#He lost so much in the war and he was so Young

[slytherinshua]

༄　A FLAME'S OCEAN　( 최지웅 )

genre avatar the last airbender au , fluff/comfort , established marriage , fire lord!jiung x water tribe princess!reader   cw war between nations , kissing , not proofread   wc 1328   request for my baby @blue-jisungs who wanted a jiung fic in return for a tae fic 🤲🤲🤲 i have delivered   note idk why i always fall back to atla aus BUT I AM NOT COMPLAINING i could fr write these forever i just love the atla world so much it's so nice for fics. also writing this was super nostalgic all the feels from writing my old wonwoo fic coming back cause i was listening to the same playlist i did back then <//3   net @kstrucknet

Fire and water. Constantly in disagreement with each other. Constantly fighting with each other. Yet, they still possessed components vital for the other’s survival. The oxygen in water fed a fire’s flame. The heat produced from that flame could change the structure of the water, from ice to boiling. Fire and water, despite their differences, were able to work together. 

Jiung was your fire. Burning with a passion hotter than any you had ever seen. Jiung lived for perfection, for ambition, for achievements. He could do anything, warming even the coldest of places and people with his blaze. The people looked up to him, adored him, but also asked too much of him. With a broken Fire Nation stricken from a hundred year war, there was much to rebuild, and countless problems to face along the way. 

Jiung was strong, but you could tell when the pressure started to get to him. As a Water tribe princess, your very existence as his wife defied the rules of the old world. It marked the change, the unity, the peace that Jiung hoped to bring to the entire country. You were both still young, but it was exactly the hope the people needed and craved for that only the youth possessed. Innovative minds, creative thinking, new ideas; from them, the heart of the nation was coming back to life.

Fighting alongside Jiung was quite different from calling yourself his wife. It was a title you still had to get used to. There was a humility you were used to in the Water Tribe. Because of the close-knit community, your role as princess wasn’t very different from the neighbouring market vendor. Everyone knew you, and you knew everyone. The Tribe was just that small.

The Fire Nation seemed almost endless to you. Vast, overpopulated, busy. You knew on the day of your wedding that you’d have to rule in quite a different way than you were used to. A nation afflicted with mistrust and grief needed to be carefully sewn back together at the seams. Trust and community had to be built before prosperity could blossom. 

Jiung focused on the communities directly affected by the war. The families that had lost their men. The homes that had been destroyed. Immense guilt filled his body at the sight of them, and he hoped to rebuild everything better than it was before the war. 

You focused on connections with the other nations. It was easy for union between the Fire Nation and Water Tribe given your marriage. You were a beacon of light for the Earth Kingdom. Seeing someone of such background work in harmony with the Fire Lord was inspiring. It wasn’t easy to persuade people, but through your hard work, they were slowly starting to see the possibilities of an era of peace. 

It was late at night and the warm Summer air was carried by the breeze through the open curtains of the terrace decorating your bedchambers. Dressed in light silk robes, taking down your hair from the day, you sighed. You had just gotten back from the Earth Kingdom after weeks of stay. You had missed Jiung, who continued to be one of the only people who understood your hard work and struggle. You had missed the Fire Nation, which you had just started to feel was your home. You had missed the warmth and the hope that the air of the Fire Nation carried. Although you were making progress with the Earth Kingdom, you still had a long way to go. 

Jiung wasn’t back yet. He had been working on the outskirts of the city the last time you heard from him. Handling the impoverished, the broken, the injured. You knew it was going to be the hardest area to build back up. Not only were the people the most affected by the war— they never had much. You were worried Jiung’s gestures would be viewed as insincere. You trusted your husband nonetheless. If there was anyone who could build back a nation from destruction, it was him.

You fell down onto the soft pillows, immediately nuzzling your face closer to Jiung’s side, missing his scent, his warmth, his smile. A smile crept onto your face before you knew it as soon as you heard familiar footsteps outside the door. You lifted your head as the door swung open, and your handsome, albeit tired, husband stepped through. You noticed how he visibly relaxed at the sight of you. It had been lonely without you for almost a month.

“Welcome home, my love,” he sighed, a smile on his face. He produced a small flame in his palm, sending it to light the lamps in the corners of the room, washing away the darkness.

“How was it? I hope you had more success than I did,” you beckoned him over to the bed, hand joining with yours as he sat down. He was quiet for a moment, staring at the wall decorated by a wedding portrait of you and him.

“Their homes are being rebuilt and necessary resources are being supplied… but the people are angry. And they have every right to be. I just don’t know what else I can do to help them,” Jiung frowned, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed in an attempt to fix his dry throat. You ran your thumb over his knuckles soothingly. 

“Jiung, you’re doing everything you can right now. It’s going to take time— a lot of time— and constant effort, but it will pay off in the end. The people will see how hard you worked to restore everything that was lost.”

He nodded along tiredly to your words. You always knew what he needed to hear. Having you back was what he desperately needed. He pulled you into his arms, warm body meeting your cool one. 

“I won’t give up on them. I just wish I could relax for a moment. There’s always more to do, always more problems to fix. Sometimes it feels like too much,” he whispered sadly. You hugged him tighter. 

“You can relax for a moment,” you proposed. Jiung pulled back slightly, questioning you with a look in his eyes. You cupped his cheek and smiled, adoring his every feature even when he looked exhausted. 

You brought your lips to his in a kiss that was both passionate and soothing, warm and cool. Jiung submitted to it, just as you wanted, relaxing his body completely and pulling you in closer, longing for more. His lips were soft and his skin was warm, inviting you in further. Jiung pushed you gently, one hand holding the back of your head while the other laid at your waist. You leant back until you hit the soft pillows, still kissing Jiung tenderly. He held up his weight with a supporting arm, not wanting to crush you, but still not ready to stop kissing you. His free hand fell to your hip, circling the small dip there, one of the many features he adored about you.  

When you were both teenagers navigating your newfound feeling of love for each other in the middle of a wartorn time, you would have never anticipated a future together like this. Your two nations weren’t exactly amicable with each other. Even falling into the complicated feelings of affection and care for the other defied a century-long history of fighting. 

As opposite as you two were, you also fit together like pieces of a puzzle. You had chosen to be with him despite all odds, customs, and circumstances. It was never meant to be easy, but together you built a strong team with balance and drive. Fire and water. Warmth and coolness. Passion and gentleness. Forever intertwined.

Just as Jiung’s lips melded with yours and his hands traced the lines of your body with a touch gentler than the sweetest words, so too did your hearts race in sync with the other, souls and bodies responding in consonance. 

p1harmony taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @amara-mars,, @nyukyusnz,, @blossominghunnie,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,, @forever-atiny,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees,, @xikskrrrs,, @cupidslovearrows,, @nicholasluvbot

[docholligay]

You can't act like the game is lost before it is. This is, in fact, what they want you to do. They would love you to believe that nothing matters. Every time you roll over and do nothing, you are playing into what they would like you to do. They want you scared. They want you thinking it's already lost. You are giving them so much power.

If you want to live in your own doom slop, do. But scroll on past this and for the love of god shut the fuck up about it. Don't discourage people who are trying to do something.

And, know fucking what? I don't think that the ability to be won is the whole of the merit of the fight. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising was unwinnable--was it stupid to fight? Did the guy in Tienanmen, standing in front of a row of tanks, fucking fix China? No! But I still think they were worth it, and that the people who did those things were better than those who didn't.

At the very least, you can give someone trying to ruin your fucking life a really bad day. Why would you not? I am happy to light up some intern on the phone every single day, and I hope they can't fucking sleep at night.

Screw your courage to the sticking place. It's been two fucking weeks. This is all a bunch of shock and awe bullshit, and we we CAN fight back, but we have to fucking do something. Internet activism, INCLUDING WHAT I AM DOING RIGHT NOW, is mostly useless. like 5% useful. Write a letter. Make a call. Go to a protest. Actually, you want to know what works really well? Learn what reps look like and if you see them in public, bully them. I just told a local government rep Tuesday I was 'real annoyed about this culture-war bullshit that i've never personally experienced, i gotta say, that you're wasting your time on while young people are fleeing the state. You grew up here. i grew up here. I do not think a net increase of Texans and East Coaster rhinestone cowboys are improving the place, do you? Focus on jobs and parks, jesus christ." And you know what? HE HATED IT. It was EMBARRASSING*. He just had to shrug and mutter that he did care about jobs but we go to the same gym! I didn't even yell! I said it with my usual flat "I'm unimpressed' affect.

Volunteer for the things you believe in! Run for fucking dogcatcher! Stop looking for an adult to do something. WE ARE THE ADULTS WHO HAVE TO DO SOMETHING, NOW.

*Some of this is you can't yell at a 5'3'' 125 pound women who's dressed like a tradwife. But you know how much YOU hate to be confronted in public? THEY DO TOO, GIRLIEPOP.

[imjustatorturedpoet]

Meet me in the Hallway

chapter six: Friends Don't Do Shit Like That

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Reader

also available on ao3!

word count: 7.9k

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The dormitory had never felt this suffocating. 

You never realised how much space they took up until it was empty. Until their absence pressed against your ribs like a weight, making it harder to breathe. You weren’t alone—technically. Players trickled back in, their exhausted murmurs filling the air. Some collapsed onto bunks, some whispered prayers of relief. But none of them mattered.  

Because they weren’t your team.  

Young-il. Gi-hun. Jung-bae. Dae-ho. Hell, even the pregnant girl.  

Where the hell were they?  

You sat rigidly at the edge of your bed in the far right corner, hands locked around the thin blanket like it was the only thing keeping you together. The distant hum of voices barely registered—just static against the pounding in your skull.  

The doors slid open.  

Your head snapped up. Not them.  

Again.  

Not them.  

Your foot tapped against the floor, sharp and restless. Your nails dug into the sheets. Your chest felt tight, shrinking, collapsing in on itself.  

They should be back. They should be back. They should be back.  

Another group staggered in. Your stomach twisted. Then—  

The doors slid open one last time. And finally, they were there. 

Your breath left you all at once, sharp, sudden, violent. And before you could stop yourself, you were moving. Fast. Too fast.  

You didn’t just walk. You didn’t just jog. You ran.  

Straight for him. Young-il.  

He was there, right there, walking in alongside the others. His posture was composed, unreadable, like he hadn’t just made you feel like you were drowning for hours.  

“They don’t seem so happy to see us,” he muttered to Gi-hun, scanning the crowd. 

Then he saw you. Saw the way you closed the distance without hesitation, like a lost child spotting their parents after wandering too far.  

And you didn’t stop. Not until you were right in front of him.  

“At least someone is happy,” Gi-hun said with a tired smile.  

Your hands twitched at your sides, instinct warring with restraint. You wanted to reach for him. You wanted to pull him in. You wanted to feel him, solid and real, just to make sure.  

You nearly did.

Your fingers brushed the sleeve of his jacket before you froze. 

Wait.  

The sudden awareness slammed into you like a punch to the gut. 

What the hell were you doing?  

Your hand hovered midair for a fraction too long before you clenched your fingers into a fist and dropped it back to your side. 

It’s not like that, you reminded yourself.  

It’s not.  

You weren’t running to him because of that. You weren’t reaching for him because of that.  He was your friend.  

Nothing more.  

And yet— Your heart was still pounding, and your chest still ached in a way that felt too much like relief. Young-il tilted his head slightly. His gaze flickered downward—to your clenched fists. Then back up, locking onto yours. His facial expression didn’t change. But his eyes did.  

Like he noticed. Like he knew. Shit.  

You exhaled sharply, forcing a smirk to cover up the fact that you had almost just thrown yourself at him like a goddamn idiot.  

“About time,” you said, your voice lighter than you felt. “Thought I was gonna have to replace you.”  

His lips curled slightly. “Oh?”  

You shrugged. “Yeah. I was already taking applications.”  

Young-il hummed. Low. Deep. Amused. His gaze stayed locked onto yours for just a second too long.  And you had to look away. Because suddenly, standing this close, you could still feel the ghost of that almost-hug. And the worst part?  You weren’t sure if you regretted stopping yourself—  

Or if you regretted the fact that you had wanted to do it in the first place.  

You swallowed hard, resetting. Shaking it off. Pretending like it was nothing. 

“I’m so glad you all made it back,” you said, softer now. Jung-bae grinned, clapping Gi-hun on the back. “Damn right we did. We’re built different.” 

Dae-ho exhaled loudly, shaking out his limbs. “Holy shit, I thought I was gonna pass out.”  

The pregnant girl let out a shaky laugh, still catching her breath. “I thought I was gonna die.”  

A pause. No one laughed. Because it wasn’t a joke. She almost did. And suddenly, the weight of it settled again. You didn’t ask what happened. You didn’t need to. It was written all over their faces.  

The games weren’t just dangerous. They were designed to be almost impossible. You knew that.  But still. Young-il was here. They were all here. That was enough.  

For now.  

The group moved towards your usual spot, but you and Young-il remained. You exhaled. Slowly.  

“You should sit down.” Young-il’s voice was quieter now, just for you. You barely noticed that your hands were still trembling.

 You nodded. But didn’t move. And neither did he.

You finally let out a breath, tension still coiled too tight in your chest. The others were already long forgotten, because you were caught in some unspoken moment that neither you nor Young-il seemed in a hurry to break.

He was still watching you. Not quite expectant, not quite unreadable. Just there. Present. And something about it made your stomach feel funny again. You cleared your throat, shifting your weight. “By the way…”

Young-il tilted his head slightly, waiting. You forced yourself to look at him. “Thank you.”

His brow lifted slightly. “For what?”

You swallowed, fingers curling against the hem of your sleeve. “For earlier. When I—” Your lips parted, but the words stuck to the roof of your mouth. Had a panic attack. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want to make it real. You settled for, “When I lost it.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with that same steady patience, like he could see right through you. Then—his lips curled. Soft. Amused. Maybe even a little fond.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught. It was too easy for him, the way the word rolled off his tongue like it belonged there. Like it wasn’t something to second-guess. Like it wasn’t something that should make your pulse stutter the way it did.

Your jaw clenched. You rolled your eyes, trying—failing—to ignore the way your skin warmed. 

“You gotta stop calling me that.”

“Oh?” His smirk deepened, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “And why’s that?”

You opened your mouth.

Shut it.  

You turned your head slightly, like that would somehow make him disappear. “Just… don’t.”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. I don’t know. Kinda suits you.”

You shot him a look. “It really doesn’t.”

He hummed, like he wasn’t convinced. “You sure? You respond to it pretty quick.”

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes. “That’s because it’s annoying.”

“Mm.” His lips twitched. “Or maybe you just like hearing me say it.”

Smug. He was so smug. 

You turned your head, muttering under your breath, “I swear to god.”

Young-il chuckled, the sound low, satisfied. “Alright, alright. I’ll think about it.”

You shot him a glare. He grinned. He wasn’t going to stop.

His hum was thoughtful, almost lazy. “Maybe I’ll call you something else, then.”

 Then, his gaze flickered. Just for a second. Something sharp. Focused.

You didn’t even have time to process it before his hand moved. A touch. The lightest graze of his thumb along your cheekbone, just barely there—but enough. Enough to make your breath hitch, enough to make your body lock in place. Your heart slammed.

Oh god, why? You are twenty-nine, (Y/N), not some hormonal teenager. Get it together.

“There’s blood on your face.” His voice wasn’t teasing anymore. It was lower, steadier. “Didn’t even notice, did you?”

Your skin burned where he touched it. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. His fingers barely lingered before he pulled back, leaving a ghost of warmth in their wake. His brows furrowed slightly. “Come on.”

You blinked. “What?”

“The restroom,” he said simply. “You should wash up.”

A pause. Then, a small, knowing smirk. “Unless you like walking around looking like you’ve been in a fight.” You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes and stifling a laugh. “Gee, thanks.”

But your feet were already moving, following him before you even thought about it. And that’s when it hit you— You didn’t even hesitate. You just followed him like a little puppy. Like it was instinct. Like you had always done it. 

Young-il knocked on the door, the sound echoed through the dormitory. Firm. Deliberate. 

A second later, the heavy steel door creaked open, revealing a circle-masked guard. His faceless gaze flickered over you both, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. 

But he didn’t look at you. He looked at Young-il. 

Without a word, he stepped aside, making space for you and him to pass through. You walked through first. Young-il followed, his presence solid behind you. The walk to the bathroom was quick and soon you hear the door shut with a quiet finality, the latch clicking into place.  

The bathroom was empty. Stark white tiles stretched across the floor and walls, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light that buzzed faintly overhead. The air was sharp and sterile, but your body still felt too warm.  

Young-il stepped past you, brushing against your side as he moved further in. He didn’t look at you, but something about the way he moved—calm, steady, like he had all the time in the world—made your stomach twist.  

“Sit,” he murmured, nodding toward the drop-in sink. You hesitated for just a second before hoisting yourself up. The porcelain was cool against your palms, a sharp contrast to the heat rising under your skin.  

Then he stepped between your legs. 

Oh my god? Oh my god!

Your breath stilled. He was close. Too close. His chest was only inches from yours, his hands moving with quiet purpose as he shrugged off his jacket. The fabric rustled as he bunched it in his hands, dragging one sleeve under the faucet. The water ran for a moment, pooling in the fabric, before he wrung it out. His fingers flexed, veins taut beneath his skin.  

Then he turned back to you. Your pulse quickened. He didn’t say anything. He just lifted the damp sleeve and reached for you. The first touch was light, just the faintest drag of fabric along your cheekbone. Warm, careful. Too careful.  

Your body locked in place. He was standing between your legs, his fingers brushing your skin as he wiped the blood away, and it felt like something was pressing down on your chest.  

His knuckles grazed your jaw. A shiver curled down your spine. He noticed. But he didn’t pull back.  

Your lips parted slightly. His gaze flickered downward. To your lips.  

He hesitated. Just a second. Just long enough for the air to shift.  

Then he moved again, dragging the cloth lower. Along your jaw. Over the curve of your chin. Until it met your lips.

The fabric barely touched your skin, but it didn’t matter. You could feel his fingers, firm beneath it, pressing lightly against the corner of your mouth.  

He didn’t move. He wasn’t looking at your eyes anymore. Just your lips.  

A sharp inhale. The room felt smaller. Your hands curled against the edge of the sink, gripping it like an anchor.  Your tongue darted out, instinctive, wetting your lips before you could stop yourself.  

His jaw tensed.  Something flickered across his face. Quick. Unreadable. The rag stilled.  

Your pulse was a hammer in your ribs. For a second, you thought he might— Then, suddenly, he pulled back slightly.  

Young-il exhaled softly, like nothing had just happened. Like he hadn’t just stared at your mouth like he was thinking about something he shouldn’t be.  

He dropped the makeshift rag onto the sink beside you. His voice was steady, but lower now. Rougher. 

“There you go, dear.”  

Dear. That’s new. At least he dropped the sweetheart.

“Thanks.”

You swallowed. Your heartbeat was still too fast. His fingers curled against the edge of the sink, his arms caging you in for just a second longer before he finally stepped back.  

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you weren’t sure what would happen.  

You weren’t even sure what you wanted to happen.

The silence stretched between you, thick and weighted, pressing against your ribs like something tangible. You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the warmth of his fingers bleeding through the fabric, the way his breath had fanned against your cheek—too close, too much.

You swallowed, eyes flickering toward the rag he had discarded. The damp sleeve lay crumpled on the sink beside you, proof that this had happened, that you weren’t just imagining the way your stomach twisted, the way your lungs forgot how to work properly.

Young-il exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. You could feel his eyes on you even though you refused to meet them.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, “That’s not like you.”

You scoffed, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to shake off whatever the hell this was. “Should I be giving you a standing ovation?”

The corner of his lips twitched. “Not necessary.”

Your fingers tightened against the porcelain. “Well, I don’t exactly know the proper etiquette for when a man stands between your legs and wipes your face like you’re some helpless damsel, so excuse me if I don’t have much to say.”

His smirk deepened, like he was enjoying this. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Helpless? If I remember correctly, you wanted to knock that old man’s lights out by yourself today. You’re not helpless”

Damn him. You turned your head slightly, trying to put some space between you. It didn’t work. He was still right there, still watching, still waiting for something you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re an asshole,” you muttered with a smirk.

Young-il tilted his head, smiling, considering. “I thought I was your friend.”

Your stomach flipped. You didn’t like the way he said it. Like he was testing something. Poking at something.

You forced a smirk, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Friends don’t do shit like that.”

He hummed, something deep and thoughtful, before murmuring, “Don’t they?”

You froze.

He was still leaning against the sink, his hands braced on either side of your hips, caging you in without even touching you. But it wasn’t his proximity that had you breathless. It was the way he said it.

Like it wasn’t a question. Like he had already decided it for you.

Your throat felt dry. “Young-il—”

“I know,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. His gaze flickered downward again—just a brief second, just enough to make your stomach coil too tight. “Not like that.”

Your heart was pounding so loud you could barely think. “Right.”

He didn’t move.

Neither did you.

The air was thick, charged, buzzing with something dangerous. Something unspoken.

Then, with a smirk, he added, “Besides… I think you’d be a terrible damsel. You’d probably try to fight the dragon.”

Your breath caught—more from the way he said it than the words themselves. Your pulse stuttered, but you rolled your eyes, forcing a scoff. “And you’d just stand there watching?”

“I’d hold your coat.”

“Chivalrous of you,” you said dryly.

His smirk widened. “I try.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your face betrayed you.

Finally, he pushed off the sink, stepping back fully, giving you the space you so desperately needed. And somehow, you hated it.

“You should go take a nap before dinner. You look exhausted,” he said, voice as steady as ever, like none of this had rattled him in the slightest. Like he hadn’t just looked at you like he was contemplating something he had no business contemplating.

You exhaled, shaking your head, trying to find solid ground again. “Oh, really?”

Young-il chuckled, quiet and smooth. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

And with that, he grabbed his jacket and turned toward the door. You sat there on the sink for a long moment, staring after him, your pulse still hammering against your ribs.

What the hell just happened?

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the sterile, fluorescent-lit bathroom, heart pounding against your ribs. The weight of his words—his presence—still clung to your skin, thick and suffocating. 

Sweetheart. Dear.

You swallowed, pressing your hands against the cool porcelain of the sink in an attempt to ground yourself. What the hell was that? He had called you that before, casually, teasingly. But now… now it felt different. Now it felt deliberate. You slid off the sink slowly and turned towards the mirror.

Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, eyes slightly wide, lips parted. Your breath still hadn’t fully returned to normal. 

“Friends don’t do shit like that.”

The words rang in your head, taunting you. Because the worst part was, you hadn’t hated it. 

You shook your head, exhaling sharply, forcing yourself to move. You hopped off the sink, your legs still a little unsteady, and grabbed a few paper towels, pressing them against your face, willing the warmth in your cheeks to disappear. 

It didn’t.  

By the time you returned to the dormitory, the atmosphere had shifted. The buzz of earlier had settled into something more subdued, players sprawled out on their beds, exhaustion heavy in the air. The reality of the games was sinking in. Everyone knew another round was coming tomorrow. Everyone knew that when the lights dimmed, some of them might not wake up the next morning. 

You spotted Jung-bae and Dae-ho in their usual spot, Gi-hun nearby, talking in hushed voices. Player 222 sitting in front of Gi-hun. Young-il was leaning against a higher bunk, back relaxed against the cold steel, arms folded. His gaze flickered up the second you entered. 

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before forcing yourself forward. 

“Where the hell did you run off to?” Jung-bae called, eyes narrowing playfully. 

You scoffed, dropping onto your bed. “Nowhere. Just needed a breather.”

Jung-bae raised a brow, glancing between you and Young-il. “A breather, huh?” 

Your jaw tightened, but you hid it with a smile. “Yeah. Got a problem?”

Dae-ho smirked, elbowing Jung-bae before he could dig further. “Leave her alone, man. She’s had a long day.” 

Jung-bae grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just saying. You look kinda—”

“Kind of what?” 

Jung-bae’s smirk widened. “Flustered.”

You laughed. “Fuck off.”

Across from you, Young-il just hummed, watching the exchange with that same infuriating smirk, completely at ease. You ignored him. Mostly.

Dae-ho and Jung-bae kept up their conversation, their voices a steady backdrop against the noise of the dormitory. You chimed in here and there, offering the occasional remark, but your mind was elsewhere. The weight of everything still pressed against your chest, and no amount of idle chatter could shake it off.

Then, Dae-ho sat up straighter, clapping his hands lightly to get everyone’s attention. “Listen. Perhaps we should learn each other’s names. I still don’t know your names, gentlemen. Or yours, Miss 132, Miss 222.”

He took a breath before introducing himself with his usual easy confidence. “I’ll start. I’m Kang Dae-ho. ‘Dae’ means big, and ‘ho’ means tiger.”

Jung-bae gasped dramatically, eyebrows lifting. “Wow. ‘Big tiger.’ Cool name.” He ran a hand through his hair in an almost absentminded gesture. “My name is Park Jung-bae. ‘Righteous’ and ‘twice.’ My parents wanted me to be twice as righteous.”

The tension was loosening, if only slightly. Then, Jun-hee spoke up, her voice quiet. “My name is Kim Jun-hee. I don’t know what it means.”

The group smiled at her, the warmth unspoken but understood. You included. It suited her.

Young-il’s voice softened as he addressed her. “Jun-hee, when you get out of here, go see a doctor right away. You’ve been under a lot of stress. You need to get yourself checked out.”

You noticed it immediately—the way his tone shifted. How gentle it was. Not performative, not out of obligation, but genuine. It did something to you, something unsettling. It made your stomach feel that certain way again.

Jun-hee nodded, her voice small but grateful. “Okay.”

Then Young-il’s gaze flickered to you. And, like a ripple effect, so did everyone else’s. Their expectant looks made it clear they were waiting for your introduction.

You swallowed, then forced yourself to meet their gazes. “My name is (Y/N) (L/N),” you said, offering a small smile. “My mother once told me that it means ‘new beginning’ in her native language.”

A beat of silence followed. Something in the air shifted—small, subtle, almost imperceptible.

“New beginning,” Dae-ho repeated, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s nice.”

You nodded once, but your eyes drifted toward Young-il again. His gaze hadn’t left you. And for a moment—just a brief, fleeting second—you could have sworn there was something knowing in it. Something unreadable. Like he understood something you didn’t.

But then he looked away. And whatever it was, whatever had been there, was gone.

Finally, Player 001 spoke. “I’m Oh Young-il.”  

You blinked, knowing his name already.

“Young-il?” Jung-bae echoed, like he was trying to memorise it.

“Yes,” Young-il said easily, tapping the number on his uniform. “Young-il sounds like ‘zero one,’ and that’s my number. Easy to remember.”  

Dae-ho’s eyes widened in realisation. He pointed at the bold 001 printed across Young-il’s chest with a laugh. “Oh, that’s true! Your name is your number!”  

You tilted your head slightly, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. “Funny coincidence.”  

But was it?

Young-il turned to the man beside him, curiosity flickering in his expression. “Oh, Gi-hun. What’s your last name?”  

Gi-hun glanced at you and the others before finally answering. “Seong Gi-hun.”  

A few murmurs of acknowledgment passed between the group, but Young-il just tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought.  

“Oh,” he mused. “But ‘Seong’ literally means ‘last name.’”  

Then, to your utter surprise, he laughed. A low, amused chuckle—quiet but completely unrestrained. And before you could even think about stopping yourself, you laughed too.  

The others exchanged confused glances, some waiting for the punchline, others just staring, clearly not getting it.  

This ridiculous man and his dad jokes. 

Wait… what the fuck were you thinking?  

You blinked, the absurdity of the thought settling in. Here you were, in a place designed to kill you, and somehow Young-il still found a way to crack jokes.  

And it actually worked. The tension eased, just slightly, the weight pressing on your chest lifting for a moment. Even if it was stupid.

The blaring beeping noise sliced through the dormitory like a siren, sharp and unrelenting. Conversations died. Bodies stiffened. 

As usual, the double doors groaned open, and the pink-clad guards marched in, their faceless presence making the room feel colder. At the front, the square-masked guard stood, rigid and unreadable. Every player turned to watch. Some rose from their seats, others stepped away from their corners. Anticipation thickened the air. No one breathed.  

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game,” the guard announced, his voice as hollow as ever. “Here are the results of the second game.”  

He lifted a remote control. Click.  

The dormitory lights dimmed, and the piggy bank above bathed the room in its eerie glow, looming like some sick god over its subjects. Then came the sound. A deafening rush of money dropping. Stacks of bills cascaded into the transparent bank, thick and endless. The metallic clatter of cash piling onto cash filled the air—hypnotic, awful.  

Almost every player stood, heads tilting back, eyes wide, mesmerised by the spectacle.  

You found yourself staring too, but it didn’t feel like victory. It felt like a graveyard. Because you knew exactly what each stack represented.  

The dead.  

110 players gone.  

When the flow of cash finally stilled, the square guard spoke again.  

“In the second game, 110 players were eliminated. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person’s share is 78,823,530 won.”  

The number should have meant something. But it didn’t. Not anymore.  

Your fingers curled into your sleeves. It wasn’t even close to what you needed. It wasn’t enough. And you weren’t sure what felt worse—the realisation that 78 million wouldn’t change anything for you, or the fact that you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted the number to grow. Unbeknownst to you, Young-il had been watching.  

Then, the murmurs started.  

“Wait, what? It’s still under 100 million?”  

“Only 110 people died? Is that all?”  

“That’s all? But you shot all those people!”  

“Count them again!”  

The shift was palpable. Less grief, more greed. The square-masked guard didn’t flinch. “I completely understand your disappointment,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “However, we always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities.”  

Silence.  

“You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.”  

The guards moved, setting up the voting equipment. The square guard continued, “Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here is entirely your choice. Please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner.”  

You barely heard him. The weight of that fucking number sat heavy in your ribs, pressing down like a brick. Young-il’s gaze flickered toward Gi-hun. Then something changed. His expression faltered when he caught Gi-hun staring at the O patch on his chest.  

“Don’t worry,” Young-il murmured. “I want to stop here too.” Gi-hun let out a relieved sigh, shoulders relaxing. “I should go and be with my wife at the hospital.”  

Gi-hun’s smile tightened. “Right. Your wife.”  

Young-il nodded. Slowly. Too slowly. His gaze flickered—not to Gi-hun, but to you.

Your breath stilled.

And then, just as fast, he looked away. As if nothing had happened.

The word hit you like a punch to the stomach.  

Wife.  

Your body locked in place. Cold. Hollow. You didn’t even realise you were staring at Young-il until everything around you went sharp. Wife. You had suspected it. Hell, you had practically prepared yourself for it. A man like him? Of course, he was married. His maturity, the way he carried himself, his handsome face and smug attitude—it all made sense.  

But hearing it? Actually hearing it? It hit different. It made you feel like an idiot.  

Something in you clenched, a deep, twisting pull in your chest. Maybe you did have a crush on him. Maybe it was obvious from the way your breath stilled when he got too close. From the way your stomach flipped whenever he looked at you like— 

Like in the restroom. Like when his fingers brushed against your lips.  Like when he stared at your mouth like he was thinking about something he had no business thinking about. You felt sick.  

Your eyes flicked to Young-il, searching his face. Needing confirmation. But his expression wasn’t relaxed. He wasn’t nodding. Wasn’t agreeing. He had frozen.  

The warmth that had been in his eyes moments ago was gone. His jaw tensed. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something—but then his gaze flicked to you. Just for a second.  

Just long enough to catch the disbelief in your expression. Just long enough to let the unspoken question hang between you like a noose.  

And then? He looked away. Your stomach plummeted.  

Dae-ho cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I’m telling you. We’ll get out this time.” He glanced down at the O patch on his chest and cursed. You looked at yours too.  

You didn’t regret your decision to leave. Not even a little. But maybe getting out sooner rather than later was a good idea. Maybe leaving before you did something really fucking stupid—like falling for a married man—was the smart choice.  

You sighed, pressing a hand against your forehead. “Don’t worry. I’ll press X this time too.”  

You meant it. You really did. But your mind was still a mess, your pulse still too fast.  

The weight of everything—of Young-il, of the way he reacted, of the way he didn’t react—was still pressing into your skin.  

Without another word, you stepped out of the circle, slipping into the gathering crowd near the voting area. The noise of players arguing, the hum of activity, the mechanical setup of the voting booths—it should have been distracting.  

It wasn’t.  

Because your mind was stuck. Stuck on the way Young-il hesitated. Stuck on the fact that when Gi-hun said wife, Young-il looked at you first.  

Why did he react like that? Why did he freeze? Why did he look at you? Did he feel guilty?  

Your jaw tightened. No. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But it did.  

A shuffle behind you. The familiar murmur of voices. Jung-bae and Dae-ho had followed, along with the rest of your group. You felt Young-il’s presence before you saw him. He was close.  

Too close.  

You didn’t turn. Didn’t look. Didn’t breathe.  

“Are you okay? You look tense.”  Gi-hun’s voice, somewhere behind you. But it wasn’t directed at you.  

A beat of silence.  

Then, Young-il. “Yes, of course.” His voice was calm. But something in it was off. You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.  

Because if you did, you might ask him why the hell he hesitated. And you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer.  

The square-masked guard’s voice sliced through the murmurs.  

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

He was quick. X.

Several more players followed, each stepping up to cast their vote. The numbers climbed.

[X: 33 | O: 36]

And then, suddenly, Gi-hun pushed his way through the crowd. You tensed, eyes tracking his movements. What was he doing? Was he about to disrupt the vote? Again?!

The room stilled as he emerged from the throng, turning to face you and the others.  

"Everyone!"  

The sharp command that cut through the murmurs wasn’t Gi-hun’s. It was Young-il’s. You jolted at the sound, head whipping toward him. He had stepped forward from the X zone, standing now in the dead centre between both groups—between reason and desperation. His gaze swept the crowd like a blade, his voice steady, sharp, impossible to ignore.  

"You still want to keep going after watching all those people die?" He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. His voice carried, filled with the kind of authority that made people *listen.* "Who’s to say you won’t be next? We have to stop. We’ll all die if we keep going!"  

His words were a slow, calculated press on the exposed nerves of the room. You could feel the shift, the hesitation, the way some players fidgeted. But then—  

“What do you think we can do with a mere 70 million?” Player 100 stepped forward from the crowd of O voters, his voice slicing through the moment like a dull knife. Loud. Dismissive. "I don’t know how much you owe, but for most people here, that doesn’t even cover 10% of their debt."  

You rolled your eyes. Yeah, no shit. For you, it wouldn’t even scratch the surface. 10 billion won wouldn’t disappear overnight. Dumbass.  

“There’s no next step for us!” Player 100 pressed, his tone rising, feeding off the tension. “That money won’t change anything!”  

You stepped forward, placing yourself between him and Young-il before things could escalate. Not because you wanted to protect Young-il. No. Well, yes, but that wasn’t the reason. You wanted to be closer when this idiot inevitably dug his own grave.  

“Yes, he’s right!” Another O voter spoke up, their desperation cracking through their voice. “With that amount of money, I won’t last long!”  

Player 100 ignored you, turning toward the undecided players, planting doubt like seeds. “It was 25 million after the first game, and now it’s 78 million! After just one more game, the prize will be at least 240 million! That’s the kind of money that can actually change lives!”  

Your jaw clenched. He was smart. Twisting logic just enough to make it seem like a rational choice. But then—  

“I can’t do this anymore.” The voice was fragile. Trembling. Young-mi. All eyes snapped to her.  

Tears streamed down her face, her entire body shaking with ragged sobs. "Please. Please let me out of here. I really want to go home. I don’t want to die."  

Your fist curled. Damn it. That should’ve been enough to change the tide. To make them see. But it wasn’t. Because desperation was louder.  

A heavy silence followed, broken only by Young-mi’s quiet weeping.  

"Young lady," an O voter murmured, guilt written all over his face. His voice was kind. But his resolve was solid. "You’re young. You’ll probably have another chance." The words were laced with something worse than false hope. 

It was delusion.  

His hands trembled at his sides, his eyes glassy, as if he was moments from tears himself. “But I don’t.” A sharp inhale.  “Please,” Player 095 choked out, clasping her hands together in a silent plea.

"My family and I have no future." The O voter swallowed, voice thick with emotion. "My business failed. I owe over 500 million. I’ve got to make at least half of that here if I want a real shot at a fresh start."  

He said it like it made sense. Like it was logical. Like it wasn’t a slow suicide.  

"And what if you die?" Your voice snapped through the air, cutting him off before he could continue. "If you die here, your family won’t even get your body. Then it’s game over. No fresh start. No second chances. Have you ever thought about that?"  

Silence.  

His mouth opened slightly. Then closed.  

"No," you continued, pressing forward, "you didn’t. Because you, and every other person on your side, are so fucking blinded by greed that you can’t see past your own desperation."  

The weight of your words settled like a thick fog. Young-il, beside you, cast his gaze downward. Then he exhaled, pressing the attack further. "Don’t you see?"  

But before the weight could sink in—  

"Don’t get fucking scared!" The sudden outburst made every head turn. Player 226.  

You knew his type immediately. The kind who had nothing left but arrogance and a stubborn refusal to admit he was terrified.  

"Ddakji, Red Light, Green Light, Spinning Top! It’s not like the games are that difficult," he sneered, pointing at the screen. "Look. There are still 255 players left. More than half of us survived! We’ve made it this far, so let’s do this one more time!"  

You could already see where this was going. And you weren’t wrong.  

Player 100 joined in immediately, emboldened. "You make such a good point, young man. That’s right! We’ve all played well and are still standing! So let’s play one more game! Just one more, and that’s it!"  

You laughed. Loud. Cold. "He makes a good point?" Your voice dripped with disbelief. "After the next game, we won’t all still be standing. You need people to die. Otherwise, how the hell do you expect that number to go up?"  

You took a slow step forward, gaze locking onto Player 100’s. 

"You don’t want to play one more game." Your voice dipped lower, cutting through the madness like a whisper of something lethal. "You want bodies to drop. You need them to."  

The words landed. But instead of facing them, they ignored you.  

“Let’s play one more game!” Player 226 shouted.  

"One more game!" Player 100 echoed.  

Then another voice. And another. And another. The chant grew, swelling into something deafening.  

Your stomach twisted. They weren’t listening. The fear had settled in deep, so deep they clung to the only thing that felt like hope—even if it meant walking straight into a grave.  

You hung your head low, frustration burning behind your ribs. This is going to end with O as the majority.

You knew it. The sickening weight of it settled in your chest. From the corner of your eye, you saw movement.  

Young-il.  

He wasn’t looking at the others. He was looking at you. His expression was unreadable. And somehow, that frustrated you more than anything.

—

Thirty minutes crawled by, thick with tension, every second stretching unbearably. The final vote rang out, a deep, resonant ping that cut through the silence like a gunshot.  

All eyes snapped to the screen.  

[X: 117 | O: 138]  

Your stomach dropped. A complete defeat. Your side had lost.  

The realisation settled over you like a weight, suffocating, pressing down on your ribs. Around you, murmurs rippled through the crowd—some triumphant, others numb, resigned. You barely heard them.  The square-masked guard’s voice sliced through the noise, indifferent as ever.  

“The results are 138 for O and 117 for X. Based on the majority vote, we will proceed to the third game tomorrow. Thank you.”  

That was it. No pretence, no comfort. Just cold, hard finality.  

The room shifted—some players exchanging glances, others nodding as if reaffirming their choice. But all you could do was stare at the screen, the numbers burning into your skull, sealing your fate.  

You weren’t leaving. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Who knew?

And, oh god, Jung-bae voting O. You were so incredibly angry. Not at him. At yourself. Because you could understand him.

—

The line moved at an agonising pace, the sound of shuffling feet and murmured conversations filling the air. People sighed as the guards handed out meal portions—bread and milk. How satisfying. 

You exhaled sharply, dragging your fingers through your hair. The weight of the day pressed against your skull, making it hard to think straight. Or maybe it wasn’t the day at all. Maybe it was him.  

Young-il stayed beside you, his presence quiet but undeniable. You weren’t sure if he did it intentionally or if it was just habit now—this lingering, this silent companionship that neither of you acknowledged but both of you felt. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t say anything. 

It was nothing. And yet it felt like something.  

When you reached the guard, he shoved the bread and milk into your hands without so much as a glance, already moving to the next player. You stepped aside, waiting for Young-il.  

Dae-ho and Jung-bae had already sat down at your usual spot, their food set down as they waved you over. You hesitated for just a second before walking toward them. Young-il followed. 

You glanced around and noticed that your group was missing one member – Jung-bae. A small distance away, you spotted him tucked between the bunk beds as though he was deliberately hiding.

You assumed he felt guilty for voting O, isolating himself from the group out of shame.

You stared at Jung-bae’s back for a moment, chewing on his bun, before calling out to him. 

“Jung-bae!”

You changed course and strode over to Jung-bae. “Hey, just come back here.”

“No, no, I’m good here,” Jung-bae replied, avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, come on,” You said, grasping his arm firmly. You pulled Jung-bae to his feet and dragged him back to the group. “You should’ve gone farther away, then. It bugs me seeing you sitting there all pathetic.”

He sighed, “Jun-hee. Young-il. (Y/N). I’m terribly sorry. Gi-hun, please, I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought—“

“No, Jung-bae, you didn’t think. You of all people shouldn’t have done it. It’s not twice as righteous.”, you interrupted him. Jung-bae continued to apologise and talk but you ignored it as you walked over to your bed.

You and Young-il sat down. You both didn’t really feel like talking, so you put some space between you and the rest. The moment you sat, Jung-bae exhaled dramatically, opening the plastic cover of the bread. “I don’t know why I keep expecting the food to get better.” Dae-ho snorted. “You really think they care about that?”  

They don’t.

The portions were getting smaller. The bread was stale. The milk was warm. Every meal felt more like a test than nourishment. People ate fast now. No talking. No complaining. Just shovelling it down like they were afraid someone might take it from them.

Because soon? Someone would. Hunger did things to people. Made them desperate. Made them reckless. Made them violent.

And everyone was getting hungrier. And angrier.

Good lord.

Jun-hee, sitting quietly across from Gi-hun, shifted in her seat, poking at her meal with little enthusiasm. She looked exhausted. You could relate. The conversation dipped in and out of easy banter, but you didn’t bother listening, trapped in the weight of everything that had happened today. The games. The vote. The number on the screen. Young-il’s hesitation.  

Your appetite was nonexistent.

Next to you on your bed, Young-il ate slowly, methodically. Like he was lost in thought, too. You exhaled, finally breaking the silence between you. “So… wife, huh?”  

He paused for half a second. Then, smoothly, he took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed.  

He didn’t answer. You watched him carefully, fingers tightening around your bread.

“You hesitated earlier.”  

His gaze flickered up to meet yours. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought he might actually say something. But instead, he simply shrugged.  

“I wasn’t expecting the conversation,” he admitted.  

You scoffed, setting the untouched bread down on your bed. “Yeah, well. Neither was I.”  

The group had gone quiet. You knew the others were listening, even if they pretended not to.  

Jung-bae cleared his throat, giving you both a cautious glance. “Well, uh… love is a beautiful thing, right?” Dae-ho shot him a look, “Shut up.”  

You exhaled through your nose, tilting your head slightly, lowering your voice so only he would hear. “So, are you going to tell me why you reacted like that, or am I supposed to pretend I didn’t see it?”  

Young-il’s lips twitched, like he was amused by your persistence. But there was something else in his eyes. Something unreadable.  

“I’ll tell you something,” he murmured, setting his half eaten bread down too. He leaned forward slightly, just enough to close the distance between you. “You’re a lot more perceptive than people give you credit for.”  

Your pulse quickened. “That’s not an answer.”  

“It’s the only one you’re getting,” he said smoothly.  

Frustration curled in your stomach, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t about to let him play mind games with you.  

Were mad because he was avoiding the topic or because part of you wanted to believe that his hesitation had nothing to do with his wife at all?

Young-il sat back, his posture relaxed, but there was a sharpness in his gaze. Calculating. He wasn’t just brushing you off—he was testing you. Seeing how much you would push. How far you would go. You knew it.  

You clenched your jaw, fingers tightening against your lap. “Fine,” you murmured. “Keep your secrets. But at least have the decency and stop with the staring. Wouldn’t want your wife to get the wrong message.”  

His smirk faltered and his eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything. Just watched you, eyes dark and knowing, like he had already won some invisible battle.  

Asshole.  

You grabbed your milk carton, popping it open with a little too much force. The plastic creaked under your grip as you took a slow sip, forcing yourself to focus on something—anything—else.  

The others had started talking again, their voices dipping back into casual conversation, but you barely registered it. You could still feel Young-il’s presence beside you. Solid. Steady. Unrelenting.  

“Don’t look so tense,” he murmured. “People might start to think you care.”  

You shot him a glare. “I don’t.”  

He hummed, unconvinced. “Of course not.”  

How could he be sweet, then sexy and then a pretentious asshole again in the spawn of only a few hours?

The tension between you stretched, thick and suffocating, coiling around your ribs like a vice. This was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. 

He was married. You shouldn’t care. You didn’t care. But you did. You hated how much you did.  

“You should eat,” he said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”  

You scoffed. “What, worried about me?”  

Young-il didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached forward, plucking your discarded bread from where you had set it down. Then, slowly, deliberately, he tore it in half.  

And handed it back to you.  

You blinked. “What—”  

“Just eat,” he murmured. “You’ll need your strength.”  

For a second, you didn’t move. The air between you felt too charged, too full of something neither of you wanted to name. Then, reluctantly, you took it. Your fingers brushed against his for the briefest moment. Warm. Rough. Steady. You pulled away fast, trying to ignore the way your skin burned where he had touched you.  

Young-il leaned back, picking up his own bread again and taking a slow bite. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t push. But something in the air had shifted. And you had no idea what to do with it.

You bit into the bread, chewing slowly, letting the stale texture ground you. It was dry. Tasteless. But it gave you something to focus on that wasn’t him.  

Young-il, of course, didn’t look the least bit affected. He ate like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes toying with you, pulling and pushing until you didn’t know whether you wanted to strangle him or let him keep going.  

Probably both.  

Dae-ho and Jung-bae had thankfully moved on, falling into conversation about something else, though you could feel their occasional glances. Like they knew something was up. Like they could sense the energy between you and Young-il, thick and suffocating, stretching too far.  

You ignored it.  

The meal passed in silence between you two, but it wasn’t the comfortable kind. It was charged, brimming with unspoken words, unasked questions, lingering looks that neither of you acknowledged. When you finished, you wiped your hands on your pants, letting out a quiet exhale.  

“Long day,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.  

Young-il hummed in agreement, his tone unreadable. “And it’s not over yet.”  

You turned to him, brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”  

“Stay close later,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. Like it was already decided. “We’ll sleep in shifts again.”  

You nodded, because what else could you do? You trusted him. You hated how much you trusted him. But you did. And, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you felt safer with him close.  

Even if he was a liar. Even if he drove you crazy. Even if he had a wife waiting for him on the outside.  

You looked at him one last time, he was looking at you already.

Then—suddenly. A touch. Warm. Light.  

A hand. On your thigh. Your breath hitched. Your body locked in place. For a second, you didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then, slowly, you looked down.  

Young-il. 

His hand rested there, steady, deliberate. Not gripping. Not pushing. Just there. Solid. Grounding. You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming in your ears as you forced yourself to look up.  

And there he was.  

Not the man who toyed with you. Not the man who dodged questions and smirked like he had you all figured out. But the man from this morning.  

The one who had been gentle. Reassuring. The one who made you feel safe.  

His expression was soft, eyes warm. He gave you a small nod, glancing at your untouched bread.  

“Eat it whole,” he murmured, voice low, steady. “You need the energy.”

[dysany]

I've had this headcanon for so long, but something about the idea of Will not being able to remember Lee's face is deliciously painful.

They were so close. Will had clung to Lee like a puppy from the first second they saw each other, even before Apollo's sign claimed him. Lee was his protector, his big brother, his idol, his safe haven. It was Lee who introduced him to the camp, who introduced him to the others children of Apollo, taught him how to heal. It was Lee that Will ran to when he had a nightmare or when he felt homesick. It was Lee who taught him to smile despite the stress that demigod life caused. People joked that Lee looked more like his father than his brother, saying how Will was a little shadow clinging to Lee wherever he went.

But it was true. And Will hoped that if he ever got to meet Apollo, his father would be as kind and caring as his brother was.

But then came the war. I can see Lee sacrificing himself to save Will in the midst of all that chaos. Little Will, who was almost crushed by a cyclops, being pushed aside and suddenly losing Lee there, in a matter of seconds. Will would definitely try to heal him, but the only thing he could see was Lee's face covered in blood and with his golden hair covering his eyes.

Since then, Will has not been able to remember his face. He knows that Lee was considered attractive and brilliant, the perfect image of Apollo, but he only remembers the red. His memories are hazy, his favorite brother's face always a mere blur. There's a picture of Lee with some other children of Apollo hanging somewhere, Will can't look at it for long.

Without realizing it, Will has become the spitting image of Lee and has picked up many of his habits. He drinks black coffee even though he doesn't like coffee, always wears his healer's coat, and has the most random and useless things. These little things that Lee did and Will copied without realizing it, becoming a bond with him

The elders in the camp like to point out how much he looks like his brother, but Will can no longer say if that's true..

[dwellsinthebog]

*butchbeams sanemi*

sometimes a man is actually a she/he/they bisexual baddie and i think thats beautiful for her

[lith-myathar]

.

[zimszim]

i looooove the horrifying elements of the doctor and river's relationship, like not only did her whole childhood revolve around him, but they essentially trapped each other in their timelines. the doctor gave her her identity as river (and while she found independence within it, still sort of fucked (names are so important)) and river fucking DIED on his ass!! and while time can be rewritten, i feel like the doctor has a certain amount of respect for time that has already been written, that with the fact that she died for him and he apparently trusts her and maybe even loves her in the future........ they literally trapped each other

[djuvlipen]

thinking about that quote "those who've studied the Holocaust often come back with the feeling of having stared directly into the source of evil" and actually yeah I think I know too much and if I could get other people to know all the stuff I've read and heard and seen about the Holocaust and genocides maybe I could bring a change feel more stable and less insane at the cost of others. and I don't know what is worse, the nightmares I used to have when I was 7 and I didn't know much about Nazis so I could imagine everything; or all the things I am aware of now and that keep clogging my thoughts during my waking hours

[usagifuyusummer]

Is this what you meant @jjimene123, on the Timmy Turner and Pink Diamond parallels lmao?

Been thinking abt this quote from end of an era!! It makes me THINK

[girlivealwaysbean]

i really want to be all grown up and keep up with the news but

[cosmictheo]

𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 & 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 | hwang in-ho

( gif credits to @lalaray-457-canon )

—summary: between the chaos of the rebellion, in-ho finally reveals who he really is and tests you to see whether you are ready to take him exactly as he is, in all his glory and power. —pairing: hwang in-ho/young-il/player 001 x female!reader —word count: 5k (wow) —warnings: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), most definitely ooc!in-ho, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, some porn with some plot, fingering, power dynamics, dom in-ho!!!, body worship, praise kink, obsessive & possessive behavior, straight up manipulation, in-ho being a slut for the reader as usual, he wants that cookie so bad, use of guns, gunshots, blood, killing, yk usual squid game stuff.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

ᯓ✶ part one ── part two

Everything was pure chaos. You could hear gunshots, screams, rushing footsteps, grunts of pain, the sickening sound of the bullet piercing flesh as you walked through the brightly colored corridors of the horrific, bloody place, a place that had turned into a war zone in the last thirty minutes. 

Gi-hun had decided to rebel against the guards, creating an effective plan that had worked, as unbelievable as it seemed. Other players supported him in his idea, having his back through the war zone and basically just shooting everyone who didn't have a player number on their clothing.

In-ho guided you with assured steps, holding your hand tightly, stepping in front of you to shield you at all costs, and that if any of his guards were stupid enough to shoot in your direction, then he might as well take the bullet for you.

You didn't quite understand the reason why In-ho had separated from Gi-hun and the main group, nor did you understand the way his face had somehow suddenly morphed, turning authoritative and somber. Sure, he had said he knew a way to go around the pack of guards that blocked them from getting through to the main control room of the game's higher-ups, but how could he possibly know that? You had been by his side the whole time and never really had the spare moment to study and memorize the maze-like passageways, they all looked pretty much the same.

You had a theory, but you didn't really even want to consider it, it was wild, totally insane. Only someone who worked there would know precisely which way to go and which corner to turn.

There wasn't enough time for you to stop and demand some explanation from him either, so you just followed him around like a lost little puppy, strolling through the endless corridors of the place, stepping up some stairs until you reached an area that seemed absolutely off-limits for someone like you to trespass.

“In-ho?” you tried to call his name, walking up some more stairs, your fingers entwined between his, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

But he didn't stop, turning yet another corner, until you reached what looked like an elevator.

“Mhm? I'm here, don't separate from me, yeah?” he replied without paying too much attention to you, he didn't have to actually glance at you to know that you were scared, full of uncertainty and hesitation.

“Where are we?” you tried to ask once you two stopped in front of the elevator, you turn your head to look at him, eyes big and puzzled, “We can't leave the others...”

He finally drags his attention to you and his expression instantly softens, pulling your hand up with his to press soothing tiny kisses on your knuckles, restraining the urge to crack a smirk at the sight of your pretty face all scared and anxious. He could already feel himself harden in his pants from seeing your lips curl into a small pout.

“They'll be fine, nothing will happen to them”

The loud beep of the elevator pierces the tense silence and it almost makes you jolt, pulling your gaze up to the reddish light flashing on in front of you once the doors open. The gunshots can now be heard far off in the distance.

In-ho begins to step into it, but when he feels your hand pull his, he spins to look back at you, finding you still stood in the same spot, your arm straightened, fingers grasping his, and you look up at him with conflicted eyes, pleading for his mercy. 

Quite literally, you stand firm on your spot, but at the same time, you hold his hand tightly and longingly.

“I need you to be safe, angel,” he began to tell you, trying to convince you, to follow him, to stay by his side, just as you had been doing so far, why would you stop now? “You are not safe here, with all those savages on the loose with guns, they are dangerous”

His expression darkens with revulsion, spitting out the words as if they were poison. You assumed he was referring to the guards...

“But my friends...” you mumbled, turning your head to look back, listening to the gunshots in the distance, beyond the long corridors, as if they somehow were somewhere else already, far away from you, an unreachable place.

In-ho placed his other hand on your chin, leaning closer to you and making you face him again, his thumb brushed the outline of your lower lip.

“Friends?” he grumbled the word with irony rolling off his tongue, his warm breath rasped against your mouth, his eyes gazed into yours with genuine hurt, he looked utterly disappointed by your words, “I'm the only one who cares about you here.”

Your lips half-opened as you held eye contact, scarcely whispering, as if someone else could hear you, “I know, but—”

“You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved,” his voice uttered your name like something familiar, something he longed for, he craved, “Are you really willing to die for them? People who wouldn't give a penny for you? They are killing each other for money, not for friends, not for love. They are here for the money and they don't need you. You know it, come on, you're a smart girl,” he lifted his eyebrows, his other hand dropping yours and climbing up through your body to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him, not wanting you to avert your gaze from him, “Would you die for them?”

You shook your head lightly, bearing in mind the weight of his words and absolutely locked in the darkness of his eyes, absorbing you in, “No”

He smiled, pleased by your answer and he kissed your lips once to praise you, his tongue lightly skimming the edge of your pouted lips, “Then, would you live for me?”

What he was telling you was crystal clear, it had a special significance, a special complicity, an intimacy there was between you.

To die for someone was not as meaningful as to live for them, to make them the purpose of life, to know what they were, what they had in their heart and beyond, and to love them anyway, to stay by their side, to be loyal to them and choose them above all else.

“Yes,” you breathed out before kissing him so passionately, looping your arms around his neck and just before you could jump his bones, In-ho stopped you, reluctantly detaching himself from you, his hands gripping the curve of your waist and squeezing you against his body, his forehead pressed onto yours for a few seconds, recomposing himself. 

“That's my girl,” he gently kissed the corner of your mouth before tugging your hands and leading you with him into the elevator, at last, “Let's put all this behind us, hm? We have to stop them, otherwise no one else will.”

But you wanted him, somehow, you pushed all the killing and the blood behind and then suddenly, it was all him, the way he was gazing at you, how his hand went wrapped around your waist, hand sliding down to your ass to pat it twice, almost in a reprimanding way as he felt your soft lips attach on his neck when the elevator started to go up. You had to wonder how it was possible that the mechanism could carry the full weight of your craving and lust.

“Baby,” In-ho snapped in a disapproving voice, yet he lifted his chin, giving you more free access to his neck, his eyes closing as he felt your tongue sweep across his throat. He patted your ass once more, a little harder now, fingers clutching your hip tightly, “behave”

His hoarse, authoritative voice took you by surprise, causing you to inch away from him, looking up at him with big eyes darkened with desire, your hand lingering on his shoulder, squeezing it with eagerness.

“There's a slaughter going on out there and all you can think about is my cock slamming inside your little pussy, hm?” his gruff voice pronouncing those nasty words made your pussy twitch, your body aching for him by carnal instinct, “My girl's a filthy little slut...”

Before you could respond, the elevator doors swung open and the digital panel on the side indicated that you had gone up two floors, signaling that the place was much, much bigger than you thought.

In-ho pulled your hand gently, taking you with him through a dark hallway, until you entered a main room of an seemingly apartment, spacious and elegant. The sofas were of velvet, the walls black as midnight, a large screen hung on one of the walls, the lights hung in fancy chandeliers above your head. It resembled a suite of the most luxurious hotel.

He stepped closer to you from behind, predatory-like, sliding his veiny hands around your waist and pushing you softly to pace forward, his wet lips latching onto your shoulder and neck, making you sigh tremblingly.

“Do you like it?” he asked in a whisper, fingers fidgeting with the waistband of your tracksuit pants, "I had it fixed and cleaned for you"

“What is this place?” you asked him back, your eyes narrowed as you took cautious steps, your legs wobbly from all the goosebumps that ran through you from head to toe with every kiss he pressed against the conjunction of your neck and shoulder, unleashing a rush of emotions in the pit of your stomach.

His long, slender fingers caressed your lower tummy with affection and to give you a convincing answer, he kissed your skin one more time, before detaching his mouth from you, just barely,  “Your home, princess. Isn't it what you always wished for?” a dark smile tugged at his lips, his fingertips slipping under your shirt, triggering goosebumps along your skin beneath his touches on your stomach. “A spacious and expensive place, that's what you said when they asked you what you wanted to do with the prize.”

“It's beautiful,” you awed, raising your big, marveling eyes to the gorgeous crystal chandelier just above you.

“A pretty home for a pretty girl,” he rustled against the side of your neck, too intertained in kissing and marking it with possession, “It's all yours— I'm all yours.”

A sheepish smile stretched wide on your lips as you felt In-ho pushing you with his body once more, urging you to walk towards the center of the suite, descending down two stairs until you stood in front of a set of sofas, with a dark glass table in the center, on it laid two glasses and a bottle of Whiskey.

Why would you ever need to care about anything else, anyone else? When you had him, this precious place and his heart, body and soul to offer. All for you.

You turned on your heels to face him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to you. Before he could even gasp for breath, you kissed him, supplying him with your breath, your oxygen. And what else did he really need to live?

His fingers went up to his neck, sneaking between your bodies so that he could begin to unzip the jacket of his tracksuit, pulling away from you just a little and hissing as he felt your fingers tugging at his hair.

In-ho nibbled on your lower lip as he ended the long, passionate kiss, making you wail against his mouth, “We've got to be quick, baby, I've got to take care of the mess out there. They are waiting for my command.”

He was the leader, of course, how had you even missed that little detail?

And of course he was, it all made sense now.

The thought of him in the dark suit, with a black mask, giving commands and having the entire place running under his authority made your whole body flush, core aching for him, for some friction, anything he might give you.

You kissed him again, momentarily thinking that with every kiss someone was dead, a bullet was shot and blood sprayed. But the blaze inside you, the heat pumping through your veins and the way your pussy was weeping for him didn't let you have more than one single thought in your head that wasn't him. 

Your head was possessed, your body submitted to him and your heart clutched in his hands. And all his undivided attention was on you, no matter that his place was under threat or that his guards were out there fighting, dying for him, no, all he could possibly afford to focus on was you.

So, soon In-ho had ripped your clothes off you, leaving you exposed, on full display for his dark, deep gaze to consume every inch in. Your arched back pressed against the velvety smooth back of the black sofa, his body right in front of you, like a starving predator. He was drinking a sip of Whiskey from his glass, never taking his eyes off you.

You blushed under his hungry gaze and motioned to close your knees, squeeze them together, but he was quick to lean down and rest a hand on one of them, caressing it affectionately and clicking his tongue disapprovingly. 

Tch, tch, tch.

“You should have no shame, you're the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen,” he reassured you, setting the now empty glass back down on the glass table, letting out a shaky breath, “there isn't a moment when I'm not thinking about it, touching it, kissing it, fucking it...”

You threw your head back, panting as you felt In-ho's mouth kiss your ankle, caressing your leg with his fingers as he pulled it gently, forcing you to open them, with him standing right in between them. The gates of heaven unlocking for him.

“So fucking pretty”

He kept whispering over and over again, staring at your body in awe, as if you were the most beautiful work of art ever to be exhibited.

“My pretty baby”

He praised you and praised you and praised you, pressing kisses to your legs, your knees, your thighs, tongue flicking across little scars that cut into your skin, most likely as a consequence of one of the games. 

“There she is... so pretty— shit”

He drunkenly muttered over your cunt, gazing at it throbbing and clenching around nothing. 

Your scent was intoxicating and overpowering. He felt so weak and insignificant in front of the greatness of your body, the warmth it gave him, the beauty of your skin, your curves, welcoming him inside, calling for his name.

“In-ho” you breathed out, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes, feeling the way your wetness trickled down between your legs, dripping to the surface of the couch. 

You were soaked, drenched, so sensitive to his touch and every little friction. And he had barely touched you.  

“Mhm,” he hummed at your call, reaching with his path of sloppy kisses and wet licks all the way up your inner thigh. Your whole body buzzed as you felt his tongue swipe up your slick folds, getting a wet squelchy sound and he laughed huskily, looking up at you, “You're soaking wet,” he marveled, pressing the tip of his finger against your pussy, his thumb teasing just right your aching, swollen clit, instantly getting a whimper out of you.

The finger slid inside so smoothly and shamelessly that it had him choking back a groan.

“Could you take all of me right now?” his voice cracked, words crawling up his throat like groans, so hoarse and deep that it sent vibrations through your center throughout your body, “I don't think we have much time to play”

You were nodding your head the second he finished speaking, your throat making a whining noise that made him crack a smile as he gently placed a kiss once on your cunt, fingertips tenderly caressing the inside of your thigh.

“Yeah? Can you take me?” In-ho asked you once again, in a quiet tone now, your name uttered slowly through his lips, like a longing, a craving, a religion. His eyes softened completely once they met yours again, his fingertips tapped seductively the sensitive, flushed skin of your thigh, “Talk to me, baby”

In-ho was well aware of the hold he had over you, he had the ultimate power and you were shamelessly crawling all over him, profiting from the fact that you would do whatever he asked. Live, lie, kill....

“Y-yes!” you instantly replied between babbles and sniffles, your hands reaching for him, revealing the deep, raw desperation that was making your body tremble, “Please, In-ho, sir, p-please—”

In-ho's pupils dilated so much that all of his orbs looked pitch-black as he lifted and leaned over you to press a kiss on your lips, “You don't need to convince me, princess. If you want it, you got it”

He swiftly removed his whitish shirt, now ruined and stained with someone else's blood, maybe from one of his guards, it didn't matter, what really mattered was the way his skin glowed under the dim golden light and how his chest broadened with every breath he inhaled, your lips parted as you saw how toned and hardened his abdomen was. He looked... exquisite, glorious and majestic standing before you, ready to devour you.

When he pulled down his pants and boxers, your mouth watered with drool and your eyes widened in wonder at the sight of his size. He was big, bigger than you expected, perhaps. His length was impressive and his girth was just perfect, a bulging vein traced from the base to the engorged, leaking head, and you could see it throbbing. 

You felt your mouth watering, starving, but when you reached out your hand to his cock, In-ho backed away from your eager touch, making you look up at him with a pouty face, mumbling words like a spoiled brat.

“I want to—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed in an all too calm tone, leaning over the couch towards you to place a kiss on your sweaty forehead, positioning himself between your legs, one hand holding the length of his cock and the other reassuringly caressing your hip, “you got me right here, can't you feel me?” his hand travelled up your body to delicately stroke a strand of hair off your pretty, blushing face. “Aw, don't be so eager. I think I've spoiled you too much, hm?”

You gulped hard as he lined up his plump tip against your wet entrance, your whole body buzzing as you felt him press against your eager little hole, prepared to take whatever he gave it. But it was unlikely that you could be prepared to take something that big.

In-ho sighed shudderingly as well, just barely easing his head inside you, stretching you so, so good and slowly began to push his way through your warm, spongy walls. You gasped several little whimpers, looking up at the ceiling, as if somehow that would help you stop feeling the stabbing pain that spread inside you with every inch he pushed his length in.

“You have to loosen up for me, angel— hah—” he croaked out between gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a few long seconds, letting himself be enveloped in the overwhelming hot, tight sensation that was your pussy clenching him, “hm— you have to let me in— fuck, you're so tight—”

In-ho pulled out, hissing between his teeth, lazily gripping his shaft, the tip running up and down your slit, gathering some of your wetness.

At your whining and complaining, he pressed again into your center, staring in awe as your hole struggled to swallow his plump head, stretching out your pussy so much.

He stopped right there, halting his hips, his head hardly inside you, your pussy fluttering and drawing him deeper inside, giving you a few moments to get used to his size. Your hands went to land on his forearms on either side of your hips, squeezing him desperately. 

As he tightened his grip on your hips, impeding you from wiggling away from him, In-ho hovered over you, catching your lips with his to muffle your whimpers with his own throat, thrusting achingly slow his hips and sinking inch by inch inside you.

“In-ho” you moaned his name, your nails digging into his skin on his arms, feeling so full, helplessly overwhelmed under him. Everything was him, everywhere around you, “Please—”

Then he kissed your cheekbones, wiping away the tears that escaped your eyes with his lips, bathing your skin with his drool instead, “Don't think, baby, you don't have to think about anything,” he murmured against your mouth, “just take me, yeah? Let me in”

The response he received was blubbering of unintelligible words and whimpers from you, blending in with the squelching sounds of your pussy stretching out for his cock. And that was music to his ears, the most delightful melody.

“Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing, I'll take care of it all” he promised you in a  gentle whisper and he is so tender, affectionately caressing the flesh on the side of your upper thigh just before giving it a quick spank, feeling the soft flesh jiggle under the palm of his hand, “Just like that”

He was so tender, giving you two minutes to adjust to his size before ramming the entire remaining length of his cock inside you, the bulbous head of his cock digging it's own way within your velvety walls and reaching so deep inside you that all the air was knocked out of your lungs. All too soon, you were a bawling, moaning mess, so loud and whiny for him.

“There you go, so good, so tight— fuck” In-ho dropped his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, drunkenly babbling words, intoxicated by the feeling of you everywhere, “Just fucking made for me, hm?”

“'Tis all—” you hiccupped, back arching impossibly for him, gazing up at him with adulatory, pleasure-darkened eyes, pounding you into heaven with each luscious thrust of his hips against yours, the bumping sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing against the walls. Slap, slap, slap. “All for you, In-ho— oh!”

You struggled to even use your brain to conjugate proper phrases, occasionally slurring nonsense words.

Your ass and thighs jiggled with each intense thrust, his flesh slamming against yours, the very noise itself sounding pronographic, sloppy and filthy. You could feel your lower body begin to slide down across the velvety surface of the sofa, your skin wet and slippery from all the mixture of body fluids.

So, he scooped you up in his arms, manhandling you back in your position under him on the couch as easily as if he was swinging a feather around, he even made your head bump against the back of the sofa with a particularly harsh thrust, his cock already recognizing it's own shape carved inside you. 

His dark gaze dropped to your stomach, noticing the sway of himself under your soft, sweaty skin, his eyes following the motion of the bulge adoringly. 

In-ho pulled one of his hands up from your waist, beginning to slide it across your skin on your lower stomach and he swoon as he heard your blubbering whimpers at the pressure of his palm on your tummy, both of you sensing the press.

“In-ho, G-god, I can't— ngh—” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and closing them tight, feeling your insides tightening up. “You're so— hah— deep”

“I'm right here” he awed in a quivering, raw adoring whisper, feeling his own cock twitch inside you under the palm of his hand. “Does it feel good, baby?”

You immediately nodded your head, taking in the way his eyes roamed upward across your bulging stomach, past the way your tits jiggled with the power of his own motions.

“I bet it does”

You promptly reopened your eyes and he grunted when the static noise of the radio perched on the crystal table at the couch's side erupted in the sultry room, snapping him out of the mindspace of worshipping your body, just as his lips had parted to suck on one of your tits.

You both swung your heads towards the radio, but In-ho— so ruthless, did not stop his fierce thrusts against your hips, his veiny hands contouring your waist, marking your skin.

“Young-il?” the voice of Gi-hun burst into the room, calling your name more times than In-ho would liked, “Where are you? You're attacking already?”

In-ho just smirked, stretching out and reaching for the small radio over the table, leaving you a whimpering mess as you felt his cock dragging along between your gummy walls.

“Answer him,” he then commanded in a grunt, delivering you a particularly powerful thrust that made you see stars, on his hand he held the radio, right above your face.

“W-what?” you hiccupped, eyes flooding with hot tears, out of pleasure, embarrassment, by the whirlwind of thrills that was shaking your body into submission to his.

In-ho cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at him, offering no truce with his savage thrusts, the plump head of his cock tapping your cervix, grinding into that special spongy spot that drove you closer to your climax.

“Tell him you're sorry,” he bent toward you, swiping his tongue along your cheekbone, mopping up a big tear that had slipped from your pretty eyes, “tell him the Frontman got you.”

With the very last of your remaining strength and control of your brain, you actually succeeded in formulating the words he wanted you to say, just as he pressed the voice transmitter button on the little radio.

“I'm sorry, Gi-hun” you blubbered out in between whimpers, and In-ho flashed a dark smile, dipping his head down to start kissing your neck sloppily, lips sucking at your skin until they left dark imprints, “he—”

“What happened?” Gi-hun asked worriedly from the other side, his voice came out desperate as he called your name, and you almost felt sorry for him, but In-ho's cock twitching inside you knocked all thoughts of heartache from you, making you bite your lower lip to choke back a hoarse moan.

He just felt so good, how could you think of anything other than his dick inside you?

“He got me” 

“Who? Where are you? Tell me where you are—” he asked frantically, his voice full of desperation and concern.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt In-ho's mouth latch onto your nipple, sucking and flicking it with his tongue, his unoccupied hand landing on your other jiggling tit, squeezing just right.

“This fucking body....” he hummed more to himself than to you against the skin of your breasts, dampening it with his spit, “So pretty, so tight, all for me... I got you, I got you always”

“The Frontman, he got me— sorry, Gi-hun” you managed to utter, voice weepy, at least that part would be believable to player 456.

Then In-ho smiled darkly and brought the radio closer to his mouth, his warm breath brushing against your nipple, still looking at you as he spoke, his voice becoming gruff and almost unrecognizable, “You don't have to worry about her anymore, Gi-hun.”

“You sick bastard—”

In-ho turned off the radio, throwing it away, shattering a thousand pieces against the ground. And now, all his attention turned back to you.

Gi-hun's desperate words and suffering appeared to do the necessary effect on him to get his cock twitching inside you again, having you sniffling under him.

“Shh... baby, you're doing so good. You're my good girl, my favorite girl— mhm— yes you are,” he cooed, raising his hand and stroking your hair delicately, his other hand squeezed your hip, moving across your skin until he reached your lower stomach, applying a little pressure over your tummy to make you both gasp as you felt the push of his hand, “Now cum with me, yeah? I know you can do it, I know you can, you're my good girl— shit”

In-ho whimpered against your mouth, his fingers creeping down to your crotch in between your sticky bodies, stroking your swollen, throbbing clit just right and hardly ten seconds later, feelinf your walls constrict around him and seconds later, you both began cumming, riding your highs to reach climax.

He was pumping you with all he had to give, filling you with hot and heavy spurts of cum, making you feel so stuffed that the fluid begins to leak out your abused pussy, spilling down between the tangled mess of your legs onto the couch.

A minute long lingered in your post-orgasm ecstasy, slumping your head against the couch, struggling to catch your breath, every limb shuddering still by jolts of electricity racing through every vein, bone, and muscle. You felt yourself floating in the sky and didn't even feel how In-ho had been propped up against you, trying to level his breathing tucked tightly against your neck. It wasn't until he had gently kissed your skin and straightened up, suddenly pulling his softening cock out of you, very slowly and carefully, you snapped back to reality and down to the ground.

The "pop!" filthy sound and the sensation of his cum dripping down your thighs made you blush, feeling his eyes gawking at the way your gaping pussy was struggling to keep all his cum inside, so greedily.

He then scooped you up in his strong arms and carried you to a bedroom, whispering praises and soft words against your ear, all the way until he delicately laid you down on the bed.

Your hand sought his, halting his motion to move away from you, and he smiled softly, noting how you fought against the sudden, enormous exhaustion that had come over you like a flooding wave.

“I have to take care of the problem, my love, it won't take long, okay? When you wake up again I'll be by your side” he murmured, leaning down so he could kiss the knuckles of your hand, fingers affectionately caressing your smooth skin.

“Don't kill them,” your request made him look at you with a hint of disappointment, letting him know you still felt sorry for the players, how could you not? You were just so good, “They don't know what they're doing.”

But the sweet smile on In-ho's lips didn't even tremble, at your request, your demand, “You don't have to worry about them anymore. They're nothing,” then he moved closer, and kissed your forehead, ”And you're everything. You don't have to worry about nothing, right?”

“Right,” you replied, so naturally, even in that dozy, half-asleep state, still, your loyalty and trust was with him, a fond smile curved across your lips as you lay your head back against the fluffy pillows, drifting off to sleep as you felt his fingers tenderly caress the side of your face, “Thank you, In-ho.”

“Everything for my favorite girl” he promised against your skin.

[lass-us-slay]

Lois feels her throat close up, feeling a growing lump she cant force down. And can’t help but stare at the boy. And her body feels like it’s unable to even move, frozen in place because-

God that’s a child, just a little boy tied up like he… he’s some experimental animal, like he’s not even human.

And for a moment she just stands there, until the boy opens his eyes. And oh god those eyes, those eyes look so tired, and scared. Like he’s seen some horrible monsters that plan on eating him, and to be fair… maybe it’s not so far from the truth.

Those piercing icy blue eyes that hold so much fear (fear a child- a boy no less- should not be holding) is what makes her come to her senses.

And distantly she can see more resemblance between this boy in this… cell… and her baby boys best friend.

Like being snapped from a trance Lois comes back to reality. And further steps into the room, closing the door behind her (because so god help her she’s not going to get caught, not when there’s a CHILD (whose mind you, maybe not much older Jon) is being help captive).

She can tell the boy is staring intently at her movements, trying to discern if she’s like the rest of the people here.

And before she even starts talking, she clicks on her recorder. After what feels like forever she swallows the lump in her throat that thought it could get comfortable her throat.

Not today, or any day lump!

“..Hello, I’m- I’m Lois Lane with… god kid what…” Fair to say Lois lost her voice as quickly as she got it.

Ugh this isn’t you Lois! Focus, this kid needs you. She internally scolded herself, as the kid continued to stare at her. God did he even have enough strength to speak back from how thin and brittle he looks..?

With a deep breath Lois shoved away her own problems, she could work on it without the kids life in danger at this very moment.

“Can you speak..?” She asked walking over to the cell that held him like an animal unworthy of human care.

As she was about to touch the cell keypad she fell short. Unable to continue with the action as she heard a small, weak and hoarse voice. It made her heart break a little at how weak it sounded.

“Don’t… to-ch-…” The boy sounded out, taking a moment to clear his throat.

“Is’ not… go-na end well..” he continued, moving to sit up from his laying down position on the floor.

Lois could see his hair stick to his face and neck from how sweaty he looked. He looked so tired from the simple action of sitting up. More than how he looked before.

“Why not- I’m not leaving you here.” She stated with a ‘no argument tone’ that Jon always commented on.

“They’r not gonna.. give me’ up so easy…” He spoke back, Lois wanted to retort that. Say that she could get him out but…

She knew she couldn’t, this is a government funded facility. And she broke into it. She may be stubborn, but she she’s not foolish.

“I’ll find you a way out, I promise. So just tell me anything and everything you can think of about this- GIW. Their purpose, who they are, anything”

She almost pleaded as she stepped away from the cell with clenched fists. Barely being able to not look away from his icy winter eyes, which reminded her of Bruce’s eyes.

The boy, for his part just nodded weakly. Having moved to lean against the calls glass wall.

“M’ names Danny… Daniel Fen…Fenton..” he stared, Lois for her part. Started taking pictures of the room, and… Danny himself.

“M’ from… Amity, Amity Pa-k-“ he took a moment to clear his throat.

“Amity… park.. Illinois.. uh.. GIW is’- .. means, Ghost. Inves-tigation- Ward.”

“Ghost? Aren’t those superstitions?” She instinctively asked.

As the boy explained roughly about how ghosts were technically ecto beings. Lois opened up a drawer with, which lucky for her held some important information.

Taking pictures of those documents which were mostly about the boy -Danny, who looked so much like her Jon’s best friend but with Bruce’s eyes- it made her heart stutter.

They’d already had his internal workings down on paper… they had- god it made her wanna puke and feel nauseous… it’s wasn’t until she heard the next words from Danny that made her freeze

“They uh- … the last I remember of th- the outside.. was… March..?” Danny, the poor boy got out from his sore, haggard throat.

It had to hold onto the drawer for support… it’s July.

The GIW had had him for 5 months.

Her breath shuddered as she forcibly got her composure back, she couldn’t waver now. The boy will freak if he finds out.

“…Ho-w.. long..?” The poor boy asked. It made Lois purse her lips to stop herself from indicating just how much time had passed. Good thing her back was turned on him.

“Not.. not too long.” She had a feeling she didn’t convince him from his silence.

Straightening herself she put the files back. She got her evidence. With the files back in place she looked back at the boy, so similar to Jon. Her precious baby boy.

Only to find Danny back on the floor, no longer leaning on the glass wall of the cell. There was green sorta gas’s filling it now, shit did she trigger it-

“Kid—“

“S’ kay’ ma’am… their’ cmin’ back…” He managed, looking up much more tiredly at Lois now.

“Kid you with me?!” She scurried to his side, the solid thick glass separating the two of them. If only she had Clark’s strength, just this once.

“Go… their’ cmin’ back… please’ just-.. don’t get caught…” Danny looked straight into Loises eyes. As drowsy as he was, he made sure not to slur his last 3 words together.

All Lois could do was nod, and silently promise herself, and the kid that she was going to do everything she could to get him out. And destroy the GIW.

Looking around quickly she found a little body hole behind a the large mass of drawers and crates towards the back.

Luckily was still able to somewhat see the kids cell from her position. And hastily pull up her phone to record. With the brightness all the way down of course, she doesn’t want to get caught.

Not after find out out what they’d been doing with a fucking child.

Several men in white came in, all of them holding either guns or what looks to be tasers, with two of them having a pole on hand. Lois couldn’t help but think is those were even necessary… he’s a child

And seeing them talk to him like he’s an animal, even going so far as to calling ‘him’ and ‘it’. It made her blood boil.

But not as much as when they tased and beat him when he tried to move away from, or fight back at them. She couldn’t help the small flinch at his muffled grunts and slight whimpers in pain as he took the beating.

She caught the one of them saying why he was acting up now… god Danny was doing that on purpose… for her. To add more to what she has.

And as much as she appreciates it, she wishes he didn’t do that… he’s a child, he shouldn’t have had to do that.

After a 1 minute and 24 seconds (according to the recording) Danny finally gave out. She couldn’t properly see him but she could tell he was heaving hard, trying to catch his breath. The guards with the poles moved and-

And she felt pure rage at how they forcibly moved him with the poles attached to his collar. Keeping him a distance from themselves as they moved him, like a feral dog on the streets.

But it was the fact that Danny was barely making an effort to fight back, and being dragged around carelessly and cruelly by his neck was what got to her.

But she forced down the drive to go up to them and fight them herself. Because again, they’re the government. The only good that’ll do is just for her anger. It’s not gonna help Danny.

It’s not gonna help the poor boy that looks so much like her boy, Jon’s best friend.

It’s not gonna help Danny whose being treated like a feral animal by these people (Can she even consider them people from how they are treating a child?).

So she bites her tongue, waits until they leave.

And begins her search of the facility.

With her phone recording and her recorder having been turned on since she fist spoke with the boy.

Lois Lane, the best reporter and investigator of the Daily Planet. Makes her way around the facility, fitting into the white clad sorry excuse of people, with a uniform she found in one of the boxes.

———

Much later, as the morning rays of dawn shed light upon Metropolis’s waking buildings.

A certain woman with black shoulder length hair, and clad in a white suit exits a building near the outskirts of Metroplis.

Her hands are clenched in tight fists as she walks out of the facility’s grounds. As she walks towards the City to where she last parked her car, she brings up her phone once more.

Having recorded all she needed within it, she calls a certain man of steel.

“Hey Lois, where are you?” A man’s voice spoke after not even the second ring.

“I’m coming come right now, but I need you to get ready. This may need a certain man of steel.” She responded back, not even acknowledging his question. For realistically he already hears where she is right now.

“Understood-“ as Clark was about to continued Lois cut him off.

“We need all hands on deck, especially Batman.” Lois could feel Clark tense from this far away as she continued her way back to the street she left her car at.

“I see, I’ll let him know. Your safe thought right?” He asked, that lovable goose, oh how he brought a small, painful smile to her face.

“Yes I’m safe, is Jon okay..?” She suppressed a wince at how her voice cracked towards the end. The image of the broken and beaten boy coming it the forefront of her mind.

“Yes of course… is he somehow involved?” Lois almost lost her footing at the idea. And the tense voice of Clark just amplified the fact that- the kid.

Danny had no one… she saw the little note on the files, on how they’ve been ‘brainwashed’ and were forced to be ‘put down’.

Danny had no one to care, and it broke her heart to think of something like that happening to her boy, to her little Jon.

“Never.” She answered firmly. No way, over her dead body.

“We’ll talk move when I get back.” And with that she ended the call. Having neared her car she reaffirmed her resolve to absolutely crush the GIW for what they had done to Danny.

She’ll make sure they are sorry for doing all they did to him. She has all the evidence.

All she needs now is time to shut them down.

Time that she doesn’t have.

Time that Danny, doesn’t have.

"This better get on the front page" Lois mutters under her breath. She's currently hiding in a crate that's being transported into a secretive "government" facility that calls themselves the GIW. No official data has been released as to what that acronym stands for. A new facility of theirs opened up in Metropolis and Lois is determined to find out what this organization is doing behind closed doors. From the rumors she's heard it sounds like it's Project Stargate level of crazy. This might get her another Pulitzer Prize.

Lois feels the truck holding her, and many many pallets of lead lined crates, pull to a stop. After that it's a blur of muffled words spoken by GIW employees as they unload the truck. Her crate gets picked up by a forklift and moved somewhere deep into the facility. Perfect.

After ten agonizing minutes, the forklift stops and lowers the crate into an unknown room and drives away.

Lois waits.

She has a thermal reader to detect if anyone is inside the room with her that (thank you Bruce) works through two inches of steel and lead.

The only thing she saw that was noticeable was an oddly large cold spot in an adjacent room.

Well it's now or never.

Lois moves cautiously, slowly opening the lid of the crate from underneath just enough to crawl herself through and then slowly put the lid back, careful to not make a sound.

She turns away from the crate and goes to investigate that cold spot.

Past a door, through a short hallway, and inside a high security cell, Lois saw the source of the temperature anomaly.

It's a boy. A boy no older than her son… A boy who was emaciated, collared, handcuffed, and covered in gauze.

A boy who looked near identical to her son's best friend, Damian.

[batmanego]

personally this upcoming year i’d like to focus on my academic progress and making my way through the world as an adult.

for people in gaza like my friend ibrahim, however, the privilege of resolutions for the new year is something they don’t have. every day is full of uncertainty. on top of that, it’s hard to try to focus on school, or reading a certain number of books, or eating healthy when your school has been bombed, your books have been lost, and you’re already starving due to a genocide and occupation. in ibrahim’s own words:

so in addition to trying to do things for myself, this new year i’d love nothing more than to be able to know that ibrahim is able to be clothed, warm, and fed, and that he has the ability to find as much safety as he can. he, like all of us, deserves to look forward to 2025 with confidence. please help him do that and survive.

he is a kind and sweet young man who selflessly tries to help others in gaza as much as he can, even while fighting for survival on his own. please help him!

please donate and reblog!!! we’d like to hit €40,000 before the end of the year — that’s €6,032 to go.

[yasmyonis]

https://gofund.me/08e5ce0a

My name is Yasmin, a 28-year-old mother of three—Elin, Nasr, and Jameel.

I’m from Gaza, where every day is a struggle between hope and survival. Life was never easy, but we held on to the dream of building a safe and secure future for our children. After years of living in rented homes, we finally completed building our own house, a place we could call home.

But then, tragedy struck.

In the early days of the war, our home was bombed, leaving us with nothing—not even a single wall to return to. At the same time, I am battling cancer, and I had to leave with my children and family to the south of Gaza to continue my treatment. My husband, Mohammad, stayed behind in the north to care for his brother, whose leg was amputated and who needed his help.

For a month, Mohammad cared for his brother, but one day he went out to find food. That was the last time I heard from him. I’ve lost all communication since, and I don’t know if he has been captured or, God forbid, killed. The uncertainty is unbearable, and my children keep asking for their father.

Now, I find myself alone, trying to provide for my three young children while also continuing my cancer treatment. I am in desperate need of help to travel for further treatment and to support my children, who have already lost so much.

I am humbly asking for $5000 for myself and $2500 for each of my children, Elin, Nasr, and Jameel, so we can continue our fight for survival and rebuild our shattered lives.

Your support will give us a chance at life, hope, and a future. Please help us during this time of unimaginable hardship.

There is no food, no drink, we go far💔

[byjove]

Imagine you hired an obscenely drunk Union soldier in a saloon to kill your husband. He manages to accomplish the deed by removing the bullets from your husband’s gun through a sleight of hand trick before challenging him to a duel. This is somewhat impressive but what is more impressive is his strong work ethic, ingenuity, Irish accent, subtle chivalry and big brown eyes. You marry him and move onto the 15 acres of semi-arid land on the edge of the Chihuahuan Desert he stubbornly wants to farm. He wants to name your firstborn daughter after his cavalry horse in the Civil War and your firstborn son after his commanding officer. He calls you widow woman as a term of endearment. He’s a good shot, he’s a good cattleman, a great husband and a subpar father. But what else can you ask from a man who lost his entire family in the Famine and came to this country alone at the age of 14?

Imagine you are a former Union soldier. You are 22 years old. You were only 19 when you enlisted, an Irish immigrant who worked in a livery stable in Cleveland until the outbreak of the war. You fought valiantly. You survived. In lieu of wages, you accepted a parcel of land in New Mexico territory. You’ve never had anything that was truly your own. Except for, perhaps, your horse. You arrive in New Mexico for the first time in your uniform, your horse goes lame the second you step onto your parcel, it’s so dry and rocky and red and you do not think it’s arable. You have to put down your horse. She dies with her head in your lap and you cry so hard you think you’ll die with her. When you’re done giving her a wake, knowing you have no ability to bury her, you begin walking in the direction of Las Cruces. Maybe you can sell this cursed land. Maybe you can get a job. First, a toast to Lula, the mare, the closest thing to family you have had in this country.

You’re seeing double by the time a little woman with an appraising expression approaches you. She is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, perhaps even better in double. A little older than you. Long, dark wavy hair that cascades over her shoulders, a perfect round face, a warm brown complexion and the most troubled eyes you have ever seen on a woman. What is most miraculous is that she wants to talk to you. You, drunk, sunburnt, covered in dust, the blood of your horse soaked into your pant leg. She motions to your pistol. She says she will pay you to do a job, pay you handsomely, enough to buy another horse. She says her husband is rich, he enticed her away from her family when she was very young, he holds her captive in his hacienda, he hurts her. He must be killed so that she can return to her sisters and live without fear. You will do it, you must do it. You do not care how much of the story is factual. You do not care if she intends to have the sheriff string you up after the deed is done. You do not care if she cannot pay the money she promised. You would do anything to remove the sorrow from her eyes. You kill her husband and sleep fine afterwards.

You do not buy that horse. You stay in the hacienda while she is out selling the bits and pieces of her husband’s life. You meet her sisters when they come, you help her pack away the pieces of her life so that she may start anew. You tell her of your own plans to start anew, of the patch of rocky soil that is your own. She tells you she grew up on land like that, tells you that it has always been her dream to work it. When her sisters leave for the mountains, she leaves with you.

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.