#I don’t even talk about him or the game that much

[flwrstqr]

【 備考 】 STUCK WITH U ⟡ GIRLFRIEND PRIVILEGES ───𝖣𝒾𝖠𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 ㅤ. . 𝗂 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

SCR𝓲PT : enhypen and their girlfriend privileges 1OOOwc. ˊᯅˋ fluff head canon ❜ fem!centered && skinship, petnames . . ARCHiVE&CLICK

다니 : i love stuck with u.. it's been my top listened song for the past month. i think i'm addicted to ariana grande TT listening to ari's music & writing = my life

LEE HEESEUNG

"no." heeseung deadpans, effortlessly shutting down jake’s request to borrow one of his hoodies. sunghoon tries next, but heeseung doesn’t even let him finish his sentence before shaking his head. “absolutely not.” the boys groan, grumbling about how selfish he is, but then you come along, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes, and suddenly, he’s a goner. “baby,” he hums, already tugging off the hoodie he’s wearing, “you cold?” he drapes it over your shoulders before you can answer, hands lingering on your waist as he leans in, voice dropping. “looks better on you anyway.” “if you want more, just say the word, love. i’ll empty my whole closet for you.” heeseung smiles. then he smirks, tilting your chin up. “told you,” he muses, thumb brushing your bottom lip, “only my pretty girl gets this privilege.”

PARK JAY

jay doesn’t think twice about it—his card is already out before you can even reach for your wallet. “babe, i got it,” he says, tone final, as he taps to pay for your meal like it’s second nature. he barely ever does this for his members, maybe on their birthdays if they beg, but for you? every time. whether it’s coffee, late-night takeout, or a whole shopping spree, jay never lets you spend a single cent when he’s around. “but jay—” you start to protest, only for him to shoot you a look before casually slipping his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. “don’t ‘but jay’ me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “just let me take care of you, okay?” and how could you say no when he’s looking at you like that—like spoiling you is the easiest, most natural thing in the world?

SIM JAKE

jake's phone is always on do-not-disturb or muting conversations—except for you. no matter where he is, what he's doing, or who he's with, the moment your name flashes on his screen, he’s answering. even if it’s three in the morning, voice thick with sleep. “baby?” he murmurs, and you hear the rustling of sheets as he sits up, already alert. “what’s wrong? you okay?” his voice is laced with concern, but there’s something else—something soft, like he’d wait all night just to hear you breathe. you don’t even have to say much; the second you sigh, he’s whispering, “i got you, sweetheart. just talk to me.” his hand instinctively reaches for where you’d usually be beside him, but when he finds nothing, he groans, already pulling on a hoodie. “stay there. i’m coming.” because when it comes to you, nothing—not time, not sleep,—gets in the way.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon never lets anyone touch his closet—not even his members. but you? you get free pass, standing in front of his neatly arranged wardrobe as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that soft, amused smile. “baby, not the leather pants,” he groans, watching as you hold them up with a mischievous grin. “they look so good on you, though,” you tease, stepping closer, smoothing your hands over his shoulders, adjusting the collar of his shirt. he exhales, defeated, letting you fix his hair next, his sharp eyes softening under your touch. “you really like dressing me up, huh?” he mutters, but he’s already slipping into the fit you picked. when he turns to the mirror, he huffs a small laugh. “okay, fine. you have good taste.” then, quieter, as he tugs you against him, pressing a kiss to your forehead—“but only you get to do this, got it?”

KIM SUNOO

you’re the only one who gets to take sunoo's phone without asking, stretching out on his bed while you tap away at some game or fill his gallery with blurry selfies. “baby, at least make them cute if you’re stealing my storage,” he whines, but there’s no real complaint in his voice, just fond exasperation. when you glance at him, pouting, he sighs and moves closer, gently pulling you into his arms. “here, let me help,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm as he watches you play. and even though he’d usually never let anyone touch his screen, he doesn’t even blink when you scroll through his messages like it’s yours. because, well—so is he.

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon sits at his desk, brows furrowed, fingers flying over his keyboard, deep in concentration. anyone else would know better than to interrupt him, butyou have privileges. without hesitation, you step behind him, draping your arms over his shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to his temple. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even pause, just hums in acknowledgment as you pepper kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the slope of his nose. “missed me today, didn't you?” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement, but he tilts his head ever so slightly, giving you more access. you giggle, cupping his face and pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. “hmm maybe,” you tease, and he finally turns his head, letting his lips brush against your cheek. “only because your my pretty princess,” he says.

NISHIMURA RIKI

riki never lets anyone touch his hair—never. he dodges, swats hands away, glares if someone even tries. but right now, he’s sitting on the floor in front of you, his head resting against your knees as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his soft strands, twisting and braiding as a tv show plays in the background. he doesn’t say a word, just hums lightly, his body relaxed like he was made to be here, like your hands in his hair are the most natural thing in the world. when he turns his head, his lips brush against your fingers in a lazy attempt at a kiss, and you gasp. “ack—stop moving, riki! i was trying to braid your hair!” you huff, tugging a little. he only grins, eyes half-lidded as he tilts his head back into your hands. “then don’t stop,” he murmurs, voice teasing. and god, he’s so down bad, because if it’s you, he’d let you do this forever.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Love me like a loaded gun

fuckbuddy!jJavier Peña x f!reader // 1.3k

There's things I wanna say to you but I'll just let you live. Like if you hold me without hurting me you'll be the first who ever did.There's things I wanna talk about but better not to give.

summary: Javier Peña is a man who never stays, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, seeking solace in the only way he knows how.

-or-

my interpretation of Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey if it was a Javi fic

warnings: mdni, 18+, unprotected emotions, unprotected p in v, a lil fingering, a lot of angst

notes: this is the doings of this tiktok (which I suggest you watch the 23 seconds of it to get in your feels before reading) AND the song that was on the tiktok Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey and then I heard 2 Hands by Tate McRae and it was over for me. Thank you @milla-frenchy for doing what you did. Thank you @thundermartini my baby for reading this lil guy over for me and always hyping me up and cheerleading me with everything especially my moodboard crisis that seems to be never-ending.love you both so much 💖

masterlist

Javier Peña is a hard man to hold onto. He never stays in one place too long. Never lets anyone get too close. You’ve known that since the moment you met him. 

But that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door in the middle of the night, his knuckles rapping against the wood like he already knows you’ll let him in.  

You shouldn’t.  

But you do.  

Javi steps inside without a word, the familiar scent of cigarettes and whiskey clinging to him, sinking into the space between you. He looks like he had a long night—tie loosened, hair a mess, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on his shoulders.  

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You could’ve called.”  

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s humorless. “Didn’t think I needed to.”  

He doesn’t. He never does. And that’s the problem.  

You watch him shrug off his jacket and take off his tie, tossing them over the back of the couch like he belongs here. Like this is just another night, another excuse, another way to forget whatever the hell’s been haunting him.  

Your stomach twists.  

“Mmm, guess not.” You say with a voice softer than you mean it to be.  

Javi looks at you—really looks. His dark eyes flicker with something unreadable, something caught between hunger and hesitation. He’s good at this game, at keeping his distance even when he’s got his hands all over you.  

You should tell him no. Should tell him that you’re done being the thing he comes to when he needs to bury the parts of himself he won’t face.  

But then he steps closer.  

“You want me to leave?” His voice is low, rough, but there’s something vulnerable under it, something he tries to hide.  

You could say yes. You should say yes.  

Instead, you reach for him.  

His lips crash against yours before you can even think, all teeth and desperation, almost angry, like he’s trying to take something from you—like he needs this more than he should. Your fingers slide into his hair, and he groans into your mouth, deep and ragged.  

Your fingers move down and twist into his shirt, holding on like you can stop him from slipping away. But he always does, in the end.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of him through his clothes, through yours. You hate how easily your body reacts to him, how familiar this all is, how much you want him even when you know he won’t stay.  

It’s always like this. Heated, frantic, like he’s running from something. Like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You let him back you toward the bed, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

You break the kiss just enough to whisper, “Javi.”  

He breathes against your skin, his lips dragging along your jaw, down your throat. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t say my name like that.”  

Like you mean it. Like this means something.  

But it does.  

And you both know it.  

His hands slide under your shirt, rough fingertips against soft skin, and you shiver at the way he touches you—possessive, desperate, like he’s trying to brand himself into you. Like he wants to forget everything except the way you feel beneath him.  

Without a word, he grips the hem of your shirt and tugs it upward, his knuckles skimming along your sides as he peels it over your head. His eyes darken as he takes you in—bare skin, breathless anticipation, the way your chest rises and falls beneath his gaze.

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with a practiced ease. He pushes the straps from your shoulders, letting them slide down your arms before tossing it aside.

Javi’s hands are on you in an instant, palms rough against the softness of your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks.

You let him pull you down onto the sheets, let him hold you the way he only does in the dark. His hands are reverent, his mouth sinful, his body pressing into yours like he can carve himself into your bones. And you let him, because you need this too.

And he doesn't hold back.

Javi is all over you, his hands skimming down your stomach, pushing your pants and underwear off with the kind of urgency that makes your breath catch. His fingers brush against the heat between your legs, and he exhales sharply, like the feel of you alone is enough to unravel him.

"Always so fuckin' wet for me," he mutters against your throat, his voice rough, almost angry. The way his fingers stroke over you is anything but. It's worship. It's desperation. He spreads you open, a slow, teasing drag of his fingers before he slides one inside you.

Your back arches. "Javi—”

He cuts you off with his mouth, swallowing your moan as he works another finger inside you, curling them just right, like he knows your body better than his own. Maybe he does. Maybe that's why he keeps coming back.

His free hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider, keeping you in place like he needs you to stay right there—needs this to last. But it never does.

You reach for him, tugging at his belt, desperate for more, and he lets you, pushing his jeans down just enough to free himself. He’s already hard, already aching, the tip dragging through the slick between your thighs before he presses in, slow and deep.

Your head falls back, a whimper catching in your throat as he stretches you open, as your body takes him the way it always does. Like he belongs there. Like you were made for this.

Javi groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

His hips start to move, slow at first, deep, like he wants to drag it out, like he wants to feel every inch of you. But then your fingers dig into his back, your nails biting into his skin, and something in him snaps.

He thrusts harder, deeper, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. You cling to him, gasping his name, and he hates it, hates the way it makes something crack open inside him, so he kisses you rough and messy, like he can make you forget what you just said.

You don’t.

And neither does he.

It’s fast and desperate, a little too rough, a little too much, like you’re both trying to take something from each other that neither of you can really give.

But right now, it’s enough.

For a moment, it feels like he’s yours.

For a moment, you can pretend.

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit, dragging you closer to the edge, until you're falling, unraveling beneath him. You cry out, your body tightening around him, and Javi follows right after, a shuddering groan pressed into your skin as he spills inside you.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Heavy breathing. The warmth of his body still pressed against yours.

Then, like always, the moment starts to slip away.

Javi pulls out too soon. Rolls onto his back. And when you glance at him, when you see the way he stares at the ceiling like he’s already somewhere else, the ache in your chest spreads like wildfire.

You don’t ask him to stay. You don’t ask what this is or what it could be.

And he doesn’t offer, doesn't pretend this is anything more. 

Because Javi loves like he fights—reckless, desperate, and always ready to leave before the dust settles.

And you let him.

Even when it breaks you.

[ldydeath]

Let's Make This Count | Kang Dae-ho

Summary: You've entered into Squid Game to help pay off some debts, not expecting your best friend, Daeho to be there. You both will do anything to proect each other, no matter the cost.

Warnings: Typical squid game stuff.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing Dae-ho. If you'd like to be tagged in future fics of his, please let me know.

Life has been hard lately, which is why when you’d been presented a chance at fixing at least one of those things, you’d jumped at the chance. You however, hadn’t been expecting this to be a game of death. You’d heard player 456’s cries to listen to him at the start of the game, but like everyone else you had ignored him. That was until that girl moved during red light, the chaos that had ensued after that had you praying to gods you didn’t believe in to keep yourself safe. You’d been in Squid Game for a few hours now and already had the blood of your competition splattered over you. You were definitely in over your head and needed to get out. 

Thankfully, the pink suits had announced a vote and you prayed everyone would agree to send you home. You’d been standing for what felt like hours waiting for your number to be called, listening to play 456 plead with everyone to leave the games. He’d been here before so you were definitely going to take his advice. Once your number was called you made your way quickly to the front, voting to go home. You may have needed money, but you’d find another way. You weren’t going to die over some debt.

As you were putting your x badge on your jacket your eyes caught sight of a familiar, gorgeous face and your breath caught in your throat. No. He couldn’t be here. Why was he here? Daeho’s eyes met yours and his brows crinkled in confusion. You shook your head and made your way to your spot. There were too many people around to talk comfortably yet and you weren’t exactly sure it was safe to announce that you knew someone else in the games. That mother and son duo seemed to be the only exception to that rule, and you weren’t about to chance it. After play 001 voted, the pink soldiers announced that there would be another game in the morning, panic rising in your body.

Trying to act normal, you turned to head towards your bunk when you felt a hand on your arm “don’t touch-“ you let out a breath, thankful you didn’t have to fight for your life when you came face to face with your best friend. “What are you doing here?” He hissed, panic in his eyes. You shrugged out of his grip, crossing your arms defensively. “I needed money. What are you doing here?” 

His hand went to his hair, fixing the bun that sat on top of his head and nodded in the direction of some empty bunks.  “I also needed money, why else would I be here?” You raised a brow as you followed him towards the private spot. You wanted to know what he could possibly need money for, but Daeho was so private you knew you’d never get that answer. Even if you were his best friend. “You shouldn’t be here, Dae.” You sighed as you leaned against the wall. 

You couldn’t protect your best friend, not from this.  After Daeho enlisted in the Marines you had a never ending supply of worry in your body for him. Constantly fearing the worst, him being here was going to distract you from staying alive. Your heart raced at the thought of either of not making it out and your eyes found his. “I can’t lose you.” It came out as a whisper but you knew he’d heard you as he moved closer to you.

His hand moved to cup your cheek, “Come on, I’m a Marine, I’ve got this. And I’ve got you. We’re going to get out  of here. I promise.” You nodded, moving to lean your head on his chest. You knew it would be bad if anyone caught you panicking but as Daeho's hands wound around your body you allowed yourself to take a few minutes to collect yourself. Perhaps it wasn’t normal to feel so much comfort from a friend, but you weren’t ready to dive into those feelings, not yet. “We don’t die.” He murmured against your hair. “We don’t die.” You repeated. He grinned at you before walking you over to your bunk, making sure nobody messed with you as you got sleep. 

The next game was a team game, Daeho took the lead in finding you a group, being the friendlier person in your duo. You’d somehow managed to end up with player 456 and player 001. You said a nervous hello and stuck close to your best friend. After you completed your task perfectly, the team cheated, Daeho pulling you in for a quick side hug as you marched forward. For a second, with his arm wrapped protectively around you, you almost forgot that you were fighting for your life inside these games. 

After the game had ended you stood with your newly found team, waiting for the next vote. You had all agreed to vote to go home again so when it was your turn to vote, you proudly hit that x and put the badge on your jacket. Almost as if on instinct, Daeho moved to stand next to you as you awaited the rest of the votes. As the final four players made their way to the front, your hand reached out, grabbing his, he gave you a squeeze in response. Your heart raced at the touch and you looked down at your entwined hands before meeting your best friends’ eye.

So, maybe you had a crush on your best friend, maybe that was why you were so afraid to lose him. Either way, this wasn’t the time to start admitting your feelings, so when he smiled at you you smiled back and pushed those thoughts down, hoping that these votes would go in your favor and you’d be able to go home. A groan rang out amongst your peers and you looked up to see that there was only one vote left and you’d lost. Your mouth hanging open in shock as you turned back to Dae.

Another game? Why would anyone want to stay here? “Let’s Go!” someone shouted from across the room and you looked around spotting the purple haired man high fiving his friend. Of course he’d be excited to stay. “Hey, look at me.” Daeho’s hand was under your chin moving your gaze back to him, your heart racing as you locked eyes. Daeho had always been in tune with your mood, and would do anything in his power to keep you calm and safe. You were the most important person in his life and even in a game of literal life and death he was going to do whatever it took to make sure you weren’t living in constant fear. “We’ll get through this one together too, okay?” You swallowed the lump in your throat refusing to let the rest of your team see you so defeated and nodded. “Yeah.” You agreed. 

“Let’s go get some food and talk strategy for the next time.” He held his hand out for you, a reassuring grin on his face and you eagerly took his hand following him to your new found team. You weren’t sure you wanted to be close to anyone else in the game, but you also knew you couldn’t keep Dae alive without some help so you were going to do whatever it took to keep him alive, even if that meant making nice with people who all had one goal in mind. You scooted closer to Daeho, your hand resting on his leg and he grinned at you as he started eating his food. You didn't care if you made it out of here or not, so long as he did.

[sluttysnowangel666]

sweet like candy - choi su bong / thanos

pairings : thanos/ su bong x fem reader

summary : despite only a few insignificant interactions with thanos, he grows jealous when he sees you talking to an ex marine, dae ho.

warnings: jealous thanos, use of drugs, swearing, violence, ooc thanos bc he’s kinda nice most of the time except for when he’s jealous, lowkey sub thanos idk how it happened but bros a good boy😭, oral(f receiving), hand job, sex(p in v)

ngl this is not my best work unfortunately:( it just feels like i rushed too much at certain parts but i just didn’t want it to be too repetitive to other stories with too much detail when we all know how the games work. send me some requests, i wanna do au or write for thanos where the reader and him are outside of the games

not responsible for the content you consume, use discretion when reading past the border. 18+

“Señorita, excuse me.”

You turn, an eyebrow already raised at the strange pet name you’d just been called. It’s a tall, young ish man. You take in his appearance; his hair is a bright shade of purple, slender fingers painted like infinity stones, marked with dark tattoos, chunky rings, and a cross necklace.

You don’t respond, instead continuing to walk in the eerie room painted like the sky, with a giant doll at the other side.

You sigh, still confused at how you ended up here with 456 other people in ugly green tracksuits and millions, if not billions, of won in debt.

He raps you a song, also stating his name is Thanos, which you try to tune out but its mediocrity makes you stifle a laugh. He notices, and your sweet smile makes him smile.

“I like you.” He says, flashing you a little heart with his fingers. You roll your eyes, walking past him as he lingers on your trail.

A man runs out, player 456, you note. He begins screaming, saying the game was “Red Light, Green Light” and the doll was going to kill us if we moved. His reaction makes you nervous, his fear seemed so genuine.

“My dad comes home like this sometimes,” Thanos says, noticing your shift in demeanor. “Saying there’s bugs in the walls and his phone’s been tapped by the government.”

“Do you think the guy yelling is high?” You ask.

He smirks a little before answering, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Fuck no.”

The game begins, and Thanos takes your hand. You go to pull away but his grip is tight.

“Let go.” You whisper, on a red light.

“Come on, señorita. Let’s stick together.” He whispers back.

Before you can respond, the girl in front of you starts screaming about a bee landing on her. She faces you both and laughs a little.

“Oh, shit. I just moved, didn’t I?”

Bang.

Blood splatters on you and Thanos’ face.

“Don’t scream.” He whispers, but even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. Your body is in shock, frozen. You grip his hand in return now, trying to hold your shaking.

More rounds continue, but neither of you move. That is until the man tells you to finish you have to be behind the doll. Thanos moves you behind him, and you press your head into his back with your eyes shut tight, gripping his jacket. He slowly moves, pulling you with him.

A woman reacts to the body, and an another shot goes off. Panic ensues, as people run and shots fire continuously. All you can hear is screaming and shooting.

During the next green light Thanos doesn’t move, but you feel him fidgeting around. Two rounds go by of this before he finally moves again.

He lurches forward, and you feel him go “Ding” as he pushes a group of people down. Three shots ring off, and during the next green light you let go of him. He doesn’t even notice, skipping and jumping and dancing during every green light.

In the end, you survive. Splattered in blood, yes, but alive nonetheless.

You avoid him after that, feeling unnerved by the way he played during the games. You noticed him sharing a pill with a guy later, which made his behavior in the game make sense to you.

You sat on your bed, your face buried in your knees as you rocked back and forth. The lights were out, everyone going to sleep but, how could you? After everything you saw?

You glanced up at the piggy bank, glowing gold

and filled with won.

———

The next game was about to begin.

You had been brought into a room, eerily similar to the one with the doll, except the room had rainbow tracks and pink suit men standing around it. They ordered you to get into teams of 5.

You wandered around, searching for a group of people who wouldn’t kill you for fun.

“Hi.”

You turned, facing a handsome dark haired man, his hair half tied up. He was neatly kept, carrying himself with confidence and grace, despite everything.

“Hi.” You respond, meekly.

“Would you like to join our group?” He motions to the 4 men behind him. Their faces are stoic, but they look friendly enough. You notice the one man on the team was the one who warned everyone about the last games. You accept their offer; it’s not like you really had a choice anyway. Besides, why not let them pity you if they felt sorry enough to offer you a spot? No one else was itching to have you on your team…

Or so you thought.

On the other side of the room, Thanos was searching for you to be in his group. He felt inclined to protect you now after the events of the first game. The drugs were fueling him into wanting to be the hero of your story. He was convinced he could you get out of here, and you would tell the world Thanos the Great saved you with a snap of his fingers. Besides, such a sweet face like yours? It would be such a waste for you to die somewhere so silly.

He finds you, in the sea of people, talking to another man.

He fumes with rage, the ecstasy making him react more uncontrollably than usual.

He bites his lip, all of his prior convictions now forgotten. Let the bitch die then, he thinks to himself.

The games start, and players drop like flies from the first groups alone.

Thanos’ team goes, and you can’t help but cheer when you see them play successfully. You jump up and down, laughing and clapping at their win.

Thanos locks his eyes on yours, noticing your childlike joy at his win. It makes him strangely prideful, makes him forget why he was so mad at you in the first place.

He bows to you, like a musician after a performance. You blush a little, smiling at him, forgetting why he scared you in the first place.

Your team is last, and you’re up first playing ddakji. Your whole team plays successfully, and you survive another round of the games.

You go back to your bunks, Dae Ho wrapping a friendly and comforting arm around you as you both walk. You sit with your group, eating and laughing while you slowly forget the chaos around you.

Thanos watched it all play out with Dae Ho again. His palms were sweaty the whole time, hoping you’d survive and walk back into that room. The second you walked back through the door alive, his eyes were on you.

“Are you good?” Nam Gyu asks Thanos, noticing his eyes constantly following you.

“I don’t know what the fuck are you talking about.” Thanos spits, defensively. He takes another pill, needing the courage for his next move.

“Let me have one.” Nam Gyu begs. Thanos reluctantly hands one over.

Nam Gyu takes it with haste, as Thanos stands and makes his way towards you. He quickly gets up and follows his friend, ready for whatever fight may come.

Each time you laugh at Dae Ho, Thanos picks his pace up a little faster. He’s convinced that it’s like with each laugh that slips past your honey coated lips, then the closer Dae Ho is to getting to taste them. He sways his body unnaturally as he walks, wanting to appear more bad ass than he really felt.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He says as he approaches you.

“Thanos.” You say, a warning in your voice to leave you alone.

“You good, bro?” Dae Ho asks.

“Why the fuck are you talking to my girl?” He addresses Dae Ho now. You and Dae Ho both scoff in disbelief, but this is how your reaction played out in Thanos’ mind.

They both laugh

“Dae Ho, you’re so funny.”

“Well, you’re sexy.”

“Let’s make out and fuck right here in front of Thanos.”

“Whatever you say, beautiful.”

He reaches his hand out, grabbing you by your jacket and yanking you to your feet.

“Thanos!” You yell. Dae Ho and In Ho stand up to diffuse the situation. Before they can even intervene, you land a closed fist to Thanos’ eye.

He backs away, holding it as a little cut forms.

“Crazy bitch.” He says. He points at Dae Ho. “You stay away from her.”

“Fuck off.” You yell at Thanos. He backs away, still facing you and nodding his head in anger. His face reads This isn’t over.

“You okay?” Dae Ho asks. You nod, slightly breathless.

The way Thanos grabbed you was rude,

unnecessary,

controlling…

and hot.

You wanted to kick yourself for feeling so attracted to him in that moment. He was mentally unstable, high; everything that could be wrong with a man, he was.

Yet here you were, yearning for a piece of him just as he yearned for you.

Later that night, you couldn’t sleep in your bunk. You were stressed with nerves, with the thought that each next day could be your last. You tapped your foot relentlessly against the frame of the bed, until a person above you made a threat.

You sighed, getting up and walking to the door to be let to the bathroom.

You washed your face again for what was probably the 15th time, feeling like the blood was still on you.

You didn’t even hear the door, didn’t hear him walk up behind you, didn’t notice he was there until his hands were on your hips.

You gasped, turning with your fist, ready to make a collision; but Thanos was quicker than you this time, catching your wrist before you could seal the hit.

“Whoa.” He said, “Relax, girl.”

“What are you doing in here?” You yelled at him. He shushed you, making a tcht tcht tcht sound.

“You embarrassed me out there.” He said, tilting his head to show you his bruised eye.

“You? How about you yanking me to my feet in a room full of people?”

He says nothing, but he smirks at you.

“You’re just so pretty. How am I supposed to sit back and watch my girl flirt with other men?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“It’s what I know you are.” He says lowly, his hand resting against your throat. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not yours. You don’t ask, you just take from people. You’re a bully.”

“What are we, kids on a school yard? I’m a bully?” He steps closer than he already was, pressing himself into you.

“Yes.” You whisper out.

“Quiet now, aren’t we?” He teases, his voice low.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just fucking do it.” You say.

He laughs loudly, “Kill you? Get serious, girl.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.”

You say nothing. Your hands are pressed against the counter top of the sink, and his body is pressed against yours. Chest to chest, you have nowhere to go.

“Move.” You say. Your eyes are locked, and you feel like prey being tortured by predator. Tortured in the way he’s doing nothing, just staring you down. He doesn’t budge still.

You grab him by his collar, pulling his face inches from yours.

“Move.” You say again, your voice pleading.

He notices. You’re not pleading him to move because of fear, you’re pleading for him to move because of lust.

His fingers trail up your arm, then trace your jaw to pull your chin up. He laces his fingers through your hair, pulling you so that your lips are on his.

He didn’t expect you to kiss him the way you did, it took him by such surprise, which he dared never admit because he was almost never surprised. But the way you grabbed his collar, trying to pull him so deep into you that you both might collapse into each other like stars.

“Where’d this come from?” He asks breathlessly, barely able to break away from you to get the question out.

“Can you just shut up?” You say quickly, pulling him back into you.

“As my queen commands.” He says, matching your ferocity with the kiss.

Both of his hands rest on your cheeks while he kisses you, but you take one and slowly push it down to your sweats.

“Why so eager?” He asks, breathlessly.

“You’re talking too much.” You say, pushing him off you. “Get on your knees.”

He scoffs, shocked. “Are you serious?”

You nod, and so he listens. He kisses down your body, tugging on your sweats when he’s on his knees. He kisses your thighs, mumbling sweet nothings about your body that were too soft to hear.

“Thanos-“

“Su Bong.” He corrects you, needing to hear you moan his real name.

“Su Bong, please don’t tease me.” You whine, so he concedes. Lifting up your leg onto his shoulder so he can kiss and lick and suck every part of you. You whine, pulling his purple tufts of hair.

“You are so sweet,” He whispers. “Sweet like candy.”

“Oh, my boy.” You moan, egging him on. His nails grip into your thighs unintentionally. He’s just so desperate for you, desperate to taste every drop.

Your nails dig into his forearm, scratching for release.

“Please, oh, please, Su Bong.”

He looks up at you, pupils dilated like the size of black holes. You throw your head back, grinding your hips into his mouth, chasing your release.

You pull his hair harshly, and he digs his nails into your thighs even more as you release. You cry out, repeating his name like a prayer, and he moans into you, fueling your release. He doesn’t miss a drop.

He comes off you, breathless. He sets your leg down, pulling your sweats back up as he stands.

You stare at each other, both of you panting in silence for a few moments. You sneak your hand down, resting it against his hard crotch. You smirk a little, and he mirrors it.

“I think I love you.” He moans as you rub him.

“I think you’re high.” You respond, and he laughs and nods. He leans down to kiss you again, gentler this time.

“Do you want one?” He asks, nodding to his necklace. You hesitate, but end up shaking your head no.

“I think we should head back.” You whisper, still rubbing him. He shakes his head no, moaning into your neck. He grips your jacket in desperate agony.

“I need you so bad.” He finally admits.

“Fine.” You fold, and he’s ever so quick to pull your sweats back down. He unhooks one of your legs from the pants, pulling it up so he can rest it around his hips as he pushes his sweats down just slightly so he can insert himself into you.

So, there you both are. Standing with one leg hooked around him and absolutely gripping the sink as he thrusts into you relentlessly. You don’t even try to hide your moans, throwing your head back in euphoria as Thanos buries his face in your neck with shameful whimpers. You grip onto whatever part of him you can for support. Your back is slamming into the edge of the sink over and over, surely leaving a bruise on your tailbone.

He kisses and sucks on your neck, leaving dark bruised purple hickeys on every inch. Marking you, so that you knew who you belong to and so that everyone else out there knew too.

His thrusts were relentless, and the angle he fucked you was crucial, hitting into your cervix each time. Your hands pushed on his hips, resisting his movements slightly, which only fueled him more.

“Stop it.” He moans.

“You stop, you’re being so rough.” You whimper.

“This is me being gentle,” He says. “You want something less than this, then I better not ever catch you speaking to another man again.”

You moan in defeated acceptance, grasping at his shoulders instead for balance. His perfect thrusts make you leak all over him, his pants soaked with your juices.

“You’re so wet.” He moans. “I think you’re gonna make me cum.”

You tighten around him, sending him into a frenzy. His hands tighten their hold on your thighs, and you yank him by the collar to pull his lips onto yours.

“Fuck, I’m cumming, oh please.” You beg him, between kisses.

“I’ve got you.” He manages to get out, holding you as you let out the most heavenly cry. Your moans send him over, and he pulls out to spill himself all over your cunt.

He smears it on your folds with his hands, and you smack his chest, giving him a push off you while he laughs at your irritability.

“You’re such a dick.” You say, wiping yourself with a paper towel from the dispenser. He kisses your neck with a smirk.

“Come lay with me when you’re done.” He says, walking out of the bathroom.

You roll your eyes, cleaning yourself up before walking out.

You re enter the bunks, searching the room for his bed. He’s in a lower ish one, laying down with hands resting behind his head and his eyes blissfully closed. Your eyes move back and forth between his bed and your empty one, until your feet start moving before your mind can even decide.

He doesn’t even open his eyes when you crawl in beside him. He just wraps his arm around you, kissing your temple as you both drift off to sleep,

both of you blissfully unaware of the horrors of tomorrow’s game…

Part 2?

[cryptidstealingyourcreditcard]

What things in HTTYD 3 do you feel like should have been different/fixed?

OH BOY DO I HAVE SOME OPINIONS ON THIS BRACE YOURSELVES

also thank you so much for asking me

let’s start off with the characterization. first, hiccup. where did that pathetic little freakazoid from httyd 1 go??? where did his sass go?? why is he just a cookie cutter stereotypical hero now?????? and i’ll talk about the fact that he just let toothless go later.

fishlegs- it’s been a while since i watched this movie, and if im being perfectly honest i don’t remember much about him in it. but im pretty sure he was kind of just there, yk? like he wasn’t as anxious or funny or nerdy or caring or sensible as he was before. he just seemed kind of bland to me.

snotlout. this fucker. this little bitchboy. he was done so fucking dirty in this movie. why was he so pathetic???? like yeah i get making him mess up occasionally cause haha funny comedic relief. but like. he’s not helpless???? like this is the kid who was literally trained to be the perfect picture of a viking his whole life. he’s the model viking. this is the kid who single handedly took down multiple full grown outcasts on their own island with nothing but a small metal rod and spite at the age of fifteen. he won every thawfest game for years! he’s a good fighter! he’s not useless. and his personality???? GOD. WHAT THE FUCK. why is he flirting with valka, someone who is much older than him and widely viewed (out of canon) to be his aunt??? why the fuck would he say “who died and made you chief?”????? he cried at stoicks funeral! yeah, maybe he would’ve been that much of a dick in the first movie, but there have been three shows, one movie, four(?) shorts, and multiple comics since then!! he’s has so much character growth that they just threw away because haha funny. also his beef with eret was completely unnecessary like even when he was beefing with dagur at least there was some previous thing that started it. his beef with eret just came out of nowhere??

and astrid. they just turned her into the stereotypical hero’s wife. where did her personality go???? and i get the symbolization of her hair progressively getting looser as she gets less uptight and chills out and matures but like… i miss her fuckass emo bangs. give them back. her whole character isn’t supposed to exist solely to support hiccup so why is that the only thing she does in the hidden world???? justice for my girl

now. the twins. oh boy do i have some opinions here.

they were done so fuckikg dirty i’m going to crash the fuck out like why. just why.

let’s start with tuffnut.

starting strong with the fact that he loses his own twin sister who shares a whole dragon with him. then there’s his whole beard thing, which like, isn’t entirely out of character but it sure as fuck wasn’t in character either. now let’s circle back to losing ruffnut. because WHAT THE FUCK TUFF. and then when he realizes she’s gone he just says he’s more worried about her captors?????? DUDE. BRO. MY MAN. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE TUFFNUT WHO FAKED HIS OWN DEATH JUST SO THAT HIS SISTER WOULDNT FEEL PRESSURED TO STAY FKR HIM. WHAT HAPLENED TO THE TUFFNUT WHO, WHILE STUCK IN A DRAGON TRAP IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, HAD AN ENTIRE IMPROMPTU CONVERSATION WITH BARF ABOUT HOW RUFFNHT MAY FEEL TRAPPED AS A WOMAN IN A MANS WORLD. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THE TUFFNUT WHO LOST HIS GODDAMN MIND WHEN RUFFNUT GOT CAPTURED??? WHAT HAPLENED TO THE TUFFNUT WHO HAD WHOLE ASS HUNTERS RUNNING FROM HIM SCREAMING BECAUSE THEY CAPTURED HIS SISTER???? “that’s my sister out there, astrid. and if this goes wrong, and we don’t save her, i couldn’t live with myself” MY FUCKING ASS. just like snotlout, he was so uncharacteristically insensitive it was insane.

and RUFFNUT.

MY GIRL WHAT DID THEY DO TO YOU????

they literally just made her a dumb blonde. she’s not that fucking DITZY. barring httyd 2, she had never previously been boy-crazy. she’s not a flirt, she’s not thirsty, she doesn’t care about romance. and the fact that she said she “never looks back”???? WHAT???? what happened to my girl who faked a breakdown to steal a key from a guard??? what happened to the ruffnut who is constantly giving hiccup inspiration for new inventions????? the fuck do you mean you never look back???? and the fact that she thought she annoyed grimmel into letting her go?? come on ruff. you’re better than that.

and speaking of grimmel. what was that weak ass villain???? dude was just a normal guy. even johann was more intimidating than him. you will never be viggo grimborn. bitch.

and toothless. TOOTHLESS. toothless.

first of all, they flattened his nose. he’s so squished now. on top of that, they rounded his head more, gave him much more prominent brow bones, and pushed his eyes entirely too close together and made them SO square. he’s supposed to look sleek and scary, not boxy and nonthreatening.

and why is he acting like a horny dog??? he’s literally never done that before. the slobbering, and dancing with his own shadow, and ditching hiccup without a second thought was so not like him, and not in a “he’s in love” way. it was in a “the writers don’t know the character” way.

and the fact that he left hiccup once he got his tail????? there was an entire short (gift of the night fury) dedicated to hiccup giving toothless an automatic tail and toothless saying he didn’t want it, he wanted hiccup. be so fucking for real rn dreamworks.

the whole ending was just stupid asf low key

[pursued-by-the-squid]

vii. stage fright

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 12.5k

ao3 | masterlist

“You should eat.”

Rolling over onto your side reveals Gi-hun, standing over your bed with a frown. “I’m not hungry,” you mumble before returning to your original position.

“You need to keep up your strength.” The mattress dips down by your feet and the bed creaks softly as it adjusts to Gi-hun’s weight. He seems to start a sentence a few times, his inhalations quiet yet sudden, but whatever it is he wants to say seems impossible to speak aloud. In the end, he relinquishes himself to an awkward pat on your foot.

How many times have the two of you been here? Each of you lost to your own grievances, trying so hard to push through the fog and failing every time. How many times has he texted you a reminder to get to bed early, to be careful when you go out the next morning, to eat something filling before class? How many times have you tried to do the same in return?

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you tell him, even as you’re moving to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “The thought of eating anything makes me feel sick.”

Gi-hun nods once in comprehension, his eyes suddenly softer as he watches you. “I understand,” he murmurs. You try not to think about how much it makes your heart flutter knowing that he cares.

It’s that very understanding, you think, that leads you both to the meal line. Neither of you wants to eat, but neither of you wants the other to go hungry. Eating will keep his mind sharp, it’ll make him faster and stronger, and it will do the same for you of course, it’s just that you can’t stop thinking about all those people… All that blood…

Try not to think about it, you tell yourself, but it’s so much easier to say than it is to do. Everywhere you look is a reminder of just how dire your circumstances are. The ominous piggy bank hanging overhead, the player count, the blood still on Gi-hun’s face, each of them a ghost intent on haunting you. How can you possibly–?

“[___]?”

One moment you’re lost to the horror of it all, and the next you find yourself blinking up at the face of the last person you would have ever expected. “Young-il-nim?”

Your first thought is that you’re imagining things, so traumatized by the first game that you’ve fully lost it, but then – oh, then he’s smiling and he laughs, and it’s him, it’s really him.

“Oh my God,” you cry, throwing your arms around him in a desperate embrace. “What are, what are you doing here? How did you-? Why did you-? Shit, are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Young-il chuckles to himself as your trembling hands go scrambling over his shoulders and chest to check for injuries. “I’m alright,” he assures you, as if he hasn’t a care in the world. But then his expressions shifts and he ducks his head to try and catch your eyes. “But what are you doing here? You don’t belong in a place like this.”

A brief image of the masked man invading your home comes to mind before you banish it. You shake your head. “It’s a long story,” you sigh, “and difficult to explain. I…” Words are lost to you. You have so many thoughts buzzing inside your brain that it’s difficult to think clearly, to conjure up the shapes and sounds you need to explain yourself.

“It alright,” he says after a moment. You catch him glancing to the side, meeting Gi-hun’s eyes over your shoulder, before looking back to you. “Eat first. I’ll find you after and we can talk then.”

He nods his head respectfully to both of you before walking off, food in hand and the numbers ‘001’ sewn to the back of his jacket. Something twists painfully in your gut, probably the knife he’s just lodged between your ribs.

“Who was that?” Is it your imagination or does Gi-hun’s voice sound deeper than before?

“A friend.” But now the words are sour on your tongue. Because Young-il was the one to break the tie. Young-il was the one to trap you here for another game. Young-il was the one who stood up against everything Gi-hun has been fighting against, and your face is awash with shame because of it.

“Young-il-nim.”

From his spot on the steps, he’s forced to tip his head back to meet your eyes and for a moment, you almost forget the reason you’ve sought him out. His hair is different, you suddenly realize. It swoops over his temples, soft and boyish, and it changes his face just so. All those harsh edges you’ve grown accustomed to are rounded out, less garish despite the fluorescent lighting and the terrible circumstances. And still, the blue patch on his chest marks him as a traitor. It may as well be soaked in your own blood and Gi-hun’s for what it’s worth.

He smiles and gestures to the empty space on his left with his elbow. “Come and sit.”

How can he be like this? How can he sit there and look at you with such blatant fondness, how can he still have an appetite after the things you’ve both just witnessed?

Your voice comes out much harder than usual once you finally find it. “What are you doing?”

Confusion flickers in his eyes. “Eating?”

“No. Here. What are you doing here? Why did you vote to stay?”

Young-il glances down at the X on your jacket, nodding, and the light-hearted tint to his smile finally fades. “I’m sorry.”

Your legs kick into gear before your mouth does, bringing you to the step just below his. You can’t quite bring yourself to sit beside him, to allow yourself that familiarity or closeness when his betrayal still sits heavy in your stomach, but this is not a public conversation either. You’re not here to embarrass him.

“You’re angry.”

“Can you blame me? People died, I almost–”

“I know,” he sighs as he hangs his head. “I know.”

“So why?”

Young-il’s expression turns distant, serious. “It’s complicated.”

Yeah, there seems to be a lot of that around here. But there’s something more, something he’s not telling you. He’s usually decent enough at keeping his more intense feelings close to his chest, but for once you find that you can see the intricacies of his heart quite easily. Regret and uncertainty are the most obvious to you, yet there are others lingering in the creases of his eyes and his mouth, things you don’t know how to put into words but that strike you as profound all the same.

“Your business, is it… Did something happen?”

A shadow passes over him, then, that flicker of something cold and distant that you’ve seen only once or twice before. He nods thoughtfully. “You could say that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His mouth curls into a frown. You might almost consider it a gesture of concern. “And make you worry needlessly? There’s nothing you could’ve done even if I had.” He looks over your shoulder again, surveying the room, his throat bobbing near your eye level. “I could ask the same of you, but I’d wager I already know the answer.”

You huff, irritated and frustrated and a million other things, turning so he’s behind you as you open your dinner. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t come here for the money.”

The toe of his shoe nudges into your back, drawing your attention. “You let that recruiter talk you into it?” Young-il tsks. “What have I told you about talking to strangers?”

He’s only teasing, of course. You know that. But even as a joke, the words hit too close to home. You’ve never told him about your encounter with the ddakji recruiter. You’ve never told him about how you met Gi-hun. You’ve never told him that since coming to Korea, every problem you’ve faced has arisen in part because you were stupid enough to engage with a stranger. Before now, you never had any intention of telling him any of it.

You eye the dinner tin in your hands. It smells good enough, but you still feel a bit queasy. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to keep it down or not.

“It wasn’t the recruiter that got me here.” It’s easier to tell him when you can’t see his face, for some reason, when you’re pretending that it doesn’t rip you apart just to admit the truth. Poking your utensil at the rubbery looking egg in your tin, you let out a sigh. “Someone took me.”

The muscles in his calf go tight against your back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was kidnapped. One of them.” You nod in the direction of the dinner line. “The men with the masks.”

His voice is softer when he replies. “You didn’t call the number like the rest of us?”

“No. I promised Gi-hun that I wouldn’t, but I guess… I guess it didn’t matter, in the end.”

Glancing down at your food is a challenge, actually eating it is even harder. It tastes like sawdust in your mouth and the instant it hits the back of your throat, you gag, very nearly spitting everything out on the floor. You don’t, thankfully, but it takes a long swig of water to ensure that the food stays down.

“Why would the soldiers want to kidnap you?” he asks once several long minutes have passed. You can hear the low clinking of his dinner tin behind you as he presses the lid shut.

Your first instinct is to claim ignorance, and it wouldn’t even be a lie if you did. You have no connection to these games, no desire to play, and no reason to stay. Gi-hun provides you with everything you need. But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Gi-hun is the sole connection you have – you shredded the ddakji woman’s business card ages ago, the night you swore to never play the game again, and you shredded the last one too.

Your attention narrows in on a single grain of rice, as if it holds all the answers you seek. “I can’t help thinking it’s because of who I know,” you admit, reluctantly.

You glance up and over your shoulder in time to see Young-il fixing his eyes on something across the room – Gi-hun. “Player 456?”

You nod quietly in agreement.

“Isn’t he the one who’s played before?”

Another nod.

“So, he’s a friend of yours, then.”

The distant recollection of a night long since passed floats across your mind’s eye. That night seems so long ago now. Sure, it’s been a couple years, but it feels like even longer now that you’re here, as if the businesswoman and the ddakji are memories of another life.

“He warned me about this place, told me he didn’t want me dragged into all of this. That’s why I called you, you know – that one time, a few months back? I thought someone from this place had killed him and you were the only person I could think of to go to when I thought he was gone. And then last night, before the soldier, he came to say goodbye and I thought…”

You’d thought a lot of things. But you hadn’t thought of something like this ever happening.

“I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m stuck here now.”

It isn’t something that you mean to imply, but there’s an unspoken ‘no thanks to you’ that haunts the space between you. It’s not entirely his fault. Young-il has his own problems that he has to work through, that much is clear, and he has no way of knowing all the chaos going on in your personal life. If you have blame to place, it can’t rest solely on his shoulders, but that doesn’t make the reality of his vote any less painful or disappointing.

The stairs behind you groan as Young-il stands, the long shadow cast by the overhead lights falling lengthwise across your body. “You know,” he begins, steadily easing himself to the ground level on step at a time, “if your friend has played before, maybe we stand a better chance at winning the next round.”

Huh. That hadn’t even occurred to you. You were so busy being scared out of your mind that you hadn’t stopped to think there might actually be some hope. It’s slight, of course, and mostly obscured in your mind by the splatters of blood and lifeless bodies you saw on the field today, but the hope is there nonetheless. If you can survive the next round, then…

“Do you think there’ll be another vote?”

“Yes,” he nods, “after each game.”

Your shoulders suddenly feel a little lighter. “Then we could make it long enough to get out of here, vote a second time and go home.”

Young-il purses his lips in consideration. “Maybe.”

Before he can elaborate any further, a shout echoes across the room. It starts somewhere over his shoulder, near the middle or front of the room where a group of three younger men have gathered. You and Young-il both turn toward the sound just in time to see one of the men fall to the ground while the other two loom over him, slamming their feet into his body over and over again, and every time he tries to stand, they smack him down. They’re hitting him hard. The man on the ground isn’t fully screaming, but he’s clearly in pain.

You’re on your feet before you even realize it. There’s nothing you feel you can do, not without risking one of the attackers turning their vengeance onto you, but it flips your stomach to see someone being beat so mercilessly. You cast a quick glance around the room – none of the other players nor any of the soldiers stationed near the doors look inclined to intervene.

“God, they’re gonna kill him,” you mutter, more in disbelief than anything else. Isn’t someone going to stop them?

Someone, apparently, means Young-il. When he first moves, you think he’s trying to get a closer look. Because of course he’s intrigued by the violence, you think with a slight roll of your eyes. God forbid he, or anyone else here, do something actually useful, but he surprises you. Instead of observing, he acts.

“Boys, what are you doing in the middle of dinner?” His voice cuts through the cursing and the flurry of fists and feet against skin. One of the men left standing, the one with the purple hair, glowers at him as he approaches. “No fights during mealtime. There are elders present. Mind your manners. And two against one? Aren't you embarrassed?”

You’ve… never heard him speak like that before. With you, he’s often quite easygoing, soft when he needs to be and rarely ever stern unless he’s concerned about something. But with these men, he does speak sternly. His body moves with the ease of a man who has no doubts about his own strength or perception.

The man with the purple hair – Thanos, you think you’d heard – curls his mouth into a sneer. “You're lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too?” As he advances on Young-il, you’re immediately taken aback by the amount of disrespect – he’s gesturing rudely, swaggering into Young-il’s personal space, quirking his eyebrows as if to suggest that there’s nothing about Young-il that he takes seriously. “Dude, stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn kids.”

You’re so stunned, you almost forget to breathe.

Young-il is equally surprised. Even from far behind him, you can see the way his body stills. “What did you say to me?” You can’t see his face, but honestly, you don’t need to. You can hear it all in his voice, can read it in the line of his shoulders.

“I said save the lecture for your own damn kid–”

The speed with which his arm shoots out is startling. You don’t even see it, really. One moment, Thanos is yapping his face off, and the next, Young-il has his fingers digging into the tendons of his throat. He twists his arm just so and the other man bends unnaturally at the waist to accommodate him. Then the other player – 124 – surges forward with a swear and you feel your heart leap into your throat, terrified your friend has just gotten himself into a fight that he cannot possibly win, but then Young-il kicks him in the shin and 124 goes sprawling on his back.

When you’d asked yourself if someone would do something to stop those two, this isn’t what you’d had in mind. Young-il isn’t ancient or decrepit by any means and he clearly thinks he can handle himself, but these men are younger than he is. What if he gets–?

His fist smacks right into Thanos’ chest, doubling him over as Young-il takes the opportunity to loom over him instead. This will be it, you think, a surprisingly swift punch to the sternum and it’ll all be over. He’s already proven himself, already made a fool of both these players.

Thanos raises a hand quietly, begging for him to stop. Only he doesn’t. Your feet are already carrying you to the floor, your dinner abandoned as you watch Young-il grab his hand, twist, and use the momentum to slam the other man into the ground. For a moment, they’re both frozen like that, Young-il lowered onto one knee with his fist raised while the other chokes and squirms helplessly beneath him.

You’re no longer worried about the poor player that had started this whole fight, you’re worried about the man who had attacked him. He’s choking and Young-il won’t let go. You can see his entire body shaking, his face flushing as his mouth twitches, his fist rising higher. He’s gonna kill him instead.

“Young-il!”

There’s no way he can’t hear you, but you’re terrified that he’ll ignore you anyway. He wouldn’t kill this guy, would he? He doesn’t seem the type. But the grip he has on Thanos’ throat is too strong, too intentional, and you’re just about to rush in and pry him off the man when he finally lets up. The other player takes a deep gasp, hands clawing at his neck as he recovers the breath Young-il had squeezed out of him, and then the entire room is bursting with applause. For the life of you, you cannot fathom why.

How long have you known him now, a couple years? Never, not once, in all that time has he ever said or done a single thing to make you look at him as anything other than what he is – your friend, a lover of coffee and fine art, a dedicated businessman with a tragic past and a penchant for terrible jokes. He was and always has been Oh Young-il, nothing less and nothing more. But as he clambers to his feet, his head bowed bashfully as he accepts the praise offered to him, you find yourself wondering if there isn’t just a bit more to him than he’s let on.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re also a bit… flushed. Seeing him react so effortlessly, witnessing the strength you never knew he had – it’s stirred up a bit of warmth in the pit of your stomach. You don’t really want to consider what that says about you.

He returns to you some moments later with his eyes averted. There’s something lingering on his tongue, perhaps an explanation, but he seems hesitant to give it and you’re equally hesitant to ask for it. Still, you’d be a fool to overlook how deeply Thanos’ words had affected him.

“Are you alright?”

Young-il nods as he passes, taking your attention with him. “I’m not hurt,” he assures you. He’s moved to pick up your dinner tray, as well as his own, stacking them on top of each other in his hands.

You reach for your water bottle before trailing after him, following his path to the front of the room where the trash cans are. “That’s not what I mean.” He’d told you to lecture your own kids, you think, and you snapped. He became someone else entirely, someone you don’t recognize, and that worries you. It also eerily reminds you of someone.

If he intends to respond, he shows no sign of it. He makes light work of your trays, emptying them of any leftover food before handing them and the utensils over to the nearest guard, a Circle Mask manning what remains of the dinner station.

“Young-il-nim.” You try to catch his eye when he turns to you once more, but he’s remarkably evasive, which only serves to further unsettle you. “Are you going to ignore me, or…?”

And that, at last, is enough to grab his attention. His shoulders drop with the weight of his sigh. “What do you mean, [___]?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d actually think he was upset with you.

“I mean, you…” There’s a flash of fists in the back of your mind, of Thanos choking. “I’ve just never seen you do that before.”

He lifts an eyebrow, then, as his expressions shifts from irritation to derision. “Does it bother you?” he asks.

Is that what he thinks? That you’re bothered? “No. But I didn’t think you were going to stop and that worried me.” It’s more honest than you had intended to be and you feel stripped bare because of it, like Young-il can see right through you because of your vulnerability.

You wish you knew what he was thinking. While you’re at it, you wish understood your own thoughts just as much as you wish you could fathom his. This – beating a younger man to a pulp simply because you’d expressed concern over an unfair fight – feels like something you should’ve known about, though you can’t help feeling like that’s a pretty ridiculous expectation to have. When would it have been relevant to reveal his secret self-defense moves? And why? Is it even fair of you to feel wary of him when it was your instigation that had prompted him to act in the first place?

Something dark flickers in the very depths of his eyes, something you don’t understand, but it’s gone before you can linger on it. His attention settles just past your shoulder, in the direction you’d seen Gi-hun and Jung-bae go to pick at their meals, and then he looks to you once more. Whatever darkness you thought you’d seen is long gone.

“Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Gi-hun and Jung-bae have settled in the far corner. You’d noticed earlier that some of the other players had gathered around them at one point, likely asking any number of questions now that they knew a previous winner had returned. They’ve even made a new friend, from what you can tell – a very expressive younger man with long hair, number 388 – though Gi-hun seems less enthused about the younger man’s presence than his friend does.

You have no reason to hesitate when it comes to introductions. Gi-hun is your friend as much as Young-il is, yet you still feel the pull of uncertainty in your gut at the idea. They’ve been separate for as long as you’ve known them. Young-il is more of a school friend than anything; the coffee dates (not that they’re dates because they’re not), your initial meeting, all of it had happened on campus. Gi-hun is your strangely wealthy friend who keeps to himself and lets you fire weapons in the depths of his abandoned motel. One of them is clearly more normal than the other. And only one of them has kissed you thus far, so there’s also that.

You try not to think about it. Every step you take brings you closer to Gi-hun, who has not pulled his eyes from you for more than a second, not since Young-il suggested the introduction. Every step brings both halves of your life closer and closer together, and you feel a bit nauseous because of it.

It’ll be fine. You don’t even have anything to worry about. It’s not like Young-il’s betrayed everything that Gi-hun stands for with a single vote. It’s not like Gi-hun still hasn’t addressed the fact that he kissed you last night and he’s about to meet the only other person in the world that you could possibly consider kissing after him. Not that you would.

Ah, shit. Here goes nothing.

If it’s shame that begs you not to lift your eyes in Gi-hun’s presence, then that’s something you’ll be keeping to yourself. “Young-il-nim, this is Jung-bae-nim and–”

“You said you've played these games before, sir.”

Your mouth is still hanging open, Gi-hun’s name still caught between your lips as Young-il quite literally talks over you. He’s never talked over you before, not ever. And neither does he stop. He waits only for Gi-hun’s acknowledgement – a hesitant inclination of his head – before finally continuing, and he doesn’t even spare you a second glance when he does.

“I pressed the O button because of you. Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think maybe I could play just one more game.”

And you’re not offended in the least by his startling new rudeness. Not at all. Certainly not enough to snap your jaw shut with an audible click.

Jung-bae’s eyes suddenly alight with excitement. “Some of the other players said that!” He turns eagerly to his new friend with a grin, then nudges his elbow into Gi-hun’s ribs. “You see?”

Gi-hun is not amused and for once, you feel comforted by that. You don’t shrink when his gaze lingers on you, you return it confidently, if only because you’re less irritated with him than you are with Young-il. He braces his forearms atop his knees, his arms stretching out as he looks back and forth between you.

“If you had pressed the X,” he finally says, “everyone here would've made it out alive.”

Young-il hums lightly in response. “That's right. I was the last to press the O button,” and it’s remarkable, really, how unashamed he is to admit it. “But there were 182 more people who wanted to stay.”

“And there were also 182 people who wanted to leave. [___] included.”

Three sets of eyes settle upon you. Oh. You don’t like that. You don’t want to be brought into this discussion and you certainly don’t want Young-il to be looking at you like that, like he’s only just noticed you exist. You don’t like that everything you thought you knew has suddenly been flipped on its head, without rhyme or reason, and you don’t like that you’re left trying to fit the pieces back together entirely blind.

Gi-hun raises a brow. “You are friends, aren’t you?”

“We are.” He smiles and for the briefest moment, you feel like you’re watching a stranger rather than your coffee companion of two years. “But you’re a previous winner, Gi-hun-ssi. Why would you allow a friend to come here if it’s so dangerous?”

You don’t think much of him using Gi-hun’s name – why should you? But for Gi-hun, it seems to startle him. His eyes sharpen as they flicker across Young-il’s face, studying, searching, and then, “How did you know my name?”

You blink, pausing to look between the pair as you suddenly realize that you’re not sure you’ve ever explicitly used Gi-hun’s name before, not with him.

Young-il, to his credit, takes the inquiry in his stride. His smile falters for a moment as he tries to explain himself. “Oh, I… I heard [___] using it earlier, in line for dinner, and I thought I might try it.”

Did you? You can’t remember, though you aren’t sure that it really matters. You’ve loudly proclaimed Gi-hun’s name a handful of times since your reunion earlier today, so even if you hadn’t said it in line, it’s likely that Young-il noticed and made the connection himself. He’s always been perceptive like that.

Young-il leans in, his voice lowered and his face softened with an unspoken apology. “Does it bother you?” Just like he’d asked you only minutes prior.

A chill starts at the base of your spine. The air is thick with tension, both men gravitating toward one another as if there’s some grand competition going on that you’re entirely unaware of. You don’t like that either.

But before the tension can rise any higher, Jung-bae jumps in and attempts to diffuse the situation. His hands go fluttering about in the empty space between them, using some clever turn of phrase to smoothe out all the surface level ripples that have already transformed into waves rocking against your boat. A truce is formed, superficial at best, but it clears the air enough for you to breathe and for that, you’re grateful.

He keeps thinking about tomorrow. He keeps thinking about the sugary sweetness of dalgona on his tongue and the possibility of a pistol lodged against the base of his skull.

Gi-hun closes his eyes and takes a breath. It doesn’t change anything. The light from the pig lingers behind his eyelids as much as the thought of watching you bleed out and die does. The cool chill of a late night still clings to his bones, even among so many bodies. Or perhaps it’s Gi-hun who is cold. Perhaps he’s already dead and this is merely a delusion brought on by a half-sane mind in its final throes.

That would certainly be easier than the truth, wouldn’t it?

The stairs that lead to his bed creak beneath the weight of a foot, then another, and Gi-hun opens his eyes to see you standing close enough to touch. From this angle, the light doesn’t catch your face; you’re simply haloed, some bright and shining thing that he’s dragged with him into the pit of damnation.

“Hello.”

He hates that you sound so timid. You sound like the fragile student he once met in a snowy alley, not the passionate and bright-eyed person he knows you to be. But then, he supposes that it’s hard for you to find that spark he’s grown so accustomed to when you’re trying desperately to claw yourself out of a grave that is constantly demanding to swallow you whole. Unfortunately, he knows the feeling.

“Hello,” he replies. It feels forbidden to smile when he’s blockaded by memories and ghosts, but for you, Gi-hun finds that he can do all kinds of things. Even attempt a smile.

“Can I sit with you?”

Eyes darting first to the timer behind your head and then to the small stretch of open mattress by his feet, he nods haltingly, drawing his legs in so they’re folded atop on another. “Of course.”

There are no butterflies fluttering in his stomach when you sit on his bed. There’s no distant tremor in his hands or the drifting of his mind to far off places, imagining the sort of things he’d allowed himself only two nights ago. This isn’t the Pink Motel. He doesn’t know why he expects to feel the same stirrings in his gut that he usually does when he shares his space with you.

Then he remembers kissing you and he ducks his head in shame.

You take the far end of the mattress as expected, but it rather feels like you’ve placed yourself on the far end of a canyon. “I don’t want to talk,” you tell him, voice soft and uncertain. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just… don’t want to be alone right now.” Your feet dangle listlessly over the edge of the bedframe. “I can’t sleep.”

Gi-hun recalls feeling the same way on his first night. So much of this is painfully familiar. He almost wonders if Sang-woo’s spirit is watching him now, studying him from somewhere among the beds or lurking in the Squid Game field. He keeps expecting to see him every time he turns a corner. What would he think of the man that he’s become? The mattress squeaks when you adjust your posture and Gi-hun suddenly finds it hard to breathe. What would Sang-woo think of you?

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, so why does he care?

“I’m sorry.” Your apology draws him blinking from the recesses of his mind. “For everything. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

Of course it isn’t, but why on Earth are you apologizing? “It isn’t your fault,” he starts.

“Maybe. But I still feel bad.”

Following the path of your attention leads him to a bed several paces away, closer to the main floor than his own bed. Your friend Young-il is settling in for the night, one of his legs drawn atop the mattress with the other hanging off as he contemplates something far beyond Gi-hun’s reach. And for the first time in months, probably since the night he followed your friend out of the university parking lot and all the way to his hotel, Gi-hun feels angry.

It’s a different kind of anger than the one he’d directed at you just today. That was an anger born of fear and helplessness and the realization that he’d put you in danger, born of his own guilt and his own affection for you. This? This is not that.

He’s not entirely sure what it is, but he knows that he feels it whenever you look at Young-il or Young-il looks at you. You have nothing to feel guilty for. You haven’t done anything wrong. It isn’t your fault that Young-il voted O and it isn’t your fault that you’re here, and he hates that you feel otherwise.

“You aren’t the one who should be apologizing.”

There’s more he could say, more that weighs on him, but he isn’t sure how to express it. He isn’t even sure if he should. What if he loses you tomorrow? And what if he doesn’t? What if the game isn’t dalgona? What if he’s the one who dies and you’re left alone with only Jung-bae and Young-il to protect you? A bitter piece of his heart flares up at the thought and he pretends not to think about what might happen if Young-il were to die instead because that’s not the kind of man he wants to be.

Instead, Gi-hun shifts around on the mattress until he’s mirroring your posture, his legs dangling over the side as he moves the pillow and blankets around. “Stay here tonight,” he says in response to your voiceless question.

Your eyes flash wide for a second. “With you?” And if he thinks that you sound either horrified or intrigued by the prospect, Gi-hun tells himself that it doesn’t matter either way.

“I’m not sleeping.” He’s going to be watching over you for as long as he can manage. It’ll be a good distraction and it will keep you safe, and he needs both right now more than he needs anything else. “It isn’t good for you to sleep alone here. And someone should keep watch.”

What little light is reflected in your eyes shimmers like water in a glass. “Watch for what?”

For the murderous bastards who like to take out their competition while they sleep, what else? But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t want to scare you and he knows already that detailing the horrific possibilities of the Games right before you go to bed is a recipe for disaster.

“Sleep,” he insists. The bedding is nicely arranged now, as nice as he can make it for you, even though he wishes he could do more. What if you get cold in the middle of the night? What if you overheat in your jacket? Or you get thirsty? He can’t fix any of those problems. He can only give you his protection and pray that it’s enough.

Your protest is already half spoken by the time he’s drawing himself out of bed and prompting you into the space he’s just vacated. It takes some maneuvering and no small amount of whispered requests, far gentler than Gi-hun actually feels under the weight of his memories pressing in against his skull, but finally he manages to convince you to lay down. He tucks himself into the farthest corner of the bed, hoping that your legs have enough room, that you won’t mind him being so close for so long, and he watches the minutes on the display steadily count down.

There are less than ten minutes until lights out when Young-il decides to approach him. “Gi-hun-ssi,” he nods respectfully, his hands already pressing against his thighs as he takes the steps one at a time. His eyes wander over your sleeping figure and Gi-hun has to fight himself not to snap and make a fool out of himself simply because another man happened to look at you.

“Asleep,” he says, if only to fill the empty space with something other than his animosity.

Young-il nods in understanding. “I’ll be quiet, then.” A beat. “Could we talk?”

No. “Sure.”

The narrow space between rows of beds is taken up entirely by Young-il’s body. Perched upon the highest step, it places him at about eye level. Gi-hun’s not entirely sure he likes that. “I think I was out of line before,” Young-il finally sighs. “I'd like to apologize. I'm sorry.”

What he wants to do is tell your friend that he doesn’t care for, nor does he accept, his apology. What he wants to say is that he doesn’t like the way Young-il looks at you, all appraising eyes and quiet confidence, and he doesn’t like how Young-il has stolen almost all of your attention since the moment he appeared. He wants to say it all, but he doesn’t because his mother raised him better than that and Gi-hun has never been one to be purposefully rude except on very rare occasions.

This isn’t the time or place. So, he’s gracious. He bows respectfully to Young-il and allows the apology to settle in the space between them, even if the peace it offers is fraught. “No, I laid all the blame on you.” Even if I was right to do so. “I was out of line.”

And that, he hopes, will be the full extent of it – whatever it is. He’s not interested in having a full conversation with anyone right now, but even if he was, Young-il would be at the bottom of the list. He’s strange in a very off-putting way; quiet, observant, he makes you laugh sometimes, from what he can remember, and he’s able to fight off two younger men and make it look easy. That’s not normal. And then there’s the way that you had followed him during dinner like an alley cat chasing after scraps. You don’t do things like that.

“May I ask you something?”

It takes a minute, but Gi-hun eventually relents, inclining his head just slightly.

“Why did you come back to this place? You said you won and made it out.”

He swallows heavily. “I did.”

“Then why return? You got all the money, didn’t you? Did you spend it all?”

He spent some of it. He wanted so badly to let that money rot in the bank and to never touch a single won, but then Il-nam had happened. Then you had happened. Then so many things kept happening and he thinks that somewhere along the way, he lost sight of what he had set out to do. To remember, to protect.

“That money doesn't belong to me,” he mutters, and it’s like he’s back on the Squid Game field, watching the rain mix with the mud mix with the coppery tang of metal and blood. “It's blood money for the people who died here. The same goes for the money up there.”

“You don't have to think of it that way,” and where he expected to find judgement, he instead finds some gentle, understanding thing tucked behind the corners of Young-il’s words. “It's not like you killed those people and saving that money won't bring them back to life.”

Maybe it’s just the ghosts lingering in his head and his heart. Maybe he’s just a sentimental old fool, but there’s something about the way Young-il says it that reminds him of Sang-woo. He closes his eyes and wishes, probably for the millionth time, that he had been the one to die here three years ago, not Sang-woo. Not Ssangmun-dong’s golden child.

Young-il exhales through his nose, drawing Gi-hun’s attention and prompting him to open his eyes again. Where there had once been a glint of determination, now Gi-hun sees something far more vulnerable. It’s suspiciously disarming. “Not all of us have the luxury of mixing our morals with our money, Gi-hun-ssi. Some of us,” he says, and his voice begins to waver, “are forced to play the hand we’re dealt, blood money or not.”

Curiosity gets the better of him. “And what sort of hand were you dealt?” It isn’t asked unkindly. Gi-hun recognizes regret when he sees it and there’s no need for him to be cruel, but he does want to know.

Silence expands between them, permeating every atom of space until it’s so overwhelming Gi-hun thinks he might collapse beneath its weight.

Finally, Young-il speaks. “My wife.” And Gi-hun suddenly feels like he’s going to vomit. All this time, he’s been seething over a married man who happened to have befriended you. What kind of asshole is he?

“My wife was very sick. Acute cirrhosis, the doctors said, and she needed a liver transplant.” The slight waver in his voice becomes stronger, fluctuating as Young-il finds the strength to continue his explanation. The explanation Gi-hun demanded of him. Now he suddenly wishes he’d never opened his mouth to begin with. “When she was going through the tests, we found out she was pregnant. The doctor suggested a termination, but she wouldn’t listen. Said she'd give birth even if it killed her.”

Gi-hun realizes with a start what Young-il’s clenched jaw and sudden stillness means. He knows because he’s been there before, forced to pour his grief out to whichever person demands a little too forcefully to know what haunts him in the late hours of the night. God, he’s such a prick.

“I couldn’t save them,” he says, and his voice finally gives way. Unshed tears catch in the glow of the money pig and Gi-hun feels like he’s just had his throat torn out. “I need that money to pay off the debts. The hospital bills, the funerals – it costs something, Gi-hun-ssi. Perhaps it is blood money, but it’s still money.”

He can’t imagine. In some ways, he doesn’t have to. Ga-yeong is still alive and he stopped loving his wife a long time ago, but they’re no longer a part of his life. They may as well be dead to him – he knows he’s dead in their eyes anyway. Just another corpse slipping through the cracks of a broken world.

I’m so sorry. He doesn’t have to like Young-il to say it and mean it, but even still, the words stick in his throat. Just moments ago, he had imagined this man dead on his back, unable to touch you or taint you. He’d let his personal feelings get in the way of what really mattered. Young-il could pull a knife on him this very moment and it still wouldn’t justify anything that Gi-hun’s thinking or feeling about him, and he needs to remember that. He needs to remember what he’s here for.

He glances over at you, watching your face as you snore lightly. It’s a poor imitation of a similar situation that feels so far away now, it can only be a dream. The motel. His bed. You, safe and secure. His. That had never been the plan. But then again, he’d never had a plan when it came to you. For all the good it did you both.

He shouldn’t have kissed you. He wanted to, but he shouldn’t have done it in the first place. It should have stayed a secret desire known only to the depths of his shattered soul and the bullet he still deserves to bite. All it’s done is complicate matters. It’s made him twitchy and on-edge, made him grind his teeth down to the bone and search for enemies where there are none. It’s made him turn on a man who could very easily have been a friend if he weren’t so busy being blinded by his own desires.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s relieved that the words finally come.

Young-il merely shakes his head. He’s probably heard the same turn of phrase too many times to count by now. “It’s forgiven.”

The timer overhead flashes a one minute reminder and just like that, the spell is broken. Reality comes crashing down upon shoulders. There’s an awkward exchange of glances and half-hearted smiles, murmured farewells, and then Gi-hun is left with his legs dangling off the side of his own bed and the sound of your steady breaths.

The lights click out.

Slowly, so as not to wake you, he leans his weight back against the bedframe and positions himself so he’s facing the wide-open stretch of floor in the center of the room. The X and O carved there are the only lights that still remain, casting his surroundings in faint shades of blue and red, so faint that he can hardly make anything out.

He sighs. It’s going to be a very long night.

In-ho watches the soldiers as they work. It’s strange to be here once more, to be a part of the Games after so long. When he had made the decision to enter, it had mostly been on a whim, an impulsive choice driven from the frantic desire to control, to break, to bend you, Gi-hun, and the Games to his will. He hadn’t stopped to consider all the additional benefits he might reap from this harvest.

Already, a ridge has formed between you and Gi-hun. Something changed in him last night, In-ho had seen the shift, though he still doesn’t know what to make of it. Gi-hun had allowed you to sleep in his bed – and how common a recurrence is that, exactly? – but has hardly spoken a word to you since. Every time you try to meet his eyes, he smiles faintly, nods, and withdraws into himself, and the pain of that dismissal is written all over your face.

That hadn’t been entirely intentional. It is beneficial, no matter how confounding, and he plans to utilize it as best he can because Thanos rattled him last night. That bratty remark about his children had sent him over the edge and it had only been the sound of your voice that was clear enough to cut through the maelstrom of his fury, to bring him back to himself. That had rattled him too and, much like the gallery, In-ho had handled it poorly. He was too short with you, too fixated on a philosophical spar at Gi-hun’s expense, and had unintentionally pushed you away as a result.

He needs to fix that. Curious how the opportunity presents itself almost immediately.

The arena is presented, the instructions are given, and the timer is set. Gi-hun is entirely unprepared.

“Aren't we playing the dalgona game?” demands another player – number 100, who In-ho is sure he saw lurking about and asking questions of Gi-hun over dinner yesterday. But what truly catches his attention is the mention of dalgona.

It takes everything he has within himself not to laugh. Had Gi-hun really expected all the games to be the same as before? While In-ho hadn’t anticipated that Gi-hun would be so keen to rejoin the Games, he and every other Front Man in the world prides himself on his ingenuity. It’s a part of the job description. VIPs aren’t interested in the same old tricks each year. It would be foolish – no, truly stupid – to assume that the Front Man would not alter the Games to discredit or disadvantage Gi-hun in his mission for vengeance.

“No,” Gi-hun finally says as he hangs his head, “it doesn't look like it.”

“What's the game then?”

Yes, Gi-hun, tell us what game should come next. Show us all how carefully thought through your plans are.

Dark eyes trembling with uncertainty flicker aimlessly across the stretch of dirt beneath their feet. “I'm not sure.”

So when Player 100 turns on Gi-hun and demands, “What? You said you’d done this before! Was that all bullshit?”, In-ho is not surprised. Players turning on one another is an inevitability that Gi-hun should have accounted for.

Still, his obvious discomfort and shame is another victory mark on the scoreboard In-ho hides at the back of his mind.

“I'm sorry,” he says, pleading for compassion from a man who has clearly never said a kind word to anyone in his life.

“Sorry won't cut it!”

Gi-hun is trembling now, his entire body flinching with every cruel word flung his way. He folds in on himself like a child folds under the weight of a parent’s belt, and In-ho watches. Will he not stand up for himself? Is he content enough in his self-loathing to take abuse from a man who would kill him in an instant if the opportunity arose?

“You talked like you knew everything! All these people believed your bullshit! What are you going to do, huh? Will you take responsibility?”

He thinks to insert himself into the fight, to diffuse the tension and endear himself further to Gi-hun and his cause, and perhaps even regain your trust in the process by defending the man you so clearly love. But for once in his life (or rather, for the second time), In-ho is too late.

“Excuse me, sir.” There is no feigned politeness in your voice, no deference to your elders in your words or tone. If anything, the tacked on ‘sir’ sounds more like a slap in the face than a term of respect. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

Player 100 blinks back his shock, tripping all over the practiced insults he is so eager to distribute. His face goes red and his mouth falls open, gaping like a fish, until he finally manages to compose himself a few moments later. “This has nothing to do with you.” He closes in on you then, and In-ho sees it before you do, all the rage that’s beginning to boil over, the quivering fists and bared teeth, and he feels the shock of it in his stomach.

“Then it has nothing to do with you either,” you retort, and you go so far as to take a step closer to the man. Are you insane? “You don’t get to talk to him like that.”

It isn’t instinct that drives him to press his chest into your back. It isn’t instinct that pushes him to glare a pseudo-bullet hole into 100’s head. It is simply the movement of a chess piece across the board. “That's enough,” he utters, and the word is final.

And he expects to be rewarded for it. It was a calculated move, intentional and deliberate down to the weight of his body against yours and the timbre of his voice. That’s why he feels so unmoored when, rather than turning to thank him, you immediately rush to Gi-hun’s side. That’s why he’s left blinking at the empty space you’ve left behind and wondering what crucial part of his plan he’d missed. There is no other reason for the taste of bile in his throat or the slamming of his heart against his ribcage. None.

He takes no pleasure in your rejection, either. That’s what he chooses to believe. When Gi-hun accepts your comfort for a few treasured moments only to then pull away when he’s had his fill, to not allow you to dote on him, your reaction is so immediate and so blatant that the entire group can see it. Jung-bae and Dae-ho at least have the courtesy to look away and offer you a second of privacy; In-ho does not.

You chose this and he wants you to know that he knows. He does not look away when your eyes land on him. He does not soften his gaze. Rather, he tilts his head as if to say, I stood up for you. What has Gi-hun done?

The next ten minutes are unbearably awkward. The five of you already constitute a team, so no need to search for any further additions. Dae-ho officially introduces himself, only to immediately stick his foot in his mouth by inquiring exactly how everyone knows each other. Your eyes land on In-ho, then slide over to Gi-hun, and none of them answers. If he were watching this from the observation deck, it might almost be humorous, but he’s not and it isn’t. In truth, it’s painful.

Jung-bae is in the middle of a remarkably boring re-enactment of the time he and Gi-hun had gone out for soju as teens when another player approaches. In-ho has never been so relieved by a distraction in all his life.

“Excuse me,” she says sweetly, “can I join you?”

Jung-bae already seems displeased by having his story interrupted, but he softens his frustration for the girl’s sake. “Sorry, we’ve already got five people.”

“Please.” She takes a step closer, pushing herself slightly into the loose arc the five of them have formed, and takes a turn looking at each person. There’s something about her that gives In-ho pause, something he can’t put his finger on. “Help me. I’m pregnant.”

The girl rests her hand on her stomach, just over the little swell of life below her ribcage, and for a moment In-ho is very far away. He sees the hospital bed, the IVs and faded scars of needle pricks along Min-jung’s arm, he sees her sallow face, and he feels the same blinding needing to protect, defend, defy. To save. It passes quickly enough, but leaves him off-centered and irritable. Vulnerable.

He casts his eyes to Gi-hun first, curious to see just how the mighty hero of the Games plans to handle the situation. He flounders, of course, and In-ho isn’t surprised. Jung-bae is the one to break the news, apologetic and kind, but with the weight of the world on his shoulders because they all know they’ve created a decent team. They all know what it means to turn her away. That’s why it surprises him when yours is the voice that rises in response.

“I can… I can find another team.”

He and Gi-hun both share the same exclamation. “What?”

Your face practically folds in on itself with the force of your emotions. You don’t hide your compassion very well, but neither do you hide your fear – you’re uneasy about leaving the security your team offers you, however false it may be, but you’re equally uneasy about putting a pregnant woman at risk. And while he would never admit it aloud, In-ho finds himself sympathetic to your predicament.

Gi-hun’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, his frustration written into every crease and dimple in his skin. “It’s safest for you to be with us,” he asserts, reluctantly.

“But Gi-hun-a, she’s pregnant!” As if Jung-bae hadn’t already elected to turn the girl away.

He looks to Gi-hun once more, studying, noting every twitching tendon and flicker of regret that cuts across his face. What will you choose, Seong Gi-hun? Which horse is most likely to win the race?

“It’s alright,” says the girl with her soft doe eyes and pregnant belly. In-ho does not see his wife in her. He doesn’t. “I’m sure I can find another group.”

“No!” you exclaim, scrambling forward to take her hand in both of yours. Then your voice drops, it softens and shakes with the certainty of your sacrifice. “No, you should stay with them. They’ll keep you safe.”

You guide her to stand in the perfectly sized space between himself and Gi-hun, your brows now furrowed as you seem to be searching inside yourself for something. Then your chin tilts up and your gaze lands on Gi-hun. Several seconds tick by as you survey his face, so raw and exposed in a way In-ho isn’t sure he’s ever seen on you before.

The cold slice of bitterness cuts across his lungs at the sight. What can Gi-hun do to save you beyond sacrificing someone from his own carefully constructed team? You should be looking at him like that. He is the only one here with the power to save your life, the only one who might possibly be swayed by your fear and desperation.

“Gi-hun-a.”

And something deep within In-ho’s stomach twists in delight. He knows better than to raise his expectations after the countless hundreds he has seen fight and die in this very room, but logic cannot always outweigh intrigue, not for him.

Jung-bae leans forward, casting his old friend a smile. Sweat is already beading along his hairline. “Let them both stay, Gi-hun-a. I’ll go find another team.”

That something in his stomach lifts higher until it’s crackling like a firework behind his ribcage. Another gamble. The stakes are higher, but so is the reward. The question is whether or not Gi-hun still feels inclined to betting on horses the way he once did. In-ho already knows the answer, but it’s Gi-hun’s self-realization he wants to see, the inward understanding and acceptance that In-ho found for himself years ago. Which of your pawns will you sacrifice first, and which of them will come back when the clock runs out? Who deserves to live, Gi-hun? And who deserves to die?

It is Jung-bae who makes the decision in the end, and the loss of Gi-hun’s conflict is admittedly disappointing, but the Game hasn’t started yet. There is still victory to be found and In-ho will find it. The Front Man always does.

Ddakji. Biseokchigi. Gonggi. Spinning top. Jegi.

You’ve never played a single one. There are games that are similar enough in your home country, but the rules or the materials are slightly different. Different enough that you don’t have nearly as much confidence in your ability to successfully play any of these games as you wish you did.

Ddakji is a blatant no. Even though you’d managed well enough against that businesswoman all that time ago, it still feels wrong to play. You promised Gi-hun you never would again and that suits you just fine. The pregnant girl, Jun-hee, takes it, much to your relief.

Gonggi goes to the boisterous gentleman, Dae-ho. He says he grew up playing it with his sisters and seems confident in his skills, which is more experience than the rest of you have put together.

“That leaves biseokchigi, spinning top, and jegi.” Gi-hun looks to you. “Which do you think you’d be better at?”

You try very hard not to look as deeply panicked as you feel. “Which one’s the easiest?” It’s not a question that inspires very much confidence, you know that, but in truth you’re not sure you’d be very good at any of them.

Young-il and Gi-hun share a rather pointed look, which doesn’t help your confidence in the slightest. Defeat already feels imminent. You should’ve picked another team, at least that way your friends would be more likely to survive. Jun-hee and her baby, too.

“Don’t say that,” Young-il chides when you find yourself admitting as much. He rests a gentle hand upon your shoulder. “We’re a team, [___]. We’ll work together.”

“That’s right,” Gi-hun nods. “Why don’t you watch the first round and see how they’re played? You can decide which one is best for you.”

And it would have been such a brilliant idea if the first team to go hadn’t been brutally slaughtered. And the second team too. How are you meant to have any faith in yourself when the Korean-born players ahead of you keep getting themselves shot because they can’t throw a damn rock? You haven’t even had a chance to see jegi played yet because no one has made it that far.

“Don’t panic.” But no amount of kind and quiet compassion from Gi-hun, or even Young-il, is enough to calm your nerves. “[___]. [___], look at me. Look.”

You hesitantly lift your eyes to meet his. For a moment, all you can see are the bodies dropping to the floor behind him, the blood, you can hear the screaming and the gunfire. But then he reaches for your hands and holds them tightly.

“Think back to when you were a child. What kinds of games did you play? What were you good at?”

You try very hard to do as he asks. At the very least, it’s a distraction from the death that looms all around you. Searching your memories doesn’t offer as much hope as you would’ve liked – nights spent playing board games or reading, or the few activities you were decent at when you would go to recess. There’s not much that transfers over. Until, quite suddenly, you remember something.

“I used to skip rocks,” you tell him, a smile finally winning over the despair that’s been clinging to you like a second skin. “At the lake. I was good at it, too. That’s close enough to biseokchigi, isn’t it?” Just by watching the other players, the actions look comparable enough. It takes a certain amount of precision to make a rock skip smoothly over the water, as it takes a certain amount of precision to hit a target.

Gi-hun nods amicably. “Good. That’s good.” He squeezes your hands one last time before finally releasing them and you miss his touch immediately. He keeps you grounded whenever he’s near. “Young-il-ssi. Which one are you better at – jegi or spinning top?”

“I’ll take whichever you pick for me, Gi-hun-ssi.” There’s a softness to his voice, something that you wouldn’t have expected to hear in the midst of all this bloodshed. But Young-il continues to surprise you, as he has since you met him.

Gi-hun seems as surprised by Young-il’s deferment as you are, though he doesn’t speak on it. You can see him trying to work it out in his head before finally giving up. “Then… I’ll take jegi.”

The decisions are made just in time for the next round of teams to start playing. You can’t make out the team on the opposite end of the room, but you recognize one of the players on your side – Hyun-ju. She’s teamed up with several others you haven’t spoken to yet, but the mother player and her son are with her. That’s good. They all seem to have a good head on their shoulders and while you aren’t happy that Hyun-ju voted O, you don’t want her to die either. You end up rooting for her louder than any of the others on her team.

It's a close call. The woman playing spinning top makes several mistakes when it’s her turn and it very nearly costs the entire team their lives. There are several stretches of awful, agonizing seconds where you forget to breathe. So many people have already died today. You don’t want Hyun-ju to die, you don’t want her team to die. You want to believe there’s even the slightest glimmer of hope for the rest of you.

They make it to jegi. Everyone turns around. There are only seconds left on the clock. You can’t look. You can’t bear to watch their bodies get riddled with bullets. Everyone around you is shouting and jumping, and then the clock runs out and there’s no gunfire, no bullets, no blood sprayed across the rainbow track.

You open your eyes to see one of the soldiers unlocking the restraints on Hyun-ju’s ankle. And then you feel Dae-ho jerking you by the shoulder and spinning you around so he can hug you. They’re alive. Jun-hee looks up at you with the truest smile you’ve seen on her yet. You don’t realize until your eyes start to sting that you’re crying.

They’re alive. There’s hope!

Things don’t seem so bleak after that. More players die, yes, but more players survive too. You have to keep your chin up so you don’t fall back into your despair. Despair won’t keep you alive. You and Dae-ho huddle together at one point so he can practice his gonggi skills. Jun-hee sits quietly beside you both with a hand on her stomach, content to watch you both. You try to strike up a casual conversation with them, something to draw your minds away from the dwindling player numbers, but your heart isn’t really in it. Neither is theirs. You’re all too preoccupied to care that much.

When he takes a moment to think on it, In-ho is genuinely surprised to realize that he’s enjoying himself. When another team wins, the celebration is contagious. More than once has he found himself grasping at Gi-hun’s shoulder, his mouth cracked open to laugh and shout, his heart pounding with the joy of community and the relief of hope.

Hope.

He sees it on your face as clear as day. As often as he has found himself cheering and clinging to Gi-hun, he has felt you do the same to him. Both of them, in fact. Your smile has seared itself into his brain, your hands have clutched at his jacket and Gi-hun’s shoulder, and In-ho has found himself truly lost to the rush of it all.

The Games hadn’t been like this when he had been the victor. There was no camaraderie in the arenas he’d spilled blood in. Hope was a fleeting thing for him even then. He’s amazed at just how much can change in the span of a few years, aided by the illusion of friendship.

Jung-bae’s voice calls across the courtyard, then, drawing the entire team’s attention. “Hey!” He lifts his arm high in the air as one of the soldiers latches his ankle in place. “We'll see you again at the finish line!”

In-ho very highly doubts that.

“Yes!” cries Dae-ho, a bit too loudly for his tastes. It makes his ear ring. “We'll see each other again!”

“Gi-hun-a!”

In-ho can feel Gi-hun’s body go tense against his, his shoulders suddenly rigid as he smiles bittersweetly at his friend. In-ho already knows what he’s thinking; likely, it’s the very thought he’d had when faced with the possibility of being separated from you – that he can’t control the outcome of the game if you’re out of his reach.

For the sake of the game, though, he pretends to care. “I believe in our team,” he says as Dae-ho loops one arm in his and Gi-hun does the same with the other. He smiles. “Both our teams. Plus, we have the previous winner with us.”

Suddenly, you lean forward and gesture frantically to get his and Gi-hun’s attention. “Let’s not rush ourselves, okay? If we try walking too fast, we’ll trip and fall and that’ll waste time. Yeah?”

In-ho finds himself nodding. He finds that his smile is a touch more genuine. “Good plan,” he nods, and Gi-hun is quick to agree.

One of the soldiers raises their pistol in the air. In-ho’s heart gets caught somewhere between his stomach and his shoes.

Bang!

Ddakji comes first. The girl gets it on her first try and he’s elated. He swallows up the rush of adrenaline that her success brings and goes blindly chasing for more, his vision tunneling around  the stone you’re meant to throw.

“Take your time.” He doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t plan or rehearse it, it just comes out of him as naturally as anything else might.

Dae-ho nods eagerly beside you. He’s wringing his hands as he tilts out of your way, pressing his shoulder against In-ho’s. (Strangely, he finds he doesn’t mind it.) “Yes! Deep breaths, [___]! You’ve got this!”

But you’re already waving your free hand in his direction. “Ah, quiet, quiet! Let me think!”

The arena falls quiet save for the thundering of In-ho’s pulse and the steady, measured pace of your exhalations. You lower yourself into a partial crouch, feet wide, elbow out, and your lips parted. One second ticks by. Then another. Your shoulders rise and fall with another deep breath and then–

The intercom blazes to life. “Fail.”

Shit.

“It’s okay, it’s okay! We still have time!” Gi-hun exclaims. He’s pointing wildly at the clock and In-ho is grateful for it because it reminds him of where he is, who he is. Not even a full minute has passed yet. Everything’s going to be fine.

It takes about fifteen seconds to retrieve the stone and march back to the starting point. One minute gone, four minutes to go. He might be a bit nervous, but he isn’t truly worried. A lot can happen in four minutes. And besides, he gets a rare chance to study you now. Watching you calculate your next move, cataloging the distance between yourself and the target stone, hefting the weight of the other rock in your hand as you think – it’s exhilarating.

You’re about to throw again when his eyes drop and he practically lurches forward, almost pulling everyone off balance so he can swing his arm out in front of you. “[___], your feet!”

You were standing directly on the line. It would have disqualified your throw and wasted even more time. Self-preservation. Survival instinct. That’s all it is. So why does he get such a buzz from wondering what might have happened if he hadn’t said anything at all? How your face might have contorted when you suddenly realized you’d doomed your entire team?

He loses the opportunity to know for sure when both stones go tumbling top over bottom and the soldier for this station raises their arms overhead. “Pass.” Even so, he cheers just as emphatically as everyone else.

They march steadily on. The entire team drops into a crouch. You and the pregnant girl lean into one another and In-ho does the same on Dae-ho’s other side. His knee knocks against Gi-hun’s and rather than pull away, he embraces it. Camaraderie. Fellowship. Hope. It’s as thrilling to embrace them once more as it is to level a semiautomatic at a traitor’s head and squeeze the trigger.

Dae-ho rubs his hands together. His fingers are deft, his body light, and in seconds – seconds – he’s flawlessly performed each round of gonggi and elevated them to the next part of the challenge. In-ho cheers for that too, and it’s the truest thrill he’s felt in years.

Spirits are high as they round the track. He can hear you and Gi-hun chanting in time, can hear Dae-ho’s excitable mutterings. He can even feel himself smiling again. Apart from your initial slip-up, things are going perfectly and there’s still almost three minutes left on the clock. It’s just such a shame that the VIPs crave a bit of excitement, isn’t it?

The twine is slick with blood and sweat when he picks it up. The top itself is slightly dented along the edge and its lower point dulled after too many landings, but it’s still useable. He had ensured as much himself just last night, but the others don’t know that. As far as any of them know, Young-il could be horrific at spinning top. Young-il could be the one to get them all killed.

He transfers the top into his non-dominant hand and with a flick of his wrist, the top goes sprawling onto its side.

Gi-hun squeezes his arm amicably. “It’s alright. We still have time, Young-il-ssi. Everyone! One, two, one, two, one–”

He restrings the top, stopping only to spare the timer a glance. Nearing the two minute mark, which means he has enough time for one more delay, maybe two if he’s fast enough. He pushes Gi-hun out of the way – rather nicely, actually, all things considered – and positions himself accordingly. He doesn’t even mean to toss it backwards like that.

“Shit, I’m sorry–”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Gi-hun mutters, even though it’s not, even though his voice is wracked with tremors.

He smiles when he hears your voice, how you’re trying to offer him a bit of encouragement but it falls flat because you don’t think he can do it. Because you’re afraid. Because you believe more in Gi-hun than you do in him.

That’s alright, he thinks. Assuming he doesn’t get you killed in the next two minutes – and he knows he won’t because he’s planned for that too – he’ll be able to teach you a decent lesson in patience and faith.

A minute thirty. He has time enough.

In-ho blinks dejectedly at the top in his hands. His heart is caught in his throat. Even when he screams, even when he slaps himself so hard that it makes his ears ring, it sits there like a lump of food that refuses to go down. And he chases that feeling too, allows the dread to settle in his stomach and run cold through his veins.

“You goddamn idiot! You fucking idiot! What’s wrong with you, huh?”

Voices are clamoring over one another. Hands are scrambling and bodies are leaning away. The timer ticks down another few seconds and In-ho fights the urge to smile because there you are. Eyes wider than ever before, your mouth and brows puckered with concern as you reach across Dae-ho’s body and try to soothe him. Gi-hun beats you to it, of course, but he gets what he wants in the end.

“Pass.”

He’s never found jegi nearly as interesting before as he does now. He doesn’t know where to look. He wants to capture it all, every fleeting micro expression and frantic breath, every tense muscle and colorful swing of the jegi. The last non-adrenalined, partially composed piece of his brain that still functions notes the idea of rewatching the game footage once he returns to his apartment. And then he’s not really thinking of anything logical or composed at all because he’s shooting his foot out to save the day, to save his own life (he doesn’t need to), your life (he doesn’t need to), to save Gi-hun, Dae-ho, and the pregnant girl’s lives (he doesn’t need to, but he does it anyway).

“Pass.”

The finish line comes into sight, a pink band that breaks across his chest. How strange to think that such an insignificant thing can make the difference between life and death. How strange to find himself crying out in the embrace of a friend and finally, finally, feeling alive.

And then he sees that flash of pink in the distance. Guns raised, legs stanced. He meets Park Jung-bae’s eyes for a fleeting moment before the gunfire starts, and then the only thing he can hear is Gi-hun’s throat ripped raw from the force of his own grief.

[reveriebae]

Loyalty

pairing(s) : Jeong Yunho x f!reader

word count : 8457

synopsis : You had always kept things light, until a certain someone changes the rules. With a game of chase, tension builds between you and him, leaving you questioning where the lines truly are. What happens when control slips and the heat becomes too much to ignore?

genre : smut

warning(s) : possessive! Yunho, unprotected sex, fingering, rough sex. Let me know if I missed anything!

Part of Songfic

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

It was a regular Saturday, one of those nights where everything seemed laid-back, just a bit of adrenaline in the air from the thrill of a race. Mingi had dragged you along to watch his friends compete, even though you weren’t too interested in the whole racing scene. Still, it was a chance to get out, and you weren’t gonna pass that up. Besides, Mingi always had a way of making it sound more exciting than it really was.

You leaned back against the railing, watching the cars rev their engines on the starting line. Mingi’s voice echoed from beside you, his usual grin plastered across his face as he talked about how “insane” Yunho, Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and San were behind the wheel.

“Just wait. Yunho’s gonna win tonight,” Mingi said, nudging you with his elbow. “Dude’s got a need for speed. You might wanna watch closely.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just try not to fall asleep.”

Mingi laughed, but you weren’t listening to him anymore. Your gaze had shifted to the racers on the track. Yunho was talking with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, his attention flickering over to you for a second. His eyes locked with yours, and something about the way his lips curved into that playful smirk made your heart skip a beat.

You weren’t stupid—you knew exactly what kind of guy Yunho was. Charming, confident, and always surrounded by girls. He had a reputation for being the fun one, but you weren’t looking for fun. You had your own rules, your own way of handling things. Casual. No strings attached. You didn’t do loyalty—not after everything that had happened before.

But still, as you watched him approach with that easy swagger, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that maybe—just maybe—he was a little different. He was already too close before you even realized it.

“Y/N,” Yunho called your name, a grin tugging at his lips. “What’s up? Didn’t know Mingi was bringing a cute girl to watch the race.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just here to watch. I’m not really into all the hype.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it exciting for you,” Yunho said, stepping a little closer. He was a little too close, but you didn’t back away. Don’t fall for it, you told yourself. He was just a guy—another one of Mingi’s friends, another person you could keep at arm’s length.

“Who’s your money on?” he asked, still watching you with that intense gaze.

You gave him a dismissive smile. “Not a fan of betting on things I know I won’t win,” you replied, teasing him a little. “But I guess if I had to pick, I’d go with the guy who looks like he has the most fun.” You nodded toward Seonghwa, who was smirking, chatting with San.

Yunho chuckled, leaning against the railing beside you. “You know, I don’t mind taking that challenge,” he said, voice low and a little too serious for your liking. “But you should be careful with your bets. You might just end up losing something you didn’t plan on.”

You didn’t respond, giving him a quick side glance, but you couldn’t help the flush that crept up your neck. Don’t let him get to you. But there was something about the way he said it, that dark promise in his voice, that made your stomach twist.

Mingi appeared beside you, flashing a grin at you both. “You two getting cozy already?” he teased, eyeing Yunho and then you. You shot him a look that was meant to silence him, but Yunho just laughed, unbothered.

As the race started, the cars took off, the roar of engines filling the air, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you weren’t paying attention to the race at all. Every time you glanced over at Yunho, there he was, his focus locked on you like he was trying to figure you out.

And you hated how much you liked it.

The race went on, but you could barely concentrate. The engines roared as the cars zoomed by, but your eyes kept flicking back to Yunho. He wasn’t paying much attention to the race either. Instead, his gaze was fixed on you, his expression a little too intense for your liking. It was like he was studying you, gauging every little reaction.

You tried to ignore him, but it was hard. He was standing too close, his presence like a weight pressing down on you. Every time he leaned in to speak, his breath was warm against your ear, his voice smooth and deep, sending shivers down your spine.

“Are you sure you don’t want to place a bet? I could show you how exciting it gets when you’re in the game,” Yunho said, his words laced with something dangerous.

You shook your head, trying to shake the feeling that he wasn’t just talking about the race. “I’m good. Not really into gambling.”

He smirked, leaning a little closer. “It’s not gambling if you know you’re gonna win,” he whispered, his lips just inches from your ear.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, your breath hitching slightly, but you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let him win that easily. “Maybe. But I’m not so sure about that.”

Yunho pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and focused. “You don’t think I can win, do you?” he asked, a playful challenge in his tone, but there was something deeper, more possessive hidden behind it. He was pushing you, seeing how far he could go.

“I didn’t say that,” you replied quickly, though your voice was a little shaky. Focus, Y/N, you reminded yourself. He was just another guy, another player in this game. You weren’t about to get caught in his trap.

Before you could say anything else, Mingi slapped Yunho on the back, pulling his attention away. “Quit messing with my sister, man. She’s not here to fall for your charm,” he said, looking between the two of you.

Yunho just laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just keeping things interesting. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure she has a good time.”

You shot Mingi a thankful look, but it didn’t quite ease the tension Yunho had stirred up. It was like he was testing the waters, seeing just how much he could make you squirm before you gave in. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep your distance.

As the race wrapped up, Yunho leaned in one last time, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll be around, Y/N. Don’t think you can avoid me forever.”

You couldn’t tell if he was challenging you or warning you, but either way, something told you he wasn’t done with you.

And just like that, you found yourself wondering if you were playing with fire.

The race ended, and the crowd erupted in cheers as Seonghwa pulled ahead to take the win. His car, sleek and dark, had crossed the finish line first, and everyone was congratulating him, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement. Yunho’s red car had finished second, and though he looked a little disappointed, the way he carried himself showed that he wasn’t about to let it bother him.

As the others made their way toward Seonghwa’s place to celebrate, Mingi turned to you with a grin. “I’ll catch up with you later. You’re gonna be fine on your own, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” you assured him, trying to hide the tight knot in your stomach.

But as Mingi started walking away, you noticed Yunho lingering near his car. He caught your eye, offering a small, almost knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll see you off,” Yunho said smoothly, walking toward you. “I’ve got something else to do, so I’ll skip the party tonight.”

Mingi, overhearing, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you’re seeing her off? She can take a cab.”

You saw Yunho’s smirk grow just a little. “It’s nothing. I just want to make sure she gets home safely. Don’t worry about it.”

Mingi hesitated, looking between you and Yunho. His protective instincts flared, but after a moment, he just shrugged and muttered something about trusting you. “Fine, whatever. Just… don’t keep her out too late.”

You rolled your eyes as Mingi walked off, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t about the time. It was about Yunho. And you were starting to feel like Mingi was more worried about you getting tangled up in whatever game Yunho was playing than anything else.

As you climbed into the passenger seat of Yunho’s red car, the engine hummed to life. The ride back to your apartment was a quiet one at first. Yunho’s presence beside you was overwhelming, the tension in the air thick and unspoken. His grip on the steering wheel was firm, his jaw set in that way that made him look so damn serious. But you could still feel his eyes flicking to you every now and then, as if he were testing you, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“So,” Yunho’s voice broke the silence, smooth and almost casual, “Seonghwa definitely earned that win. But you were watching me, right?”

You let out a breath, trying to act casual, but there was something about his question that felt almost like a dare. “I watched the race. What’s the big deal?”

He laughed softly, but there was an edge to it. “Right. The race. Sure. But you were looking at me, weren’t you?”

You shot him a glance, but his focus remained on the road. You wanted to brush it off, to deny it, but the way he was acting made it hard. Every inch of you felt like it was being pulled into his orbit, and the more you fought it, the more you found yourself getting tangled up in his game.

“I wasn’t,” you said, your voice faltering just enough that you knew he caught it.

Yunho’s lips quirked into a satisfied smirk, his fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. “It’s okay. I don’t mind if you were watching me. I like it when you’re paying attention.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. There was something about the way he said it, so casually, that made it feel like it wasn’t just a comment about the race anymore. The unspoken tension between you two was building, thick and undeniable.

The car slowed as you neared your apartment, the sound of the tires against the pavement almost too loud in the quiet. Yunho pulled into the parking lot, but he didn’t park right away. Instead, he took a moment, his eyes catching yours. It was brief, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

“You don’t have to be so distant, Y/N,” he said, his tone low and coaxing, “I’m not like the others. I won’t hurt you. But you’ve got to trust me if we’re going to keep playing this game.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t need any of this, that you didn’t want to fall into whatever he was offering, but the truth was you weren’t sure anymore. With him so close, with the way he looked at you, it was hard to hold on to your walls.

Instead, you just said, “Thanks for the ride.”

Yunho didn’t smile, but there was something in his eyes. “You’re welcome. Just remember… I’m always here if you need me, Y/N.”

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words hung in the air, even as he shifted the car into park. As you stepped out, his gaze lingered on you, almost too intense, like he was waiting for something.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t just leaving you with a ride. He was leaving you with a promise. And you weren’t sure if you were ready for that yet.

The next day came faster than you’d expected. The lingering tension from the night before still clung to you like a shadow, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, it was there—right at the back of your mind, like a soft hum that refused to be ignored.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way Yunho looked at you when he dropped you off. There was something in his eyes, something possessive, like he was claiming a piece of you without even trying. And you hated how much you liked it.

As you made your way to the café that morning, trying to push thoughts of him away, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You reached for it, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it was a message from Yunho.

Yunho: “You left in a hurry last night. Didn’t even let me walk you up.”

You scoffed, fingers hovering over the screen as you debated how to respond. It wasn’t like you had anything to hide. But the way he’d said it… it felt almost like a subtle accusation. Like he was reminding you that you didn’t let him in.

You: “I’m fine. I didn’t need you to walk me up.”

A few seconds passed before the reply came.

Yunho: “Mhm. Sure you didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, tapping your phone screen with frustration. You had no idea why you were getting so caught up in this. It was supposed to be casual, right? No strings attached. Just like everything else.

But something about Yunho was different. You weren’t sure what it was, but you couldn’t help but be drawn to him in a way that was harder to ignore.

Before you could think too much about it, you heard footsteps approaching. Turning your head, you saw Wooyoung walking over to you, a grin plastered on his face.

“Well, well, look who’s out here so early.” Wooyoung greeted you with a teasing smile. “How’s the ride back home last night?”

You glanced away quickly, trying not to make it obvious that you were still feeling the heat from the night before. "It was fine," you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray you.

“I bet,” Wooyoung smirked, clearly noticing the shift in your mood. “Yunho looked pretty serious about giving you a ride home. You know he doesn't do that for just anyone.”

You froze. “What do you mean?”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer. “He’s the type of guy who likes to keep things casual, but I’ve never seen him so... invested before. Just a heads up, Y/N. Don’t get caught up. You’re his next target. And once he’s got his sights on you…” Wooyoung trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Your heart skipped. You knew what he meant. But part of you didn’t want to believe it. Part of you wanted to believe that Yunho was different. But another part—maybe the part that still feared getting hurt—couldn’t help but wonder if Wooyoung was right.

“I can handle myself,” you replied coolly, trying to sound unaffected by his words.

Wooyoung just smirked again, obviously not buying it. “Sure you can. But just remember… there’s more to Yunho than what he shows you.”

Before you could respond, Wooyoung was already heading inside the café, leaving you standing there with a mix of frustration and confusion swirling in your chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to get a lot more complicated.

You spent the next few minutes pretending Wooyoung’s words didn’t bother you. You ordered your coffee, found a quiet corner, and scrolled mindlessly through your phone, but nothing could shake the way your stomach twisted at his warning.

You’re his next target.

It shouldn’t have mattered. You’d been through this before—casual, no strings, nothing deep. If anything, Yunho was your target, not the other way around. But something about the way Wooyoung said it… like he knew something you didn’t… it got under your skin.

Your fingers tightened around your cup just as a shadow loomed over your table.

“Morning, baby.”

You looked up, pulse skipping. Yunho stood in front of you, his broad frame cutting out the light from the café window. He looked effortless, like he didn’t even have to try—just a simple hoodie, messy hair, and those damn dark eyes pinning you down.

You took a slow sip of your coffee, trying not to react. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Yunho pulled out the chair across from you, his lips quirking up in amusement. “That makes two of us.”

You didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered over you, slow and assessing, like he was searching for something.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You shrugged. "Why wouldn’t I?"

His smile widened just a little, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "No reason. Just wondering if I kept you up last night."

Your breath hitched. You hated the way he said things like that—so smooth, so controlled, like he knew exactly what kind of reaction he was pulling from you.

You forced yourself to look unimpressed. "Not at all. I slept just fine."

“Good,” Yunho murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wouldn’t want you distracted.”

The tension between you thickened, unspoken but very present. You had the sudden urge to look away, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you smirked. “Didn’t expect you to care so much.”

Yunho chuckled, low and deep. "Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just like messing with you."

Your fingers tightened around your cup. His words were playful, but there was something lurking beneath them, something deeper than just a game.

"Then don't get attached," you said, your voice light but laced with meaning. "I like keeping things casual."

For a second, something flickered in Yunho’s eyes—something unreadable. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual smirk.

"Casual, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretching out beneath the table, nearly brushing against yours. "Funny. You don't seem like the type to play it safe."

You raised a brow. "And what type do I seem like?"

Yunho tilted his head, studying you. "The kind that likes danger."

You felt your breath hitch before you could stop it. His voice was soft but firm, like a promise. Or maybe a threat.

Before you could respond, Yunho’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He sighed, glancing at the screen before standing up.

“Duty calls.” He tucked his phone away, then gave you a long, unreadable look. “See you later, Y/N.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you with nothing but a racing pulse and a head full of thoughts you really didn’t want to have.

Maybe Wooyoung was right. Maybe you were playing with fire.

But for some reason… you wanted to get burned.

The next evening, Mingi was already dragging you out of your apartment before you could protest.

"Another race? Didn’t we just go to one?" you groaned, but Mingi just grinned, practically shoving you into his car.

"This one's different," he said. "And you had fun last time, didn’t you?"

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him on it. The truth was, you did enjoy the rush of it—the adrenaline, the roaring engines, the smell of burnt rubber. It was dangerous, reckless, but exciting. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see a certain someone again.

By the time you arrived, the crowd was already buzzing with energy. The night was electric, neon lights casting sharp glows against sleek, polished cars.

Mingi parked and led you toward the starting line, where the racers were getting into position. Your eyes flickered over to Yunho’s car—a sleek, fiery red beast that looked just as fast as it did dangerous.

He caught your gaze as he climbed into the driver’s seat, sending you a smirk before revving his engine.

You quickly looked away, ignoring the way your stomach flipped.

The race started, and just like that, they were off—tires screeching, metal groaning, speed blurring everything together.

And this time, Yunho took first place.

The moment he stepped out of his car, the crowd erupted, girls flocking toward him like moths to a flame.

You watched as they threw themselves at him—hands on his arms, fingers grazing his chest, sweet voices giggling in his ear. Yunho didn’t seem particularly interested, but he didn’t push them away either.

Not that it mattered to you.

You sipped your drink, looking completely unbothered.

Wooyoung, standing next to you, chuckled under his breath. "Cute act."

You frowned. "What act?"

Wooyoung smirked, leaning in. "The whole ‘I don’t care’ thing."

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, shaking his head. "Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Before you could respond, Mingi clapped a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I was thinking," he started, grinning. "You and San would look good together."

You nearly choked on your drink. "What?"

Mingi turned to San, who had just walked up. "Don’t you think Y/N’s your type?"

San, always one to play along, grinned. "Oh? You tryna set us up, Mingi?"

"Why not?" Mingi shrugged. "She could use a guy like you."

You rolled your eyes, about to shut it down when you felt someone watching.

And when you turned your head, you met his gaze.

Yunho was staring—no, glaring.

His jaw was tight, his eyes dark as he watched the interaction unfold.

Then, without warning, he was walking straight toward Mingi.

"You know I’m interested in your sister," Yunho said, voice low but firm. "So why are you trying to push her toward San?"

Mingi blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Wait, what?"

Yunho stepped closer. "I’m not playing with her, Mingi. I want her."

Mingi scoffed. "You? The same Yunho who always has girls hanging off of him? You really expect me to believe that?"

Yunho didn’t back down. "I don’t care about them." His gaze flickered to you, intensity burning behind his eyes. "I care about her."

For a moment, Mingi just stared, his expression unreadable.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Damn it, Yunho." He exhaled sharply. "If you’re serious, prove it. ‘Cause I swear, if you mess with her—"

"I won’t," Yunho cut in, his voice unwavering. "I’ll show you."

You stood there, speechless, as the weight of his words settled in.

This wasn’t a game. Not to him.

And maybe… not to you either.

The tension from Yunho’s words still lingered in the air, but you weren’t about to entertain it.

Not now.

Not when you knew exactly how this story went.

Men like Yunho—possessive, intense, all-consuming—were dangerous.

So instead of addressing the weight of his words, you just huffed, forcing a smirk as you folded your arms.

"You care about me?" You raised an eyebrow, amusement lacing your tone. "That’s cute."

Yunho’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly, but you just turned to Mingi with an exaggerated sigh. "I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m suddenly helpless, Min. I don’t belong to anyone."

San, sensing the tension, let out a whistle. "Damn, should I be offended?" He grinned playfully. "Feels like you just rejected me and Yunho at the same time."

You gave him a wink. "Oh, baby, I don’t reject anyone."

Wooyoung let out a sharp laugh, and Mingi groaned, rubbing his temples.

"You are so annoying," Mingi muttered. "Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it blows up in your face."

But Yunho?

Yunho wasn’t laughing.

He was still watching you, still processing your words, that dark, unreadable look settling into his features again.

"Noted," he finally said, voice calm but heavy.

And the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

---

Later that night, your phone buzzed.

Yunho: You wanna act like this is a game? Fine.

Yunho: Let’s see how long you last.

You stared at the messages, heart skipping a beat.

Then, with a smirk, you typed back.

You: Challenge accepted, baby.

But what you didn’t realize…

Yunho wasn’t the type to lose.

---

The next few days felt like a silent war.

Yunho wasn’t the type to chase openly, but he was always there.

Whenever you turned around at the races, his eyes were already on you. Whenever you laughed a little too hard at something San said, he’d be right beside you—close, possessive, radiating heat like a warning.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you.

But you weren’t about to fold.

So you played along.

When another racer—some guy named Jisung—offered to take you for a ride in his car, you accepted with a smirk, knowing damn well Yunho was watching.

But the second you went to open the door, a firm hand caught your wrist.

"Not happening," Yunho muttered, voice low and final.

Jisung looked between you two, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Uh—?"

Yunho didn’t even spare him a glance.

"I’ll take her home," he said.

Your lips curled, amusement flickering through your expression. "Oh? I don’t remember asking."

Yunho’s grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either.

"You didn’t," he said. "But you will."

That struck something in you.

But before you could call him out on it, Mingi’s voice cut in.

"Bro, let her do what she wants," Mingi sighed, but he didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked like he expected this. "She’s not gonna listen anyway."

Yunho’s jaw ticked, and for a second, it seemed like he might argue.

But then he looked at you.

And you could feel the warning in his stare.

A promise. A threat.

This wasn’t over.

And somehow, you knew…

You would be asking him to take you home soon.

Even if you didn’t want to admit it yet.

The tension only got worse after that night.

You could feel it everywhere—every time Yunho was near, every time his gaze settled on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. He wasn’t the type to throw a fit or make a scene, but that only made it worse.

Because you knew Yunho wasn’t the type to lose.

And yet, you kept playing.

The next race came faster than expected. Mingi dragged you along as usual, talking about how tonight’s lineup was going to be intense. Apparently, some big-name racers from out of town had shown up to challenge Yunho and Seonghwa.

You weren’t really paying attention. Not until Yunho showed up.

Dressed in all black, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

Something dark flashed across his face.

Then he smirked.

And just like that, the game was back on.

You pretended not to care, shifting your attention to San instead, laughing at whatever stupid joke he had just made. Mingi seemed pleased, clearly trying to push you closer to his friend, but you didn’t miss the way Wooyoung gave you that same knowing look.

"You’re really gonna keep playing with fire, huh?" Wooyoung muttered under his breath, just low enough for you to hear.

You just smirked, shrugging. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Wooyoung huffed a laugh. "Sure you don’t."

Then the race started.

And Yunho won.

It wasn’t even close. He cut through the track like he was born for it, weaving between cars like a shadow, his red car a blur against the night.

And when he crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupted.

You watched as girls swarmed him immediately, their hands all over him, their voices high and sweet. He let them. He even smiled, that cocky grin of his sharp as a knife.

You forced yourself to look away.

"You’re really unbothered, huh?"

Wooyoung’s voice was laced with amusement.

You rolled your eyes. "Why would I be bothered? Yunho’s got a lot of options. It’s not that deep."

Wooyoung just hummed, unconvinced. "You’re his next target, you know."

That made you freeze for half a second.

But you covered it up quickly, tilting your head. "Oh? That what he told you?"

Wooyoung just smirked. "Nah. He doesn’t have to."

You scoffed. "Yunho's got girls hanging off him every night. You think I’m dumb enough to take him seriously?"

"Maybe not," Wooyoung said, "but Yunho’s not like the others."

That made you pause.

But before you could ask what he meant, you caught sight of Yunho again.

Only this time, his attention wasn’t on the girls.

It was on you.

His smile was gone.

And the look in his eyes?

It wasn’t just playful anymore.

It was a warning.

The night seemed to drag on after that, with the races winding down and the crowd thinning out. You found yourself lingering near the edge of the lot, still pretending to be uninterested, chatting with San as he nudged you playfully. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of Yunho’s eyes on you.

He wasn’t among the group of girls anymore.

You hadn’t noticed when he slipped away from them, but now, as you stood there, a low growl of an engine hummed in the distance, and you knew. You knew it was him.

You turned, but before you could even take a step, Yunho was already standing in front of you, his presence like a force of nature.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, the playful edge replaced by something darker, something demanding.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back casually. "What’s up, Yunho?"

"I thought we had an understanding." He didn’t even waste time with pleasantries. His eyes searched yours, daring you to look away. "You’re not here to play games with me, are you?"

You tried to keep your cool, but something in the air was different now. It was thick with tension, and you could feel your heart picking up pace. "You’re the one playing games, Yunho. Last I checked, you were busy with those girls."

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly feeling overwhelming. His lips curled into that signature smirk, but his eyes weren’t playful anymore. "You really think I care about them?"

You didn’t answer, trying to keep your deflection up, but Yunho wasn’t having it. He took another step forward, cornering you against the side of a parked car. The intensity in his gaze was suffocating.

"You think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing?" he muttered, his voice rough, low—like a whisper just for you. "You keep pushing me away, keep acting like it’s just casual, but you know exactly what this is."

You swallowed hard, not able to bring yourself to look away from him. You couldn’t—he was pulling you in, inch by inch, like gravity.

"Is that so?" you asked, voice steady despite the tension coiling in your chest.

"Yeah." Yunho’s smile faded, replaced by something darker, possessive. "I’m not like the rest of those idiots who go after anyone and everything. But I’ve made my interest clear. So what is it, Y/N?"

You tried to step away, but he held you in place, not with force but with that unspoken* pressure, like the weight of his words was enough to keep you rooted where you were.

"I told you," you started, voice shaky despite your best efforts to sound confident, "I’m not looking for anything serious. Just something casual, nothing more."

Yunho’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, but there was no humor in it—only something dangerous.

"Then why do you keep looking at me like that?" His hand moved slowly, brushing against your cheek, his touch burning. "Why do you keep pretending you don’t want me to want you?"

Your breath caught in your throat, heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. You could only feel the intensity of the air between you, thick with desire and challenge.

"You don’t have to do this, Yunho," you whispered, voice betraying you with the crack in it. "It’s never going to be more than this."

"Don’t lie to me," Yunho said, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re not fooling anyone."

He stepped closer, his chest brushing against yours, and you couldn’t escape him. His presence swallowed you whole.

"You want me," he whispered in your ear. "And I’m not letting you go until I have you. Loyalty."

The moment Yunho’s lips brushed against your ear, his touch sending a shock through your body, you knew there was no escaping it. His words were dangerous, thick with promise, and you could feel them vibrating in your chest. Your breath hitched, but before you could think of pulling away, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip.

"No more games," Yunho growled, voice low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the fire behind it. His hand tightened around you, practically dragging you towards his car before you could protest.

"Yunho—what the hell are you doing?" You tried to pull your arm back, but his grip was iron, and he didn’t even look at you, his focus completely on getting you into the car.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. You knew.

You tried to resist, but the instant the door slammed shut, you were trapped. Yunho’s eyes, dark and unwavering, met yours, and you could see that same dangerous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Without a word, he slammed the car into gear and sped off, the engine roaring as he pushed the car faster, harder, like he was trying to outrun the world.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of panic and something else—something dangerous that you couldn’t quite place. You wanted to argue, to keep pretending that you didn’t want this, that you weren’t drawn to him in a way that you couldn’t control.

But the heat of his touch on your wrist, the way he kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he drove, made it impossible to deny.

"You’re not even going to ask where we’re going?" Yunho asked, voice rough as he turned the wheel, pushing the car even faster. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his grip as possessive as the one he had on you just moments ago.

You tried to look away, acting like you didn’t care, but you knew he could see the way your breath caught in your throat. You knew he could feel the tension between you.

"I don’t care," you said, though it came out softer than you intended.

He smirked, his eyes flashing with something wild as he pushed the car even faster. "Good. Because you don’t need to care. I’m the one in control here, Y/N. You don’t get to decide how this plays out."

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you didn’t answer, instead crossing your arms and trying to hide the way your body betrayed you—how much you were feeling everything about this. The way his voice sent a shiver down your spine, the way he looked at you like he was just waiting for the right moment to take.

When you pulled up to his place, it was clear that he didn’t care who saw, didn’t care about anything but the two of you. He parked the car with precision, the engine cutting off as he reached over, grabbing your wrist again with that same firm grip, dragging you out of the seat and toward his door.

Before you could even process, you were inside, the door slamming behind you.

Yunho didn’t waste any time. He backed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours in an instant, trapping you between him and the door. His lips crashed against yours, hot and demanding, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, wanting it just as much as you.

His kiss was fierce, urgent, and he didn’t give you a chance to pull away, his hands exploring, touching, gripping you like you were his to claim. You could feel the heat building between you, an undeniable magnetism pulling you both closer, until you couldn’t tell where his body ended and yours began.

Yunho’s hand slid into your hair, gripping it with just enough force to tilt your head back, his lips trailing down your neck as he kissed his way down, leaving a path of burning skin in his wake. Your breath caught in your throat as he whispered against your skin.

"I told you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, "I’m not letting you go."

You tried to keep up your front, to push him away, but his touch was addictive, and everything about him was pulling you in, making you forget what you even wanted. The game you’d been playing with him, the one where you pretended you didn’t care, didn’t stand a chance.

His lips found yours again, kissing you hard, deep, like he was determined to make you feel just how much he wanted this. And for once, you didn’t fight it.

Yunho was right—he was in control now, and you were his.

Yunho wasn’t wasting a second. His hands were everywhere—pulling you closer, one hand at the back of your head, pushing you into him, the other down to your waist, gripping you like he owned you.

You could feel the hardness of him against your body, and the way your pulse raced in response only made things worse. He smirked against your lips when he felt the shiver run through you.

"Don’t try to act like you don’t want this," he growled, his voice thick with lust.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "I don’t need to act. You’re the one who—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Yunho shoved you hard against the wall, his mouth crashing down on yours with a wild urgency. You gasped, but he didn’t care, his tongue slipping inside your mouth in a hot, desperate kiss. His hand slipped under your shirt, finding the bare skin of your stomach, rough fingers brushing against your ribs as he moved to pull it off.

You tried to keep your hands at his chest, to push him away, but he was relentless. The moment you tried to shove him off, he lifted you, spinning you around so your back was pressed against the cool, unforgiving wall.

"Stop fighting me, Y/N," Yunho warned, his voice deep and breathless.

But you couldn’t. Your body was already betraying you—your chest heaving, your breathing ragged.

He let out a frustrated growl, and with one swift move, he tore your shirt off, tossing it to the floor. His hands went straight for your pants, unbuttoning them quickly before pulling them down with no hesitation.

"Y/N," Yunho panted, lips trailing down your neck, "I can feel it, you want me just as bad." His lips found the sensitive spot right below your ear, sucking hard, sending a pulse of heat through your entire body. His hands moved between your legs, fingers brushing against the waistband of your panties.

"Yunho," you gasped, barely able to keep it together, your body on fire as his hands teased your skin, leaving marks wherever he touched. He didn’t give you a chance to react before he was kissing you again, harder this time, dominating your mouth as his hands found their way back to the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to join your pants.

The moment he heard the sound of fabric tearing, Yunho grinned, and that made you feel something dangerous crawl through your veins. He wasn’t asking for permission anymore. He was taking it.

"All mine," he muttered, voice rough and hoarse, fingers slipping inside you with barely any warning, stretching you wide.

You gasped, your body tensing up at the sudden intrusion, but Yunho didn’t care. He pulled you closer, his lips back on your neck as his fingers moved, fast, rough, precise—like he already knew exactly what you needed. His breath was hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, "You wanted to keep things casual, but you’re mine now, Y/N."

You couldn’t even form words, too lost in the haze of heat and sensation. You grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body responded to him in ways you couldn’t control. The pressure was building, your body betraying every word you said about keeping things casual.

"Say it," Yunho demanded, his voice a low growl. "Say you want me."

You could barely catch your breath, but when his fingers found that sweet spot inside you, you had no choice but to surrender.

"I want you," you gasped, your voice coming out ragged and desperate.

He smirked, pleased, and didn’t waste another second. He pulled his fingers out of you, taking off his own clothes, the sound of fabric hitting the floor sending a thrill through your body. Without saying another word, he lifted you up again, holding you effortlessly against the wall, lining himself up at your entrance.

"I told you," he growled, his lips brushing against yours one more time. "You don’t get to play games anymore."

And then, in one swift movement, Yunho was inside you, filling you completely, his pace brutal and fast from the start. Your nails dug into his back, and you couldn’t help but let out a sharp gasp at how good it felt.

Yunho didn’t slow down, his hands gripping your hips, pushing you harder against the wall, his body slamming into yours as if he was marking you, taking you in every way he could. His breath was heavy, his grunts and growls turning into something primal as he fucked you like he was the only one who could give you what you needed.

You couldn’t think anymore—only feel. Feel the way his cock moved in and out of you, the way your body tensed with every thrust, the way his hands gripped you with enough force to leave bruises. You were his now, and the realization hit you like a wave, making everything inside you spiral.

"Fuck, Yunho!" you cried out, the pressure building, your body starting to shake as you neared the edge.

"Yeah, baby, that’s it," Yunho hissed, his pace relentless, pushing you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, Y/N. Let me see how much you need me."

And with that, you shattered.

Your body trembled, your nails scratching down his back as you came undone, screaming his name as pleasure coursed through you in waves. Yunho wasn’t far behind, his thrusts growing sloppier as he finally found his release, his breath ragged in your ear as he came inside you with a growl.

He didn’t let you down, not even when you were both left panting, bodies tangled together in the aftermath.

“You’re mine now,” Yunho murmured against your skin, his hand still gripping your waist as you tried to catch your breath.

You knew it wasn’t over. He wasn’t going to let you go. And deep down, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

Yunho’s breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling against yours, as you both caught your breath. The weight of what just happened settled in, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. He pulled out gently, keeping you in his arms as he guided you to the couch nearby.

You felt a little shaky, but Yunho was steady as always, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He helped you get comfortable, pulling a blanket over your body, still keeping you close to him. His hands were soft now as they traced over your skin, the tenderness a stark contrast to the roughness of moments ago.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but still laced with concern.

You nodded, still processing everything that just happened. “Yeah... I’m good.”

Yunho’s fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he looked at you, his gaze serious but gentle. "I didn’t mean to rush you, Y/N. I just... I couldn’t hold back anymore. You’ve been driving me crazy, and I needed to know where we stood."

You swallowed, shifting slightly to face him, your hand finding his. "You... really want this?" You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to face the truth, but you needed to know. “I thought you just wanted to keep things casual like me.”

His jaw clenched at that, and he exhaled slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Y/N. At first, I thought I could keep it casual too. But when it’s you? I can’t. I won’t.” His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, his eyes softening. “You’ve been acting like you want to keep your distance, but I know you feel it too. You feel what I feel, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you just stared at him, taking in his words. He wasn’t looking at you with anger or impatience, just a deep intensity. “Why me, Yunho?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “There are so many other girls, you know. Why do you want me?”

Yunho’s hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His touch was warm, tender, like he was trying to soothe the doubt in your mind. "Because I don’t want anyone else," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "You think I don’t see how you push me away? How you try to keep it light, like you’re not affected by all this? But I see through that. I see how you’re always right there when I need you, how you look at me when you think I don’t notice."

You felt your heart race, the warmth of his words sinking in. “But I’ve been trying to keep it casual... I don’t know how to let go of that fear, Yunho.”

He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, his voice low and raw. “You don’t have to be scared. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not like the others. I’ll show you. If you let me, I’ll prove it to you every damn day.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. It was hard to believe after all the heartache you’d been through, but with Yunho, it felt different. He made you feel seen.

"How can you be so sure?" you asked quietly, your voice barely audible. “How do you know I won’t just run again?”

Yunho sighed, pressing his lips against your forehead, the gesture so soft it almost made your heart ache. “Because I’m not giving you a choice,” he murmured. “I’ll fight for you. I’ll make you see that what we have is real. You won’t have to run. Not from me.”

His words made something inside you click. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers. Maybe you weren’t sure how to take that leap just yet. But with him, there was no more pretending, no more games. It wasn’t just the heat and the mess that made it real. It was how he cared—even when you pushed him away.

You took a deep breath, turning your face into his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your ear. “I don’t know what this is yet,” you whispered, “but I’m not going anywhere either, Yunho.”

And in that moment, the uncertainty didn’t feel so scary. You could trust him. He wasn’t going to let you go.

The night stretched on, quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. You stayed nestled in Yunho’s arms, his warmth surrounding you like a protective shield. He didn’t try to rush anything, simply content to let the silence speak for the both of you. His hand gently played with your hair, the softest of touches, as if he was savoring every moment.

You felt the weight of the world lift, just for a moment, like everything outside of this room didn’t matter. It was just you and him, and that was enough for now.

Yunho kissed the top of your head, his voice gentle when he spoke again. “You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to keep pretending. I’m here. For real.”

Your fingers curled around his, squeezing lightly, feeling the truth of his words sink in. You didn’t have to have all the answers tonight, or even tomorrow. For once, you didn’t need to figure everything out. All you needed to do was trust him.

And, for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could.

[anorlondo00]

I do not care at all about sports and the sum total of my knowledge about American football is what I remember from reading Eyeshield 21 fifteen plus years ago, BUT. I am now invested in the football AU. Ace and Luffy are the mascots of the team and everyone loves them. They can do no wrong in Oyaji's eyes and he will let them get away with murder. In return, both of them are seriously devoted to making the team The Best EverTM. The first time the Whitebeards saw Ace throw a hail mary pass they swore it was going way too wide until Luffy tore down the whole length of the field, leapt like the monkey he is higher than anyone thought possible and slammed that ball down. Now the Whitebeards know to expect anything.

Also in my head Ace is the canon 2-3 years older than Luffy, and while he only became his legal guardian upon turning 18, he has helped raised him and the Whitebeards do a double-take every time responsible Ace comes out. Before Luffy joins the team Ace has to beg early off practice to go to a parent-teacher conference. After they're both on the team Ace still makes him PB&J sandwiches after practice, unruffled by doing it in front of everyone in the locker room.

Bootleg Marineford is a game where everyone (and especially Ace, under a lot of pressure) has been physically and mentally wrung out. The Marines team keep trying to sack Ace and get closer and closer, but Marco digs in his heels and makes an impassable barrier of himself. Until there's a crack in the line... And a small opening forms where Teach, who has been fighting with everyone recently, but especially Whitebeard and Ace, stands. Offensive player Akainu, who probably weighs twice what Ace does, hits him like an avalanche. Ace goes down. When Akainu is finally dragged off him, he stays down.

Luffy and Whitebeard are sprinting across the field toward Ace, but Marco's mind has hit the blue screen of death. There's nothing but static behind his eyes as he stares at his fallen quarterback.

The game is suspended and put up for a rematch. Neither Ace nor Marco, who did his level best to murder Akainu right there on the field, play.

(Ace is eventually fine, but now knows up front and personal the effects of a long-term concussion).

Claims not to know that much about American football, proceeds to clearly and accurately describe the exact plot I was also imagining—

YES! Are you KIDDING ME? This is perfect, I’ve got more

They don’t call him ‘Fire Fist’ for nothing, the kid throws missiles. The way Ace and Luffy find each other across an entire football field drops most people’s jaws.

Luffy will track the ball wherever Aces throws it. If Luffy get’s hurt in a collision catching the ball, Ace firmly believes that’s his fault.

That being said, Luffy is notoriously indestructible.

Bootleg Marineford: (That’s a hilarious thing to call it btw)

There was a flag thrown the second Ace got hit. Yes, it was Teach’s fault for leaving an open window. And. Akainu was needlessly brutal. Whitebeard was cursing him out before they even hit the ground.

Luffy was incredibly protective over Ace while he was unconscious. There were cameras everywhere.

Marco needed three people to pull him off Akainu. Instead of apologizing, he later told the media he’d gladly do it again.

Ace is out for the rest of the season. He’s absolutely devastated. That being said, he stood on the sidelines for every game.

Physical and neurological therapy were a bitch. Lots of ‘long talks’ with Pops.

Of course, Ace comes back to the field as soon as he’s better. Now, playing with the most overprotective offensive line you’ve ever seen in your life.

Thank you for writing this, it was so much fun to read!! And there’s a lot I didn't even mention like the adjusted age gap (perfect for this) and parent teacher conferences— I love it all!

[waterdeepwife]

Adding into this thread because this means so much to me.

Not only is Gale’s abuser and toxic relationship overlooked, but so is Wyll’s. People even straight up ship Wyll and Mizora. And I honestly think there is only one reason for this; the abusers are women. All my life I’ve seen people struggle to admit that women can take advantage and hurt men, that women can be abusers. Unfortunately this shined through in the BG3 fandom. I’ve even seen somebody straight up admit that Gale can’t be the victim because he is a man. People and to see more male victim representation yet mischaracterize and villainize both Gale and Wyll. It’s extremely heartbreaking and truthfully a little disturbing.

I’ve seen people call Gale a manipulator and a terrible person while they are romancing Astarion. Now don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love Astarion, but that is incredibly hypocritical. There was a whole video on TikTok of somebody comparing Gale (a fictional character) to their real life narcissistic ex, which was insane all on its on. But at the same time were romancing Astarion, who’s romance literally starts with him manipulating Tav. I know it’s apart of his story, but it needs to be acknowledged. The hypocrisy in the fandom is what really grinds my gears more than anything.

I really wish the game would allow us to explore and show Gale how toxic his relationship with Mystra really was. He has a few moments of clarity, but goes right back to pretending again. Now I mean I want to explore and show Gale how he was used in a much more gentle way, obviously.

Gale is almost always being put down in the game, even by us when we are in a romantic relationship with him. I wonder if Larian intended for Gale to be the punching bag for the fandom, because you get so many opportunities to be flat out terrible to Gale, but you don’t really get that opportunity with the other characters. I also wonder if Larian purposely muddied the water about Gale and his abuse so they didn’t have to address the topic of female abuser and male victim? Of course I could be reading into things.

I have so much more that I could say, but I will simply leave it at this for now. Soryr for inserting myself, but I really wanted to talk about it.

I was trying to read some arguments on the whole "did mystra groom gale" debate. It doesn't make too much of a difference to me whether she did groom him or not because the relationship was still deeply unhealthy even without the grooming aspect. As a csa survivor, I tend to accept the grooming interpretation simply because I see a lot of myself in him. Out of the whole cast of companions, it's him that's painfully relatable oftentimes. I do understand this interpretation might not be canon though, so I wanted to look more into it to see the truth.

But aside from that, I saw people arguing that turning gale into some victim of mystra would diminish his character arc because gale would be lacking in agency and that it excuses all his wrongdoings and that... irked me.

A person being a victim doesn't mean they're free from all blame and are some sad little meow meow. We see this in ascended astarion, who falls into the victim becoming the abuser cycle.

It's a very black and white view of victims that would ultimately do more harm than good because it leads people to being dismissive of real victims because they don't fit the pure and ideal mold of one.

[loveandleases]

In a zombie apocalypse, in the style of The Last Of Us, would the Ros manage to survive like in this world, would they give their lives to protect Mc?

I think all of them would give their lives to protect MC. I'm not including Jade in that of course.

❤️ Cam - He would become very resourceful, he's stil hotheaded in his ways, but he is also more cautious of what's going on. Who can and can't be trusted. He'll likely have a few close calls, but I think he would survive. (until much much later and be killed off in a heartbreaking way. but i would never do that so.)

💙 G - They try their best to hide their emotions, how everything is falling apart around them and it only worsens their mood. They would definitely be putting their medical knowledge to good use. Their would be more noticeable cracks in the mask they wear, chipped away by the horror that is now their life. And they would be more honest with themselves and their feelings, because their time is so limited.

💚 Kara - I could see her using her charm to get by, which in her opinion is wasteful of her time and her energy. But if it keeps them safe, then she would have no problem with it. She can be cunning, and I think this would be the perfect time for her to show it. Her dominating personality would really push her to take action, and maybe even cause her to bump head with others.

💛 M - They will pull out some serious zombie knowledge. From the B rated movies they loved before, to anime/manga even games. M really tries to make things make sense. Honestly this spurns their creativity and that is something that would become a bit of a crutch for them, a form of escape. But escaping isn't something they have the time to do, they have to come to terms with whats happening. It would be a trying time for M, and MC would have to help them through it. M isn't always happy-go-lucky. They've dealt with horrible situations before. This is just another facet of that, and they would deal with it. And become someone that MC could really depend on.

💜 Isaac - Death they know oh too well. It's already shaped them in ways they've still not dealt with. (certain spoiler things about Isaac would come in helpful navigating this new life) Isaac would constantly be worried about MC. Especially when they've come to terms with their feelings. To the point they would make some dumb choices that could cost them their life. But if it means MC is safe... then it's a cost Isaac would pay ten-fold. They would be really good at bartering, and likely become a runner. Dangerous but the pay is good. It at least gives them some stability. There isn't one decision he makes that doesn't take MC into consideration.

🖤 Ardent - (this idiot would get himself killed because he doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut.) The good thing about him, he paints a very dominating image. One that many would think twice about trying to take advantage of. Not to mention the way he talks, with bite to his words, Ardent makes more enemies than friends. But that's fine, because friends close, enemies closer. This way, he knows who to suspect. I think he would likely lose Cupid, not because she dies but because he wants her safe, and Ardent knows its not safe to be with him in the city. That would really break him. Which means it's a good thing he has MC. Ardent would be the type to push others away, thinking it's for their safety, but MC would be the one to remind him that they’re capable of making their own choices and don’t need him to shield them from everything.

[soluversworld]

MISTER x SHOUJO - Subaru Oogami x G.N Reader part 2!

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Words: 16000

Genre: G.N Reader (Fluff, Angst!)

Summary: You and Geo navigate an unconventional relationship built on misunderstanding, tension, and unexpected moments of connection. After a lie spirals out of control, rumors spread that Geo is your boyfriend, much to the confusion of everyone around you—including Geo himself. Despite his cold and hostile demeanor, Geo reluctantly agrees to play along, but only for his own peace and solitude.

Geo’s sharp, broody personality often leaves you feeling uncertain and overwhelmed. He doesn’t hesitate to criticize you, flick your forehead when you talk back, or scold you for minor mistakes. Yet, he also protects you, whether from prying classmates or persistent admirers, and even takes your hand to make a show of your “relationship” when his friends are watching.

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of

Tension-filled dynamics with elements of power imbalance and verbal hostility’s

Rumors and social pressures leading to feelings of alienation and discomfort.

Physical gestures of dominance (e.g., flicking foreheads, pinching).

Underlying themes of unresolved trauma and complex family dynamics

Solivan Brugmanisa

Violence, Blood

EXTRA: He’s a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, Been reading a lot of Shoujo mangas why not! Make Geo and reader in such a simple plot!

The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the pavement, soaking into the cracks of the worn-out sidewalk. You hadn't brought an umbrella.

Brittney and Jess stood beside you under the overhang of the school building, the cold air thick with the scent of damp earth and wet asphalt. Jess was already dialing her dad, her fingers moving with practiced ease across her phone screen.

“He’ll be here soon,” she said, glancing at you with an expression that was both neutral and expectant.

“You don’t have to—” You started, but Brittney cut you off.

“Don’t even think about saying you’re fine.” Her voice was firm, but there was warmth beneath it. “We’re friends, right? Friends take care of each other.”

Friends.

The word sank into your chest like an unfamiliar weight. It was kind. Too kind. You didn’t deserve it. Not when you were tangled up in a mess of lies and half-truths with Geo, not when—

A sharp snap broke through your thoughts. The unmistakable sound of an umbrella opening.

The three of you turned at the same time.

Geo stood there, holding a sleek black umbrella, his aquamarine eyes sharp and unreadable. His presence alone was enough to draw attention—even in the dim light of the rainy evening, he looked like something out of a different world, the mist curling around his tall frame like he belonged in it.

“Jess. Brittney.” His voice was flat, but there was an edge to it. “You two can go. I’ll take them home.”

Silence.

Jess blinked. Brittney’s eyebrows shot up.

You? With Geo?

No further explanation. No room for argument. He simply stood there, umbrella in hand, waiting.

Deryl appeared out of nowhere, slinging an arm around Geo’s shoulders with a grin that could only mean trouble. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Did the cold-blooded prince of archery just volunteer to be someone’s escort? What’s next? Holding hands?”

Geo’s eyes snapped toward him, sharp as a blade. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. The death glare alone was enough to make Deryl lift his hands in surrender, still smirking but taking a step back. “Okay, okay, damn. Didn’t know you were that serious.”

You swallowed, shifting uncomfortably.

Jess and Brittney exchanged glances, their previous teasing momentarily forgotten.

“It’s fine,” you said quietly, forcing a small smile. “Really. Thank you for offering, but I can—”

Geo’s stare darkened.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Brittney sighed, rolling her eyes, and grabbed Jess’s arm. “Let’s just go. If we argue, we’ll be standing here all night, and my hair doesn’t do well in humidity.”

Jess hesitated but eventually nodded. “Text me when you get home,” she murmured before following Brittney toward the parking lot, disappearing into the storm.

Now it was just you and Geo.

The moment stretched.

You hesitated before stepping forward, murmuring an apology to Jess and Brittney as you walked toward him. He didn’t react, just turned and started walking, his long strides forcing you to match his pace.

The umbrella was big enough to shield you both, but just barely. You were close—too close. The sound of raindrops pattering against the fabric above you was deafening in the silence.

People stared. Whispered.

You caught snippets.

“Isn’t that Geo?”

“They’re actually walking together?”

“Did that student change him?”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening around the strap of your bag. The rumors were getting worse.

Geo, as expected, said nothing. His face was unreadable, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a quiet sort of irritation that made the air feel heavier.

You walked in silence, the only sounds between you being the soft tap, tap, tap of your footsteps on the wet pavement. The whole time, he held the umbrella steadily, keeping you covered without so much as a glance in your direction.

You hated this silence. It felt suffocating.

After a few blocks, you finally gathered the courage to speak. “…You really didn’t have to.”

Geo didn’t respond immediately. His grip on the umbrella tightened slightly. “You would’ve walked in the rain.”

You blinked. “So?”

He exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the cold air. “That’s stupid.”

Your lips parted, but you had no immediate reply to that.

You studied his face—the way his jaw tensed slightly, the furrow of his brows. He looked calm on the surface, but there was something deeper beneath it, something restrained.

You glanced at his hands. His fingers, long and calloused from years of archery, curled tightly around the umbrella’s handle.

“…You don’t like this, do you?” You murmured, half to yourself.

Geo’s eyes flickered toward you for a fraction of a second before he looked away. “What do you think?”

You sighed. “That’s a no.”

Another silence.

More whispers from passing students.

You couldn’t help but ask, “Why do you care what happens to me?”

Geo stopped walking.

The sudden pause made you nearly bump into him. Your breath hitched as he turned slightly, his sharp aquamarine eyes locking onto yours.

It was brief. Just a second.

Then he looked away again, continuing forward as if nothing had happened.

“Because,” he finally muttered, voice lower than before, “you’re part of this mess now.”

That was it. No further explanation.

The rain poured relentlessly, drenching the pavement in shimmering puddles. Under the shared umbrella, you could hear the hushed murmurs of onlookers, their whispers weaving into the storm.

You turned to Geo with exaggerated enthusiasm, a sudden, wicked idea sparking in your mind.

“Oh, darling~” you cooed, dramatically pressing a hand to your chest. “Aren’t we just the happiest couple? Walking home together in the rain, side by side, sharing such an intimate moment?”

Geo twitched. His eye twitched. His soul twitched.

“Shut up,” he deadpanned.

You ignored him, pressing on with a theatrical flourish. “Oh, how romantic this is! Just the two of us, against the cruel, stormy world! I swear this must be fate, my dear—”

Geo clicked his tongue, adjusting his grip on the umbrella with thinly veiled irritation. “Hold this properly,” he muttered, shifting it slightly in your direction. “You’re making me get wet.”

You flinched.

For a brief moment, you nearly dropped the act—his words striking something deeply embarrassing within you. He wasn’t even trying to be suggestive, but your brain immediately short-circuited.

Geo noticed. His scowl deepened.

“Not like that, you idiot.”

You cleared your throat, snapping back to reality. “R-Right.”

With an awkward shuffle, you tried to hold the umbrella better, but it was already a lost cause. The angle was off, and soon, Geo was frowning harder, clearly feeling the cold drizzle creeping onto his shoulder.

Then, with a sharp, irritated sigh, he did something unexpected.

Geo stopped walking, opened his bag, and pulled out—

Another umbrella.

Another. Umbrella.

You stared.

He had two this whole time?!

Geo flicked the new one open with a practiced motion, took a single step away from you, and then—without a glance back—simply walked off, his own umbrella shielding him completely while you were left standing there, blinking in betrayal.

“H-Hey!” You called after him, gripping the one he shoved into your hands. “Wait a damn second!”

“Go home,” Geo said flatly, not slowing down.

You hurried after him, huffing. “Why do you get to walk off with your own umbrella while I have to stand here looking—”

“I don’t want to be seen with freaks like you near my place,” he cut in, voice as cold as the rain itself. “I don’t care what happens to you. Just go.”

The words stung more than they should have.

You clenched the handle of the umbrella, watching as he continued forward, his figure growing smaller under the storm.

But then you saw it.

A sleek, black car parked at the curb. A driver waiting outside, umbrella in hand. And standing near it, glaring daggers at the poor man, was Geo.

“I told you I don’t need a driver,” he snapped, his voice barely audible over the rain.

The bodyguard—because of course he had a bodyguard—merely sighed and gestured toward the car. “Apologies, sir. Please get inside.”

Geo gritted his teeth, but eventually, with one last frustrated glance around, he yanked the car door open and disappeared inside.

You stood there, watching as the vehicle pulled away, headlights flickering in the downpour.

You had forgotten.

Geo wasn’t just the broody, moody, overachieving archer. He was rich—filthy rich.

You glanced at the umbrella in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the quiet gift he hadn’t even acknowledged.

Then, with a sigh, you turned in the opposite direction, heading home.

The rhythmic pattering of rain followed you all the way home, but it didn’t wash away the strange, twisting feeling in your chest.

Geo’s words still echoed in your head.

"I don’t want to be seen with freaks like you near my place."

You scoffed, gripping the umbrella tighter as you trudged forward. Whatever. It wasn’t like you wanted to be seen with him either.

And yet…

A part of you lingered on the way he silently handed you the umbrella. On the way he had simply waited for you earlier, without a word, standing under the rain. On the way he—

“Nope. No. Absolutely not.” You shook your head violently, trying to knock the thoughts out of your brain. This was getting out of hand.

You couldn’t keep doing this. This whole fake relationship thing. The stares. The whispers. The emotional whiplash from Geo being a cold, scowling menace one second and then silently protecting you the next.

It was exhausting.

So, you needed a solution.

And then, like a divine revelation, it hit you.

True love.

Yes. That was the answer.

All you had to do was fall in love with someone real. Someone who actually wanted to be with you. Someone who wasn’t a broody, emotionally constipated archery prodigy with a superiority complex.

If you found an actual person to like—no, to love—then this whole stupid, fake romance thing with Geo wouldn’t matter anymore.

You wouldn't have to keep up the act.

Wouldn’t have to deal with his flicks to your forehead.

Wouldn’t have to endure his sharp glares or his occasional, frustrating moments of protectiveness that made your heart almost falter.

No. None of that.

You just had to fall in love.

Easy, right?

…Right?

You stepped into your house, closing the umbrella, and let out a long, tired sigh.

Yeah. This would totally work.

It had to.

The Next Day: The Hunt for "True Love" (And Your Sanity)

You had a plan. A perfect, foolproof, completely rational plan.

Step one: Find someone attractive. Step two: Fall in love. Step three: Free yourself from this insufferable fake relationship with Geo.

Simple. Logical. Efficient.

So, with determination (and a slight, gnawing desperation), you set off to class, ready to find your one true love. Or at least someone who didn’t make you want to bash your head against a wall.

Candidate #1: The Handsome Senior

He was tall. He was charming. He had the kind of presence that made people turn their heads when he walked by. You heard he was a part of the student council. Mature, responsible, and respected. Perfect boyfriend material.

So, you casually walked by him, attempting your best "mysterious yet approachable" look.

And then you heard him speak.

"Oh, sorry, I can't hang out today. I have to alphabetize my sock collection."

…Excuse me?

You stopped dead in your tracks. Did you mishear that? Did he just say… socks?

You glanced at his friend, who just nodded understandingly. "Right, right. Color-coded or just standard alphabetizing?"

"Both. It’s a double system. Gotta keep things organized."

Yeah. No. Absolutely not. You weren’t about to date someone who spent their free time alphabetizing their wardrobe.

You shuffled away before he noticed your stare.

Candidate #2: The Sweet, Soft-Spoken Classmate

She was kind. She had a soothing voice, like a character straight out of a slice-of-life anime. She was the kind of person who would probably knit scarves for stray kittens in her free time.

You sat next to her in class, thinking, Yes. This is the kind of warmth I need in my life.

Then she sneezed.

And it was the single most ungodly, horrific, window-shattering sound you had ever heard in your life.

The entire classroom fell into stunned silence. A few students subtly checked their ears for damage. One guy in the back whispered, "I saw my life flash before my eyes."

Meanwhile, she just sniffled sweetly and continued taking notes.

You decided this was a battle your eardrums weren’t willing to fight.

Candidate #3: The Gym Guy

Alright. Time for something different. Maybe a more physical type. Someone with a strong presence, confidence, charisma.

So, you went to the campus gym, looking for potential.

And oh, you found potential.

A muscular, determined-looking guy was lifting weights in the corner, the epitome of strength and discipline. He had an intense look in his eyes, like he was training for a heroic final battle.

You watched for a second, debating if you should strike up a conversation.

Then he looked at himself in the mirror and whispered, "You are a majestic beast. The gods themselves weep at your strength."

Okay. Time to leave.

Candidate #4: The Bad Boy Wannabe

Alright. You’d tried polite. You’d tried cute. You’d tried athletic. Maybe a little danger was the way to go.

So, you found someone who fit the bill.

Leather jacket. Piercings. Probably smelled like cigarette smoke and rebellion. He leaned against a vending machine like he was posing for a magazine shoot.

You steeled yourself and walked past him, making sure to glance his way.

He smirked. "Hey, babe. What’s your name?"

Okay. Good start. Flirty. Confident. Classic bad-boy energy.

Then he winked. With both eyes.

BOTH. EYES.

Like a weirdly slow, uncomfortable double blink.

Your soul left your body.

You walked away without a word.

Candidate #5: Literally Anyone Else at This Point

You were getting desperate. Someone. Anyone. Please.

You tried chatting with the friendly barista at the café. But he wouldn’t stop talking about his pet lizard and how they were "spiritually connected in a past life."

You tried making conversation with a fellow bookworm at the library. But she responded with "The only true love I need is between the pages of a good novel."

You even considered the quiet nerdy kid in the corner, but then you saw him aggressively arguing about the exact power levels of anime characters in an online forum.

It was hopeless.

No one felt right. No one fit.

And as much as you tried to ignore it, there was a nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you why.

Because every time you tried to picture yourself with someone else…

Every time you imagined soft, romantic moments with someone new…

Your mind kept wandering back to Geo.

To the way he held the umbrella over you without a word. To the way his fingers had curled around yours in the cafeteria. To the way he scolded you, flicked your forehead, glared at you like an angry cat—yet still, somehow, always ended up looking out for you.

You shook your head violently. No. Absolutely not.

Geo was cold. Geo was distant. Geo didn’t want to be seen with you.

This was fake.

So why…?

The moment you stepped out of class, you knew something was wrong.

The hallway was too quiet.

Like the unsettling calm before a horror movie jumpscare.

And then—

"THERE THEY ARE!"

You barely had time to blink before you were surrounded. A group of girls, all dressed in varying shades of Geo’s fanclub aesthetic—dark colors, sharp eyeliner, and expressions that screamed unhinged devotion—stood before you like a council of judges prepared to deliver a death sentence.

"Come with us," one of them said. It wasn’t a request.

You weren’t dumb. Running would just make it worse. So, with a heavy sigh, you let yourself be dragged—literally dragged—to the school playground.

A trial was about to begin.

Geo’s Divine Court

They stood in a circle, blocking any possible exit.

"HOW COULD YOU?!" one girl shrieked.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" you shot back, already exhausted.

"You don’t deserve him!" another spat. "Geo—**OUR GEO—**is a divine being! He is to be worshipped from afar! Not… touched!"

Someone gasped at the mere idea of physical contact.

You rubbed your temples. "You guys are insane."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

You groaned. "Look. If you all love him so much, why don’t you just confess?"

Gasps. Literal gasps.

One girl looked horrified. Another clutched her chest like she was about to faint.

"Confess?!" one finally shrieked. "That’s—that’s sacrilegious!"

"You don’t just confess to Geo!" another shouted. "You admire him from afar!"

"You appreciate his existence!"

"You burn incense in his honor!"

…What?

"Hold on, hold on," you cut in. "Let me get this straight. You’re all obsessed with him, but none of you want to actually date him?"

"Of course not!"

"He is too pure for a mere mortal like us!"

"He is an untouchable deity!"

You stared at them. Then muttered under your breath, "People are so dumb."

Unfortunately, they heard you.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!"

You flinched. Great. Time to dig your grave deeper.

"I mean…" You cleared your throat. "It’s just… kind of stupid? You guys are acting like he’s some kind of god, when in reality, he’s just a guy. A really rude guy, but still a guy."

Silence.

Tension filled the air. They were ready to kill you.

You swallowed nervously. "Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I confessed. He accepted. It’s not my fault you guys are too scared to try."

"WHAT?!"

"Oh my god." You let out a nervous laugh, waving them off. "It’s literally only a rule for cowards who won’t confess. I confessed. He said yes. You guys are just annoying, ahahaha—"

The world froze.

You realized what you just said.

Oh no.

Their eyes burned into you, the sheer rage radiating from them enough to make you question every decision you had ever made.

And then—

"YOU WHAT?!?!"

Meanwhile, Elsewhere…

Geo sneezed.

Deryl, standing next to him, snickered. "Someone must be talking about you~"

Geo scowled. He had a bad feeling about this.

Just when you thought you were about to be devoured by a mob of rabid fangirls, a voice cut through the chaos.

"Oi."

The air shifted.

The girls turned, faces paling instantly.

A guy stood behind them—tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably a delinquent. His uniform was messily worn, his red hair a wild contrast to the dark scowl he wore.

"You lot done acting like clowns?" he said, his voice slow and unimpressed.

Silence.

Then—

Without another word, the fangirls scattered like roaches.

You blinked. Huh. That was easy.

The guy sighed, looking down at you. "You okay?"

You realized you were still sitting on the ground, dirt on your sleeves and a sore feeling in your wrist from where one of them had grabbed you.

"...Yeah."

He held out a hand. "C'mon."

Hesitantly, you took it.

Warm. His grip was strong, but gentle.

"Let’s get you patched up," he said, leading you toward the infirmary.

An Unexpected Invitation

The antiseptic stung as the guy carefully dabbed a cotton swab against a small scrape on your arm.

"You sure you’re Geo’s lover?" he asked casually.

You tensed. "...Yeah?"

For a split second, his lips curled into a smirk—sharp, knowing. But then, just as quickly, it was replaced with a kind smile.

"That so?" He leaned back. "Well, you must be pretty special then."

You laughed awkwardly. "Not really."

"You are if you got him to say yes."

You shrugged, trying to change the subject. "Anyway… thanks for helping me out."

He waved it off. "Nah, don’t worry about it. People like them are just annoying." He paused, then suddenly asked, "Hey, you busy Sunday?"

You blinked. "Uh… no?"

"Cool." His smile was too sweet. "Let’s hang out then."

What.

Your brain short-circuited.

A GUY JUST ASKED YOU OUT?!

This was NEW TERRITORY. Geo never asked you out—he just dragged you places without warning. But this guy? He was polite. He asked. He even looked kind while doing it!

"O-Okay!" you said before your nerves could catch up to you.

He grinned. "Then let’s exchange numbers."

Your heart was racing.

After swapping contacts, you smiled at your phone like an idiot. He was so nice.

This was great! Maybe this was exactly what you needed!

A nice, normal, sweet guy who didn’t flick your forehead or act like you were a burden—

The infirmary door slammed open.

Possessiveness in Motion

Geo stood there, face unreadable, gaze immediately locking onto you.

"...Come."

You blinked. "What?"

Geo didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t look at the red-haired guy. Just at you.

"...Right now?"

His eyes darkened. "Come."

The air grew thick. The red-haired guy tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze as he observed the tension.

But Geo didn’t acknowledge him. He was focused on you—and not in a way that made you feel safe.

You hesitated, glancing at the guy beside you. He gave you a gentle look, as if silently asking if you were okay.

Geo finally turned his head.

The temperature in the room dropped.

It wasn’t a glare—it was worse. It was indifference mixed with a warning.

Like Geo was looking at a bug he didn’t want to waste his time on.

The red-haired guy just grinned.

"Heh."

Geo ignored him, turning back to you, waiting.

You sighed. "...Sorry," you muttered to the guy before standing up.

He just leaned back in his chair, watching as you left with Geo.

And the moment the door shut behind you—

A chuckle.

Low, quiet, but unmistakably mirthful.

"Heh… heheheh…"

His smile stretched into something darker.

"Geo, Geo… you’re gonna be just as heartbroken as me."

You were just about to step out of the infirmary when Geo appeared again, his presence like a storm cloud, sudden and looming.

"Give me your phone." His voice was colder than the air in the room.

You froze, blinking at him. "What?"

He didn’t answer, just held his hand out, waiting for you to comply. You hesitated. This was getting out of hand. Why was he suddenly acting like this? But you had no choice but to hand him your phone. What else could you do? His grip on your arm was firm, his gaze unyielding.

He swiped through your phone without so much as a glance at you. The silence between you two was thick, heavy with confusion and something else—something that felt like a storm gathering in the distance.

Then, without any explanation, he went to your contact list and found the number for the red-haired guy. You stared, bewildered, as he deleted it with a few swift movements.

"Geo! Why—"

You started, your voice shaking with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "Why did you do that? He was nice to me! He helped me when those girls were... were attacking me. He was—"

"I know what he was," Geo interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the air like ice. "He was just some guy who thought he could flirt with you and make me look like a fool."

You blinked. "He wasn’t like that at all!"

Geo was glaring at you now, and for a moment, it almost felt like he was staring straight into your soul. His eyes were cold, calculating, full of contempt and something else—something that looked like... disappointment.

"Why?" You repeated, more quietly this time. "Why would you delete his number? He was a good person. He treated me like I was... like I was someone worth—"

Geo suddenly grabbed your phone and shoved it into your hand. "Don’t talk to me about being worth something." His voice was low, strained, as if he was holding back something much darker. "You don’t get it, do you?"

You stared at him, mouth agape. "What don’t I get, Geo?"

"Everything," he spat. "Everything you're doing is fake." His words stung, harsh and unforgiving. "You think I’m doing this because I want to see you all cozy with some random guy who probably doesn’t care about you? I’m doing this because you’re too damn naïve."

Your heart pounded in your chest. "I’m naïve?!" You felt your anger rise, your voice trembling but growing stronger. "You’re the one deleting my number like some kind of jealous psycho. How is that any better, huh?"

Geo looked at you, his eyes darkening even more. "It’s not about being jealous," he snapped. "It’s about you getting caught up in some stupid fantasy, thinking everything is some damn fairytale. There’s no ‘true love,’ no ‘perfect guy.’ There’s just people, and they’ll all use you if you let them."

You were shaking now, feeling like the world was spinning around you. His words cut deep, but something about the way he said it—something about the way he looked at you, like he was speaking from experience, made you want to scream at him.

"I don’t need you to protect me, Geo." The words slipped out before you could stop them. "You’re not helping me, you’re just trying to control me. You act like you care, but all you do is push me away every time I try to understand you. Maybe you don’t even know what the hell you want!"

Geo didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just stood there, glaring at you, as if weighing your words. Then, finally, he spoke. "You’re an idiot." His voice was thick with disgust. "You think everything’s so easy, don’t you? That all this... this fake dating thing, it’s all some stupid game to you." He paused, his voice growing quieter, as if he was trying to swallow something heavy. "I’m trying to help you, but you’re too damn stubborn to see it."

You were speechless, all of a sudden feeling like the world around you was collapsing. "Help me?" You repeated, your voice trembling, not entirely sure if you were angry or hurt. "Help me by making me feel like I’m worthless? Like nothing matters except your control over me? You don’t care about me, Geo. You just want to make sure I don’t make my own choices."

Geo’s expression faltered for the briefest second, his eyes narrowing. "I’m not some hero, okay? I never wanted to be."

But you couldn’t stand it anymore. "Then stop acting like you are!" you snapped. "Stop trying to make decisions for me!"

Geo stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. His eyes softened, just for a moment, but the coldness quickly returned. "You’re too much of a damn mess to know what’s good for you." He was speaking quietly now, as though talking to himself more than to you. "You don’t even know how dangerous it is to get attached to people like that guy. He’s not real, just like this whole stupid thing between us. Fake. All of it."

You felt your heart sink. You had always known Geo was messed up, but hearing him say those words… it made everything feel like it was breaking apart.

You stepped back, your voice barely above a whisper. "You know what? You’re right." You shook your head, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.- "Yes! But it's not fake like us!"

Geo didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He just turned and walked away, his back to you, leaving you with your tangled thoughts and a broken heart.

It was Sunday, and the sun was beginning to dip low, casting a warm golden glow over everything. The red-haired guy, whose name you now knew was Kai, had taken you out to a café and even showed you a few places in town you'd never seen before. For the first time in a long time, you were enjoying yourself, feeling something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a while: happiness.

He was so kind, so different from Geo, in all the right ways. There was no bitterness or possessiveness in his eyes, no constant tension in his voice. He smiled easily, laughed easily, and you found yourself relaxing in his company, like you could just be... you. No pretenses, no drama. It felt... normal.

As the evening progressed, Kai had taken you to a small bar where the two of you shared a drink, talking about everything and nothing. You felt at ease with him, so different from the constant pressure you felt when Geo was around. It was refreshing. When you reached for your wallet to pay for your drink, Kai stopped you with a soft laugh.

"Don't worry about it," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "It's on me."

You froze for a moment, feeling your face warm up. "Oh, no, I can pay. I don’t mind." You weren’t used to anyone paying for you, especially someone who wasn’t your family. But Kai just shook his head and smiled.

"It’s fine. I insisted."

You smiled back, a little embarrassed, but also grateful. There was something so nice about this moment, so normal.

But then, as you were both walking out, Kai hesitated, his expression shifting slightly. You noticed it, the way his shoulders stiffened, and the way his smile faltered. It was subtle, but it was there. He glanced at you before letting out a small sigh.

"Sorry, I should’ve thought this through," he said, his voice softer now. "I... I forgot that you have a boyfriend. I shouldn't have taken you out like this."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. "Boyfriend?" you repeated, confused. You tried to push the tightness in your chest down, but it was hard to ignore. "I... I don't have a boyfriend."

Kai looked taken aback by your response, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he studied your face. "But... you’ve been acting like it. With Geo, right?"

"Geo and I are... fake dating," you muttered, the truth finally spilling out. "It’s not real, not the way you think. It’s all just... to get through some things." You paused, unsure of how to explain. "I’m single, Kai. I’m... not with anyone."

You could see his expression soften, and for a moment, you thought he might have been relieved. His eyes met yours, and there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Oh," he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "I... I didn’t realize. I’m sorry for assuming."

But then, as if something inside him snapped, that smile faded. His gaze hardened, and his next words came out a little too quickly, too harshly.

"You know," he started, a bitter edge to his voice, "I wasted my entire day today, trying to show you a good time." You blinked, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. "I really thought you were different. But maybe I was wrong."

"What... what do you mean?" you asked, your heart suddenly racing in your chest. Something about the way he said it didn’t sit right with you.

Kai looked at you, his expression now full of disdain. "I was just trying to show you something real. Show you someone who cares, someone who doesn’t treat you like shit... unlike that guy you’ve been pretending to date. Geo, right?" His words were sharp, cutting deep. "I thought maybe you could see me as someone better. But clearly, I was just wasting my time."

Your stomach dropped, and you felt yourself shrink under the weight of his words. "Kai... What are you talking about?"

He looked away, his jaw tight as he exhaled deeply, clearly frustrated. "Geo stole my girlfriend," he spat, his voice full of venom. "She was perfect, you know? Smart, funny, beautiful. She was mine, and I loved her. But one day, she looked at Geo, and—poof—just like that, she was gone. Gone because she realized Geo was the real beauty. The one everyone falls for. And you know what? She still likes him, even though he rejected her. He doesn't even care."

Your heart twisted in your chest as you listened to Kai’s words, but the way he was speaking... it was like there was a darker undertone to all of this. You felt the pieces start to click together, but you didn’t want to believe it.

"I just wanted to show that asshole how it feels," Kai continued, his voice shaking with emotion. "I wanted to take his lover away from him. To make him feel what I felt when she left me. You’re just a pawn in this stupid game, you know? Just like she was a pawn for Geo." His words were like knives, stabbing deep into your heart. "I used you. I took you out, made you feel special, just to show Geo that you could be mine, too. But I guess you’re just as much of a fool as I was, huh?"

You felt your chest tighten, your breath shallow. The realization hit you like a brick wall—he had been using you all along. Kai wasn’t interested in you for who you were. He didn’t care about your feelings, your happiness, none of it. You were just a tool for him to take revenge on Geo, to make him feel like he had won.

All of a sudden, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of everything sinking in. You felt stupid, broken, like a fool who had fallen for it all. Everything had been a lie, a setup, from the very beginning.

"I—" you tried to speak, but the words were stuck in your throat. How could you have been so blind?

Kai smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Tell a guy the truth before you waste his money and time. Don’t make the same mistake I did, sweetheart."

Kai’s laughter echoed in the quiet air, his voice sharp and mocking. The sound cut through you like a knife, every word he spat at you stinging worse than the last.

"You really are that stupid, huh?" he sneered, his eyes flashing with cruel satisfaction. "You were so desperate for love that you fell for my little act. How pathetic. I gave you a little taste, and you bought into it like a fool."

You could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, each one making you feel smaller and more worthless. He looked at you with such disdain, as if you were the joke in a game he had already won. You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you, but it was impossible. His words, his laughter... they were too much.

Tears began to sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here, not now. But it was too late. They slipped down your cheeks anyway, and you couldn’t stop them. It was a mixture of hurt, betrayal, and anger. You had trusted him, believed him when he was kind. But it had all been a lie. All of it.

Suddenly, a loud cough broke through the air, and you looked up to find a familiar figure standing near you. It was Geo, sitting down beside you with that cold, almost indifferent look on his face. The way he looked at Kai—like he was nothing more than a pest—was enough to make Kai pause and turn around.

Kai’s face twisted in anger as he stood up. "This is none of your business, Geo!" he snapped. "She was my girlfriend. You stole her from me!"

Geo glanced at Kai with complete disgust, his lip curling in a barely concealed sneer. "Stole her?" Geo repeated, his voice dripping with scorn. "I didn’t steal anything, idiot. She came to me. She fell for me on her own. I didn’t even know you existed, much less care about your relationship with her. So, quit whining like a child."

Kai’s mouth hung open for a moment, stunned by the audacity of Geo’s words. But his face twisted back into anger as he opened his mouth to retort. But before he could say another word, Geo turned his back to him and reached out to take your hand, pulling you closer.

"We’re leaving," Geo said, his voice low and commanding.

You felt like you were in a haze. The words still stung, and the tears were threatening to come again, but Geo’s touch grounded you. It felt... different, somehow, but in a way that was more real than anything you had felt all day. He didn’t say much, but there was a strange comfort in the way his hand wrapped around yours.

But as Geo led you away, something made you stop in your tracks. Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper, as you turned to look at Kai one last time.

"Was all of the kind things you said a lie?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The vulnerability in your voice was clear, and you didn’t care anymore. You just needed to know.

Kai’s response was just as cruel as the rest of his behavior. He threw his head back and laughed again, louder this time.

"Of course, it was a lie," he said, his tone dripping with venom. "You’re nothing more than a cheap little toy to play with. You fell so hard for me, but you’re just another person I used to get my revenge. I told you, you’re not worth it." His eyes glinted with malicious pleasure. "No thank you. You’re just desperate. And that’s your problem."

Your chest tightened painfully at his words, the tears that you had been fighting for so long finally breaking free. They ran down your cheeks, but you didn’t care anymore. They were just tears, a small release from everything that had been building up inside. You stared at the ground, unable to look at him any longer.

Geo’s expression softened just slightly as he turned to look at you. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you for a moment, taking in the sight of you so broken. His usual coldness seemed to slip away, but only for a moment, replaced by something almost... caring. But that didn’t last long.

Geo’s hand tightened around yours, and without warning, he turned back to face Kai, who was still standing there, laughing. His laughter died in an instant as Geo's gaze locked on him, dark and unwavering.

"Shut the hell up," Geo growled, his voice so low and dangerous that it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Kai opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Geo’s fist shot out and connected with his jaw with a sickening thud.

The force of the punch sent Kai stumbling back, and he fell to the ground, dazed and disoriented. You stood there, wide-eyed, as Geo glared down at him, his anger radiating off of him in waves.

"Stay the hell away from them," Geo spat, his voice deadly calm. "Next time, I won’t just punch you. I’ll shoot you with an arrow. Got it?" He gave one last, cold look to Kai, who was slowly getting to his feet, still looking dazed but clearly scared.

Kai didn’t even try to fight back. His face was twisted in a mixture of pain and fear, but before he could say anything more, he turned and ran, disappearing into the distance.

Geo stood there, breathing heavily, watching Kai go. After a moment, he turned back to you, his expression unreadable. You felt his gaze on you.

Wiping at your eyes, but your heart still felt heavy. The truth was, you didn’t know if you were okay yet. But Geo had done something for you today—something you never expected. He had protected you in a way no one else had.

Geo didn’t say anything else, just reached out and pulled you toward him, his hand still holding yours.

Geo walked ahead, his pace unhurried, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet street. You followed beside him, your mind buzzing with questions and confusion. It was almost like you were lost in a fog, unable to piece together everything that had just happened.

You glanced over at him, trying to catch a glimpse of the thoughts swirling behind his stoic expression. "Did you know about Kai from the start?" you asked quietly, breaking the silence.

He didn't look at you right away, but when he did, his eyes were sharp, almost cold. "Yeah. Guys like him? They're players," he muttered, voice devoid of any real emotion. "Don't involve me in nonsense like that."

You swallowed hard, biting your lip. The truth was, you didn’t understand any of it. You’d been caught up in a whirlwind of feelings, unsure of who to trust, unsure of what was real. But you couldn’t help but ask, "But even after you knew… you still came. Why?"

Geo's eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. He seemed to consider the question for a moment, but when he spoke, his words came out with a biting edge. "Because you’re delusional," he said bluntly. "That thing you left behind? That wasn’t love. It was a delusion." He shook his head, his gaze turning distant. "This kind of love? There’s no need to feel bad about it."

You blinked at him, not fully processing his words. Geo, with his usual coldness, was telling you that your feelings were nothing but an illusion. You didn’t even know how to respond. You wanted to argue, to tell him that he was wrong, but you felt small in that moment...

He was trying to comfort you..

But then, something inside you shifted.

You stopped walking, your heart suddenly light, the fog in your mind clearing for a brief moment. You felt an almost giddy sensation in your chest—like a spark of realization had ignited within you. Your lips parted in surprise as you quietly whispered to yourself, "Maybe… maybe I did fall."

The truth hit you like a wave. It wasn’t the first time you’d felt something for someone, but this was different. It was him. It had always been him, hadn’t it? Even with all the confusion, all the masks, you had fallen for Geo.

The moment felt so surreal, and yet, as you stood there, still processing it, your heart beat faster.

Geo had stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around. You wanted to say something, wanted to explain it all, but the words felt stuck in your throat. So instead, you simply whispered, “Thank you.” It was quiet, barely audible, but the sincerity was there, carried through the weight of your realization.

Geo paused, his body stiffening for a moment. For a second, you thought he hadn’t heard you. But then, without turning his head, he spoke again.

"Don’t thank me," he said, his voice softer, but still laced with the same coldness. "I didn’t do anything for you."

But his voice betrayed something. It wasn’t just indifference—it was more complicated than that. It was like he was struggling to reconcile something inside himself, some part of him that didn’t want to care but maybe, just maybe, did.

You took a hesitant step toward him, wanting to explain, wanting him to understand. But before you could open your mouth, Geo did something that made your heart skip a beat.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes snapping upward as though he remembered something—or someone—else.

His whole posture shifted. His jaw tightened, and his eyes took on a strange, unreadable expression.

It was like something from the past had resurfaced in his mind, something he didn’t want to confront. The brief flicker of vulnerability that you had seen earlier was gone, replaced by the mask of indifference you had become so accustomed to.

But you couldn’t help but feel the change in the air, like there was more to this than either of you had realized. His silence hung there between you, and even though you didn’t fully understand it, you felt like you were on the edge of something that neither of you was ready for.

Geo finally turned his head to look at you, his expression guarded, but his eyes betraying a storm of thoughts just beneath the surface.

"Don’t follow me," he said, his tone harsh again, as if he was trying to shut down whatever feelings might be lingering.

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you didn’t understand him, to try to explain everything you felt. But the words caught in your throat, because you realized something else.

He was running from something.

Geo, who had been so certain, so detached, was now holding something back. You didn’t know if it was something personal, something from his past, but you could feel it.

"Geo?" you whispered, but he didn’t answer. He just kept walking, further and further away.

SOME CHILDHOOD MEMORY

.."You built the snow people well!"

"It's supposed to be me and y/n!"

"Hah! Oh! Mister """"" is calling!" The two boys ran suddenly, the dark haired boy looked at the snow people. His Y/n, was destroyed.

"Young Master, I went to call your friend. Apparently, They left."

"......"

"........They promised.."

"............Why?!"

[in-hos-wife]

Request: Perhaps a little something of Sang-woo finding the reader after the players vote to end the games, before everyone returns? And he almost chickens out and doesn't approach them, but then they see him and run up to him? lowkey need him to have a soft moment, knowing what comes in those games *sobs*

Together in hell

Cho Sang-woo x reader

Summery: After the players vote to leave, reader sits on a park bench to calm their head. Sang-woo see’s them and is conflicted on what to do should he leave should he talk to them. While he’s sitting there thinking of what to do he hears his name and see’s you running over to him

Word count: 685

Tw: ooc maybe. I don’t know if I wrote his character right at all, mention of illness and death, idk if I missed something let me know

You're sitting on a bench thinking about everything, the game you just played and the people who died. The only reason your shaking body made it out alive. Is because you saw a guy hiding behind another man talking to a guy about staying behind people so the doll thing won’t see you moving, so you got behind him you hoped he wouldn’t notice thinking he’d move leaving you dead but when he saw you he didn’t he stayed in front of you till you both got to the finish line you thanked him when you guys got to the room that you woke up in and you both had a small conversation that’s how you learned his name Cho sang-woo and you told him yours, when it was time to vote you voted to leave and sang-woo voted to stay which upset you but you don’t know him all you know is he saved you and he’s been kind to you, he’s also very handsome and tall but you didn’t think of that much. Right now as you sit there you don’t realize sang-woo was nearby. Sang-woo was walking when he saw you and he froze, you looking at you hand clearly thinking about something. He remembers how you smiled at him when you both passed the line in red light green light and how softly you spoke when you thanked him but what he doesn’t understand is why you were there in that he’ll hole in the first place, he know you know why he was there it was broadcasted on that screen but he didn’t know how someone like you could end up in that place, maybe he could go ask you and talk to you but what if you didn’t want to talk to him or what if he scares you. His thoughts are a mess, as he stood there you look up and finally see him standing there frozen.

Before he could think anymore he hears your voice “Sang-woo! Sang-woo!” He looks over as you run over to him smiling “I didn’t think I’d see you again. Do you live close??” He softly smiles and nods “what about you?” You look up at him “kinda I just like the park” you walk back to the bench and tap the seat next to you and he sits down “well may I ask you a question mister?” He looks at you and nods “why did you want to stay?” He looked at you a pauses for a moment “I need the money to pay my debt I made some bad choices and to loans on my moms work and her house and I want to pay the debt that I put her place in” he looks down at the ground in shame and you put your hand on his shoulder “I bet you’ll get the money even if it means going back…” that makes him smile “what about you why where you in that hell hole in the first place” you look at him then look at the ground fidgeting with your fingers “my mother was ill and she ended up passing her medical bills are a lot of money and I haven’t had the money to pay them” he look at you and thinks for a moment, then he hugs you and you hug him back you both stay there for a moment just hugging he thinks of how small you are in his arms and he kept holding you till you let go “thank you I…I didn’t know I needed that” you stand up and write your number and a notepad you keep on you. “Here, so we can keep in touch sang-woo” you smile at him and hand him the paper, he looks down at your hand and takes your number “thank you” he smile and you both goes your separate ways, when he woke up back in the games he looked around he’s sees Gi-hun, ail and you and his faced drop. He decided he’s gonna try his best to keep you safe as much as he can.

Tagged

@pixiepipedreams

[evolnoomym]

🩵Wip Wednesday🩵

Well Hello everyone, after disappearing for a bit i thought it would only be appropriate to share all the recent wips. I’ve got some snippets and moodboards for y’all. Please enjoy 😉

Shoutout for the divider to @cafekitsune 🫶🏻

(As always, the snippets are nothing final and can still change)

First I’d like to introduce “Good Neighbor” a Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x F!OC Reader Fic, it’s inspired from my recent move in to my apartment.

You blink up at him, slowly, to look sexy and mysterious.

“You know,” you let your gaze drift down to his crotch, which is directly in front of you “as a thank you for being such a good and thorough neighbor you could test the bed with me?” You practically purr those words at him. But Joel is too much of a gentleman and still doesn’t take the hint.

“Darlin’ why would we need to do that? The mattress seemed pretty solid to me.” His friendly smile makes you want to punch him.

At this point you don’t know how much more clearer you’ll have to be. You had flirted with him all day, he even went along sometimes but then always returned to friendly chatter. You even question if you’re not pretty enough.

You had enough. “Joel,” you inhale and exhale dramatically to underline your frustration “I want to have sex with you, right fucking know, is that clear enough?”

He just stares at you for what feels like an eternity before slowing responding “Are you sure?”

Now you’re confused “What?”

“I mean you really wanna have sex with me?” As he’s pointing towards himself.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I?” Does he really not know how incredible hot he is?

Next up we have Valentine’s Day Joel Miller for the Bouquets of Pedro Creativity Challenge by @happypedrohours 💐❤️

It’s a sorta part 2 of Neighbor!Joel Miller and it takes us on their first “official” Date.

The morning after, there’s a knock at the door around 10 am. When you look through the peephole it’s Joel, so of course you open.

“Hello Neighbor,” you smile cheekily remembering the events from the previous day, whilst leaning against the door.

“Good Mornin’, hope ya slept well,” now he’s matching your expression, probably thinking of the same thing.

“Wanted to know if ya would like to have breakfast at mine, since, you know, you don’t really have a kitchen.” Suddenly he seemed all shy and nervous looking at the ground and rubbing his neck.

“It would be an honor to have breakfast with you, Joel” you murmur as you step closer to him.

Then I have some Joel Miller Angst for y’all to balance the romantic vibes out. It’s for Freya’s @almostfoxglove Angst Writing Challenge

I don’t want to say too much about this but I will hurt y’all for sure with this one and also myself. The title is : “Can’t Catch Me Now 🕊️”🫠😨

The Moodboard is provided by the wonderful Freya as well. 🙏🏻

Joel doesn’t even attempt to get up. He just watches you demolish his truck. You break all the windows, one by one with that bat of yours. Once you’re done, you turn around heading towards him. Joel is actually convinced you might kill him with how much anger is radiating off of you.

“Baby, please let’s just talk ‘bout it, just give me a chance to explain?” He’s pleading with you.

You kneel down in front of him and spit at him “Listen, you dumb motherfucker, you will never ever see me again. And if you don’t stay the fuck away I’m gonna ruin your fucking life.”

You lean in further and almost yell at him

“You hear me, I’m gonna end you Joel Miller.”

Afterwards you get up and walk away, leaving him there on the ground wallowing in self-pity.

Also say hi to Emotionally Constipated!FOC x Grumpy!Joel Miller. 🩵😉

“Uhh, sorry. Tell me again why you think this is a good idea?”

“He is your type, older, and I thought maybe you two would get along?”

You shake your head “No, I think you want me to date your boyfriend’s brother so we can go to those awful double-dates. Fuck no.”

Maria lets out an annoyed huff “Would it really be so awful to finally stop these power games and trust again?” She knows that you want to be loved but she also knows that you can’t let someone in on an emotional level. It’s too much.

——————————————————————————

As you make the order for everyone’s drinks at the bar it doesn’t take much longer and you catch a gruff, more weathered version of Tommy swagger in. It must be Joel. He isn’t unattractive but he looks like an asshole and that is your kinda guy. Those are the ones you have the most fun breaking down, they deserve it.

And last but not least a nice Dave York Summer-Angst Fic. For the “writing through the seasons challenge ☀️” hosted by @guiltyasdave and @sizzlingcloudmentality

You two provided a wonderful moodboard but I couldn’t stop myself from creating my own 🫶🏻🫶🏻

“I needed to have you, my perfect, special and gorgeous girl. You are all mine.” To prove his point he holds up his hand, displaying the silver wedding band. Right, he married you, probably planned it all along to make it harder to get away from him.

Npt: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @thundermartini @encasedinobsidian @hellishjoel @pedrospookie @ozarkthedog @pedgito @punkshort @ace-turned-confused @sp00kymulderr @strang3lov3 @beefrobeefcal @penvisions @itsokbbygrl @burntheedges @sunshineispunk @tightjeansjavi @macfrog @toxicanonymity @chronically-ghosted @604to647 @syd-djarin @mountainsandmayhem @jeewrites @penascigarette @galway-girlatwork @amanitacowboy @mrsmando @pedrospatch @pedropeach @moonlitbirdie @ovaryacted @joeloverture @jolapeno @joelsdagger @sanarsi @cavillscurls @joelstummy @slimybeth69

[babydipper]

Red Hood—or Jason, maybe he should start calling him Jason because it’s easier to stomach being here when it’s Jason—appears at the bedroom door. Tim watches him, the way his body fills up the space, and grips the covers. This is the only escape route he has if Red Hood decides to finish the job he has started at the Tower. He knows he could maybe break a window with the nightlamp he twitches to reach for, but it’s not like he can jump down from this height without his grapple gun and survive. Maybe if the trash container was full to brace him from the impact, then he could, but Tim knows it’s not because he knows the truck routes. There’s no escape but the door and Red Hood is in it. Tim can feel his scar, suddenly. This one specific scar. He grips the covers tighter.

“Listen, kid, what happened-”

“I know,” Tim cuts him off, sparing them the uncomfortable conversation about him being a tool in Red Hood’s little game and having his—getting hurt. Hood blinks, something very weird on his face that makes him look more like Jason and less like a mass murderer. Tim hates it so, so much. “I know it wasn’t, like, really about me.”

“What?”

Great. He makes Tim say it. Fucking tests if he’s smart enough to solve the case. “What you did to me in Titans Tower was part of a larger scheme and most likely a message to Batman. It wasn’t about me. If it had been about me or even, like, about Robin, you would have killed me and you slit my throat exactly not far enough to cause any real damage. A little less than an inch from causing lasting damage, to be precise. It was calculated. So I know. I know it wasn’t about me, so we don’t have to talk about it. It’s fine. You did what you had to do to make your point.”

Red Hood stills. He freezes the way Tim fawns. Tim is lost, lost, lost. He said the right thing. He knows he said the right, but now his hands can do nothing but grip and he moves closer to the nightlight, closer to the window, hoping Red Hood won’t notice. It’s better to fall than to have his throat slit. He knows. He has done both and-

“You are right. Fuck. You are right.”

Then Jason convulses and bolts to the bathroom before Tim can react further.

the fic

[pa-pa-patato]

is it possible if you can write another bendystraw oneshot? I really love them and your ideas about them

“At least I don’t kiss you when I’m drunk!”

Everyone was having a good time at the living, some were playing games, while others talked among themselves and Cup and Bendy began to bicker like they usually do which is why no one was paying much attention to them, Until now.

Everyone turned to look at Bendy whose smile fell as he noticed the mood in the room shift and Cuphead who was red in the face with the most bewildered look they’d ever seen.

“….what?” Boris finally spoke up destroying the silence the room had, “ok I know cheap shot given I don’t drink anymore-“ Whatever Bendy tried to say was cut off by Fanny laughing “That’s not what he meant! You kissed him?” She turned to Cuphead a sly smirk on her face as she questioned him. He couldn’t answer opening and closing his mouth in shock luckily or unluckily Bendy spoke again “Why are you so smug? Do you know how many times I had to pull you and Red off of each other while drunk?” The ladies in question immediately looked at each other in complete shock and embarrassment.

But Bendy wasn’t done just yet.

“And you!” He pointed at Holly who was already blushing a bit, “Do you have any idea how many times I had to hide your compact so you wouldn’t call Alice in the middle of the night to tell how ‘she’s so pretty and she should ditch all those pesty boys trying to court her and kiss you instead’?” Now she was full-on blushing, her face completely red.

“And you.” Bendy turned to Oddswell, his voice gentle now “I wanna know what happened that night at the bar with Winston” Oddswell looked embarrassed for a brief moment before nodding slowly choosing to ignore everyone’s gaze.

Cup still wasn’t saying a word, his eyes completely focused on Bendy and Bendy alone.

The rest of the day was spent with everyone ignoring the topic as best as possible. Expect for Bendy, Who still had no idea why everyone had that kind of reaction in the first place.

Bendy left saying he needed fresh air and Cup followed saying he was going out to smoke.

“You know I got out for ‘fresh’ air right?” Bendy waved the smoke out his face giving Cup an annoyed look, Cuphead responded to that by blowing smoke directly at him making him cough, “Seriously man?” He whined earning a chuckle from Cup.

“Sooooo” Cup started awkwardly “I kiss you when I’m drunk?” He avoided Bendy’s eyes as he asked, Which in turn made Bendy roll his eyes “Yeah but we pretty much established that it’s a normal thing to want to kiss your best friend” he turned to look up.“Besides you were drunk so not like it means anything”

“So if I were to kiss you right now it’ll mean something?”

The question took him off guard and made him snap his head back to look at Cup who was peacefully continuing to smoke, The air around him suddenly felt suffocating.

It seemed as tho the smoke had completely inhaled him making him unable to see anything but Cup, the smell made him want to cough again but he stayed silent for as long as he could ignoring the seemingly innocent glances Cuphead gave him.

“No.”

He finally said his voice sounded too dead even to himself, Cup only gave a long hum in response as he turned towards him blowing smoke into his face as he spoke.

“So it will mean nothing to you?” “Nothing at all.” And with that, his lips met Bendy’s

Is it still lying if they’re both aware of the truth?

[kawoala]

hiiii meeya i’m ready to place my order!! could i please have haikyuu (sugawara) and… enemies to lovers? and i was thinking something along the lines of a canon-compliant written piece where reader is either a player on the women’s team or a manager of a rival school, but honestly i don’t mind if you want to change anything! thank you soso much 🫶 this place is beautiful 😍

RIDICULOUS; sugawara koushi. burger—haikyuu. drink—enemies to lovers.

contents word count ; 1380. reader is on crutches. ooc! sugawara. profanity. oh also reader is on the vball team. arguing. confessions.

authors notes this is so dramatic for nooo reason 😭 hope u like this may!

this blows.

usually, you’re vocabulary is a little more mature, but this—standing on the sidelines while your teammates lose to a team they could be winning against—it blows.

and your ankle injury? it blows. the fact that you’re out for the rest of the season, the fact that you know your teammates are blaming you for their losses, the fact that this is your last season and you can’t even finish it—yeah, it fucking blows.

and to top it all off, sugawara’s staring at you from the other side of the gym. he’s sitting with the rest of his team, who are all chatting about something, but his eyes are locked on you. he’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands interlocked, glaring.

you know he’s judging you. you can feel it radiating off of him. even when you resist the urge to stare back at him, you know he’s got his eyes on you.

and the thing is, you don’t know why. since first year, sugawara has had some sort of issue with you. it started in a photography class, when he outwardly refused to be your partner for the semester. and then you noticed that he was avoiding you in the halls. and when the girls and boys volleyball team had their shared team dinner, he didn’t even go near the homemade noodles you brought.

it’s embarrassing, mostly. sugawara is the nicest guy in school—except, apparently, when it comes to you. he’s nice to all of your friends, and when you show up to the conversation, he leaves. immediately.

you’ve tried to be nice. even when people snickered at you in that stupid photography class, you had just laughed it off, saying you’d work by yourself. that semester had been gruelling—even as a first year. and at that team dinner, when you complimented him on his dish and he’d outright ignored you, you’d brushed it off with a small sigh.

for the nth time tonight, you look back up at him. his posture shifts a little bit as you meet his gaze, but he doesn’t look away. you tilt your head to the side, as if asking “what.”

he does the same, but his eyes narrow. a challenge. you scoff and roll your eyes, focusing back on the court. and then, you make a decision.

you’re going to talk to him after the game, ask him what the hell his problem is.

—

the game is over quicker than you thought it would be. seijoh wins and you pretend not to notice the way they sneer at you and your teammates, throwing a cruel laugh at you every so often. you’re so wound up, you almost go after one of them—their libero. feisty little thing. she sticks her tongue out at you as she walks by, like she’s a child.

you walk behind the others on your way back to the locker room, head down. your careful not to trip over your crutches, or get in the way of anybody, but somebody walks by you and their scent hits your nose and you fumble.

your crutches skid to the other side of the hallway and you fall to the ground with a oomf. you sit there for a moment, contemplating even getting back up. and then a pair of shoes appears in front of you, followed by the same scent from before.

”that looked like it hurt.”

the voice hits your ears and you want to throw up. sugawara. you look up and he’s staring down at you, holding your crutches in one hand. “yep,” you say, strained. you help yourself up, putting the weight on your none-injured foot. “can i have my crutches back now? thanks.”

he hands them back with an almost inaudible scoff. he starts to walk away, but then you remember. “wait,” you call out, maneuvering until you’re turned to face him again. “can we talk, actually? i have something i need to discuss.”

he stops and he states before turning around. there’s a look on his face that you don’t recognize. impatience, maybe? he raises his brows expectantly and it only pisses you off further.

”okay, dude, what is your problem with me?” you can’t help the bite in your tone. “like, since first year, you’ve had this unspoken issue with me. and i tried to be nice, don’t get me wrong. but you just absolutely refuse to reciprocate. so, please, just tell me what i did wrong so i can apologize and we can stop this feud we’ve had for three fucking years.”

the outburst surprises him, and it even surprises you a little bit. his mouth opens and closes, like he can’t decide what to say. finally, he squares his jaw and shakes his head. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

your jaw drops. he starts to turn, and your first instinct is to drop your crutches and hobble over to him before he can walk away. you grab his arm and spin him around. “don’t play stupid, sugawara. today, when you were sitting on the bleachers, you were glaring at me. like- like i’d killed your puppy or something! and first year, in that stupid photography class, you stood up in front of the whole class and told the teacher you didn’t want to be my partner.” you pause, chest heaving. “do you know how embarrassing that was? how much i got teased for it? you’re nice to everyone you meet—except for me. don’t pretend you don’t hate me now that i’ve confronted you about it.”

for a long, stretched out moment, he’s quiet, staring into your eyes like he’s searching for something.

”well?” you prompt, brows furrowing in frustration.

“i don’t hate you,” he says quietly. his eyes dart away from yours and suddenly he’s embarrassed. “i don’t hate you, i-“ he cuts himself off, rolling his eyes. “whatever, this is ridiculous. i don’t hate you, okay? there, feud over.”

”don’t give me that bullshit, sugawara.”

”what do you want from me? do you want me to apologize? do you want me to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness?” he rips his arm out of your grasp and his gaze hardens. “you piss me off. that’s the story. that’s why i have beef with you. first year, when we got sat next to each other, you pissed me off. when the teacher said we were partners, i knew you’d distract me and piss me off. is that better? there is no specific reason, you just make me mad.”

you blink. once. twice. three times. “are you fucking kidding me? what, it’s just my presence? the way i smile? the way i make small talk?” you scoff and cross your arms. “you’re fucking ridiculous.”

”yes,” he huffs out. your brows furrow again, this time in confusion. “it’s the way you smile, it’s the way you make small talk, it’s the way you carry yourself, it’s the way you’re too nice to people even though they don’t deserve it.” he takes a step forward, closing the distance between the two of you. “i hate it. every time i see you, i get this pit in my stomach. i avoid you in the hallway because every time i see you, i get the urge to talk to you. to tell you to stop smiling at people. to tell you to pull down your skirt because other guys are looking. you think this is ridiculous? i’ve had a thing for you since the first time i saw you and the only way i can deal with it is by being a massive dickhead to you.”

again, all you can do is blink at him. what is this, a rom-com? he can’t just confess in the middle of an argument like that—also, how did he know angry confessions are your favorite trope?

”what the hell are you talking about”

he sighs, heavy and long. “nevermind.” he shakes his head, then steps around you to pick up your crutches once again. he hands them to you silently, then continues past you, towards the exit. 

he leaves you standing there in the middle of the hallway, face scrunched up, jaw dropped, a million thoughts running through your mind.

what the hell just happened?