going to lose your cool—not yet.

Damian’s gaze was fixed on you, like he was waiting for some kind of reaction, his lips pressed into a thin line. You knew what he was expecting: compliance. Submission. He expected you to shrink back under his scrutiny. And yet, there was something oddly satisfying about not giving him that satisfaction.

Instead, you focused on the plate in front of you, stabbing your fork into the pancakes with far too much force. You were still hungry, but the food felt like cardboard in your mouth, tasteless and dry, even though Alfred’s cooking was always the best.

Bruce was still watching you, his eyes heavy with a kind of expectant patience, like he was just waiting for you to crack. You could feel the tension in the room like a ticking clock, the seconds stretching longer than you’d ever thought possible.

"Why are you all staring at me?" you finally muttered, breaking the silence, your voice low but biting. You didn't look up from your plate, but you could feel the eyes on you. They all thought they could break you. They thought you were some fragile little thing, someone they could fix with their pity and their "family time." But you weren’t. You’d stopped being that person a long time ago.

Dick was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual, like he was trying to tread lightly around you. “We’re just trying to connect, I know it’s been a long time, and things got… complicated, but we don’t want to lose you again. Not after all this time.”

His words weren’t as comforting as he probably thought they were. In fact, they made your skin crawl. He was trying to be kind, but it felt forced, like he was reading from a script. You didn’t need this. Not from him, not from any of them. You wanted them to stop pretending like they could fix everything with a few hugs, a couple of "we missed you"s.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight. “I didn’t ask to be here. And I didn’t ask to be part of this family anymore.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t say anything at first. You could feel the flicker of something in his expression—guilt, maybe. Regret. He was looking at you, like he was trying to see the person you used to be. The person you had been before everything fell apart.

You weren’t that person anymore. And he needed to understand that.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Damian suddenly said, his voice a little too sharp. “You can’t just shut us out like this. You’re still a part of this family. Whether you like it or not.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. " I can shut you all out, I can do whatever I want” you snapped, the frustration leaking through. “You’ve done it to me for years.”

Dick’s brow furrowed, his lips pulling into a frown. For a second, he looked genuinely taken aback by your words, “You don’t understand,” he said, his tone quieter but still laced with an edge. “We didn’t abandon you. Not on purpose. You think we didn’t care? You just never seemed to need help.”

You could feel the sting of his words, but you pushed it down, locking it away. You weren’t going to break. Not for him. Not for any of them. Of course you never needed help, you were too busy trying to be perfect.

“I was just a kid,” you replied, your voice a little rawer, louder than you intended. “And I was ignored by the people who were supposed to be there for me. So fuck you and fuck your family time too.”

There was a long pause, everyone looked around in shock, not expecting you to be so combatant and then Jason finally spoke up, his tone softer than usual, less teasing. “We’re trying, okay? I'm trying. We’re not perfect, and I’m not asking you to just forget everything. But we want to try. Let us try.”

You shot him a look, your eyes narrowing. “Trying isn’t good enough,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Not when it’s years too late. I don't want scraps of love anymore, not when i've had the real deal.”

Everyone seemed to quiet at the last part of your statement, suspicious of what it meant and from who you received "love" from. What convinced you that you didn't need them anymore?

“Then what do you want?” Tim interjected, his voice suddenly sharper, more direct than before. “What do you want from us? We’re here, and we’re trying to make it right. But you’ve got to meet us halfway.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell them that nothing would ever be good enough, that the damage was already done. But you didn’t. Instead, you just stared at Tim, meeting his eyes with a challenge of your own. You didn’t owe them answers. Not anymore.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, almost defeated. “I don’t know what I want.”

It was the truth. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t know if there was anything they could do to fix things. But one thing was certain: you didn’t want to stay in this mansion, suffocated by their expectations. You didn’t want to play along with their idea of a happy family.

Before anyone could respond, you stood up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a loud scrape against the floor.

“Don’t worry about me,” you said, turning on your heel. “I’ll figure it out on my own. I always have.”

You heard Duke’s soft voice in the background, calling after you, but you didn’t stop. You just walked out of the dining room, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way toward the staircase.

As you climbed the stairs, you could feel their eyes on your back, the weight of their presence pressing down on you, but you didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if they watched. You didn’t care if they were disappointed. You just wanted to be alone.

That day, you stayed in bed. You ignored every knock on your door, every phone call, every beg and plead to come down and eat. You just wanted to be alone.

You woke up to the quiet hum of the manor, but it was far from peaceful. The silence was suffocating, a constant reminder that there was no escaping them—not now. You tried to pretend the night before hadn’t happened, that their constant attention wasn’t as overwhelming as it was, that you were going back to New York soon. Unfortunately, fantasies don't become realities, especially when reality is chasing them down.

Every one of them was here, waiting. Watching.

Bruce stood near the staircase, his presence larger than life. His eyes lingered on you as if he expected something. You weren’t sure what. Maybe gratitude, maybe obedience. He said nothing, just watched you with that expression of silent insistence.

“Good morning,” he said in that deep, calm voice of his, but there was something off about it. There was a layer of expectation beneath his words, like he was waiting for something from you.

You ignored him, brushing past him without a second glance. You didn’t want to engage, didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. But it didn’t matter. They were all around you now, slowly closing in.

Tim was the next to corner you. You could feel his calculating eyes on you the moment you stepped into the kitchen. He had a cup of coffee in hand, but his focus was on you. Just you.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the question seemingly casual but the undertone too sharp, too analytical. It wasn’t just a question, it was a probe, a way for him to gauge how much control he had over you.

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the fridge to grab something that could distract you, something that could make the reality of this house feel a little less like a cage. But the moment your hand touched the door, he was there, standing far too close, watching you, almost breathing down your neck.

“You know,” Tim said, his voice low, “we can talk today. If you want. We need to keep your abilities in check, make sure you’re safe, protected. ” His tone lingered on that last word, like he was reminding you that you were under his watch now.

You hated how calmly he said it. It made your skin crawl.

Steph was next, adding onto what Tim said with her stupid signature smile, "He's right y'know. It's dangerous out there. For you especially."

You ignored them both. Payback for their years of negligence.

Tim just stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face. “Fine, be like that,” he muttered, before walking away, but you knew he wasn’t done. He never was.

And then there was Dick. His usual cheerful demeanor didn’t falter as he breezed into the room, but it was too cheerful, too bright. He was pushing something, forcing something, like he was trying to manufacture happiness out of thin air, trying to remind you of who you were, who you used to be.

“Hey! How about we do something today?” he said, his voice far too eager. “We could go out and grab coffee, breakfast, anything. I know you’re probably not feeling it, but you need to get out of this house for a bit.”

You wanted tear him apart for thinking you could just “forget” everything and fall back into some comfortable, happy routine. But you didn’t. Instead, you just nodded stiffly, walking past him without acknowledging his words.

“Come on,” he tried again, following you, “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Just drop it, Dick,” you said, your voice like ice. “I’m not going anywhere. Ya'll made that pretty clear.”

His face faltered for just a moment before he plastered that damn grin back on. But you saw it, the frustration and determination behind his eyes. He wasn’t going to stop. None of them were.

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a smirk you couldn’t quite decipher. “Ah, the princess finally comes out her tower,” he teased. “What? Got tired of throwing shit around in there?"

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the heat in your chest rise. Jason always had a way of pissing you off with his words, making everything seem like a joke, but you knew there was something darker underneath. He wanted to get a rise out of you, he craved it. He wanted you to go back to being his annoying little sister with anger issues.

“Shut up, Jason,” you muttered, turning away from him, not caring that you weren’t hiding your anger anymore. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today.”

Jason just laughed, but there was a hint of something softer there, something that felt almost... like concern, buried beneath the sarcasm.

“Stop,” you snapped, but before you could escape, Damian stepped in.

Damian was the most direct, the most unforgiving in his attempts to bond. He stepped into your path without hesitation, his posture rigid and eyes narrowed, as if daring you to push him away.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low, yet intense. “You think you’re some rebellious teenager trying to escape, but you’re not. You don’t get a choice in this.” His words weren’t harsh, they were final, like he had already decided your fate. And you were staying here, whether you liked it or not.

“You’re wrong,” you spat, your voice venomous. "I don’t need you.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, an unsettling calm settling over him. “You’ll need us eventually. Whether you want to or not. And you'll be grateful we never let you go.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t let him see it. Not yet. His audacity was insane. To think that you'd be thankful for being trapped in Gotham. Never.

As you tried to walk past him, you collided with Cass, who was standing silently behind you, her eyes filled with that knowing, unspoken concern. She's so creepy. She didn’t say a word but you could feel her presence, like a weight pressing down on you.

Cass placed a hand gently on your arm, her touch barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make you freeze.

Why are they acting like this? What changed these two weeks?

"You’re safe here," she said quietly, her words cutting through the tension in a way that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a command.

You pulled away sharply, nearly punching her, your fists clenched at your sides. “I'm not happy.” you said, more to yourself than to her.

But she didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. Her eyes just followed you, and that was worse than any words.

Barbara was close by, but she didn’t need to be loud. She never did. She had this way of talking in soft tones that made everything sound so reasonable. So loving.

“You don’t have to keep shutting us out,” she said gently. “You can talk to us. We just want to make sure you’re okay. All of us. We care about you.”

You felt the weight of her words crash down on you, suffocating you with their sweetness, with their hidden demands. Care. It was just another word for control, for keeping you locked in their world, locked in their gaze. If they cared, they would let you be happy in New York.

“Just stop,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. “Just... stop.”

You sat in your room for hours again, ignoring everyone.

Bruce had spent the last few days carefully watching you, keeping his distance just enough to make you think you had some semblance of freedom, but now he was ready to step in, to claim his role as your father.

He had promised himself when you left for France, he would make it right. That he would make up for everything he had missed, for every moment he had abandoned you for the greater good of Gotham. But now, as the silence stretched between you two, he was determined to close that distance.

You had just returned to your room after another breakfast you didn’t want to be part of when you heard the knock.

It was Bruce.

“You’re not busy, are you?” he asked, his voice almost too warm, too hopeful.

You shot him a glance, wondering if he truly thought this would work. After everything that had happened, after all the times he had failed you, he still thought a few “father-daughter” moments could make things better.

"I guess not," you replied flatly, stepping aside to let him in, your mind already racing with how to get through whatever this was going to be.

The moment he entered, Bruce seemed to settle, as though he had a plan in mind, one he was eager to execute.

“Good,” he said, looking around the room, his eyes scanning for something, maybe an opportunity. Then, he turned back to you, hands clasped behind his back. “I thought today, we could spend some time together. Just us. It’s been a while since we’ve done something like this, hasn’t it? School starts soon and you'll get busy, you won't have time for me anymore.”

He was trying to joke around.

School. More like prison. The more he mentioned school, the angrier you got. You'd never done something like this. He did it with all his other kids though, with Tiffany. As you thought of her, all ideas of being nice to Bruce, of trying to bond with your father, flew out the window.

The words felt like a slap, and you couldn’t keep the bite from your tone. “Is that what you think this is? Quality time? You really think we’re just gonna pick up where we left off? Think you can change the past with brunch?”

Bruce’s eyes softened for a moment, his expression cracking, but only slightly. The guilt was there, unmistakable, but it didn’t erase the unspoken expectation behind his words. His voice became more gentle, more insistent.

“I know it’s not easy,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something else—something almost pleading, though he would never admit it. “But I want to make this right. You deserve this. You deserve... me. We can go out, maybe catch a movie, grab lunch, talk, whatever you want. I just want to be with you. Like you always talked about.”

You didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. It was nice watching him beg for once. You had always wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted him to be a father, to care for you like he did the others. But that was before you tasted freedom, before you tried love.

Now, the idea of spending time with him felt like a betrayal to everything you had tried to protect: your own independence, your own space, your freedom. You didn’t want to be a part of his perfect little family anymore.

“No.” you muttered, unable to stop the anger from flooding your chest. “You really think that’s going to fix things? You think I just forgot what you did? Because i'm nice sometimes?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at your words, didn’t even show any sign of anger. Instead, he just stepped closer, his presence filling up the room, looming over you like an impenetrable wall. His tone remained patient, almost too controlled, like he was walking on eggshells.

“I know I can’t undo the past,” he said quietly, a trace of regret slipping through. “But I can be here for you now. I won’t make the same mistakes. I promise.”

A cold laugh escaped your lips. “You already have.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the anger bubbling up inside you, but you pushed it back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Bruce’s eyes softened even further, the guilt twisting in his expression, and for a moment, you saw something else there—desperation. As if he was begging you to let him in, to give him just one chance to prove he wasn’t the same person who had abandoned you for years.

“We could just sit and talk,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No expectations. No agenda. Just us. I’m not trying to fix you or make everything perfect. I just want to spend time with my daughter.”

Something in you snapped at the mention of daughter. The word that had haunted you for years. The word that had felt like a lie every time he used it. You clenched your fists, struggling to keep your composure.

“No,” you said, your voice flat, cutting through the tension like a knife. “You don’t get it. I don’t want this anymore. I don't want you anymore.”

Bruce’s face faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered. But the hurt was there, tucked in the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. I hope you know that.”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear it anymore. The damage was done. He couldn’t erase it. No amount of ��father-daughter time” was going to make you forget what it had been like when he wasn’t there for you.

“Stop,” you snapped, taking a step back. “Just stop. You don’t get to do this, Bruce. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is fine. Like everything’s fixed. You’ve ruined it. All of it.”

Bruce opened his mouth, but no words came. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle to understand where it had gone wrong.

“I’m just trying to make up for it,” he said quietly, but the sound of it made your stomach churn. The way his voice cracked slightly at the end of the sentence only made it worse.

And you hated yourself for feeling even a little guilty for saying no.

But no. You wouldn’t let him do this. Not again.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you spat, your tone sharp, venomous. “And I don’t want your ‘time.’ You don’t get to play the father now.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked toward the door. You needed to escape. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You were leaving your own room to get away from him.

Bruce’s voice stopped you, and you felt the pull of his desperate plea in the back of your mind. His words clung to you, too heavy, too much. “I'll go, don't leave. This is your room. I just want you to know I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You watched your father walk away, and only after he left did you fall to your bed and cry.

The next days before school were a blur. You spent them locked in your room, alternating between crying on the phone with Ariel, avoiding the family when you went down to sneak food to your room, trying to butter up Bruce and convince him to let you go back to boarding school, and online shopping.

Yet somehow Monday morning you were up at 5:30 getting into the shower.

The thought of returning to Gotham Prep made your stomach churn. How could you go back to a place where you had no true friends? A school where you’d been bullied by half your grade. Where Tim pretended you didn’t exist, Damian and Tiffany ridiculed you in front of everyone, and Duke ignored you like you were invisible. Where you ate lunch in the bathroom, alone and cried in the janitor's closet like a loser.

But you weren't the same girl who walked through those halls last year. No, this year was going to be different. You were different.

Last night, as you scrolled through Tik Tok, a new idea formed in your mind. You’d had enough of being invisible. It was time for a change.

You had a plan.

You found the bleach blonde hair dye in your bathroom, hidden away in the back of a drawer. You didn’t need permission, and you certainly didn’t need anyone to hold your hand.

By the time the dye had set and you’d rinsed it out, you felt like a new person. It was the kind of hair that would make people stop and stare.

You woke at 5:30 and hopped in the shower, you wanted to take your time getting ready. You plugged in your pink dyson and curled your new blonde hair, it would fall into a blow out later in the day, complaining about your family to Ariel and Claire. You spent the next two hours getting ready, perfecting your makeup. You’d learned to contour, learned to do your eyeliner just right, and became a bronzer girl over the summer. You grabbed your favorite Chanel palette and messily applied dark eyeshadow in smoky charcoal, blending seamlessly into the crease of your eyes and eyeliner. You smudged on a bold dark burgundy lipshine that drew attention. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself, your new self.

Then came the clothes.

You'd already shortened your Gotham Prep skirt by more than a few inches. It was below your knees and now it showed off the thighs you spent all summer tanning. You wanted to make a statement, and if they didn’t like it, that was their problem. The white blouse, originally oversized, was now form-fitting, you wanted it to give that one Bella Hadid picture. You left the top buttons undone, the tie hanging loosely around your neck in a deliberate, I-don’t-care gesture. You could feel the fabric clinging to your skin, reminding you of how much control you were regaining. You looked like the kind of girls you used to call whores last year.

You looked through your drawers for your signature jewelry you collected over the summer and during school. Big gold hoops on your ears, studs in all your other ear piercings, a tiffany heart necklace that rested on your exposed collar bone, and multiple bracelets stacked on each arm, jingling as you moved.

As you stood in front of the mirror, you smiled. You looked good.

Lastly you grabbed your Isabel Marant sneakers, chic and effortless, and slipped them on. They were expensive, but it wasn’t about the price—it was about the look. The vibe. Then, more than few spritzes of perfume. Something sharp, and not too sweet. You wanted to make a lasting impression, to turn heads as you walked.

By the time you were done, you felt invincible. The girl staring back at you was someone who didn’t care what anyone thought. You weren’t going to be bullied anymore. You were going to be the one who dictated the terms.

You walked out of your room, head held high, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Downstairs, the Batfamily was gathered at the breakfast table, doing their usual routine. They all stopped talking the second they saw you.

You’d barely stepped into the room when the heavy silence fell over the table. Bruce looked up, his expression instantly darkening. His lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze flicking over your appearance.

“Is this what you're wearing?” His voice was tight, a hint of disapproval slipping into the words.

You gave him a look that said everything. “Is something wrong? I thought it was cute.” Your tone was soft, teasing, but with a bite underneath. You weren’t asking for his permission. You were daring him to say something.

Tim, who had been looking at his phone, blinked up at you with wide eyes. He’d been so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even seem to know how to respond. His fingers hovered over his screen, unsure whether or not to comment.

“Are you seriously going to school looking like that?” His voice was tight, an edge of surprise and confusion beneath it.

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the doorway. “What? You don’t like it? Your friends might.” You knew how to unsettle him. That much you were sure of. You wanted to push his buttons, make him paranoid.

Dick was the next to react. He put down his coffee, glancing over at Bruce before looking back at you. “I get that you’re, you know, trying something new,” he began carefully, but the unease in his voice was clear. He was trying to be supportive, trying to understand, but it didn’t take much to see how disapproving he felt. “But—”

“But what, Dick?” you interrupted with a sudden change of attitude. “You don’t like it? That’s a shame. It's so crazy I literally never asked.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He simply shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Jason snorted, clearly not impressed. “You trying to turn heads or get yourself in trouble? Skirt's too short, change that shit.” His voice was low, but it had a sharpness to it now. His gaze scanned you from head to toe, his mouth curving into an almost imperceptible frown.

You weren’t fazed by his dismissive and angry attitude. If anything, it made you want to lean into it more. “I'm not changing, you want alonger skirt? You go put one on and come talk.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your tone saccharine sweet. "And I don't want trouble, but i don't mind it."

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jason drawled, eyeing the large hoops dangling from your ears. “Nice hoops. Real classy.” His lips twitched, mocking the exaggerated size of them. "I didn’t realize big was your thing now."

You smirked, reaching up to tug at one of the hoops, the gesture playful, but intending to piss him off. “Big boys like big things, Jason,” you replied smoothly, without missing a beat. “And you know what they say, the bigger the hoop, the bigger the....” You were quickly cut off before you could finish talking and ruining everyone's apittite.

Damian, ever the hater, set down his cereal with a dramatic flare, slamming it down and glared at you. “You look like you belong in a cheap nightclub, not Gotham Prep. Should we drop you off on the nearest corner?” His words were sharp, cutting—typical Damian, though you could hear the pure anger in his voice.

You chuckled softly, not phased in the slightest. You'd rather be at a cheap nightclub honestly. “I’m just bringing a little fun to Gotham, Damian. You should try it sometime, maybe then you wouldn't be so hateful all the time." Your tone was uninterested, like his insults weren't even worth your time.

Steph and Cass exchanged a look, both clearly unsure of how to react. Cass, as always, seemed more interested in watching you than engaging, while Steph’s gaze flickered between you and the rest of the family. Barbra was just staring at you in disbelief.

“Is it really that bad?” Steph finally asked, though her voice wasn’t quite as gentle as it could have been. There was a nervous edge to it. “I mean, you’re, uh, pulling it off…” She trailed off, clearly unsure how to proceed.

You ignored her, who cares what she thinks? Her and the rest of them are irrelevant. If you like it then so what. Her comment did make your lips twitch into a smile subconsciously though.

Alfred, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat before standing. “Miss, I must say, it’s a rather bold change. But perhaps not one that will be received well by the staff and teachers.” His words were polite, but you could hear the disapproval in the undertones.

You gave him a bright smile, not at all sorry. “I’ll take my chances, Alfred. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I've played this game before.”

Bruce, who had been seething quietly, finally stood up from the table. His usual calm demeanor was replaced with a tense frustration. “Go change. Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “Make me.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, then something else, something more. He clenched his fists for a moment, clearly fighting to maintain control. But you weren’t backing down. Not this time.

“I’m not going to let you walk out of here like that,” Bruce snapped.

You didn’t miss a beat. “You won't let me do anything. I go to school like this or I don't go at all. And since when do you care?” You crossed your arms and stuck your foot out, pouting like a child, staring him down waiting for him to surrender.

Bruce hesitated for a moment, his expression softening ever slightly. “Fine. But you’re pushing it. You're not going like this tomorrow.”

Bruce 0, You 1.

Jason, who had been watching the exchange with interest, chuckled. “You really know how to work him, don’t you?”

You flashed a smile at him, leaning back in your chair as you stood up and grabbed your bag, ready to leave the room. “Come on, let’s get out of here. We're already late. Jason, you driving?” Jason was the most fun, and he wasn't as nosy as Dick or Barbra.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m driving us all today. Come on, let’s go before Dad starts pulling rank.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bruce reluctantly agreed, shooting a last, disapproving look at your outfit before turning toward the door.

The engine of Jason’s car hummed steadily, but the air inside was anything but calm. You had decided to make this ride your moment. If you were uncomfy, you'd make them all feel the same. The others in the car—Damian, Tim, and Duke—were bracing themselves for your usual attitude, though this time you could tell there was a noticeable edge to the tension.

Jason, who was driving, was trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but you knew he was glaring at you through the rearview mirror. Damian was next to you in the backseat, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, like he was ready to throw down at any second. Tim sat on the other side, buried in his homework, something to do with Gotham Prep’s ever-pressing academic requirements. Nerd.

And Duke? Duke was the least bothered, but you were sure he was mentally rolling his eyes at you the moment you stepped into the car.

You were far too busy with your phone, flipping through TikTok videos and checking your DMs, but every so often, you’d glance at the boys just to see their reactions.

“So…” You leaned forward a little, propping your elbow on the middle console. Your voice was light, casual, but you could feel the energy shift around you. You knew this would get under Jason’s skin. “You think any of the boys at Gotham Prep will notice my glow up? ”

You heard a long, heavy sigh from the driver’s seat before Jason muttered, “She's in that phase huh,"

But you weren’t listening. You were too busy smirking at Tim, who barely looked up from his book. You could feel his eyes narrow, probably out of sheer annoyance. “I mean, it’s inevitable, right?” you continued. “I'm 16 now, I'm better looking. Is there any fresh meat since I left? Anyone interesting, new friends maybe??"

Jason was silent for a moment, but you could see the grip on the steering wheel tightening in his peripheral. He wasn’t going to let you get away with this.

"Listen," Jason said, his voice calm but with that sharp edge he always used when he was trying not to lose his temper. "I don’t want to hear about boys, okay? Not today, not ever."

You blinked dramatically, as if you were the one being attacked. “Oh, come on, Jason, don’t be such a buzzkill. I’m not doing anything. I just wanna know if anyone’s looking.” You reached forward and pressed the button to connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth, your nails clicking loudly across the screen as you searched for the perfect song to add to the atmosphere.

You knew you were getting to him. Jason was always so serious when it came to boys, always so guarded, especially when it came to you. It was fun getting under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder at you, but you were already half-distracted by your phone.

“Relax, Jase,” you shot back, ignoring his glare. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just curious. It’s just—boys.”

You needed something to stop the ache that came with your new powers.

“Don’t make me pull this car over,” Jason threatened, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror again.

You laughed softly, loving how easily you could provoke him. You leaned back in your seat, stretching out your legs, and noticed Damian watching you like he was deciding whether to strangle you with his own scarf.

“Damian, you’re so serious,” you sigh, you'd been ignoring him lately but you forgot how easy he is to provoke. “You know, you should loosen up. Boys are fun to look at, and to—” You cut yourself off before you could finish the sentence, letting the tension simmer.

Damian’s face twisted in that way he did when he was trying to pretend you didn’t bother him. “I don’t care what you do with boys,” he muttered. “But if you think I’m going to sit in this car while you talk about them like you’re some kind of—”

“Oh, no,” you interrupted with a teasing smile, “Not some kind of what? Some kind of what?” You stretched your legs a little further, drawing more attention to the hem of your skirt as you adjusted yourself in your seat. Making it even shorter now that Bruce wasn't here. You felt the eyes of your brothers boring into you, especially Jason's. “Honestly, Damian, lighten up. If you stopped being such a little grumpy loser all the time, you’d get more attention from girls. You have my looks y'know. ”

Tim, who had been pretending to focus on his homework this whole time, finally looked up from his papers with an exasperated sigh. “Can you not?” he asked, voice strained. “We’ve got school in twenty minutes. We don’t need a whole lecture about boys in the car.”

“Hey, no need to be so dramatic, Tim,” you said, turning your attention to your phone. You found your favorite song, the one that was guaranteed to annoy everyone in the car. “I’m just having fun. It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy. I just wanna know who’s gonna be there today."

You were making them all uncomfortable, and you loved it. You could already see Damian’s jaw tightening in the rearview mirror and Jason’s knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. Tim was staring at you like you were a whole new level of annoying. Even Duke rolled his eyes.

But that wasn’t enough. You needed them to be seething.

“I’m telling you right now,” Jason warned, his voice dead serious, “no boys today. No messing around. You’re going to class, and you’re staying focused. I'll check your phone if I have to. Got it?”

You put on your best innocent face, looking up from your phone as if you hadn’t just been causing a small riot in the car. “Okay, okay, Jason. No boys. I'm more into men anyway.”

Damian scoffed again, muttering something about how “pathetic” it was. You just grinned and rolled your eyes.

“Hey, you’re just jealous because girls don’t look at you,” you said, winking at him. “Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you’d get noticed more.”

Duke, who had been quietly observing the entire conversation, finally spoke up from the backseat, his tone easygoing but with a hint of amusement. “You got any tips for me? Am I chopped liver”

You rolled your eyes at him, still not over his betrayal. “Glad you’re entertained, Duke. I don't think even I could help you.”

As you said that, you grabbed the aux cord and plugged it into your phone without asking.

Jason let out a sharp sigh, but you just grinned. “I’ve got it from here,” you said as you clicked on Drake’s Hotline Bling. The song blasted as you maxed out the volume. Damian looked like he was about to combust.

“You really are a pain in the ass, aren’t you?” Tim muttered under his breath, trying to focus on his schoolwork again.

You grinned. “I like to think of myself as entertaining.”

Duke nodded his head to the beat, tapping on his phone and Jason’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but you could see the playfulness in his face. He was trying not to smile, despite himself.

“I’m just saying, no boys today, no skipping, no trouble” Jason reiterated, trying to keep a semblance of control. “And if I hear anything about you messing around, we’re going back home, got it?”

You leaned back in your seat and stretched again. “Sure, sure, no boys. But just so you know, if i get into "trouble" it’s not my fault.”

Jason didn’t respond.

When you finally arrived at Gotham Prep you sighed, grabbed your bag, straightened out your skirt one last time, and nearly ran away from them so you didn't have to walk in with Duke, Damian, and Tim. “See you later, losers,” you said with a grin, pulling your sunglasses on as you walked away from the car.

Gotham Prep didn't know what's coming.

Taglist:

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[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 9

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 8 of...who knows.

It felt like forever. He knew it wasn't. It must have been minutes until the car door was ripped open and Charles slipped in right next to him.

It wasn’t until the doors were slammed shut behind Charles that Max dared to look at the Monégasque.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight. Charles was still in his racing suit just as him, the suit itself streaked with sweat.

The moment the car door closed, the car started riving.

"Merde," Charles cursed. Max could only agree. "I am sorry, that it took this long."

Max gave a sharp, jerky shake of his head. "You don’t have to apologize," he somehow managed to get the words out. "I’m just..." he trailed off, a shaky exhale escaping him. "How could you make it here so fast?" he asked, casting a quick glance in his friend’s direction.

Charles snorted. "Your press officer had a shouting match with Ferrari's,“ he said simply.

If Max wasn’t so focused on not completely losing it, he might’ve been amused with the mental image. But at the moment, he could only shake his head.

Next to him, Charles let out a sigh. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"No. You?" he gave back.

"I don't have a bad feeling," Charles said quietly. “Not worse than it has been for days at least.”

Twin Telepathy was apparently a thing as far as Charles and Colette were concerned. 

Quite frankly, till this day, it still weirded Max out. They just seemed to know when the other one wasn't feeling well. 95% of the time, they got sick at the same time. They communicated more easily with each other than with anyone else, and regardless of what game they played...they needed to be put on opposite teams, because otherwise nobody had a chance against them.

Max was well aware of Colette and Charles' strange connection. Even if he didn’t fully understand it. They both had some sort of sixth sense when it came to the other one, and it sometimes felt like they were talking in secret code.

"What’s it telling you right now?" he asked, his voice barely above a rough whisper.

Charles turned to him fully at that, and Max saw the way his eyes swept over him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

Max could only imagine what Charles was seeing. He felt like a walking wreck, and there was no doubt his appearance was mirroring that.

"Colette is in pain," Charles finally said, his voice strangely quiet. "She’s scared."

That answer felt like somebody shoved a knife into Max’s stomach. He inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat. “Of course, she is,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Charles seemed to sense what he was thinking, even without being telepathically connected through whatever the hell Colette and him had going on. The Monégasque reached out and took a firmer hold of his hand, the grip almost crushing.

"Don’t," Charles said firmly, his voice leaving no room for arguments. "Don’t go there. We’re gonna get to her as fast as we can."

There was a brief moment of silence, as Max tried to collect himself. He focused all his attention on the pressure of Charles' hand on his, and somehow, it actually helped.

"I feel so goddamn useless," he finally admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to be with her."

"You want to try calling her before we are in the air?" Charles suggested.

That was not a bad idea, not at all. Max let out a low and slightly shaky exhale, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I…” he had to stop and clear his throat. “Yeah, I’ll try to call her.”

His hands were shaking when he pulled out his phone out of the backpack that somebody had handed off to him, already packed. Regardless of all the drama that had gone on in the RedBull garage during the year… if it really mattered, the people in there pulled off minor miracles.

Within minutes, his entire day - hell, his entire week - had been packed for him, with all the essentials of clothes and everything else he would need.

He had almost forgotten about the phone in his shaking hands, but now he just stared at the screen for a moment. His fingers were trembling so badly that just unlocking the phone was a challenge in itself.

Jimmy and Sassy were on his lockscreen...a picture that Colette had once sent him when he had been away for one of his races...the two of them laying on top of her on their couch...

Every other time Max saw the photo, it made his heart do a little funny jump. Now though, it made his chest ache. It felt like a sharp stabbing pain, and for a moment, he just sat there and stared at the picture.

Then he called her.

It rang. And it rang, and it rang again. With each passing second, that horrible knot in his stomach tightened a little more. With every ring of the bell, it got harder to breathe.

Finally, to Max’s immense and enormous relief, the line connected.

"Hey, Maxie. I put you on speaker," Victoria's voice came over the phone, sounding surprisingly calm.

A shiver of something resembling dread ran through Max, at the sound of Victoria’s voice. But he pushed past the feeling.

His thoughts were once again running wild - was it a bad sign that Colette wasn’t the one speaking to him? Or was he just overreacting..?

“Hey,” he forced the word out past the lump in his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asked, pleading for Colette's voice. Was it selfish that he just wanted to hear her tell him that everything was going to be okay?

"Better now," Colette's voice came, sounding slightly hoarse.

The words were like a shot of adrenaline, and for a moment, Max actually felt a little lightheaded. “Liefje.” He closed his eyes, just hearing her voice sending another wave of relief through him. “Are you okay? How is Bébé?”

"Bébé has decided that they would rather be born today, so I would suggest you hurry up," Victoria said drily.

"Seems like the kid already inherited Max's need for speed," Charles quipped. "How are you doing, Coco?"

"I'm good," Colette's voice replied, and Max could only imagine the eye-roll that was currently happening. He knew his girlfriend, and he had no doubt that she had been glaring at Victoria ever since the phone was put on speaker.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice suddenly turning much softer. "You're coming, right?"

"Coming," he assured her, his heart aching. "We're coming, I promise."

"I know. I’m not worried." She sounded like she meant it, but Max could easily imagine the anxiety in her eyes.

"You'd better not worry," Charles said, and then added, "I’m keeping him from doing anything dumb."

Max shot Charles a dirty look at that, bt he swallowed down the annoyed protest and focused back on Colette instead. “Just…hold on a little longer, okay?”

"It's not like I can go anywhere else," Colette replied, her voice slightly amused. "I’ll keep our little speed demon in there a little lo...." She broke off and let out a quiet hiss of pain, her voice once again cut off by what Max suspected to be a particularly painful contraction.

“Colette,” he said sharply, all kinds of emotions washing over him, one by one. “Liefje, just…just breathe through it, okay?”

There was a second of panting, then, he heard her take a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” she finally said. “Just…hurts like hell.”

He swallowed and clenched his free hand tightly into a fist, fighting against the urge to just jump out of the car and start running towards the airport.

Colette being in pain was not something he could deal with.

He heard her take a few more deep breaths, and he just sat there, waiting and listening and feeling absolutely useless.

"How long until you get here?" she asked after a moment, her voice breathless. He could see her in his mind, his sweet girl, sitting on the bed and clutching her belly as another contraction hit her.

"We're not even at the airport yet," he told her, and damn it, why were his eyes suddenly burning. "We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just...hold on a little longer."

"What your dad said..." Colette said with a shaky voice.

"I know," he said simply, the grief raw in his voice. Neither of them were ever really going to get over the two babies they had lost. They had learnt to live with the pain, they had dealt with the heartbreak an grief...but it was always going to be scar for them.

"Max, if something…" she began, her voice a little wobbly. He could tell that she was crying, by the way her breathing got a little more hitched and ragged.

But she suddenly cut off and gasped, letting out an even breath. Another contraction..."Hey, nothing is gonna happen," he quickly said, trying to soothe her. "Nothing. I'll be there soon. I'll be there before you know, and our child will meet their parents. We will be fine, we will get through this. You, and me. Together."

"If something happens," Colette continues. "If..."

"No," he cut her off, the word coming out as a growl. "Nothing is gonna happen. You will not talk that way. You’re going to deliver a gorgeous and healthy baby, and I won’t hear anything else."

"Max..." she protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said firmly, putting as much steel in his voice as he could. "You will be fine. Our baby will be fine, and I will be there soon and I will hold your hand and you can threaten to geld me and all of it will be okay. Just breathe.” 

He could hear the sound of her breathing, deep and even. She was trying to steady it, and Max gripped his phone tighter. He didn’t know if he was trying to hold himself together, or if he was trying to hold on to the sound of her voice.

The seconds ticked by, and then another contraction hit, and he heard her gasp out another ragged breath. Max felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. The idea of her in pain was like an invisible knife twisting a little deeper in his gut, each time.

"We need to go," Charles said suddenly. "We need to get into the plane." The car slowed down at that moment. "Coco, listen to me. I am going to be absolutely fucking furious with you if something happens to you," Charles told her fiercely. 

"Trust me," Colette’s voice said, sounding slightly tired. "I am very, very motivated to stay alive."

That was good. That was a good sign. If she was still being sarcastic and even a little bit cheeky…it was good.

"Just hold on," he told her again, the familiar feeling of helplessness seeping into his bones. "Just keep hanging on, for me. I love you."

“I love you too,” the words were as immediate and as fast as the sunrise each morning. "Hurry up, dammit."

"I’m trying," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I’m trying. We’re at the airport now. We’ll get there as fast as we can-" he had to stop, when he heard her let out another pained gasping sound, as another contraction clearly hit her hard.

“Goddamn,” he exclaimed, all of his muscles tense with the urge to do something. He wanted to help her, he wanted to be there to comfort her…but more than anything,  he was terrified of losing her. "Liefje, just keep breathing, okay? Breathe and stay calm."

"I’m trying to," her voice was breathless, and he knew that she was probably trying hard to fight the urge to cry out. Oh God, he hated that. He hated seeing her in pain, he loathed feeling this utterly useless.

"Go. Love you," she told him.

"I love you," he told her emphatically, wanting to say something more, but then Charles impatiently gestured at him to hurry up and get out of the car. "I...I’ll see you soon, okay? Just hang on, okay?"

"Yeah," he could tell that she was trying even harder to control her voice, trying to put on a calm and steady front for his benefit. "Just..." she cut off and let out a gasp, another contraction evidently hitting her hard. "...just hurry up before this baby decides to make their way out before you arrive, okay?"

"I will," he promised through gritted teeth. "I will, goddammit, I will, just…hang on."

He heard Colette’s pained panting, and each of her breaths was like a stab in the gut.He hated having to hang up on her

Everything in him rebelled at that. How could he, how could he possibly abandon her like that, how could he let her take on this pain and fear all by herself, without him there to hold her hand...but goddamnit, he had no choice.

He took a shuddering breath and pushed past the urge to scream, to slam his fist into something, anything. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from the desperate need to get to her, to overwhelming panic, to anger at the universe for forcing them apart and for putting her through this pain.

Into the plane they went…it was probably the shortest amount of time between entering a plane and taking off Max had ever experienced. 

Before too long they were up in the air, flying towards Nice.

The minutes ticked by, each one passing by like a century. Max would sit in restless agitation at his seat, his mind racing back and forth. Every thought and memory came back to Colette. He just wanted to be at her side, he just wanted everything to be okay…

And instead he would be stuck on this plane for 6 hours.

He would be stuck on this goddamn plane for six hours. Six hours, each one of them filled with the knowledge that the love of his life was giving birth to their child, and he was not there to support her, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything was okay.

It was driving him absolutely insane. He couldn’t take it, he just wanted to be there, with her. He could vividly picture her, sitting in the hospital bed and gripping the rails, her face screwed up in pain as she fought through another contraction. And he was not there to comfort her.

"Maman is with her. Your sister is with her. Lorenzo and Arthur too." Charles said at that moment. “We aren't there but everybody else is."

"How can you be this calm?" Max asked him, dragging a hand through sweat damp hair.

"Don't mistake calm for not being worried," Charles said evenly, his eyes tracking Max's restless pacing of the plane. "I am worried. For her, for you and for the little one. But freaking out isn't gonna do anyone any favours right now."

"I know,” Max said, his voice still strangled tight with stress. He just couldn't get any of the images out of his mind - her struggling and fighting her way through the pain, looking more vulnerable and pale than he had ever seen her...and he was not there.

“Besides, I shouted at Ferrari’s PR and got it out of my system, so currently, I am feeling quite calm.” Charles said darkly. “I imagine that’s going to change again when I am sure that Colette and the baby are alright.”

Max just stared at him. Charles had done what?

If there was a religion that Charles Leclerc believed in then it was Ferrari.

Charles Leclerc was their golden boy. Their Il Predestinato. There was no good-natured fobbing to be had about Ferrari regardless of what issues there had been had through the years, and there had been a lot.

Charles worshipped Ferrari like a malevolent goddess. He didn’t want to hear any criticism of his team and Max had given up on that a very long time ago. 

Charles and Colette both could be the most stubborn people Max had ever match. The only one who could match their stubbornness were each other. 

"You did what?" Max stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Charles was an absolute Ferrari fan and loyal to the very core…why the hell would he yell at the PR people?

"Why...? What did they do?"

"They weren't even going to tell me that something was wrong with Colette," Charles said darkly. "I knew it. I knew that something was off. But they didn't say anything. It was one of Red Bull's PR Staff that got me out of the cooldown room. Ferrari wouldn't have said anything to me. Ferrari didn't want me to leave either. They wanted to debrief, they wanted me to give interviews,"

Max had to resist the urge to swear. He had been so focused on the fact that he was not with Colette that he hadn't even processed the fact that Ferrari had actually kept her labour a secret from Charles, simply to make him stay and do his goddamn job for them.

"You know that that is not normal, right?" he asked him drily. "I am not telling you that everything is perfect at Red Bull but Christian would never fucking stand for that."

"You know I never expected it," Charles told him, his mouth a thin hard line. "We are the drivers. We are the stars. But we come second. First and foremost, we are assets to the team. What Ferrari wants, Ferrari gets. We drive, we get podiums, we hold the trophies, and we smile for the cameras. Everything else comes second. It doesn’t matter to them. To them, only the trophies matter. "

"That's what they want," Max told him, anger seeping into his voice. "But that's not how it should be. Ferrari is wrong. If something is wrong with your loved ones, they have no right to keep it from you like that. Especially not for the sake of a goddamn interview."

"I know," Charles said, his lips thin with bitterness. "But there's not much I can do about it, is there? We may be the top drivers on the grid, but we drive the car that the teams give us. There's only so much that we can do when the team has power over pretty much every aspect of our career. And believe me, I am going to pay a fucking price for doing what I did. I just don't care at all. It's Colette," he said sharply. "I love all my siblings. I do. I love Lorenzo and Arthur. I would do everything for them. But they aren't my twin. They aren't the second half of me," Charles said simply. "Ferrari be damned."

Max hadn't thought that he was ever going to hear these words out of Charles' mouth but here they were.

"What the fuck did Jos say by the way? What did Coco mean?" Charles demanded.

"He gave an interview to Sky Sports," Max said, fury still embering deep in his gut.

"Of course he did." Charles said, not sounding surprised at all. "What did he say?"

"Confirmed the relationship...and the pregnancy," Max said clenching his teeth. "And if that wasn't enough...he made a...comment about how it had taken us long enough to have a baby."

There was a sharp indrawn breath as Charles absorbed that. "...What?" Charles said after a moment, his voice strangled. "...he made that comment in public? Are - are you serious?"

"I never told him about the two...miscarriages," Max said quietly. "I couldn't deal with whatever well meant advice he was going to have...but I...We lost two babies," Max said weakly. "My father went out there and confirmed our relationship and the pregnancy without talking to either of us. He just made that decision because it's "ridiculous" that we kept it a secret for so long. An it’s making me furious. This wasn't his decision to make. This was ours."

"Yes," Charles said, his jaw clenching. "It was. Your decision. Nobody else’s. He had absolutely no right to do that. Goddamn it, I have never liked that man, but I've never had the urge to punch him as much as I do this very moment."

"You and me both," Max said. The anger he was feeling would have been burning through him like a damn inferno if he hadn't been so worried about Colette.

"This should have come from us," Max repeated quietly. "Not from anybody else."

"It still can come from you," Charles said.

Max paused, looking up at him. "Are you saying we should..." he began uncertainly.

"You want to tell the entire world that you love my sister and that she is having your baby? You have an Instagram account and a phone with an internet connection," Charles said drily. "Tell them the truth. Your truth."

Max opened his mouth and then closed it again. Charles had a point. It was obvious what the news was going to be now if people had seen Jos's interview.

But he wanted to be the one to tell the world. He wanted it to be on his terms. He wanted it to be public but on his public terms. Not his father's.

"Are you ever going to ask my sister to marry you?" Charles asked him suddenly.

The question caught him completely off guard. "...What?" He said blankly, stunned by the change of the conversation.

"You gave her a ring when you were both 18 that you both insisted was only a promise ring," Charles said drily. "Are you ever going to replace it with the real thing?"

He thought back to that ring that still sat on Colette's finger to this day. A simply gold band with a tiny heart-shaped diamond.

He had given it to her in 2016, after his very first Grand Prix win in Spain. He had gone out and bought it that very same day to be exact.

He had bought Victoira a handbag the first time he had scored his championship points...but the first time he had won...he had bought Colette that ring.

"Apparently the baby is only going to have your surname too, because you have an agreement," Charles continued. "Do I actually want to know what that agreement was?"

"We were 18. Both our father's would have probably killed us, if we came to them and told them that we were engaged," Max said with a sigh. The Leclerc's had always been supportive of their relationship but Hervè Leclerc had very much thought that both Colette and him were far too young to get married. 

Jos on the other hand...Max didn't even want to imagine that screaming fit.  "So I gave her that ring and we agreed that..."

"You agreed that..." Charles repeated slowly, silently urging him to continue.

Max let out a deep sigh and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, mussing it up even more. "We agreed that we didn't really need a piece of paper to tell us what we already knew," he said simply. "Colette and I had been together for 6 years at that point, we already knew and accepted that we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. It was just a matter of when. So we decided that we didn't need a damn piece of paper to know that we were committed to each other. We already knew that, without a doubt," Max said simply. "It was a promise ring. To love and to cherish, till death us do part. One day we would do it properly, but till then...that ring was a promise."

Charles stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You have been married to my sister for 10 years?" he asked him sharply.

Max winced. Okay. Put like that, it sounded kinda bad. "We never had the actual wedding," he said sheepishly. "We both know it wasn't necessary for us, so...we kinda just...never got around to it."

"I mean, I did ask your father for her hand in marriage when it was clear that he wasn't going to be there...when we eventually did it properly...but...for us that ring was… It was more than enough," Max said quietly. "I knew damn well that I would be with her for the rest of my life. She knew it. We both knew it. And that ring was a symbol between us that sealed the deal. We both knew that it was going to be for forever and always. It was a promise. A promise to always stay by each other’s side. No matter how badly things fell apart around us. No matter how much the world wanted to tear us to apart. We were going to stay together, come hell or high water. We didn't need a paper to prove that to us or the rest of the world," Max said firmly.

Charles stared at him for a couple of long moments, processing this. Max was well aware that, from an outside perspective, it might sound weird. That they had been so young, but so utterly certain that they were going to spend their lives together.

But he and Colette had been together for years. And he had seen how strongly they had bonded over the years, seen what they had been able to deal with as a team, as one, and how they had come through every single thing that the life had thrown at them together.

"You two are utterly ridiculous," Charles finally said drily. "You didn't get engaged because as far as you two were concerned you already got married years ago."

Max winced a little bit and couldn't really refute it. If he were to be honest, he'd have admit it did sound utterly ridiculous, when Charles spelled it out like that.

But that just...that was how badly they had known right from the very beginning that this was it for them. They didn't need a piece of paper to tell them what they already knew.

"I'll ask her properly," he promised Charles. "I already got the ring. But Colette doesn't want to overshadow Lorenzo and Charlotte and I knew that she wasn't going to want to have a big party while pregnant so I figured I would just wait."

Charles was slightly taken aback by his words, before he gave a small smile. "She'll definitely say yes, you know," he said, the corner of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Max smiled in return. His heart ached with the thought of her. "I hope so," he said quietly, feeling like there was a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. "I really, really hope so."

[marauder-misprint]

Nail polish & cologne

Remus Lupin x reader

Part two

1.7k words

cw: fluff, mutual pining

You take your spot next to Lily as Professor Slughorn writes on the blackboard at the front of the room. You’re reaching for your textbook when you hear giggles erupt from various spots in the room. The giggles are accompanied by various groans as well. It’s enough to make Slughorn hush the room. When you look at what he’s written, you understand the reactions. Amortentia. The powerful love potion that Slughorn had talked about briefly at the beginning of the term.

“Thought we already learned ‘bout this!” James groans from his station behind you.

Lily snorts a laugh before whispering to you, “Like that synopsis would be N.E.W.T. level.”

You smile knowingly. Slughorn had practically just asked someone to identify the potion and describe what it did; Snape had done so but didn’t tell anyone what he smelled. You recalled seeing his eyes flick to Lily and then back to his lap. Despite no longer talking, it was evident that he was still infatuated with the ginger. 

“As Mr. Potter so kindly pointed out, we did cover Amortentia earlier this term, although briefly. Mr. Potter, can you do the honors of reminding the class the defining characteristics of the potion?” Professor Slughorn says, his voice commanding the attention of the room. 

James stutters flustered for a moment before Sirius slides the textbook in front of his friend, open to the chapter on love potions. 

“It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals. Amortentia smells different to each person, according to what attracts them,” he reads from the book.

“And thank you, Mr. Black, for the assist,” Slughorn adds, clapping his hands together. “Now, we will be brewing Amortentia today, and I advise you all to be model students. I can only emphasize so much that any student caught with Amortentia outside of this classroom will be severely punished.” He casts a warning glance around the room. “And on a similar note, I also implore you to take note of what it smells like to you. It may just save you or a companion from consuming it unintentionally.” 

“Date rape,” you mutter under your breath, causing Lily to chuckle lightly.

Slughorn continues his lecture on the effects of the potion before discussing how to brew the potion. When he dismisses the class to gather their supplies, the boys behind you start to discuss what they expect to smell.

“Ain’t no way Prongs doesn’t smell broom polish,” Sirius says. “We’ve been victim of those fumes far too often…”

Remus laughs. “And will you smell your girl of the week or vodka?”

“You think so low of me, Moony?” Sirius scoffs.

“Please, don’t take offense, Pads. Moony is going to smell the library and morning dew. Somethin’ sappy like that,” James teases.

You can’t help but smile to yourself as you and Lily prepare the ingredients. 

“What do you think you’ll smell?” you ask her, lighting the fire under your cauldron. 

“Parchment and fresh cookies, probably. Very home-y scents, you know?”

You nod and consider what you’ll smell. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I smelled nail polish or petrol.”

Lily adds the first ingredients with a growing smile on her face. “Ah, yes, the finest smells on the planet.” 

You and Lily fill the rest of the lesson with giggles, properly brewing the potion. Every once in a while, you look behind you to see how the boys are doing. Like usual, Remus appears to be carrying the group with occasional help from James and Sirius. 

“And… I think we’re done?” Lily says, leaning over so slightly over the cauldron. 

She waves her hand to waft the fumes toward her face. She contemplates what she smells before turning a brilliant shade of red. 

“So? What’d you smell?” you ask eagerly. 

It’s impossible to not notice how the boys went immediately silent at your question. Lily shakes her head and frowns at the potion.

“We must’ve done something wrong… That can’t be right,” she mutters, reaching for her book to double check all of the instructions and ingredient measurements. 

You twist your lips in curiosity. You lean toward the cauldron and mimic Lily’s earlier motion.

Nail polish… milk chocolate… parchment… Remus’ cologne…

Wait, what? You feel your face heat up and you reach for your own book.

“Yeah, what did we do wrong?” you mumble, scanning the directions.

Lily’s silence only reinforces your conclusion. You brewed the potion perfectly. So what you smell is… nope. That can’t be right. 

You look at Lily, hoping that she had an answer she wasn’t vocalizing. Her perplexed expression leaves you little hope. 

Slughorn must have heard your dual concerns about your potion because he heads your way. 

“Finished, ladies?” he asks.

“Uh, we think so?” you answer.

He inspects your cauldron and the two of you wait for his consensus. You are so focused on Slughorn that you don’t notice how the boys are listening in. You feel your heart fall into the pit of your stomach as Slughorn beams at you.

“It’s perfect. You two should be very proud. Ten points to Gryffindor,” Slughorn says before walking away to check on some Slytherins nearby.

You turn to Lily who is mirroring your confused expression.

“But… I…” you says, unable to finish any of your thoughts.

“Yeah… Same,” she says.

At least you aren’t alone in your reaction to what you smell. 

Behind you, the boys aren’t far behind with their own potion. After gathering a sample to turn in and cleaning up your cauldron, you and Lily turn around to watch them finish up. It’s obvious when it’s complete. Remus’ face turns a deep shade of red, making the scars on his face seem to glow. He takes a step back and gestures to the cauldron for James and Sirius to smell. 

The whole time you’re trying to not stare at Remus. Yes, you have a crush on him. You had for a while. You love his quiet rebellions and his brilliance that shines in the Marauders’ pranks. You love how, despite being a prefect, he gives no effort to rein in his friends’ antics. You love how he can step away from their wiles to study when it’s needed and how he always had a book with him. And it didn’t hurt that you thought he was gorgeous. His sandy hair, soft brown eyes, scars that he seemed to hide behind at times. 

You had felt like this for a while so you don’t know why it has taken you by such surprise that you smell him in the Amortentia. Maybe it’s the quiet voice in your head that reminds you that it’s a single-sided crush, an unrequited love. Of all the times you stared at him, you never caught him staring back and you were never caught because you can’t get caught if he never looks your way. 

“Ha! I’m not even surprised!” James exclaims, giving Lily a cheeky smile. 

“Broom polish like Black predicted?” Lily asks, returning his smile with a teasing one. 

“And so much more.”

Lily attempts an air of indifference, despite having smelled broom polish herself, and turns to Sirius. “What about you, Black? Vodka or perfume?” 

“I think… Wait, let me smell that again.” Sirius pauses as he waves the spirals ascending from the cauldron toward his face again. “Yes. Effie’s cooking. And firewhiskey. And smoke.”

James looks away from Lily with shock. “Effie’s cooking?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Sirius says with a shrug. “Whaddabout it?” 

“You smell my mum’s cooking? In the love potion?” 

“Yes. What’s confusing ‘bout that?”

“Just a bit… bizarre?” 

“You’re bizarre,” Sirius retorts casually. “Moons? Care to share what you smelt? Preferably something with food so Prongs doesn’t think I’m so off?” 

Remus blinks slowly, stepping forward from where he was leaning against the unused desk behind them. He took another sniff of the potion, closing his eyes and basking in it. 

“You might be off, Pads. That’s a liquid library, right there.” 

Sirius narrows his eyes at Remus. “Right, sure. That’s all you smell?” 

Remus looks away from Sirius and back at the cauldron. He nervously cracks his knuckles. Then he reaches for a vial.

“We should get our sample and clean up,” he says shortly.

“Ooo! Moony’s hiding something. What did you smell?” James asks. 

If you weren’t staring at Remus, you would’ve missed how his eyes flickered toward you. When he sees you already looking at him, he turns impossibly more red. Were you imagining it? 

Hope fills your veins. You’re sure you’re assuming too much, but what if he smells you in the potion, just like how you smell him? Why else would he have blushed so furiously when he looked at you? It would explain why he doesn’t want to tell the boys what he smells, because he knows you’re standing right there, a part of the conversation despite not having said anything. 

“Here,” Remus says as he hands the vial to James. “Go give that to Slughorn so we can pass this class.” 

“Alright, boss.” 

Just after James turns in their potion, Slughorn dismisses all of those who had finished their potion. You and Lily leave rather quickly, having already been fully cleaned up. James isn’t far behind. He’s convinced that he and Lily shared a moment in that class, which meant he might have a chance if he asks her out again soon. 

Alone with Remus now, Sirius asks again, “What did you smell, Remus?”

“I told you, a-”

“Library. So that’s what? Old books? Inkwells? Y/N studying next to you?” 

Remus goes quiet. How did Sirius know?

“Am I obvious?” Remus whispers, not looking at his best friend.

“Nah,” Sirius assures him. “Between James and Lily making googoo eyes at each other? You’re good. Although, I think it’s worth a shot. She couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

Sirius walks away, leaving Remus to finish gathering his things on his own. Had you been staring at him longer than he thought? Since when did you, in all of your perfectness, stare at him, a monster in a student's uniform? But if Sirius, Mr. Self-Proclaimed-Ladies'-Man, thought it was worth a shot, maybe it was. Maybe he’d have to find you later and work up the courage to ask you out. 

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT2 | FC43

part one

an: not even gonna leave an an, i always had a part two lol

wc: 5.2k

Franco found out she was dating Angelo via an Instagram story. A fucking Instagram story.

But that was almost three years ago now, and Franco tried to let it go, god did he try. He was getting married now, after all. He had to forget about what could have been.

The engagement ring on his finger felt heavier than it should. Not because he hadn’t once thought it was right—he had. Or maybe he just convinced himself it was right. They’d been together for four years, maybe more, he stopped counting. She was beautiful, poised, easy to love, easy to fit into his world. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway.

But now, standing in the grand suite of the London hotel they’d rented for the weekend, Franco stared out the window at the city below, watching the lights flicker in the distance. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was missing. Not that he had any right to be questioning it. After all, he was about to get married, wasn’t he?

The last three years had been a blur of wins, podiums, and post-race parties. Formula 1 had been a dream realised, his face plastered across billboards in every country, every magazine with his name next to the headlines. He’d travelled the world, earned millions, lived a life many envied. But somewhere along the way, his heart had wandered.

And the truth was, despite the glamour, despite the fame, the money, he couldn’t shake the thought of her. The way she’d looked when she told him she loved him first. The way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears that night in Monza—before she left for good. The way she’d walked away, no longer the girl he took for granted. It was like he could still see her disappearing down the hallway of the hotel, leaving him behind, a shadow in her past.

What if I had chosen her?

He thought about that too often. But it was too late. She was gone. She’d moved on with Angelo, the guy who was everything Franco wasn’t—steady, grounded, someone who could give her a love that wasn’t tied to racing, fame, or endless, mind-numbing travel. And that fucking Instagram story—her laughing, the two of them in a café in Buenos Aires, arms around each other, looking so effortlessly happy—had been the final blow.

That was the last straw.

And now, three years later, here he was—about to get married, with the wrong person. He should have been thrilled, but something about it gnawed at him, like he was suffocating in a life that wasn’t his own. She was everything he thought he wanted. She’d followed him to every race, always the perfect girlfriend, the perfect partner. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he loved her anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever had.

She had been the easy option. She fit into the world he’d built for himself—the shiny, public life, the world of sponsorships and media appearances. She had the right background, the right education, the right looks. She was what was expected of him. What people saw when they looked at a successful F1 driver: the perfect match, the ideal woman.

But the reality was that whenever he closed his eyes, he saw someone else. He saw her. The girl from that small village in Argentina, the one who’d loved him first and probably would, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he hadn’t been able to see it for what it was.

He hadn’t thought about her for a while—not in the sense that would make him ache, not the way he used to. He’d buried that pain under the chaos of the last few years. But it was like a low hum in the back of his mind. Every time he saw Angelo’s name pop up, or when he’d hear a new story about her from people back home, he couldn’t help but wonder how her life had turned out. Was she happy? Was she still with Angelo? Was she finally over him?

He could only imagine the life she’d built without him—the kind of life she deserved.

But now, standing on the edge of a new chapter of his life, Franco wondered if he’d ever be able to move on. Because, no matter how many laps he raced, no matter how many trophies he collected, it always came back to her. And now, with his wedding on the horizon, he couldn’t help but ask himself: What the hell had he been doing this whole time?

His phone buzzed on the table, snapping him back to the moment. His fiancée. A text: “Hey, I made reservations for dinner tonight!”

He sighed and stared at the screen of his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

He knew he shouldn’t, it was ridiculous. It was stupid. He had no right to send her an invitation, not after everything. He hadn’t heard from her in so long, hadn’t even thought about reaching out beyond those painful Instagram stories and the passing updates from mutual friends.

But, for some reason, there he was—typing out an invitation to his wedding.

It’s the right thing to do, he told himself. She was a part of his past. She had been the first person to love him unconditionally. They’d spent too many years growing up together not to extend an olive branch. Besides, she had a life now, a life without him. Maybe it was selfish to think she would even want to come, but maybe, just maybe, she deserved to know. She deserved to hear it from him, the way things had turned out.

He hit “send” before he could overthink it any more. The words felt hollow as they left his phone, but there was no going back now.

It was a quiet afternoon in Buenos Aires. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light through the windows of their apartment. She and Angelo had just finished dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta and wine—and now she was curled up on the couch with a book in her lap, one of the many cosy rituals they had settled into over the past couple of years.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced at it, seeing a notification from her email app. The subject line made her pause.

Wedding Invitation: Franco Colapinto.

She blinked, feeling her chest tighten before she even opened it. It had been so long since she’d thought about him—since Monza, really. It was a chapter of her life that had closed the moment she walked away. But the sight of his name brought it all rushing back. The summers spent racing bikes down dirt roads, his smile so effortless, so wide. The way he’d looked at her before everything changed.

Slowly, she opened the email, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and disbelief.

I hope this message finds you well. It’s been a while since we last spoke, but I wanted to reach out and invite you to something important. I’m getting married in three months' time, and I wanted to personally invite you to be a part of the day. It wouldn’t feel right without including you.

I understand if you’re unable to come, but I thought it was important to extend the invitation.

I hope everything is going well in your life.

All the best,

Fran

She stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, the words swimming in her mind. There were so many things she could have said, but the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of her heart, beating a little faster than it should. A soft ache settled in her chest.

Three years had passed. She had moved on, found a life she was proud of—one that was stable and calm, filled with love from Angelo, whose steady hand had never wavered, who had been everything Franco couldn’t be. She had built a future, and it was more than she had ever expected for herself.

And yet, the invitation sat there, a reminder of what had been. Of the boy she had loved, the boy who had never truly seen her. Of the boy who she had walked away from.

She set the phone down for a moment, leaning back against the couch. Angelo’s gentle snoring filled the living room from the slightly ajar door, a quiet reminder of the life they had made together—together, with no ghosts of the past lingering between them. But even as she sat there, she could feel the sting of Franco’s message, the painful reminder of how much had been left unsaid.

She thought about the wedding. How strange it felt to be invited to something so intimate, something so final. It was a life she would never be a part of. A life that wasn’t hers to claim, never was. But part of her, deep down, still wondered what had happened. Was he happy? Was this really the life he wanted? Or was this just another easy option for him? Another decision made out of convenience?

Why am I even asking myself this?

She shook her head, her lips curling into a rueful smile. She knew she didn’t want to go. There was no reason to go back to that part of her life, not now. Not when everything she had built with Angelo was exactly where it needed to be.

The following morning, the soft clink of Angelo’s keys echoed through their small kitchen as he got his things ready for work. He was already dressed in his crisp suit, his tie neatly adjusted, preparing for another day at the law firm. She, on the other hand, was in her scrubs, packing her bag for her shift at the hospital.

She was tying her trainers when she saw him glance at her, his eyes focused on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity. “You seem a little quiet this morning.”

She shrugged, setting her bag down on the counter. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

It was only a half-lie. She had hardly slept last night after receiving Franco’s invitation. The words had stuck with her, gnawing at her thoughts, replaying in her mind like a loop she couldn’t escape.

“What’s up?” Angelo asked, watching her intently, his brow furrowing slightly.

She hesitated, then sighed and reached for her phone, pulling up the email Franco had sent her. She handed it to him without a word.

Angelo read it in silence, his eyes scanning the screen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but somehow, she already knew that he would have an opinion on it.

Finally, he set the phone down and looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “He’s getting married, huh? I didn;’t believe it when I saw it on the news.” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly, as if the words themselves felt like an admission. “I guess he thought I should know.”

“You’re not planning on going, are you?” Angelo asked, his voice laced with concern.

She shook her head, biting her lip. “He’s my past now. It doesn’t matter. It’s… it’s not something I need to revisit.”

Angelo nodded, his eyes softening as he stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He knew how much Franco had meant to her—how he had once been the centre of her world. But that was years ago. And he had never once doubted that she was now his world.

“I haven’t seen Franco since we were sixteen,” Angelo said, his tone thoughtful. “I know things between you and him ended... well, the way they did. But maybe it might be good to go. For closure. For you, if nothing else.”

She met his eyes, her gaze wavering. “Closure?” she repeated, almost incredulously. “I don’t need closure, Angelo. I moved on a long time ago.”

“I know,” Angelo said, his voice gentle but firm. “But I think sometimes it’s easy to say we’ve moved on, that we’re over things. But there are pieces of our past that stick with us, no matter how much time passes. Maybe seeing him—seeing that life—will help you put the final chapter behind you. Don’t you think?”

She was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in her head. It made sense, in a way. The past had never quite been put to rest, even if she had buried it deep. Maybe it wasn’t about Franco anymore. Maybe it was about facing what had happened, about finding peace with it, once and for all.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I don’t want it to mess with what we have, Angelo. I don’t want to go and be reminded of something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Angelo smiled softly, taking her hand in his. “It won’t. I promise. You’re the one I want, mi amor You’re the one who matters. Whatever happened back then, whatever Franco was, that’s not us. It’s not our life. But if this is something you think you need to do, then I’ll be there with you. I want you to have the closure you need.”

She felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. Angelo had always been like that—steady, understanding, and so patient with her. He never pushed her to forget, but he also didn’t hold her to the past. He was the one who made her feel safe, who built her the life she was proud of, and the thought of him beside her through whatever this was made her feel like she could take on anything.

With a slow, hesitant breath, she met his eyes. “You’re right. Maybe it would be good to go. I don’t know what I’ll feel when I see him, but I think... I think I can handle it now.”

Angelo smiled, squeezing her hand. “Then we’ll go. Together.”

She nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. The decision was made, and it was time to let go of the last remnants of the past. Franco and his life—whatever that was now—could stay in the past, but she wouldn’t be running from it anymore.

“Thanks,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “For always being here.”

“Always,” Angelo replied, his voice warm. “Now go. You don’t want to be late for your shift.”

She smiled at him one last time before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. The wedding was still months away, but somehow, her world felt just a little bit more at peace now.

Three months later

The morning of the wedding, the soft rays of the sun filtered through the curtains of their hotel suite, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as Angelo adjusted his cufflinks in the reflection behind her. The air was filled with a quiet sense of anticipation. It had been a few months since she agreed to come to the wedding, and now, standing in this luxurious hotel in the heart of the Mediterranean, she could feel the surrealness of it all.

She was here. With him. With Angelo.

He caught her gaze in the mirror, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice tender.

She smiled back, her heart swelling with a quiet joy. Angelo was always so calm, so steady, and he knew exactly how to make her feel loved without needing to say much. The simple moments like this were the ones that made her certain that their life together, their future, was the right one.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. He was perfect in every way. “You look handsome, as usual,” she added with a smile.

He chuckled softly. “I try,” he teased, adjusting the hem of his suit jacket before stepping forward to take her hand. “Are you ready for this? I know it’s been a long time coming.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m ready. It’s just… it’s strange. You know? We’re not the same people we were three years ago. And I feel like I’m finally letting go of that past. I just need to do it, for me. And for us.”

“Whatever you need, you have it,” Angelo said, his voice unwavering, filled with a quiet strength.

She smiled at him, grateful for his support. They had come so far, and no matter what happened today, she knew she was in the right place.

“I’m going to step outside for a second,” she said, pulling away from him gently. “I’m going to grab a photo of the schedule. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Angelo replied, watching her with those warm, reassuring eyes.

She stepped into the corridor of the hotel, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She pulled out her phone, navigating to the event details to snap a photo of the ceremony’s schedule. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant chatter of guests below and the hum of preparations for the wedding in the distance. The excitement was palpable in the air, but in this moment, everything felt calm.

That was until she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

She turned around, feeling her heart give a small, unexpected jolt when she saw him.

Franco.

He was standing there, half-dressed in a black tuxedo with his shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, his tie still loose around his neck. He looked just like he did three years ago—handsome, dishevelled in the way that made him seem effortlessly charming.

Her stomach tightened.

“You came,” he said, his voice soft with surprise. 

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before forcing a calm smile. “I said I would,” she replied evenly. Her heart beat just a little faster, but she kept her expression neutral.

He looked at her, his gaze a little more intense than she remembered, and she couldn’t quite place the mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. There was something unspoken there, something she hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” he added, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

She didn’t know what to make of that. She shrugged. “I thought I’d at least be polite.”

A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and thick with everything that had been left unsaid over the years. Franco’s gaze drifted toward the floor for a moment before he looked back up at her, his jaw tense, and his voice was almost pleading when he spoke.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his words hesitant.

She hesitated, feeling her pulse quicken. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to go back to the past—didn’t want to open that door again.

“I’d rather not,” she said, her tone firm, though her heart was beating harder than she cared to admit.

Franco’s expression softened. “It’s been three years. Three years overdue, don’t you think?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, the weight of everything hanging between them. She didn’t owe him anything, and yet, a part of her—perhaps the part that had loved him—knew there was still something lingering. Something that she hadn’t been able to shake off.

She finally gave a soft sigh, one that carried all the weariness of the years that had passed. “Fine,” she said quietly, her shoulders sagging slightly in resignation. “But just for a minute. I don’t have time to rehash everything.”

“Thank you,” Franco murmured, stepping forward as he gestured down the hallway. “My room’s just down here. I won’t keep you long.”

They walked down the corridor in silence, the weight of the moment sinking in. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this conversation, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Not for either of them. When they reached his room, Franco opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

It was a modest suite, far removed from the lavish ceremony unfolding just downstairs. The quiet of the room seemed to accentuate the tension between them. He closed the door behind them, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his voice distant as he turned to face her. “Water? A drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

There was a long pause. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly nervous. For the first time in a long while, he seemed uncertain.

“So…” Franco began, taking a breath, “I guess this is awkward, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice steady, but her insides were churning. “A little.”

Before she even had a chance to settle with what she was doing, he shot her straight to the heart with the words that came out of his mouth.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know I did, but that wasn’t ever my intention. You were always there for me, and I should’ve done better. I should’ve realised…”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that was all too familiar. He seemed to be gathering the courage to say something, but when he spoke, his words were not what she expected.

“I should’ve told you,” he started, voice low, almost regretful. “I should have told you that I loved you.”

She blinked, her chest tightening as she took in the weight of his words. “Don’t,” she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, a defence mechanism against the rawness he was trying to expose. “You can’t do that. You can’t come here and say things like that after all this time. It’s... it’s mean.”

Franco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I should’ve told you,” he repeated, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place—guilt, perhaps? Regret?

She shook her head, unable to stop herself from responding. “Why are you still with her, then?” Her voice trembled slightly, the question feeling more like a challenge than a simple inquiry. She thought of how excited she must be right now getting ready, while he was confessing his love to his childhood best friend. She wondered whether she knew.

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his eyes flickered away, as though he was ashamed of the truth he was about to speak. “It’s easier to pretend to love her,” he admitted, his voice flat. “It’s easier than facing the truth.”

“Than what?” she asked, her words cutting through the air, her eyes locking onto his. “Than admitting you love me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Franco’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, a hesitation lingering between them. He opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he exhaled deeply, as if trying to gather the strength to continue.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. I still don’t.”

She looked at him, biting her lip, trying to keep herself from breaking. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice cracking with frustration. “You don’t get to walk back into my life now and make me feel like I was some... some second choice. You don’t get to say things that undo everything we went through.”

Franco’s gaze darkened, but his next words were even more dangerous. “Say it, and I’ll leave her,” he said, his voice low and intense, as if he were testing her. “Say you want me the same way you wanted me three summers ago, and I’ll do it. I’ll walk away from her. I’ll choose you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttering in her chest. The temptation was there—familiar, painful, and so very dangerous. She could feel that old longing tug at her, the part of her that had loved him so fiercely, so deeply. But this wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t the girl who would wait around for him to realise what he’d lost.

“I can’t,” she whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t do that anymore. I’m happy now. I’m happy with Angelo.”

The words felt heavy on her tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she had to convince herself of them. But as she looked into Franco’s eyes—still searching, still wanting—she realised that she meant it. She really did.

Franco’s face fell, his expression a mixture of frustration and defeat. “You don’t understand,” he said again, the words sounding more like a plea. “I never stopped loving you.”

She took a step back, shaking her head, trying to clear the emotions that were spiralling inside of her. “No,” she said firmly, her voice resolute. “You don’t get to say that, Franco. Not now. Not when I’ve spent three years getting over all of this. You don’t get to come here and break my heart all over again.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the space between them filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. But it was over. It had to be.

“I can’t undo what happened,” she added softly, her gaze not leaving his. “But I’m not that girl anymore. And I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. The weight of everything they’d been through hung heavy between them, and it was clear now that nothing could fix it. Not words. Not promises.

She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob, but before she could step out of the room, she paused, glancing over her shoulder one last time.

“I’m happy now, Fran,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite everything. “And you need to figure out what makes you happy too. But I can’t be part of that anymore.”

She opened the door and stepped out, not looking back, not giving him the chance to say anything more.

The wedding was beautiful.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the guests who had gathered for the wedding. The ceremony was set to take place on the terrace of the luxurious hotel overlooking the sea, the soft sound of waves lapping against the rocks below barely audible amidst the murmur of excited chatter.

She sat there, a few rows back from the front, Angelo by her side. The venue was beautiful—everything that was supposed to be perfect for a wedding. The guests were in their best attire, the flowers were arranged in pristine perfection, and the atmosphere felt like a dream. But something was off. A low hum of anxiety had been building ever since the music started, and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Franco was supposed to be standing at the altar now. But he wasn’t.

She stole a glance at Angelo, who was sitting quietly beside her, a reassuring hand on her knee. He could sense her unease.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice almost drowned out by the gentle clinking of glasses and conversations around them.

She nodded, but her eyes drifted nervously toward the aisle. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Something feels wrong.”

The minutes dragged on. The officiant glanced at his watch, confusion spreading across his face as he leaned over to whisper something to the bridesmaids. There was no sign of Franco, and the guests were beginning to exchange worried glances. The tension in the air became palpable, the excitement of the ceremony suddenly replaced by a growing sense of discomfort.

After a few more minutes, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She turned to Angelo, her voice barely above a whisper, but her anxiety was thick in her words. “Do you think he’s going to come?”

Angelo squeezed her hand gently, his gaze soft and understanding. “I don’t know, cariño. Maybe something’s happened. He’s probably just... running late.”

But as they exchanged those quiet words, it became clear that it wasn’t just a delay. The guests were shifting in their seats, some starting to murmur under their breath, the ceremony now holding a sense of surreal anticipation.

And then, just as the whispers reached a crescendo, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind. Everyone turned, their heads swivelling as they saw him—Franco. He was walking down the aisle, his face pale, his expression one of guilt and uncertainty. He wasn’t in a rush, though. It was as if he was taking his time, as though he had already made a decision.

The room fell silent as Franco reached the front. He looked out at the gathering of faces—his family, his friends, all of them waiting for the moment when he would say "I do." But he didn’t speak immediately.

He was struggling with the words, and she could feel the weight of the tension from across the room. Her heart raced, confusion and disbelief washing over her as she watched him take a deep breath, his eyes scanning the crowd before finally locking on the bride’s family sitting in the front row.

“Excuse me,” Franco’s voice broke through the silence, shaky but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry for the disruption,” he continued, his eyes darting nervously between the bride and the guests. “I... I can’t do this. I can’t marry her.”

The air seemed to stop in that moment. His words hung like an echo, the shock rippling through the crowd. She couldn’t look away, her heart pounding in her chest as Freddie stood there, his face flushed with embarrassment, his hands trembling at his sides.

“I’m sorry, I thought I could,” he went on, his voice quiet but steady, “but I can’t marry her when I love someone else.” His gaze shifted to her, and for a split second, their eyes met. The pain, the regret, the history of everything they had been—it was all there in that single glance. But she didn’t feel anything but exhaustion. It was like watching someone else’s dream unravel.

The guests were murmuring, unsure of how to respond. His bride, stood by the doors he’d just walked in from, ready to walk down the aisle frozen and unmoving. Shelooked like she was about to collapse, her face pale as she took in the words that no one had expected.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Franco continued, his voice breaking, “I can’t do it. I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry. I—I just can’t.”

Without another word, he turned and began to walk away, stepping down from the altar, leaving the bride standing alone, abandoned in front of everyone.

The room was filled with stunned silence.

Angelo reached for her hand, squeezing it gently as the reality of what had just unfolded sank in. She didn’t know how to feel—didn’t know what to think. Her chest ached with a strange mixture of relief and guilt, but most of all, there was a numbness that began to set in.

And then, just as quickly as Franco had walked away, he was gone, disappearing behind the closed doors of the venue, leaving a trail of shock in his wake. The ceremony was over before it had even begun.

She couldn’t help herself.

The guilt she felt in her stomach was strong.

It was her fault.

the end.

an: actual an, im sorry guys! i was feeling sad so i wrote this muahhah

tags: @obxstiles @charlosvibesonly @zestytimbit @taygrls

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8.2k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

“You look so handsome like this…” a sultry chuckle is followed by a warm kiss to the lips. The man with a receding hairline laughs in a slimy way, welcoming the woman into his lap. Arms settled around her midsection, indulging in her lips. 

The moment is quickly shut down when an intruding voice cuts in. “Haruka! Some guy is waiting for you at the door.”

With a huff, she pulls back. Lip curled up into a scowl, turning her head over her shoulder to face the man at the top of the stairs. “Tell ‘em I’m busy, damn it!” She snarls out. 

The man sighs and rubs his bald head. “I already did. He said he wants to speak to you, now hurry up here.”

When the door slams shut, she turns back to her customer. “I’ll be back.” She smiles and kisses his wrinkly cheek before getting up and off his lap. She fixes her clothing, a simple tank top and shorts. Looking at the small mirror, she frowns and straightens down her hair. She’s reminded to dye her hair black again to cover up the incoming gray hairs that always greet her nowadays. She applies her usual red lick back to her skin, perking them up with a small pop noise. Her eyes, beady and dark, fixate back up at the door while her feet drag her. 

Once she’s up in the main portion of the building, she rounds a corner and sees a neatly suited man standing at the front desk. The man who called her attention before gives her a certain look before walking off and letting her deal with it. She smiles, leaning against the hardwood. “Why, hello there, handsome. How may I help you today?”

The man, undeterred and stoic, regards her with barely any emotion. The dark sunglasses on his face obscuring his eyes and Haruka’s brow twitches for a moment in annoyance. She still keeps up her game, however. Resting her cheek against her palm. “Well? How can I—”

“Ms. Haruka, right?” 

The stranger’s voice is deep and defined, causing Haruka’s eyebrows to raise in interest. Her smile widens and she hums playfully. “Ah, well depends on who’s asking. If it’s you, then you can call me Candy.” She whispers the last part, leaning in like she told him a big secret; giggling to herself. 

The man spares a brief glance down at his wristwatch. Haruka notices its pristine gold, oh how valuable. An idea is already forming in her head when she looks back at the man’s black, circular shades. But what he says next causes her body to go into a temporary state of comatose. 

“Are you the mother of Y/N L/N? If so, please come with me. There are some things my bosses would like to discuss with you.”

It’s the day after Christmas. You luckily got the day off and you’ve just been lounging around your place with Koji. Eating some leftovers and cleaning up a bit, watching him rave about the new toys he got; it’s a pleasant sight. Satoru hasn’t texted you anything today, and while you’re not holding him to that expectation, there’s a part of you that worries he’s still angry. Or maybe even upset at the gift you got him. It probably brought up negative emotions for him. But it was a last minute thing and you assumed he would greatly appreciate it. 

Maybe your assumption was wrong. 

You shake off the thought, refusing to dwell on it. Satoru has always been hard to read, and overanalyzing his silence won’t do you any good. Instead, you focus on Koji, who’s currently making his action figures reenact some elaborate battle scene on the coffee table. His laughter echoes through the room, bright and infectious, pulling a small smile from you.

“Koji, don’t forget to put the smaller pieces back in the box when you’re done,” you remind him gently.

“Okay, Mama!” he chirps, not looking up from his imaginary world.

You take another bite of your leftovers, savoring the quiet domesticity of the moment. It’s not often you get a day to just relax like this. Still, that nagging thought about Satoru lingers in the back of your mind, no matter how much you try to ignore it. Your fingers reach up, feeling for the star pendant Suguru got you. Smiling to yourself as your fingertips graze over the metal. You’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you haven’t thanked him. 

You grab your phone, thumb hovering over his contact. It’s a small debate to call or text him, unsure of which is more…appropriate. Maybe he’s busy or maybe he wouldn’t mind a phone call at this time. You bite your lip, inhaling deeply then letting it go, deciding that your gratitude would feel more authentic if he actually heard you say it. 

You click the call button and within the second ring, his voice lightens up the other end. “Hello?”

You clear your throat before speaking. “Hey, Suguru,” you say softly, twirling the pendant between your fingers. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all,” he replies warmly, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “What’s up?”

As you pause for a moment, your thoughts are being gathered. “I just wanted to thank you… for the gift. The pendant, it’s beautiful.” Your voice dips slightly, the sincerity in your words undeniable. “You didn’t have to, but… it means a lot to me.”

There’s a brief silence on his end before he chuckles softly. “I’m glad you like it. I figured it’d suit you.”

You can’t help but smile, your fingers still tracing the small, intricate patterns on the pendant. “It does. Koji said it makes me look pretty.”

Suguru laughs at that, the sound soft and familiar. “He’s not wrong. The kid’s got good taste.”

A small heat pools in your stomach, cheeks blushing a bit. When you glance over at Koji, you notice just how engrossed he still is in his action figures. “He’s been talking about that Spider-Man you got him nonstop. He even took it to bed with him last night.”

“Really? That’s adorable,” Suguru comments, his tone light but carrying an underlying fondness. “I’m glad he liked it. He’s a great kid.”

“He is,” you agree, your voice softening. “I’m lucky to have him.”

There’s a pause, the silence between you both comfortable yet loaded with things left unsaid. Finally, Suguru breaks it. “How are you doing? After last night, I mean. Satoru told me he was going over.”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to answer. “I’m… okay,” you eventually get out, though it feels like a half-truth. “It was just… a lot. But we did it. For Koji.” 

He hums from the other side. “Yeah, that’s good. I figured.” A moment of pause before he continues. “Satoru can be… intense, especially when it comes to you and Koji.”

You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“But other than that, it was good?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

He smiles. “I’m glad, you two deserve a good Christmas.”

With one hand, you bring your dirty dishes to the sink, the other keeping your phone to your ear. “What about you? Was yours good too?”

Suguru’s voice sighs wistfully. “It was, yeah. My team and I spent it handing out some gifts and hot chocolate to the kids. Seeing their faces light up with joy like that, it makes you feel really good, you know?”

Your heart warms at his words, picturing Suguru in his element—kind, compassionate, always thinking of others. You’re reminded back to the time you saw him that day with Koji. “That sounds wonderful,” you speak softly, leaning against the counter. “You’re really amazing for doing that, Suguru. Those kids are lucky to have someone like you.”

He chuckles modestly, the sound low and comforting. “I don’t know about amazing, but thanks. It’s just something small I can do. Makes the holidays feel more meaningful.”

You smile, twirling the pendant again as you consider his words. “It’s more than small. It’s thoughtful. It’s... you.” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you feel your cheeks flush immediately. Embarrassment floods your insides. 

There’s a brief silence on his end, followed by a soft laugh. “You’re too kind. But coming from you, I’ll take it as a high compliment.”

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. “It’s not kindness. It’s the truth.”  

Koji’s excited shout from the living room snaps you back to the moment. He’s discovered a new pose for his Spider-Man, proudly showing it off as he runs over. “Mama, look!”  

Suguru must hear the commotion, his tone lightening further. “Sounds like someone’s having a good time.”  

“He is,” you say, watching Koji’s eyes sparkle with joy. You nod in astonishment. When your son is satisfied with your praise, he rushes back to the coffee table. “He’s been nonstop since yesterday. I think this Spider-Man might be his new best friend.”  

“Then my mission was a success,” Suguru replies with a chuckle. “I’ll have to find something to top it next year.”  

You bite the inside of your cheek while his words bring a pang of guilt. It’s strange; how easy it is to talk to Suguru, how natural it feels to share these moments. And yet, there’s a part of you that wonders if you’re leaning on him too much, especially with everything unresolved with Satoru. You wonder if what you’re doing is wrong, and considering Satoru’s reaction to his friend’s gift to you, you feel like you’re almost…betraying Satoru. 

“Thank you again, Suguru,” you repeat, your voice calmer now. “For everything. You didn’t have to go out of your way for us, but you did, and it means a lot.”  

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says gently. “You and Koji... you guys are important to me too, you know?”  

The weight of his words settles over you, warm and steady. “That means a lot to me too.”  

There’s another comfortable pause before Suguru clears his throat. “Well, I should let you get back to your day. I’m glad you called, though. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”  

“Okay,” you promise, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Take care, Suguru.”  

“You too,” he says, his voice lingering for a moment before the call ends.  

As you set your phone down, you glance at Koji, who’s now back to his world of action figures. You can’t help but feel grateful for the people in your life now who care so deeply about you and your son.  

But even with that gratitude, your thoughts drift back to Satoru, the press, his parents. And you ponder over the idea of what he’s doing right now, whether he’s holding onto the photograph, if he set it up somewhere; and what it might mean for the three of you moving forward.

There’s no time to start drowning in your thoughts any longer. You’ve already done that yesterday and practically every other day before that. A bigger question has been gnawing at you, and now that you have some free time, you figure you should look into it now. Grabbing your laptop, turning it on and clicking on Google once the screen awakens. The small business card is placed to your right as you type away the company name in the search bar. 

You click on the first link. 

It takes you to an entire directory of the services of Carlisle & Harlow. 

The website loads quickly, its sleek design showcasing high-end properties and exclusive services. The polished images of luxurious estates, private jets, and lavish vacation homes scroll past as you navigate through the various tabs. The site is clearly designed to appeal to an elite audience—every detail is immaculate. You skim through the different services offered, including property management, concierge arrangements, personal assistants, and lifestyle coaching. It all feels a bit too polished, almost like an invitation into a world you’ve only ever seen from the outside.

You feel a slight unease in your stomach. Your mind races back to the business card Evelyn gave you—one that seemed so out of place given everything else you’ve seen in your life. You click through to the “About Us” section, hoping to find more answers about what the company actually does or who else is behind it. 

The page provides a brief history, detailing the company’s founding by the woman, Evelyn Carlisle and her now deceased husband, Noah Harlow—both of whom have since made a name for themselves in the luxury service industry. 

You click on the “Our Team” link. Several executives are listed, each with brief bios that read like glowing resumes. Next, you click on the “Contact Us” tab, staring at the address listed—an upscale location in the city’s financial district. It’s the kind of place where secrets are hidden behind high walls and the name on the door probably has a lot of power behind it.

Taking a deep breath, you mull over this instance. Maybe it’s time to investigate further, but you’re not sure how much deeper you want to dig—especially not without some sort of plan. But that Evelyn woman seemed a little strange to you. It’s just the fact that everything felt quite planned out to you, like someone told her to come to your workplace and offer a job interview. Your intuition has always been right and ever since you became a mother, that increased tenfold. But, this seems like it might have more of a good outcome than a bad one. 

You wouldn’t have to maintain the hard balance of working two jobs and a child. As you continue scrolling and clicking on multiple tabs within the website, one catches your interest. 

‘About Our Founders’

You’re met with pictures of Evelyn and her husband, posing with what you can only assume are other businesspeople, with paragraphs of their background to go along with it. Nothing looks out of the ordinary so far, until a particular picture. 

It’s Evelyn and her husband. Posing with Satoru and his father. 

Your heart stops for a moment, your breath catching in your throat as you stare at the screen. The four of them are dressed impeccably, their expressions polished with smiles that feel carefully rehearsed. The caption beneath the photo reads:  

“Celebrating five years of partnership between Carlisle & Harlow and the Gojo Group, fostering innovation and excellence in high-end luxury services.”

Your stomach churns. The idea of Satoru or his family being involved in this job offer. And it almost makes sense now—Evelyn showing up at your workplace, the too-perfect job offer, the strange sense of everything being orchestrated. It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Unless it is?

Your fingers hover over the trackpad, trembling slightly as you click on the bio beneath Evelyn’s photo. Her background is as pristine as expected: Ivy League education, years of experience in luxury branding, and a reputation for impeccable taste. But it’s the section about her connections that catches your eye:  

"Evelyn Carlisle maintains close ties with prominent families, including the Gojo family, and has been instrumental in crafting tailored solutions for their elite clientele."

Your head spins. This isn’t just a job opportunity—it’s a calculated move. But why? Why now? And why through Evelyn instead of directly from Satoru or his family? You glance back at the business card on your table, its gold lettering gleaming in the soft light. It feels heavier now, like it’s carrying the weight of unseen motives.  

Koji’s laughter breaks through your swirling thoughts, grounding you momentarily. You look over at him, playing so innocently, so unaware of the tangled web you’re beginning to unravel. Taking a deep breath, you close the laptop and sit back. Whatever this is, it’s not just about you anymore. If Evelyn’s offer is part of some larger scheme, you’ll need to figure out the truth before you make any decisions.  

Maybe you’re overthinking this. The Gojo Group is huge and very obviously powerful, of course, they would have ties with Carlisle & Harlow. It’s not that far-fetched, right? It’s just a job opportunity, don’t think too much into it. 

It’s around the next day at work now. Walking to the café, phone in hand. Rereading Satoru’s first text to you since you last saw him, it’s not entirely underwhelming, you just hoped that he would have expressed his gratitude for your gift. 

Satoru:

Koji left his jacket here from last time, I’ll bring it over today

Your lips purse, thumbs going haywire over the bright screen. Should you ask if he enjoyed the gift? If he even opened it in the first place? Or maybe you’re dragging this out far too much. With a deep breath, entering the cafe, you type back:

You:

I thought you had work today 

Satoru’s response comes almost immediately, as if he was waiting for you to text back.

Satoru:

I do, but I can swing by during lunch. The place is a little far from me, can I come to your job and drop it off?

You hesitate, wanting to type back a ‘no’ as soon as he asked. It would feel a little weird if he came. Satoru and your workplace just don’t seem to mix—and you don’t want them to. If he came, it would only further solidify the fact that he’s integrating himself into your life. Again, you’re probably overthinking things, he’s just dropping off your son’s jacket. But the thought of seeing him right now feels oddly nerve-inducing. 

You:

Sure, I’m on lunch at 12

When you drop the pin of the café’s address, you pocket your phone and set your stuff down, tying the apron around your waist. Hana, on her phone texting, barely looks up when you enter. It’s becoming a bit more repetitive nowadays. Patting down the apron, you speak up. “Still talking to that Naoya guy?”

She hums and nods, giggling at something that was messaged before swiftly typing back a response. Your lips purse, brows knitting at her lack of acknowledgment for you. This guy must really be entrancing her. “He said he was coming today.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, offering a small smile. “I’ll finally meet the lucky guy.”

Hana’s eyes flick up at you briefly before returning to her phone, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Hm? Oh, yeah. but don’t embarrass me, okay?”  

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you grab a few boxes to refill the supplies up front behind the counter, cutting them open. “I’ll try not to. Just don’t expect me to be on my best behavior if he’s rude.”  

She scoffs, though her grin betrays her amusement. “He’s not rude. You’ll like him, I think. He’s… different.”  

You arch a brow, intrigued by her tone. “Different, huh? Guess we’ll see.”  

Hana waves you off, clearly too engrossed in her conversation to elaborate further.  

And so, the morning drags on, and you can’t help but notice Hana glancing at the door every few minutes, a mix of anticipation and nerves written all over her face. Meanwhile, you busy yourself with the usual flow of customers, though your own nerves begin to creep in as the clock inches closer to noon.  

When the bell above the café door finally chimes, you glance up instinctively. A tall man with sharp features and an air of confidence steps in, scanning the room briefly before his gaze lands on Hana. His hair is slicked back neatly, and he’s dressed in a tailored coat that screams wealth and status. The tips of his hair dipped black, his eyes are so cat-like that it almost freaks you out at first.  

Hana’s face lights up as she quickly puts the cleaning supplies that were in her hands down and waves him over. “Naoya!”  

He strides over, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans in to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “Hana,” he says smoothly, his voice low and self-assured. 

Your eyebrows raise at the blatant show of affection in front of not just you—but the rest of the customers. It’s slightly unlike Hana because you remember her telling you how much she despised PDA. Maybe Naoya is making her come out of her shell. That’s good, right? You watch the interaction from behind the counter, your initial impression of him forming almost immediately. There’s something about his demeanor—charming, yes, but also a little too smug for your liking. Your senses are telling you to be subtly on guard around this man. 

Hana glances over at you, her smile widening. “Naoya, this is my coworker—”  

“Friend,” you correct with a playful smile, giving her a tiny look. It’s strange how she was just going to introduce you as a coworker when she always calls you her friend. Not thinking too much of it, you step out from behind the counter to extend a hand. “Nice to meet you, Naoya. I’m Y/N.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but calculated. His eyes flicker over you briefly, as if sizing you up. If possible, his grin widens, eyes growing more crescent-like. “Pleasure’s mine,” he says, though the smirk on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  

“So, you’re the one who’s been keeping Hana so distracted lately,” you remark lightly, folding your arms.  

Naoya chuckles, his gaze shifting back to Hana. “She’s easy to talk to. Hard not to get distracted by her.”  

Hana blushes, clearly pleased by the compliment, but you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something a little… off about him.  “Well,” you say, forcing a polite smile, “welcome to our humble abode. Let me know if you need anything.”  

Naoya nods, his smirk unwavering. “Will do.”  

As you step back behind the counter, you catch Hana giving you a warning glance, silently begging you not to say anything more. You just shrug, grabbing the rag Hana previously discarded to wipe down the counter, though you can’t help but keep an ear on their conversation. They convert over to a booth in the corner, seemingly for some privacy. 

Something about Naoya sets your instincts on edge. Maybe it’s the way he carries himself, or the way his smile feels more like a performance than genuine warmth. He’s reminding you of Satoru, just more insidious. It’s probably a little rude of you to have such a critical judgment of the man who’s making your friend swoon, but isn’t that what friends, do? Making sure the men or women that come into their lives are worthy of it? Whatever it is, you make a mental note to keep an eye on him—if only for Hana’s sake.  

You stop eavesdropping. Hana’s a grown woman, if anything, she knows what’s more right for her than you do. Besides, you’re one of the only ones working right now, so it’s better to focus on delivering customer service than ensuring the man in the corner (who has been keenly drifting his eyes towards your figure) is good enough for Hana. Hana, oblivious to your discomfort, continues chatting with Naoya, her smile wide as she laughs at something he says. Her back is turned to you, and all you can do is concentrate on the rising sense of unease in your gut. It’s the way Naoya’s posture remains open and confident, but there’s a hardness behind his eyes that doesn’t sit right with you. He seems like someone who expects to get what he wants, and the thought of him using his charm to manipulate Hana makes you clench your fists beneath the counter. You’re just trying to understand the strange energy he brings into the environment. Maybe it’s your overactive imagination, but you still can’t shake the perception that there’s more to this man than Hana is seeing.

As you refocus on your tasks, you can physically feel the weight of Naoya’s gaze lingering on you. It’s subtle, but unsettling—like he’s paying more attention to you than he is Hana. You shake it off, putting your mind into the register as a customer walks up to place an order. However, the uneasy feeling stays with you. You move through the motions of your shift. Every time you briefly glance over to the booth, his gaze is drawn to you. Not in the way you’d expect a person to look at someone they’ve just met, but with something more calculating. It’s almost as if he’s analyzing you, but why?

You don’t even know how long it has been, at least 15 orders later, when the two walk back up to the front. Hana grabs your attention. “Y/N, Naoya brought up a really good idea. His friend owns that new bar I was telling you about a few weeks ago! Do you want to go out tomorrow after your other job?”

You glance up, a bit surprised by the invitation. It’s not like you haven’t been out with Hana before, but something about tonight feels odd. Maybe it’s Naoya’s presence, or maybe it’s the weird sense of being observed earlier. Still, it’s a chance to unwind, and Hana seems genuinely excited.

You give a soft smile, though it feels a little strained. “I don’t know, Hana. I’ve got a lot on my plate. Plus, I’m not sure about the bar idea... not really in the mood for crowds.”

Her eyes widen, and she steps closer, lowering her voice. “Come on, you deserve a break. You’ve been working so hard lately. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

You meet her eyes, trying to gauge her sincerity. She’s always been good at getting you to loosen up when you're feeling overwhelmed. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go for just a little while, but you still have reservations about Naoya. “Alright, I’ll think about it. I’ll see if I can get out earlier,” you say, trying to keep your tone light. “But no promises.”

Hana’s face lights up. “Yay! I knew you’d come around.” She looks over her shoulder at Naoya, who’s standing a few feet away, reading the two of you with an unreadable expression. 

You suddenly feel like this moment might be the start of something unpredictable. As much as you want to just go with the flow for Hana, a part of you ponders if there’s more to Naoya’s invitation than just a night out. But, for now, you push the thought aside.

“Well, you don’t want to miss out,” Naoya speaks up, chuckling to himself. “Just try. It’s called No Man’s Land. I’ll be there around 10:30 tomorrow night, hopefully I'll see you both there.”

You nod slowly, still hesitant about the whole thing. Something about the way Naoya phrased it—so casual, so sure of himself—rubs you the wrong way. There’s an underlying expectation in his words like he’s already decided that you’ll both show up. You’re not sure if it’s just his personality or something more, but the thought of him controlling the situation leaves you with a strange feeling. Hana, though, looks delighted. “It’ll be so much fun, Y/N. Just relax. A drink or two won’t hurt.” She flashes you a grin before turning back to Naoya, all smiles as she talks about what they’ll do at the bar.

You’re like an outsider, watching as Hana becomes more entangled in Naoya’s charm. You wonder if she sees it too—the little things about him that don’t add up. The way he already seems like the type of man to be just one step ahead with a plan. But she’s excited, so you don’t want to rain on her parade. Besides, you can always back out later if it doesn’t feel right.

Luckily, she sees him out right after. 

And unluckily, you’re waiting outside on your break for Satoru sooner rather than later. 

You glance at your phone once more, watching the minutes tick by. Your break feels longer than it should, and the anticipation of seeing Satoru again only adds to the anxiety that’s been building ever since your last interaction. You tell yourself it’s just a quick exchange—Koji’s jacket, nothing more. But every moment feels charged as if something is on the verge of shifting.

The cool air outside offers a bit of relief, though the tension in your chest doesn’t quite let up. You stand near the corner of the café, eyes scanning the street for any sign of him. The sound of footsteps approaches, and you turn, only to find Satoru strolling toward you with his usual carefree aura.

“Hey,” he greets, his tone light, but there’s something different about the way his eyes stay on you—something that feels almost too familiar. He holds out the jacket. “Koji’s jacket. Didn’t want to leave him without it.”

You take the jacket from him, the weight of it making you more aware of the subtle intimacy of the moment. “Thanks,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I appreciate it.”

He doesn’t say anything immediately, just watches you for a beat too long. You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling acutely aware of the silence hanging between you.

“Is that all?” you ask, hoping the question doesn’t come off too abrupt.

Satoru tilts his head as if considering something. “What do you mean?”

God, you hate it when he plays stupid like this. It forces you to be outright with what you want to say. Standing up straighter, chin tilting high. “I mean…like—well I guess what I’m trying to say is that…did you open…the gift I gave you?”

Satoru’s gaze shifts slightly, his usual simmering confidence faltering just enough to make you second-guess yourself. He pauses like he’s weighing your question more carefully than he typically would. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped—if you’ve asked something too personal or too vulnerable. The silence stretches between you like a taut wire.

“Your gift?” he finally says, the corner of his mouth lifting just a bit. He sounds almost amused, but there’s a hint of something else in his voice, something you can’t quite pin down.

You feel a wave of heat rise in your cheeks, but you stand your ground. “Yeah. The one I gave you on Christmas.” The words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you can’t take them back now.

Satoru’s expression shifts, the air tensing slightly. “I did,” he says simply, as though it’s nothing. “It was… nice.”

You want to push him further, to demand more of a response, but something about the way he says it makes you hesitate. Is that all? You want to ask again. Was it just “nice”? That’s all? After everything—the thought you put into the gift, the small but meaningful gesture—you wonder if maybe it didn’t even register with him the way it did with you. Maybe you were right, he didn’t even open it and is now coming up with a bullshit response because you put him on blast. 

But you don’t want to push too hard. You already feel like you’re treading on delicate ground. So you force yourself to smile, even though it feels a little stiff. “Well, I’m glad you liked it,” you reply, not entirely sure if you believe your own words.

There’s another beat of silence, and then Satoru shifts his weight slightly, signalling that he’s about to leave. “I should get going. Got some things to take care of,” he says, but he doesn’t immediately turn away.

Instead, his eyes flicker down to your hands, where you’re still holding Koji’s jacket. “Take care of yourself,” he adds, his tone softening just a bit.

You nod, trying to hide the strange pang in your chest. “You too,” you reply, though your voice is quieter now.

His lips thin into an awkward smile. It’s one you give a stranger or someone you barely know—but that’s how things feel between you now, isn’t it? It’s really not worth dwelling over the tiny things that further more prove the horrid line of connection between you two. But for some reason, it still hurts and picks at your heart. 

That moment is quickly splashed away when a familiar—but teeth-gritting voice squeals from behind Satoru. Your grip tightens on Koji’s jacket. Satoru’s shoulders tense up. 

“Satoru! Why’d you leave me in that boutique? It took forever to find you!”

She appears next to Satoru, her presence immediate and unmistakable. Her eyes flicker between you and Satoru with a mix of scrutiny and something else that you can’t quite place. She’s dressed in something designer, as usual, with that polished, effortless look that screams of wealth and status. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, a quiet challenge in her eyes.

You feel a knot twist in your stomach, an all-too-familiar sense of discomfort settling into your chest. Satoru’s gaze meets yours for just a moment before he shifts his attention to Himari. “Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you hanging,” he says, his tone light but lacking its usual warmth.

Himari, not seeming to notice or care about the tension in the air, flashes you a tight-lipped smile that screams fake. “Oh, well look who it is. The leech.”

“Himari.” Satoru gruffs under his breath, giving his girlfriend a dirty side-eye. 

“What? One minute we're spending the day together and the next you’re here with…her.”

Your jaw clenches, noticing the tug Satoru gives the other woman to the back of her dress, lowly whispering something into her ear. But her facial expression doesn’t deter, and neither does her snaky persona. 

“I thought you had work.” You utter, eyes flickering back to Satoru. 

His brows tighten, huffing out an exasperated breath. Before he can respond, she does it for him. “If you consider being by my side and treating all my needs work, then yeah, he is working.” She giggles at her own joke, making a show of turning his head towards her and plopping a kiss on his pink lips. It lasts only a few seconds before he pulls away. 

But even those few seconds feel like a lifetime.

You feel the bite of Himari’s words, even if they’re clearly meant to dig into you. The word “leech” still stings, even though you know it’s not intended for anything other than a cruel jab. Satoru’s response, or lack thereof, makes the situation all the more uncomfortable. His eyes flick to you for a brief second before turning back to Himari, his expression more quiet and guarded

 One question sounds throughout your brain. Why are you even with her?

You stand there, the tension heavy in the air between the three of you, white-knuckling onto Koji’s jacket, as if it could anchor you through this awkward, uncomfortable moment. Himari’s gaze holds yours for a moment longer like she’s trying to read you, trying to see if you'll react. You want to say something, anything, but you can feel the weight of the situation hanging on your tongue, making it hard to even speak.

Satoru looks between the two of you, his jaw tightening slightly. "Let's go," he mutters, more to Himari than to you, though you can tell he’s trying to smooth things over. Himari, however, isn’t having it. She steps forward, a small smirk on her face as she eyes you again. 

“So,” she starts, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “you two still playing catch-up or is it ‘out of sight, out of mind’ now?” 

Her clipped tone is pointed, deliberately meant to prod, and the weight of them sinks in—her intent clear. Satoru doesn’t reply, simply glancing at you with a silent apology in his eyes—if you can even call it that. You want to scoff at his lousiness. It’s clear she’s trying to assert her dominance in the situation, but you’re not sure whether it’s her trying to put you in your place or if it’s something else entirely.

You force a tight smile, the words you're looking for escaping you. “No need to worry,” you manage to say, the words barely leaving your lips as you turn to look at Satoru one last time. “I’m sure you both have things to do. I’ll get back to work.”

Satoru doesn’t protest, and Himari just gives you another dismissive glance. "Whatever," she mutters under her breath, but you catch the taunt in her voice. She might be playing it off, but you sense otherwise. 

As they walk away, the weight of the encounter lingers in the air around you. You stand frozen for a moment, the jacket still in your hands, and then—almost instinctively—you turn on your heel and head back inside the café. Your heart still pounds in your chest, the sting of Himari’s words lingering long after they’ve both left.

You don’t even know what hurts more—the fact that Satoru’s dismissive attitude didn’t change, Himari’s words somehow managed to rattle you more than you care to admit, or the fact that he barely…stood up for you. It is selfish to at least hold him to a certain degree—a degree where he has the decency to protect you from the cruel shit his now girlfriend so nonchalantly delivers towards you? Maybe how he acted during that first unexpected encounter was all for show.

And of course, the pain in your chest feels more like a slow burn now, another brutal—unwanted reminder that things between you and Satoru, whatever they were…are long gone.

An Izakaya of this caliber is something Haruka would have only dreamed of sitting in. Warm lighting is stationed above them, inside their own private room while she drinks away and away—solely because the people before her are buying. There are dishes of food scattered around, some picked from and others haven’t been touched yet. “You know, I really appreciate you spoiling me for the past two days, it’s nicer than any man has ever treated me.” 

She laughs to herself, casually leaning back on her palms, holding her pitcher of beer back up to her lips and sipping like a madman. Emi and Kenji Nakamura regard the woman with equally disgusted faces. Beside them is their personal lawyer. 

“So,” Haruka starts, burping and leaning forward once more. “What’s this all about my precious daughter, huh?” Her lip quirks up in a sneer at the reminder of the child she had and practically threw to the wolves. “Is she acting up again? She’s always been a little troublemaker.”

“I’m sure you’ve seen the articles, yes?” Kenji’s firm voice replies. “Involving your daughter, Satoru Gojo, and their son.”

She chokes on her spit. “What?! Son?! No, I haven’t seen anything! I’m a free spirit and I don’t believe in social media, it’s the devil’s play!”

The couple show no further emotion to her outburst. 

Haruka’s face contorts with an expression of disbelief as she wipes her mouth hastily with the back of her hand, trying to regain some composure. The news about Satoru Gojo and her daughter having a child seems to rattle her more than anything else. She leans back again, almost toppling over from the force of her sudden shift in posture, eyes wild. “I—what do you mean, son?” Her voice cracks, and she shoots a glance at Emi and Kenji, her eyes narrowing. “Are you telling me that boy… and my daughter? They have a child?!”

Kenji’s lips curl into a slight frown, his eyes cold. “Yes, it seems your daughter has kept things a secret for years. The media and everyone else have only just found out.”

Haruka’s eyes flash with something venomous, but she quickly masks it with a laugh, the sound forced and hollow. “Ah, what a little dirty sneak. And, please. You know I’m not interested in all that family nonsense. And that son? How could they even think of bringing a kid into their… situation?” Her head shakes as she scoffs at the thought of you bearing a child of your own. And especially with…him. 

“You may not understand now,” Kenji mutters darkly, before leaning in slightly. “But I think it’s time you start paying attention. Because this situation concerns you more than you realize.”

Haruka’s face twitches, the words hitting her harder than she wants to admit. The weight of the sudden revelation was heavy. She glances down at her beer, swirling it absentmindedly, her mind clearly racing with thoughts she doesn’t want to process. “You’re telling me my daughter has a son with him?” she scoffs, shaking her head. “That’s rich. Really rich.” Her tone is bitter, but the realization of the reality around her seems to slowly sink in, and she takes another long sip from her pitcher to steady herself. “She’s such a goddamn fool, I almost feel bad for her. I provided a lot for her, you know? Then she threw it all away.”

Kenji and Emi watch on in disinterest. The lawyer beside them brings out a formal sheet of paper. “We’d like to offer you a deal, Ms. L/N,” Kenji states. 

Haruka looks back up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Haruka’s eyes narrow, expression shifting from one of indifference to one of calculated curiosity. She shifts in place, wiping her mouth once more with the back of her palm. “A deal? What kind of deal?” she asks, her voice carrying a note of skepticism, but there's a flicker of interest behind her gaze. She leans in slightly, one hand still gripping the pitcher of beer as she lowers it to the table now.

“You see,” Emi starts. “Our only child—our precious daughter is dating Satoru. She probably felt the most disgruntled in this situation out of everyone else. With the suddenness, we fear that everything we have worked for will be put to waste.”

“And with the news of your daughter’s involvement with Satoru Gojo, it has thrown things into disarray for us. What we need is to ensure that this situation doesn’t jeopardize our family’s legacy—both our reputation and, more importantly, our fortune.” Kenji finishes. 

Haruka snorts softly. “I see. So, you’re telling me this little bastard of hers is a problem for you too? What does that have to do with me?” Her words come out sharper than she intends, but she quickly masks it with another bitter laugh.

Emi’s cold gaze sharpens, a glint of something unspoken flickering behind her eyes. “Everything, Haruka. Your daughter’s ties to Satoru Gojo are a direct threat to the family’s interests. And with a child in the picture now… it complicates things further. But we’ve come to a solution, one that involves you—if you’re willing to cooperate.”

Haruka tilts her head, eyes narrowing as she watches the lawyer slide the formal paper across the table toward her. The ink on it is neat, but her eyes flick over it quickly, scanning the contents before she lets out a quiet scoff. “What is this? Some kind of bribe?”

The lawyer, keeping a neutral expression, nods. “It’s an agreement that ensures your cooperation in smoothing over this… situation. If you agree, your involvement will not only secure your own future, but it will also protect the financial interests of both families. In exchange, you’ll receive a position of influence, a stake in the inheritance.”

Haruka’s laughter rings out again, more amused. “Influence? A stake? Do you think I’m some desperate fool who’ll fall for your little schemes? I don’t need your money. I have enough desperate fools willing to give me that already.” She sneers at the paper but then pauses, looking at Kenji and Emi, the weight of their gaze pressing down on her.

She takes another sip from her pitcher, her mind whirling as she weighs her options. A part of her wants to lash out, to dismiss them and their offer completely. But there’s something about the way they’re looking at her, something cold and calculating that makes her pause. The truth is, she’s always been a gambler, and she knows when to fold and when to play her hand. “You really think this is gonna work out?” she says, her voice quieter now, but still filled with an edge of disbelief. “This… deal?” She hesitates, eyes flicking over the paper again, the signature line staring her down. “What exactly are you asking of me?”

Emi leans forward slightly, her posture unyielding. “We need you to leverage your relationship with your daughter. Influence her decisions, guide her actions—anything you can to help steer her away from Satoru. We want to ensure that the child and his existence don’t affect our plans. In return, we offer you protection, money, and a place at the table. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Kenji watches her closely, his expression hard, but there’s a glimmer of expectation in his eyes.

Haruka’s mind races, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her beer glass as she processes the offer laid out before her. The temptation of power, of influence, is hard to ignore, even for someone who prides herself on being a free spirit. But she’s also no fool. She knows this is a high-stakes game—one where the risks outweigh the rewards if she misplays her cards. And the amount of 0’s she’s staring down at is inexplicably thrilling. She’s already imagining what she can buy with it. 

For a long moment, the room is silent, the tension thick. Emi and Kenji both stare at her intently, their eyes cold and calculating, watching her every move. The lawyer remains as neutral as ever, the formality of his expression only adding to the weight of the situation.

Haruka's lips curl into a smirk, the edges of her mouth twitching slightly as she leans back in her chair. “Leverage my relationship with my daughter, huh? You really think I can do that?” Her voice is laced with a mix of amusement and disdain. “You must think I’m a puppet master or something. But I’m not interested in some petty manipulation games.”

Kenji’s eyes flash for a brief second, a flicker of something darker crossing his features. "You know the consequences of doing nothing. You’ve been avoiding your daughter long enough, Haruka. But she’s not the same girl anymore. She's tied to Satoru Gojo now, and that complicates things. We need you to make sure she doesn’t forget her place. The family’s future is on the line."

Haruka’s hand freezes in mid-air, her gaze locking with Kenji's. She can feel the weight of her daughter’s past mistakes bearing down on her, the consequences that could affect everything she’s tried to distance herself from. Her jaw ticks, her eye twitching. What a stupid little girl, I tried warning you, didn’t I? “I don’t care about your legacy or your fortune,” Haruka mutters, her tone turning colder, sharper. “But I’m not stupid. I can see what you’re offering me.” Her fingers curl around the edges of the paper, her nails digging into the surface. “I have one question for you, though. What happens if I refuse?”

Emi doesn’t blink, her gaze unflinching as she answers. “If you refuse, Haruka, you’ll be left in the same position you’ve always been—irrelevant. Your daughter’s problems will escalate, and your connections, your influence, will be stay meaningless. You will never succeed and you’ll lose the tiniest amount of leverage you have. You’ll watch as everything you’ve ever taken for granted crumbles.” She pauses, the words hanging in the air. “But if you cooperate, we can guarantee your future. Your daughter’s involvement with Gojo doesn’t need to ruin you.”

Haruka’s eyes flick over the paper again, the signature line now feeling like an anchor, pulling her down into a world of obligations and consequences. She takes a deep breath, feeling the familiar rush of excitement that always comes when she’s faced with a gamble. It’s the thrill of uncertainty, the pull of what could be hers if she plays her cards right. Her bottom lip is worried between her teeth. 

“So, what you’re saying is... I’m supposed to ruin my own daughter’s happiness for the sake of your precious family’s legacy,” Haruka says, her voice low, almost contemplative. She stares at the paper one more time before meeting Emi’s gaze. "Fine. You’ve made your offer. But just so you know, I’m no one's pawn. I’ll make this work for me too. You’re not the only ones with something to gain."

Emi gives a small, satisfied nod, and Kenji’s lips tighten, but there’s a small shift in his demeanor—one that signals the deal has been struck. "Good," Kenji replies, his voice firm. "We’re glad we could come to an agreement. We will contact you if necessary and when your action is needed.”

Haruka, for the first time, sets the pitcher of beer down, her fingers now gently grasping the edge of the paper. She grins maniacally and signs it with a flourish. The ink is dark and permanent, sealing the agreement.

With the ink dry, she sits back, a smirk curling on her lips. “This will be fun.”

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[cherrixpie]

NEMESIS

chapter two of five

↬ you were supposed to steer clear of mattheo riddle. shame that he was just so intriguing.

↬ sfw; wc: 5.8k; cw: mentions of blood; tags: enemies to lovers; gryffindor!reader, muggleborn!reader

( masterlist )

To your pleasant surprise, your detention, as you were informed the next day, would take place that evening with Hagrid. Years ago, you had befriended the gamekeeper through Harry. And though this meant that there was a good chance of going into the dark forest for the detention, you would much rather do that with Hagrid than clean some classroom under Filch’s scrutinizing stare. Only the prospect of spending the evening in the presence of Riddle and Malfoy sent your nerves ablaze as you walked out into the dark school grounds the following evening, your book bag over the shoulder and heading straight towards the little speck of light that was Hagrid’s cabin.

It was a cold November night, and even in your coat, you felt chilly. Your breathing was visible as a curling fog in the air, wandering up into a clear sky that displayed an incredible assortment of stars. As you made a point of following the rules to the tee, you were rarely outside at this our, and you didn't belong to the groups of people who headed up to the Astronomy tower for a fuck or a smoke. Laying somewhere in the Scottish countryside, the castle was far away from any city deserving of the name. The lack of artificial light made the stars shine impossibly bright. It was as if the skies opened their gates as you stilled to look up and admire, they seemed to take up even the corners of the vision as if you yourself hovered in their midst.

In a moment of silly delight at the beauty surrounding you, you blew out a long breath and it swirled above you before fading quickly. With half a mind, you realized how stupid you had to look right now, standing still and gazing upwards. The lack of movement made coldness creep up your body and you shivered, but you were still transfixed.

“Well, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a soggy old place like this?”

You shot around, startled. Riddle and Malfoy were approaching you. The former had spoken and now wore a smile of ridicule. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked like smiling was the last thing he would ever think about. His wary eyes flickered to the great black mass that was the dark forest, then to you with a glare.

Ignoring Riddle’s comment, you accelerated your steps and gripped the handle of your book bag tighter. But still, he was but a few steps behind you, evident by the sound of moist leaves ruffling under his feet. Draco, cursing under his breath, seemed to trail behind him at a short distance. Riddle caught up with you when Hagrid’s hut became clear against the blackness of the trees. You expected him to say something derogatory or mean, so his question surprised you. “Always carrying around a bag of books with ya, around ya, princess?” A teasing smile pulled at his lips, but he didn't seem outwardly aggressive.

Against your better judgement, you found yourself responding to him. “Maybe we need the school stuff for something. In detention I mean.”

“Need?” Riddle mocked your tone and chuckled. “You could always throw it at a werewolf when it jumps at you, I suppose.” Against your will, you found yourself throwing him quick glances. His hands were in his pockets, he'd ditched his cloak and his white shirt shone bright against the dark. With comical precision, you found the inevitable specks of blood at the collar. Riddle seemed fully relaxed at the idea of going into the forest, but that didn't surprise you. Slimy, dark, cold… It probably felt like home to him. You bit your lip at the thought, glad you hadn't said it out loud. Even for a guy like Riddle, it seemed harsh.

“If you want to undress me, no need to only use your eyes.” A lazy grin tugged at his lips as he blew you a kiss and reveled in your flustered reaction. Stupid fuck. Turning scarlet, you stuffed your hands in your pockets with the intent to ignore him for the rest of the night.

Hagrid awaited you in front of his cabin, a crossbow over his shoulder. When you arrived, he greeted you cheerfully but regarded Malfoy and Riddle with a resentful frown. Upon hearing your voice, Fang came running from behind the hut, wagging his tail and barking excitedly at the familiar face. You crouched down and ignored how wetness seeped through your clothes to scratch the dog behind his ear and let him lap at your face. The remaining dog slobber, you brushed away with your sleeve.

“You lot will be helping me out tonight,” Hagrid announced as you stood up, Fang still glued to your leg and wagging his tail. A soft thumping sounded through the cool night air when it hit the ground in rapid succession. “We are taking a look at the plant population of one grata insidia today, whether they've been affected by the cold weather, since this is the first season they're growing here. You should know how they look from your herbology class.” Right. You remembered the plant. A blue, phosphorescent flower with flowing leaves that could ensnare flies in an instance.

“When you found some,” Hagrid continued, “You sketch ‘em. Make sure you get the leaves in detail, they're the most important part. Don't make light with your wands, though, they might retract.” Clearing his throat, he looked around at the three of you. You noticed he looked away from Riddle quickly and were reminded of the fact that he had known his father before he had shed his mortal parts. Then, you, shaking like a leaf, and Malfoy. As you glanced at the latter, you noticed he was even paler than usual and looked a little green around the nose, as if he was about to throw up. Reminded of the last time he'd had detention in the dark forest, you hid your grin in your scarf.

Hagrid seemed to remember the encounter as well. “We're pairing up in two’s. Malfoy, you're with me,” he grumbled, “after last time. Except-” He glanced at you worriedly, as if he'd just concluded what that would entail for you. “I mean… if it's alright with you?” Smiling at the guilty look on his face, you nodded into your scarf. Though his large face was still etched with concern, Hagrid scowled as he looked at Riddle, and it seemed to cost him a lot of willpower. “Don't try anything funny, or you'll be in real trouble.” Riddle answered mit no more than a derogative glare, quite unlike the teasing grins he threw at you when Hagrid turned away.

You had noticed before how scowling, sinister Mattheo Riddle would be much more, for lack of a better term, cheerful around you. More at ease, maybe. He probably didn't even see you as a person and therefore felt relaxed enough to subject you to an endless stream of those mocking smiles that didn't deserve to be nearly as attractive as they were. Objectively, of course. Now, as you looked at him, he met your gaze and the scowl was exchanged for a smirk. “Looks like your bag'll come in handy, princess.”

“Told you,” you muttered as Hagrid told Fang to stay by his side, still throwing suspicious looks at Riddle. He announced what parts of the forest you would cover and when to return. Then, it was off into the dark.

The trees seemed to engulf you the moment you set foot in their midst, they swallowed all light, even shielded you from the stars. You couldn't even see your own hands as you carefully felt your surroundings. Behind you, Mattheo ignited his wand and you shot around. “We- we’re not supposed to do that!” you hissed at him but he only raised his brows at you. “The plant retracts when there's light,” you reminded him, knowing he was fully aware.

“If you want to stumble around the dark, be my guest,” he said dryly. “But you looked like an idiot there and also pretty tasty to all sorts of predators.” You didn't like his smile. But as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. If you trotted blindly into the most monster infested forest in Great Britain, you'd not come back in one piece. A problem such as that didn't occur to a half giant like Hagrid, of course, but you… An idea plopped into your head and you turned back to Mattheo, who seemed to have been watching your silent contemplation with mild interest.

“If it's so important to you,” you said, “cast a patronus. The light is dimmer and it can lead the way.” You thought it was a good idea that united both your interests, but Mattheo suddenly looked at you as he'd never looked before. A dark, dangerous look in his eyes that you'd only witnessed from afar. The cold glare was menacing and it had cold shivers run down your spine.

Mattheo looked into your widened eyes and enjoyed the fear on your face. Hopefully, you would be too scared to ask again. You didn't, but it was worse. Your eyes widened even further before you quickly averted them, shuffled away from him and cast your patronus yourself. A lean cat that glanced at him grumpily, then disappeared into the dark with you hot on its heels. You were just running into the dark, wand somewhere in your pocket. Did you not have a single survival instinct in your body? For a moment, he considered just letting you run off and having a laugh about iu. But alas, with a groan of annoyance, Mattheo followed suit.

Though your path was now illuminated by the soft blue light of your animagus, in your haste, you still tripped over roots and got scratches from thorny branches and bushes. You were somewhat relieved to hear footsteps behind you. Upon his arrival, your patronus slowed down a pace until Riddle had caught up with you. You walked in silence and you pulled your cloak tighter around yourself in a feeble attempt to banish the coldness that had seeped down into your bones. Next to you, Riddle sauntered on with an unreadable expression, wand lazily at his side. Other than you, who kept glancing behind bushes and into the undergrowth, he didn't seem remotely interested in finding the damn flower. Not that you felt any excitement to find some flower and sketch it, but perhaps you felt the need to show your moral superiority.

After a few awkward minutes of walking in silence, you finally spotted a faint glow against a tree. Without a word to your silent companion, you accelerated your steps and made a beeline towards the tree, your coat getting caught in a thorny bush and you ripped it away. It was the right one. You knew the second you rounded the tree. A blue hue painted its surroundings in a ghostly cold color. When Riddle joined you with an expression of all this being beneath him, you had already crouched down and pulled out parchment and pencil. Then, you hesitated and looked up at him. You were a lousy sketcher.

Riddle rolled his eyes and took the parchment from you, mumbling something under his breath. As he kneeled down onto the ground and started his sketch, he threw you a sharp look. “Since you can't even draw, would you kindly look out for giant spiders or something?” He was tense, but you weren't sure that was because you were in here or because of the patronus thing. By his aggressive reaction, you had a pretty clear suspicion that he couldn't conjure a patronus. Surely not for lack of trying, though. Before he could snap at you, you turned away and glanced into the dark, aided by your patronus, without really seeing anything.

After a few minutes of this, you noticed you'd started creeping closer to Riddle without even noticing. In the dim light of the flowers, you were able to glance over his shoulder at the parchment, and your jaw dropped. It was good. He'd managed to sketch a damn near perfect replica of the flower, including shades and careful weighting of pencil pressure. You watched his hands work as he frowned in concentration. Long, elegant strokes were interrupted by sharp, repeated patterns. Though you didn't know anything about sketching, you were pretty sure he was amazing.

A sound of surprise left your throat and Riddle’s hand you had been studying intently stilled its movement. He raised his brows at you and you bit down on your cheek. Stupid. “Uhm,” you said, suddenly nervous, but no longer afraid. Seeing him draw made him somewhat human. You'd never even considered Mattheo Riddle could have interests and skills beyond the dark arts. Like normal people. “That… looks good, I- I mean-” You felt thankful for the darkness, “it's really beautiful, I didn't know you were so good at this.” Of course you didn't. You were such an idiot.

Riddle looked somewhat taken aback, but quickly resumed his sketching. His lack of an answer made you step from one foot to the other and you fiddled at your wand. But you couldn't help yourself, you simply had to turn back around and watch his moving hands. It was a graceful motion, which was not an adjective you'd ever thought you'd apply to Mattheo Riddle.

“Thank you.”

You did a double take. Surely, you had to have misheard, or a trickster spirit had messed with your senses. Riddle gave no indication wether he'd actually thanked you, but got to his feet and threw the parchment at you. When you rolled it up and studied the drawing, you realized just how detailed it was. How he had somehow managed to translate its glow onto the parchment. With a clearing of your throat, you put it in your back and looked up at him. Riddle was already looking, studying you closely, as if he was trying to measure your reaction. Giving him an instinctive, nervous smile, you crooked your head towards the black wall of trees. “Should we…?”

With a nod, Riddle stepped into the undergrowth and you followed behind. Small animals crossed your path, and you were thankful they weren't bigger. Somehow, Riddle seemed to have much less trouble getting past bushes and overgrown trees than you, and you wondered wether he was using a spell on himself or on you. Just when you violently ripped at your sleeve, stuck in a thorn bush, he spoke up and you froze. His tone was conversational, but there was a teasing edge to it, like he wanted to test you. “So, what would your parents say when they found out you were alone in the dark forest with Mattheo Riddle?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn't see that. “Nothing, probably.” With a few long strides, you managed to catch up with him and now, the spell that he had cast around himself seemed to apply to you as well. At least you got through the undergrowth way more smoothly. Mattheo didn't know if you were joking, but when you cast him a side glance, he didn't need legilimancy to know you were telling the truth.

“Huh?” he said and you frowned, as if he was supposed to know. You didn't answer at first, taking the lead as if you wanted to escape his eyes. Curious that you chose to do that by turning your back on him. Then, you spoke into the impenetrable darkness before you. “They're muggles. If I told them I was going into a dark forest with a Mattheo Riddle, well…” you seemed to smile, he could hear it in your voice, “My mum would tell me to use protection and my dad would get his club.”

So you were a muggleborn. He didn't know why that surprised him so much. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure Draco had mentioned it once, but he hadn't cared enough to remember. When he didn't say anything, you seemed to feel obligated to break the silence. “Funny, huh? If I told them your name, it wouldn't mean anything to them.” That thought was funny. Mattheo was a little shocked at how much he liked it. It just now occurred to him that there was a giant mass of people that had no idea of his parentage, his legacy. That would just see him as a normal guy, nothing special there. If he'd known anyone who knew anything about muggles, he'd considered asking what kind of jobs they had available.

“Yeah,” he said after a short silence and you tried to grasp his reaction to the news. Though you'd never heard Riddle say something hateful at muggleborns since second grade, you gripped your wand a little tighter. You'd thought he knew, and that was why he loved to annoy you. Would the news change how he saw you? And, more importantly, why did you care? “Your friends weren't stoked though, were they?” he asked and pulled you out of your thoughts.

Biting down on your lip, the truth just sort of slipped past them. “I … didn't tell them.” In your peripheral vision, you caught him raise his head subtly but you stared straight ahead. “They're protective,” you explained, as if you had to justify yourself before him.

“Yeah, I saw that yesterday,” Riddle snorted and rummaged in his pockets for something. “Weasley went mental, just his bad luck that he doesn't have anything to back the attitude up."

“What?” Your head shot around so fast you thought you heard something crack in your neck. That was not in alignment with the story you'd heard. Then again, you didn't put it past your friends to lie to you to protect your feelings.

“They didn't tell you, did they?” asked Riddle mockingly and you could practically hear his smirk seeping through his poisonous tone.

“Tell me what?” you inquired, frowning at him. Riddle had found what he was looking for and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his robes. He took his time with the answer as he twirled it between his fingers and lighted it with a bit of wandless magic. After a long drag out of the cigarette, he blew out a cloud of smoke and looked back at you. “Potter and Weasley overheard Nott talking about you."

“Heavens, that whole brawl was my fault?” you entreated anxiously, fisting your robes in one hand as you remembered the bruises on Harry’s face and Ron’s broken bag that he spent the whole evening trying to repair. Guilt gnawed at you at the thought that they'd gotten hurt defending your honor. If you had just been there, you could have stopped them, told them that it was no big deal.

“Your fault?” echoed Riddle incredulously and you shrugged and avoided his gaze. "Well... I mean... I never meant for anyone to get hurt because of me."

“Apology accepted,” he grinned and the audacity made you splutter out an indecipherable response. Riddle chuckled, the cigarette dangling dangerously loosely out of his pink lips. To your surprise, his amusement did have something contagious, because you found yourself grinning against your will. You could only hope the light of your patronus would be dim enough to allow your smile to go unnoticed.

“So,” you asked as your eyes swept the area for other flowers. “What did Nott say to make Ron freak out?” It wasn't so much that you wanted to know, more so that you wanted to keep the conversation going. Riddle was less terrifying when he didn't just stare menacingly. He took his time to answer and twirled the cigarette through his fingers. Then, a teasing smile tugged at his lips, though his voice was free of malice. “Don't know if you can take it, princess.”

Defiance welled up in you and you shoved your hands into your pockets. “Believe me, I can. There is nothing you could say that I didn't already think of myself." It came out a little more bitter than you'd planned, so you concealed the hard undertone with a little laugh. Riddle didn't react, so you walked on in silence for a few minutes. When he hadn't said anything in a while, you considered changing the topic, but that was when he finally spoke up. “He called you a walking encyclopedia nobody asked for and, that you probably get up early to polish prefect patches."

You had expected way worse and chuckled to yourself. “That's pretty creative.”

“You don't seem offended,” Riddle said. It was not a question, it was a statement.

“I do polish my prefect patch sometimes,” you shrugged with an embarrassed grin. You were astounded how easy it was to talk to him all of the sudden. "I just don't get why Ron got so worked up on that."

Riddle’s lip curled slightly. “Nott may have said some other things, didn't really listen." After another few seconds of silence, he discarded his cigarette and changed the topic to light hearted teasing. “So, tell me, do Gryffindors practice being so annoyingly righteous, or is it just instinct?” If it hadn't been Riddle, you'd have almost mistaken his tone for a flirting one.

“Oh, we practice,” you replied. “Right after the lesson on how to tolerate Slytherins.” In the dark, you somehow felt more confident. Riddle seemed more human, more approachable, so far away from the castle, from your friends, from anyone. You realized you had been burning to finally engage with his little games instead of attempting to ignore them and letting him have all the fun. At the same time, his teasing seemed more conversational than mean tonight. “Why are you being so nice?” you asked into the silence without looking at him. “It's weird.”

“Would you rather I be mean?” asked Riddle. “Because I can go back to that if it makes you feel better.” Maybe it would. You felt almost guilty at the prospect of going back to Gryffindor tower and telling your friends, who probably had found out about the detention through Ginny by now, that it hadn't been that bad spending the evening with you-know-who’s son. But still, you answered: “No. it's okay.”

“Tell me something, will you?” He'd stopped walking and you hesitated, turning back around to face him. The dim light of your patronus left part of his face shrouded in darkness, but his eyes glinted and they were locked on you. His dark locks were moved in the wind like sea grass, but even still, the cold didn't seem to affect him one bit. His voice was soft, unnaturally smooth, perfectly balanced to slip past your walls and your lies. Not for the first time, you felt as if he could read your mind. Helplessly, you nodded, and a shiver ran through you when a gush of wind caused the dead leaves to dance around you.

“Are you scared of me?”

The question caught you off guard and you had to take your time to think about the answer. Up at the castle, you were scared of him, at least intimidated, and preferred to keep your distance. In here, alone with him, however, you felt no fear, only intrigue. To say you weren't afraid of him would be a lie, but its counterpart as well. Your eyes flickered down to his hands, his wand. No doubt he'd detected it, Riddle was awfully good at picking up on the slightest movements. As if he was trying to test your reaction, daring you to flinch back, he took a step closer to you.

“A bit,” you confessed truthfully, but you didn't step back. In fact, you dared to shuffle a bit towards him, so that only few inches separated the two of you. “You have to admit you're pretty intimidating, Riddle.”

“Am I?” A predatory grin adorned his face and he inched closer in an effort to find it. The barrier you wouldn't dare to cross. The point when you'd turn away or avert your eyes. Somehow, you managed to work up the courage to do neither. You lifted your chin and stared into his dark brown eyes defiantly. His grin widened and pleasant surprise and he hummed under his breath. “Are you intimidated right now, princess?” Somehow, you couldn't lie. Maybe because you guessed he would know, or could hear your thundering heartbeat.

“A little.”

When he’d first spotted you at the sorting ceremony, he'd thought you looked pathetic, trembling and glancing around nervously. When you had snapped at him in fourth grade, he'd noted you down as an annoying up-tight brat with more bark than bite. In fifth grade, he'd started to see you as a stupid little fangirl of Potter’s. Then, when you were sixteen, you were just some easy to rile up teacher's pet. Seventh grade had only worsened that condition. But Mattheo had never noticed that you looked… pretty. Too busy hating you, he'd never looked twice. But now, he found himself drinking you in.

Your patronus illuminated half of your face, slightly quivering lips, adorably furrowed brows. But your eyes were the most mesmerizing part, which was something he never expected to think about anyone. You looked him straight in the eye when admitting your weakness, as if it were a strength, as if your weaknesses and fears didn't need to be hidden. It was infuriating, he realized. Immediately, he regretted noticing these things about you. This had gone too far, and he'd been too intrigued by you to stop the situation from escalating.

Mattheo had meant for you to be his plaything for the evening. It was him who was supposed to be holding the cards and play you, but now, it felt like you were an active player yourself. For some reason, he even felt slightly disarmed, as if you'd gotten one over at him. But by doing what? Admitting defeat? Abruptly, he stepped back and turned away. “Let's find that stupid half-giant, I've got enough of walking around this fucking forest aimlessly.”

You were a little shocked by his sudden change of mood and didn't speak up again until you emerged from the trees and spotted Hagrid and Malfoy. Both looked disgruntled and the latter had leaves and twigs all over his robes and in his hair. You realized you probably didn't look any better. Riddle, on the other hand, was free of any forest remnants somehow. With a sinister glare, he stepped over to Hagrid with long strides, so you had to hurry after him.

“Oh, there she is!” greeted Ron’s voice when you slipped through the portrait hole twenty minutes later, exhausted and out of breath and not very excited at the prospect of finishing your homework for the day. Your friends were huddled around the fire, looking both worried, amused and angry. You had been right, they had been informed of your detention- and the nature of it. Without a reply, you plopped into the seat next to Hermoine’s with a groan and pulled your legs up to your chest to rest your chin upon your knees. Finally, you were warmed up by the common room fire and the chilling cold of the grounds seeped out of your bones.

“Didn't think we would get you back in one leave,” Harry muttered darkly and scanned you up and down. “You look like you were just chased by an acromantula straight through the forest.” Leaning over in his seat, he plucked a few twigs and leafs out of your hair to throw them into the fire. You let him and sighed. “Ginny told you, huh?”

“Neville did, actually,” Hermoine said, somewhat accusatory. “What were you thinking, attacking Malfoy in the hallway?” You looked at her. Neville seemed to have left out the part about her, and you weren't keen on telling her what Malfoy had said either, so you only shrugged.

“I think it's cool,” grinned Ron, who seemed the most relaxed out of all of them. “And look, she's back. Told you guys Hagrid wouldn't let her go off into the dark forest alone with Riddle.”

“Actually, I did,” you corrected him and immediately came to regret it. Hermoine's eyes widened, Harry asked “what?” sharply and Ron shot up from his seat. “Blimey, is he mental? Imagine what he could have done to you in there. Honestly, I figure you're lucky you made it out of there.” Their concern was touching, and it was so genuine you felt the need to reassure them. “It wasn't all that bad,” you attempted to calm Ron who was running his hands through his ginger hair in silent outrage. “He didn't do anything, didn't even know I was a muggleborn apparently.”

“You told him you were a muggleborn when you were alone in the dark forest with him?” Hermoine asked incredulously and you shrugged. For some reason, you were staring to feel bad, as if you'd wronged them somehow. Their reaction was sweet, but also overbearing. Harry fist-fought Riddle every other week, why couldn't you have a talk with him in the dark forest?

Hermoine soon announced she was going to bed and the two boys soon followed, bidding you goodnight. When they'd gone, you threw another piece of wood into the fire place to illuminate the room some more and got out your transfiguration books. After yesterday's disgraceful fiasco with McGonnagall, you were determined to get back in her good grades. The thought of stepping into her classroom tomorrow with nothing but her disappointment looming over you was awful, so you decided to work on some extra class work to submit and hopefully appease her. But you just could not concentrate.

No matter how hard you tried, your head was filled to the brim with memories of the hours in the forest. Riddle's voice echoed through your tired mind, his strange mood shift. The way he'd sketched that flower and worked with such concentration, but also the way he'd closed off when you mention patroni. When you started writing about flowers instead of rabbits in your essay, you finally gave up. But you knew you weren't about to get any sleep this way. Your thoughts were too loud for your brain, so you needed to drown them out.

A good ten minutes later, you hurried along a corridor and down the stairs to the dungeons. Your footsteps echoed louder the deeper you got, and the walls you sought out for balance became moister and colder. Only the faint glow of the lamps on the walls provided you with enough illumination to avoid tripping and breaking your neck. At the same time, you were glancing around in a constant anxiety that Filch or Mrs Norris would turn up at the next level. You had sneaked down to the kitchens before to bake something and relieve some stress, especially when exams rolled around, but you'd never done it after curfew. It seemed like today was a day for first times.

You tried to make as little noise as possible and not let yourself be scared off by the ghostly shadows on the walls, flickering like the flames that cast them. Finally, you had reached the second lowest level and scurried up another corridor. Being this far under the earth was never a pleasant experience, you shivered at the thought that the Slytherins had to sleep down here. Finally, you reached the painting of the laughing pineapple, your heart racing in your chest. Expertly, you tickled the fruit and it giggled and opened to reveal the kitchens.

It was strange to be here at night, but the quiet was welcome. You found some candles in a cupboard, ignited them and cast a spell on them to make them float above you as you got out all the necessary ingredients and equipment to make chocolate chip muffins. As you mixed the flour and sugar in a bowl, you finally felt some of the tension leave your body. The quiet, the working with your own hands and the solitude managed to do what homework hadn't: finally draw your thoughts away from Mattheo Riddle. Humming to yourself, you kneaded the batter and filled muffin cups with it. When you'd finished with the last touches, you put them in the oven, cleaned your working area and sat down on one of the desks.

Now that your head was pleasantly silent, you felt tired. It had been a nerve-wracking day. You watched the candles float, glanced at the oven from time to time and waited, occupied with nothing. Your fingers drew small circles on the desk as your eyelids started to drop. But you shot up at once when there was a loud bang and the entrance sprung open with such force the painting’s handles creaked dangerously- and there he stood.

Mattheo Riddle stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths, knuckles still stained with the dark red of drying blood. His brown hair was a chaotic mess, wild curls fell into his stormy eyes, which burned with some unspoken rage- or perhaps mere adrenaline. The candlelight of the room flickered across him, illuminating the sharp contrast of the crimson streaks marring his jawline and collar. His shirt was rumpled and torn at the hem, blood smudged along the fabric as though he'd wiped his hands there in a haste. He looked slightly feral, yet oddly composed, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips when his eyes landed on you.

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice low and edged with amusement as he stepped into the room, boots heavy on the flagstone floor. His gaze roamed over your sitting figure, taking in your startled expression, the nightdress you'd thrown on prematurely and now regretted even owning as it made you feel utterly exposed and vulnerable under his heated stare.

“Didn't think I'd have company tonight.” He swiped a hand through his hair, smearing the blood further, the act almost calculated in its casualness. His lips quirked into a crooked grin, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What’s wrong, princess? Can't deal with a little blood?” There was a teasing lilt to his words, but his eyes lingered on you a moment too long, as though he were trying to decide what to make of you- or what you might make of him. Your alarm rang, but neither of you averted your eyes from one another. Finally, you raised your voice, but it was but a timid mumbling. The strange sense of security of the forest had left you.

“Would you like a muffin?”

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[greenwitchfromthewoods]

stitches. l Joel Miller

before Jackson

Summary: the moment Joel thought he might lose you

Warnings:  angst, blood, weapons, Ellie is in on it, tears, rough night for Joel, some swearing

A/N: this is before they appear in Jackson. the idea for this chapter was given by the wonderful @underneath-the-sky-again . thank you so much! i hope you like it, sweetie. ❤️

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

"Take Ellie and try to get out of here."

You looked at him with fear but also determination in your eyes. He had expected the words that left your lips "I won't leave you, Joel."

"But you have to, if you want Ellie to be safe." You nodded "I'll find you. We'll meet outside the city. Remember that red brick building? We'll meet there."

You didn't ask any more questions, just grabbed Ellie by the arm and led her out the back door. Once again, for a moment, you turned to look at Joel.

"Go. Now."

He should have been less harsh. He should have done a lot of things, and he definitely shouldn't have led you there. The road through the city was definitely shorter, and you could find the supplies you needed for the rest of the journey. 

You were all tired, and Ellie was grumpy. She was tired of sleeping under the stars, and when you got soaked one night, she was even grumpier than Joel.

"Something warm, a piece of dry floor. That's the basics!" she said and finally Joel gave in.

These people were probably thinking the same thing. They knew someone was in the building, but they didn't know how many people were there or whether they were armed, that was to your advantage.

Joel reloaded his gun. Maybe you could get out without being noticed? But he had to distract these people, let them think you left the city a different way. His thoughts ran to you and Ellie once more, he knew you'd be fine.

The moment he entered the red brick building on the outskirts of town he knew something was wrong. It was already dark when he entered and secured the door.

"Ellie?" he called out in a muffled voice "Ellie!"

He almost had a heart attack when the girl appeared at the end of the corridor with a flashlight in her hands. Her eyes were wide, she was shaking.

"Are you okay?" he asked, quickly approaching her "W-What is it? Blood?"

Ellie's hands were covered in blood, some of it smeared on her cheek. She was pale as a sheet. Your name barely escaped her lips, and Joel felt as if his legs were giving out under him.

"That guy appeared out of nowhere!" the girl gasped, "She's bleeding terribly."

Joel rushed into the room after her. He knew one thing, he would never forget this sight. You were lying on the floor. Ellie had somehow managed to take off your jacket, but your shirt was soaked in blood on one side. The old towel that Ellie used as a dressing was already covered in blood.

"Fuck!" Joel hissed, falling to the floor next to you. "What happened?"

"There was a guy..." you replied quietly, you were breathing as if you were fighting for every breath, your eyelids seemed so weak. "A few streets away..."

"And you made it all the way here? In this condition?!"

"What was I supposed to do?!" Ellie groaned, sitting on her heels on the other side of you. "She didn't say anything. It wasn't until we left the city..."

Joel's hands easily removed yours, he lifted the towel and uncovered your side. The red mark from the knife ran almost from your hip to your bra. The wound was bleeding badly, although not as intensely since you moved less and pressed the towel that Ellie gave you.

"She'll be fine, right?" the girl's quiet voice focused Joel's scattered thoughts. "Hey! I'm asking you something!"

He nodded. That was all he could do, because he was afraid his lips would betray him. They would betray his fear, worries and uncertainty about you. It looked like you had lost a lot of blood. How much? He wasn't sure.

Focus! Focus!

"There's water in my backpack. Give it to me!" he ordered.

Ellie quickly rushed towards the backpack and after a moment pressed a bottle into his hand. He poured it over your side to clean it a bit.

"Joel? Joel..." you sighed.

"I know, give me a moment." he mumbled, but your hand lightly grabbed his. "My backpack... Ellie knows."

He looked at you, confused, and then at the girl. She didn't wait. She ran to your backpack lying against the wall and started looking through it, finally pulling out something that looked like a makeshift first aid kit. She threw it towards Joel.

A small bottle of alcohol, some bandages, antibiotics that had long since passed their expiration date. It looked bad, but it was all he had.

"I'd have to stitch the wound up." He said more to you than as if he was planning on actually doing it.

You nodded. Your eyes were closed, your breathing shallow. Despite everything, when he poured the alcohol on your side, you hissed loudly in pain.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry..."

"It hurts her." Ellie groaned, her voice shaking as she sat down next to Joel.

"I know, but it'll hurt more."

Ellie's small hands pressed a spool of thread and a needle into his palm. Without a word, she walked to where your head was, took your hands, and squeezed them tightly. She knew what had to be done, and so did you. She laced her small fingers with yours and nodded at Joel.

He couldn't remember the last time he was so scared.

Joel opened his eyes and lifted his head. He shouldn't have fallen asleep. He couldn't.

It was starting to dawn. Ellie was curled up next to you, her bloody fingers still tangled with yours. She had spent the whole night watching over you and it was only a few hours ago that he had finally managed to convince her to go to sleep. The night watch belonged to him.

After you had passed out while he was stitching your body, you hadn't opened your eyes yet. Joel knew that this night would haunt him for a very long time. 

Ellie's pale face, her tears running down her cheeks, your blood on his and her hands. He only hoped that he had done everything right. He couldn't lose you, not now, not ever.

Ellie stirred and rubbed her eyelids.

"She's not awake yet?"

Joel shook his head. "You should still be asleep, kiddo." he muttered.

She sat up and rubbed her face with her hand. Her eyes were puffy with tears.

"Do you think she'll wake up?" she asked.

God, she has to!

"If she doesn't wake up on her own, your talking will do the trick" he said, relieved to see the shadow of a smile on Ellie's lips. "You were brave, you know. If it wasn't for you..."

"You sewed her up like a rag doll." she said. "I wouldn't know what to do."

"You would know. You knew she had a first aid kit with her. Good job."

"Yeah, she showed it to me a while ago. She said it was just in case." Ellie stood up and stretched. "I need to find the bathroom. Will you watch her?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled and quietly left the room. Joel leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His whole body ached. Warm coffee would be something he would give a lot for.

A thought flashed through his mind - how long will you have to stay here? Is this place even safe enough for another night? What if he did something wrong?

"J-Joel..."

It was quieter than a whisper, but he still heard it. He opened his eyes and saw you looking at him, your eyelids still heavy, but you fought them.

"Hi, darling." he greeted and stood up to crouch next to you. "How are you feeling?"

"Ughh...horrible..." you sighed.

His hand touched your cheek and forehead. You saw the worry written on his face combined with the sleepless night.

"You had a small fever last night. I gave you antibiotics."

"Shit..." you groaned. "You wasted it on me?"

"Best decision ever."

You wanted to smile, but the muscles in your face were strangely numb. Meanwhile, Joel lifted the jacket you were wearing and glanced at your side. The wound was still red, but it wasn't anything to worry about. The most important thing was that you weren't bleeding. And you were conscious.

"Where's Ellie?" you asked.

"She's looking for the bathroom. She sat with you all night." He looked at you with sympathy and worry. "How did you manage to get here? When I showed up, you looked terrible."

"Yeah... That guy, I wasn't expecting him. I didn't want to shoot... That would draw attention."

He nodded. Damn, he knew you were strong and resilient, but he was still full of worries about you. 

Your presence was soothing to him, and the relationship you had with Ellie... The girl would break down if something happened to you. So did he, although he didn't want to admit it. 

You, on the other hand, twitched strangely, making a movement as if you wanted to get up.

"What the hell are you doing?" Joel covered you with his jacket again "You're staying like this."

"We can't stay here. These people..."

"We'll stay another night, or as long as we have to." he declared. "You won't be able to move around yet."

Footsteps in the hallway distracted you, because you clearly wanted to argue with him. Ellie's face lit up when she saw you and a moment later she was sitting next to you.

"Fuck! You scared us so much." she said. "Joel almost had a heart attack!"

The man threw her a look and shook his head. He listened to her babble as she told you in detail about the night, about everything that had happened. He smiled the moment he felt your fingers clumsily find his and squeeze them lightly.

A quiet "Thank you," that he appreciated more than anything. You were alive. Still. Soon you would move on. Slowly, but still, the three of you.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi