#I saw it and just as I was about to stand up to do it I got drowsy and passed out for 6 hours

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. ���Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[solxamber]

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

[maskedbyghost]

part 3 of Simon marrying another woman. tw: violence, mental health struggles, torture, mentions of death.

Your breath caught in your throat. Time seemed to slow as Simon raised the gun to his head, his hands steady on the trigger.

But your voice cut through the silence, even though it felt like you couldn’t move at all.

"Do it, then. If that’s really who you are."

His hand froze, the gun still on his temple.

His eyes snapped to yours filled with confusion. It seemed like you weren’t good at this.

You moved a bit forward, eyes locked on his. "But don’t pretend this is strength. Don’t act like this is the man who’s led us through hell and back. The man who doesn’t quit."

His grip tightened for a second, then stopped.

But you didn’t stop. "You think this is how it ends? You, sitting here while everything burns down around you? That’s not you, Simon. You fight. You endure. That’s who you are."

He still kept looking at you.

Another inch closer. "So go ahead. Pull the trigger. But if you do, you’re not the man I thought you were. Not the man who kept us alive when it mattered."

The gun trembled in his hand, lowering just a fraction.

Your voice was low that Price, who was still standing behind the two of you, barely even heard. "Or you can drop it. Stand up. And prove me right."

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, the gun slipped from his grasp, landing with a thud on the floor.

Simon slumped back against the wall and you felt like you could finally breath again.  

You didn’t move closer. You didn’t offer comfort.

You just stared him down.

And that was enough. For now, at least.

A few days since that night things were quieter, but you could still feel the tension deep iside you. Simon had begged Price and you not to tell anyone what had happened—what he'd almost done. You still remember the panic in his eyes as he requested you both keep it between the three of you. Price had agreed, but only if Simon promised to see a psychologist.

The terms were set. Simon would keep up with the therapy, or he would retire early. But Simon didn’t resist; he knew it was his only chance to avoid the fallout, to start dealing with everything.

You hadn’t tried to talk to him much since that day. You gave him space. You knew it wasn’t your place anymore—not after everything. There were moments when you’d catch him in passing, but your gaze would quickly drop to the floor, avoiding the awkwardness that had settled between you both. He didn’t reach out either, not that you expected him to. Simon was good at keeping everything locked away, just like he had always done.

You saw him during briefings, his eyes weren’t the same anymore—not the man you once knew. But that was something he had to face on his own. You weren’t going to intrude. You couldn't.

And the thing that hurt the most? He still didn’t talk about her. You knew she wasn’t in the picture anymore, but he never said a word about their relationship, not to you or anyone else. He’d simply let it go, as if she had never been part of his life.

As if she didn’t ruin everything.

You didn’t ask. You couldn’t. Maybe it was better that way—both of you pretending like that chapter never existed. But, deep down, you knew better. You knew Simon had his reasons, and you didn’t need to hear them.

You didn’t expect anything from Simon anymore. You’d let go of that hope months ago. But you knew the team was watching, concerned. Soap had asked you about it a few times, always in his own way. He never pushed, but you could tell he saw what was happening, saw how it affected you. But none of them pushed. None of them knew what to say.

So you stayed back, kept your distance. If Simon wanted to get better, if he wanted to talk, you’d be there. But for now, you had to let him find his own way.

A few days later as you walked into your room, you tossed your gear aside and slumped into the chair at your desk. But something caught your eye, a small folded piece of paper sitting on your desk.

A letter.

With a deep breath, you picked it up, your fingers trembling as you unfolded it. The handwriting was unmistakable, Simon’s familiar handwriting filled the whole page. You felt a pang in your chest before you even read the first word, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“I don’t know how to do this love, but I need to tell you. The therapist says I should, and I think I have to. You deserve to know the truth

It’s not easy to admit this, but I’ve been living a lie. She lied to me, twisted everything in my head, and I let her. She fed me so many things—things about you, about us, about my life—that I didn’t even know what was real anymore. I don’t know how to explain it, but I believed her. I believed everything she said. She was my childhood friend after all. I thought I was doing the right thing when I left you, when I walked away. Oh, what a fool I was.

The night I left... that fucking picture. She showed it to me. It looked real—too real. You and him. Another soldier from the squad. She said it was proof. Proof that you were with someone else, that I wasn’t the one for you. She made it seem like it was your betrayal. I was hurt, so damn hurt, and I couldn’t think clearly. I didn’t want to believe it, but I did. She had everything lined up, a story that made sense.

And then I left. I told myself I was doing the right thing. I thought I had to walk away, that maybe it was for the best. She was there for me. She comforted me, and I was angry, so angry. I didn’t want to be angry with you, but I couldn’t help it. I thought you’d done something you clearly hadn’t. And I couldn’t even tell you the reason. What a fucking idiot.

And then she kissed me. She kissed me first, and I didn’t stop her because I thought it was a way to move on. Maybe it was the only way to forget, to forget you and the happiest period of my life. And when she started saying we were dating, I let it happen. I thought maybe this was the right choice. Maybe she was the one I was supposed to be with.

Then came marriage. She kept talking about it, about us being a family. And for a while, I didn’t know what to think. I thought I should just go with it, that it was the only way to keep going forward. But I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with her. I told myself I needed time, maybe because she wasn’t you. It was never the same. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t do it.

She understood at first. But then one night, she started giving me alcohol, glass after glass, trying to push me into something I wasn’t ready for. She thought if I was drunk enough, maybe I’d forget you. Maybe I’d forget all of it. We kissed that night, and in the middle of it, I said your name. Your name. I couldn’t stop myself. And that’s when the fights started. That’s when everything I’d been avoiding came crashing down.

Then, that day when Price found me in my office, someone came to me. Someone from the team. I never thought they would be the one to speak up, but they did. They told me the truth. About her. About that picture. It wasn’t real. She had it photoshopped. She hired him and made it look like you and that soldier were sleeping together.

And when she asked for more proof, she wanted him to photoshop something with you and Soap. She thought if I saw that, I’d really walk away from everything, from the team, from you. She wanted to tear us apart, and I couldn’t see it.

And then he told me the that she had been cheating on me. She had been with him the whole time, and she’d used the pictures to manipulate me. She wanted me gone from the team. She wanted me out of your life. And I lost it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told her to pack her bags and leave. I told her it was over.

I konw don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I have to say it. I’ve been living a lie, and I hurt you because of it. I let her make me believe you betrayed me, and I walked away without ever giving you a chance to explain. I was wrong. I’ve spent months lost without you, and I know now that I can’t move on from you. I’d get on my knees for the rest of my life, begging for your forgiveness if that’s what it takes, because I know I don’t deserve it, but I’ll spend every day proving I’m worth it.

Please, love, tell me how to fix this, please let me love you and be a part of your world again.

Still yours,

Simon.”

Your heart felt like it had shattered and been pieced back together in the same breath. The betrayal, the lies, everything she had done—it wasn’t just him being reckless; it was her plan all along. She had played on his emotions, fed him exactly what he wanted to hear, and made him believe you’d betrayed him.

The man who had once been yours, and in so many ways still was, was telling you everything—his pain, his regret, his desire for you to be in his life again. But the past still lingered between you both.

You sat there for a long time, the letter crumpled in your hands, the weight of his words sinking in slowly. Simon had been lost, and you had been left behind in ways you couldn’t even fully understand yet.

What the hell are you supposed to do now?

You didn’t waste any more time. You folded the paper with shaky hands and made your way to Simon’s office.

The hallway was quiet as you approached the door, your footsteps louder than you wanted them to be. When you reached it, you didn’t hesitate. You pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges made Simon look up, his eyes meeting yours after many days.

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you at first. For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, looking at each other.

Finally, you broke it. “So, you’re begging now,” you said, your voice sharp, filled with all the anger and hurt you’d been carrying. “After everything. After you walked away without a single explanation!”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. The anger you’d kept buried for so long spilled out.

“You left me, Simon,” you said, your voice now shaking. “You left me without a single word. You let someone else twist your mind, made me out to be the villain in your life. All I ever did was love you, and you threw that away like it didn’t even matter.”

You could see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. Not now.

“You don’t get to just come back and act like nothing happened! You don’t get to ask me to forgive you after all of this, after everything. How the hell do you think this works? You think you can just walk back in and everything will be fine? It doesn’t work that way, Simon!”

He didn’t interrupt you. He didn’t say a word. He just stood there, watching you, his eyes full of pain. He just took it, and it made you angrier.

“You ruined everything! You destroyed us!” Your hands balled into fists at your sides, and you paced in front of him. “And now you want me to believe you? To trust you again? To just let you back in like you didn’t break me? What do you want me to say, huh?”

Still, he didn’t speak. He just watched you with that same, haunted look, his jaw clenched.

And then, slowly, he started moving. It was almost too slow to notice at first, but you caught it—the way he stepped toward you, the way his feet seemed to drag across the floor.

Before you could say anything else, he was in front of you, kneeling down, slowly lowering himself onto the ground until he was on his knees. It made you freeze. For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it, but there he was, on the floor, looking up at you with nothing but regret in his eyes.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What the hell are you doing?” you demanded, your voice almost a whisper, still raw from the firestorm of words you’d thrown at him.

His head tilted down, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. “I’m serious about begging,” Simon said, his voice soft. “I’ll do anything. I don’t care what it is.”

Your heart raced. This wasn’t what you expected. It wasn’t some desperate plea or just empty words. He was on his knees—literally on his knees—in front of you.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Simon continued, still looking up at you, his eyes full of an intensity you hadn’t seen in a long time. “But I can’t live with what I’ve done to you, not anymore. If it’s the only way to make things right, I’ll do it. I’ll beg. I’ll spend the rest of my life on my knees if that’s what it takes to prove I’m sorry.”

You stood there, staring at him, your chest tight. You’d never seen him like this. This wasn’t the Simon you knew. The man you’d loved, the man who had always been strong, never one to show vulnerability like this.

But here he was. On his knees, asking for a chance. And you didn’t know if you were ready to give it to him. Not yet. But with everything that he was saying, the sincerity in his eyes—it hit you harder than anything else.

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. It felt like a lifetime before you finally spoke.

“Why?” It was all you could manage.

Simon’s gaze never wavered. “Because I don’t want to live in the lie anymore. I don’t want to be the man who hurt you. I want to fix it, if you’ll let me. I’m begging you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

And before you could speak, before you could even think, Simon’s hands reached out and grabbed at your legs. He pulled himself even closer, his face pressing against the fabric of your pants, his breath shaky against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, his voice breaking with each word. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”

He held on, his arms around your legs, his forehead pressed against you like he didn’t want to ever let go. The sight of him, once so strong, now so broken, made something inside you stir. You hadn’t expected this. This wasn’t the man you thought you knew.

“Si?” You said, your voice barely audible.

“I’ll do anything,” Simon muttered, his grip tightening. “I swear, I’ll do anything. Just... please, let me fix this. Let me make it right.”

He stayed there, kneeling, holding you, his words still coming in soft, broken whispers, and all you could feel was the weight of everything—everything he had done, everything he was asking, everything that had been broken between you two.

He just continued to apologize, and you stood there, staring down at him, unsure of what came next.

A few days later, the feelings between you and Simon had settled, at least for now. Things weren’t perfect, but they were different. You could talk again—really talk—without the anger clouding everything.

He was still Simon, the man who had been by your side for so long, but now there was space between you, a new kind of distance. Friends again, not lovers, but it was a start.

You found yourself standing in his office again as Simon worked through paperwork on his desk. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper filled the room as he glanced up at you.

“I’ve got the divorce papers ready,” Simon said, you could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’ll send them to Price, and he can take care of sending them to her.”

You nodded, thinking for a moment. “I’ll take them to Price myself,” you said. “I need to see him anyway.”

Simon looked at you, a slight nod of approval. “Alright. Thanks, love.”

“How about we grab a cup of coffee after? Just as friends,” Simon added, his voice still soft, hopeful.

You thought about it for a second, then gave him a small nod. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He smiled, just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was real.

As you turned to leave, your hand reached for the divorce papers on Simon's desk. Simon didn’t stop you as you picked up the papers and walked out of the office, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway.

But as you made your way down the corridor, instead of heading to Price’s office, you turned down a different hallway, towards the abandoned building on the other side of the base. It had been years since anyone had used it, but you knew it well enough.

The old building creaked as you descended the stairs, the air heavy with the musty smell of decay. You could hear the sound of your boots hitting the concrete floor as you entered the basement, the space cold and unwelcoming. But there, in the corner of the room, hanging from a noose, was the woman who had taken everything from you—The bitch.

Her body swayed slightly as you approached, the dim light casting long shadows over the room. You stopped just in front of her, the cold fury building inside you.

You grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down from the ceiling, letting her body fall to the floor with a thud. She was still warm, her fingers twitching slightly as you knelt beside her.

"You're going to sign something for me," you said, your voice cold, deadly. "With a hand that's still functional though... before I kill you."

Her lips trembled, but she didn't say anything. She couldn’t. The pain and fear were clear in her eyes, but it was too late for her now. You knew what you had to do.

With a sigh, you reached for a pen. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” you whispered, ready to sign her fate.

-------------------------------------------

Once I click post now I'm running away. I'm scared haha

what do you guys think????

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[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

______________________________________________________________

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[419jhat]

I couldn't get it out of my head so I wrote it out instead. In which, Steve shocks the party plus Hollie with his ballet skills he learns how to flirt with boys because of it.

***

“You can't do that! The rulebook says-”

“My game, my rules Henderson!” Eddie shouts with an evil cackle. The kids start yelling again, and Steve's kind of worried that a fight is about to break out. But Eddie’s sitting back with his arms crossed, letting them lose it, so he figures it's actually ok. This is when he finally decides to tap out.

“I'm gonna go get some water,” Steve mumbles, not that anyone is listening. He doesn't wait for a reply before climbing up the stairs. Instantly, the pressure building in his head nearly disappears.

Is this what his life has become? Breathing in No and sock sweat in the basement of his ex-girlfriend?

He grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it in the sink, wishing he'd thought to invite Robin at least to keep him busy. All he can do is watch the mesmerizing way Eddie spins a story and sets the mood, like a lovesick fool. Actually, it's good that Robin didn't come. Because she'd make fun of him the whole time. He places the cool glass against his forehead and wishes he knew how to flirt with men. He was so sure Eddie was into him, but every time he thought he'd gotten somewhere, Eddie would back off and flip the subject. Just thinking about it kicks his headache into a higher gear.

Then, a familiar song catches his ears.

“Crap!” a little voice says.

Steve leans to the side so he can peer into the living room, where he sees Holly Wheeler standing in a tutu with her hands on her hips, staring down at the carpet. She wipes the sweat from her brow and then lifts her arms above her head and sends herself twirling in a circle only to lose her balance and stumble.

“Ugh!”

She stomps her foot and pulls at her hair.

“What's wrong?” Steve asks, putting the glass down.

Holly jumps and her face turns bright red.

“I didn't know you were watching,” she mumbles.

“Are you having a hard time with your pirouettes?” he asks.

Holly looks him up and down and yeah, he gets it. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who would know what a pirouette is. He doesn't look like the kind of guy who would ask, either. But here he is, in the flesh. Knowing and asking.

“My mom was Étoile at La Scala in Milan. I can help you,” he says. Holly just blinks at him.

“Ay-twal?” she repeats clumsily, eyes wide with shock, “isn't that a really big deal?”

“Kinda,” he says humbly. It is a big deal, but it's whatever. Holly’s like, eight. He's not going to brag about his mom to her.

“Come on, let's go to the garage. There's more space. Being the radio,” he says, leading the way.

Holly follows him and the music catches his ears again. It's the Pas de Deux from The Nutcracker.

“Why are you practicing that in the middle of summer?” he asks.

Holly stumbles in her little practice slippers and looks at him oddly again. Then, she looks down at the radio and quietly admits, “I saw the older girls practicing it during winter break and thought it was really pretty.”

He's not sure why she's embarrassed.It's definitely beyond her skillset, and it's a dance for two. It's literally in the name of the song. But you can only get better by trying and he's not going to be the one to crush her spirit, so he nods.

“I loved watching my mom do that one when I was younger. It's a favorite.”

“I thought she was a dancer in…Milan?” Holly asks.

“Yeah, I was born there. She tore her ACL when she was thirty-six. I was seven,” he says.

“Isn't Milan in Italy?” she asks.

“Yeah. I kind of miss it.”

“Does she still dance?”

Steve crosses his arms and leans against a random shelf of junk the Wheels have stacked up against the wall. He's not usually asked this much about his family, so it feels awkward to talk about.

“Yeah, just not as often. Or at the same intensity. Now show me your pirouette, I want to see.”

Holly lifts her chin and lifts her arms.

“Ok, stop,” Steve says.

Holly drops her arms and turns to glare.

“I didn't even do anything yet!”

“No, it's ok. I just- you have too much weight on your back leg. It's going to throw off the whole thing. Try again.”

Holly tries again. She does a pretty good job, but she's too quick coming out of it. She stumbles again.

“Try again, and this time, knees over the toes when you plié at the end.”

Holly takes his advice, and slowly, they go over all the little details until she finishes a single wobbly pirouette with a big smile on her face.

“Nice!” he says, giving her a high five.

“Can you do it?”

Steve pauses. He can do it. He can do a lot, actually. He took lessons all throughout childhood in Milan and in Hawkins, and continued dancing with his mother up through high school.

“I mean, I'm not exactly my mom-”

“I just want to see!”

“I don't dance that much anymore-”

“Come on!” Holly insists. She's looking at him with big blue eyes that make her hard to let down. Steve grumbles to himself and toes off his sneakers, kind of regretting he's wearing his old gym shorts because at least he could've used a pair of too-tight jeans as an excuse to say no.

Then, he remembers his gym bag in the trunk of his car, with a collection of strange items. Including his old pointe shoes. He feels a tinge of excitement in his belly. He hasn't danced in so long. The Wheeler garage isn't anything like the studios he grew up around. The floor is all wrong, it smells like paint, and the summer heat is spilling in, already making him sweat. It wouldn't be the best idea, but, well.

It couldn't hurt, could it?

“Ok, start the song over. I'll show you the variation my mom used to do.”

---

“Oh shit, is Steve gone?” Dustin asks as they pack their things up.

“I didn't even notice him leave,” Lucas says.

Eddie feels like a bit of a stalker, because he knows that Steve left his keys on the table when he left to get water. But Dustin is correct that he hasn't been back since.

“Why do you care?” Mike asks.

“He’s our ride home,” Lucas says.

“We still have the bikes,” Mike says.

“My mom would throw a fit if I did that,” Will says.

The boys all nod, and it takes Eddie a moment to remember what happened the last time Will biked home by himself from a D&D session.

“He's probably in the bathroom,” Eddie says as he throws his bag over his shoulder. He was curious, though. Steve usually stuck around and fought sleep. Maybe he got bored? Eddie hoped not, because he couldn't sit there and subtly stare at Steve for hours on end if the guy stopped coming to their nerd meetings.

He trudges up the stairs, ignoring Lucas and Mike’s questions about what's going to happen next- as if he'd ever spoil anything about a future campaign to them.

Then, he hears it.

Classical music? In the Wheeler house? What, was Nancy trying something special to study? He follows the sound of violins through the kitchen and opens the door to the garage, where he stops dead in his tracks.

Steve is dancing.

And he's not just dancing, he's legitimately on the tips of his toes, twirling around like, well. A dancer. He's got those shiny pink slippers ballerinas always wear, which is confusing to Eddie because he's only seen them on girls and the ribbons contrast funny against his leg hair.

His posture is so immaculate, it makes Eddie stand straighter just watching. He's gliding across the garage floor like a rose in a river of trash, on the tips of his toes, every move impossibly gentle but filled with strength. He lifts one leg into the air, much higher than Eddie thought was possible for a man to do, spins more times than he can count, and then slows to a stop with a gentle smile on his face, one arm stretched out, reaching for something.

Then, Eddie sees Holly Wheeler, dressed in a tutu, watching him like he hung the stars in the sky. The music gets louder and more dramatic. Steve throws his head back and then rushes across the floor into an impressive leap, certainly higher than Eddie could ever jump. He can't help but notice how defined the muscles in his legs are as he lands. He lands in front of Holly and bows to her with a sweeping flourish of his arms.

An invitation.

Holly scrambles up and bows back, not nearly as smooth, but clearly with practice. Steve grabs her hand and helps her through a spin, and then suddenly lifts her into the air on his shoulder. She giggles as she brings her hand up, brushing against the garage light above her, then squeals when Steve lowers her, head-first toward the floor. She points her leg out straight, and then Steve puts her down and-

“When the fuck did you learn to do that?” Mike asks loudly.

Steve and Holly jump.

The music continues without them as Holly runs up to Mike and starts babbling something about Italian ballerinas.

Eddie watches Steve. He's doing something weird with his slippers. Adjusting them by kicking them against the floor, or something. The muscles in his thighs effortlessly bulge with the movement. Eddie kind of wants to feel them around his face.

God, Steve had never been hotter.

“Steve! Why didn't you tell me you can dance!?” Dustin demands.

“Uh, my mom does ballet,” he says with a shrug.

“Isn't that for girls?” Lucas jokes.

Holly steps right up to him with her hands on her hips, cheeks flushed with anger. “Boys can do ballet too! Who else is going to lift the girls into the air!?”

Lucas actually takes a step back from her and looks back up at Steve.

“Oh. Uh, I guess not other girls,” he says carefully.

“Exactly!” Holly says.

“Jesus. You hang out with Erica too much,” Mike mutters.

“And you spend too much time in the basement,” Holly says.

Before Mike can think of a response, Eddie waves his hands through the air.

“Ok, ok! Go get your things so Steve can take you home!” Eddie says. Everyone leaves except for Holly and Will. Holly’s standing with her hands clasped behind her back, suddenly looking nervous.

“Um, I just wanted to say thank you for showing me how to fix my pirouette and that you're really talented,” she says, and then she runs out of the garage.

“...I thought it was really pretty,” Will says softly, cheeks bright pink, before quickly following.

Steve looks at Eddie and lifts his eyebrows.

“That was kind of funny,” he says. Then, he sits on the floor and starts unlacing the slippers.

Eddie's mouth is practically hanging open as he shifts his hips forward and stretches his legs into a split. He's not sure what his face does when Steve reaches his arms in front of him and presses his chest against the floor.

“Oh my god?” he whispers.

So many positions.

So many dirty thoughts.

“Hmm?” Steve says, looking back up at him.

Dustin returns to the garage with his backpack and jumps over Steve, yelling, “Hurry up, we're going to be late!”

“Damn it, Dustin!” Steve yells.

The other kids laugh and jump over him too. He finally sits up and glares at them as they argue over who gets to sit where in his car.

“How long have you been that flexible?” Eddie asks.

“Huh?” Steve asks, clearly distracted. He's moved into some kind of lunge-like position, pushing his hips forward.

Eddie covers his face with his hair and tries not to be a creep, but he's dying to know. Desperate, even.

“Could you, uh, do that back in high school? You know. During all those PE classes I skipped?”

Steve looks at him strangely.

“I mean, no. Guys think it's gay if you can do a split. They would've laughed at me.”

“Is that so?” Eddie asks, desperately keeping his eyes trained on Steve's face and not the way his shirts bunch around his dick.

“So are you just…showing off?” Eddie asks, gesturing at the show in front of him.

“No, you're supposed to stretch so you don't get hurt,” Steve says slowly. Then, his eyes light up and he quickly stands up, stepping right into Eddie's space.

“Wait, are you flirting with me? Is this whole awkward thing how guys flirt?” he asks, gesturing to all of Eddie with a smile.

Eddie doesn't even have an answer, because no. He was not. He was fantasizing. Daydreaming. Begging the universe to take his side for once. Also what the fuck does he mean, awkward thing?

Steve puts his hands on his hips, looking quite proud of himself for kind of figuring it out though, and says, “Because I can show off. You know, if you want me to.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says.

“That's a yes?” Steve asks.

“Yeah it's a yes, why would I ever say anything else to that!?” Eddie hisses.

Steve nods and turns back to the car.

“Dustin. Back seat! I'm driving Eddie home too!” he calls out.

“Eddie didn't play rock, paper-”

“I don't wanna hear it!” Steve says. He bends over to slip on his sneakers and Eddie watches him for a moment, wondering exactly what Steve meant by showing off. Steve's acting so normal that he's not even sure they're on the same page. Like, was he just invited to a dance lesson or…?

“Eddie. If you take any longer, I'll assume you're only interested in staring,” Steve says.

He's standing back up now, slippers gripped in one hand and another placed on his hip. He looks a little unimpressed. Eddie's so thrown off that he can't even blame him.

“As opposed to what?” Eddie asks.

Steve scratches his chin and looks away. “Sorry, I thought we were on the same page. Are you not coming over to, you know, see how flexible I can get? I didn't mean to assume. We can just watch a movie or something-”

“No! I am very interested in that! I'm just- I've never had someone offer so blatantly. I was startled.”

“Oh,” Steve says with a very cute frown, “is this not how guys flirt? Have I been doing it wrong?”

The beemer’s horn blasts twice at them, making them jump.

“What the fuck are you two grandpas talking about!? Hurry up!” Dustin yells.

“So are you in or not?” Steve asks, walking backwards toward the car, “because I've got to go.”

“I am so fucking in,” Eddie says, rushing to follow.

He slides into the passenger seat, body buzzing with excitement. Dustin leans over to look between the two of them.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“None of your business,” Eddie says.

“You're acting weird,” Dustin says.

“No I'm not,” Eddie says.

“Eddie and I are going to do adult things with each other after you dweebs leave,” Steve says as he starts the engine. Eddie just about suffers a heart attack. He whips his head around to stare at Steve with shock.

The kids all groan.

“Gross! You know Robin hates when it smells like weed in here!” Lucas says.

“You're turning into Jonathan,” Will mutters.

“I do what I want with my car,” Steve says. He's cruising down the street now, and when he paused at a stop sign, he catches Eddie's eyes with a mischievous smile. “Especially in the back seat.”

Eddie thinks he's died and gone to heaven.

“Well, I'm not helping you clean out the smell after, so don't come crying to me,” Dustin grumbles.

Do I have to say it?

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 17

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 16 | Series Masterlist | Part 18

Chapter Word Count: Over 5.9k

Chapter Summary: You take a step further in your relationship with Bucky.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon elements, dirty talk, thigh riding, tension, kissing, reference to stalking, inner turmoil, manipulation, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You tried to occupy yourself as you waited for Bucky to pick you up. You made sure you had your outfit for tomorrow and sent Addison a text to confirm when and where you were meeting. God, what if Bucky insisted on dropping you off? He likely would. There was no way he’d let you head over on your own, unless Ray or someone dropped you off.

“What am I doing?” you muttered.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you frowned. You had changed out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. He would think you looked sexy no matter what you wore, even if you didn’t try. What was he going to expect or demand from you? There was no way you’d go through the entire evening in his home without him touching you or something.

You weren’t sure if the anticipation was worse or knowing he’d probably make your body enjoy whatever he’d do to you, and use that as a weapon against you.

The knock on your door made you jump. Had two hours passed already? You checked the peephole and saw Bucky on the other side, shifting from one foot to the other. At least he didn’t break his way inside like he could’ve easily done.

“Hi.” You slowly opened the door to let him in. “I-”

Bucky had you against the wall before you could finish, his lips insistently pressing against yours. The kiss only lasted seconds, but it felt like hours when he pulled away. “Don’t walk home alone again,” he whispered with a brief flash of fear in his eyes.

You nodded after a moment. The conversation from earlier was still on his mind, clearly. “I won’t.”

“You look beautiful by the way.” Taking a breath, he ran both hands through his hair and straightened up. He looked like his normal self again, and you knew it. No matter what he’d find you attractive. “Is this everything?” he asked, picking up the overnight bag and garment bag that you had left by the door.

“Yeah, it should be,” you said, making sure you had your phone and purse, too.

“Was the rest of your day okay?” he asked, watching carefully as you locked the door.

“It was fine,” you replied. You were so busy thinking about Bucky that you hadn’t thought much about Clark. “Was yours?”

“Better now that I’m taking you back to our place,” he said. There was that spring in his step again, like he was allowed to be happy since he knew you were really okay after walking home alone.

“You don’t have to go to the club tonight?” you asked.

“Only if there’s an emergency. There’s no special event tonight, no reason to make an appearance, and my staff knows how to take care of the place,” he assured you. “Time with you is much more important than that.”

When someone like Bucky had the kind of money he did, you imagined he’d drop just about anything to spend time with you and it wouldn’t make a dent in his pocketbook. Even if he lost everything tomorrow, it would be the same. Somehow you’d come first.

Once you were outside, you were surprised to find Steve standing by Bucky’s car instead of Ray. “Hi,” the blonde smiled with a row of perfect teeth.

“Hi,” you replied, stepping a bit closer to Bucky. Steve was his best friend, but you still didn’t know him well. What you did know was that he had his own woman he was stalking.

“Steve insisted on talking to you about that double date.” Bucky playfully rolled his eyes and refused to let his friend take the bags from his hands. He really didn’t want anyone else carrying your things or opening doors for you. “He’s stubborn, but you get used to it after a while.”

“I’m stubborn?” Steve chuckled. “Pot meet kettle.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Bucky smiled, helping you into the car.

The interaction between the two of them was so natural and easy. You imagined that in another life they were decent men who fought for others instead of trapping them. “So, what exactly did you want to talk about?” you asked once you took off.

“Well, we can talk about how excited Bucky is that you’re spending the night,” Steve teased.

“I think she knows,” Bucky smirked, your cheeks hot. Did the whole gang feed into his delusion of what would happen if you stayed over?

“Did you want to talk about the double date?” you asked, hoping the topic switch would help.

“Well, my girl likes art and Bucky mentioned how you sometimes like to relax with a glass of wine,” Steve began, smiling at you in the mirror. “So, I was thinking, we could do one of those wine and painting classes. Just the four of us.”

“But if you didn’t want to do a painting, they do something similar with pottery where everyone can pick their own piece to paint,” Bucky said, slipping an arm over your shoulders.

“Dinner before the painting, too. It would be really nice for you two to talk,” Steve continued, tapping a finger on the steering wheel. “She’s a sweet girl with a big heart, but she doesn’t have many friends nearby like you do.”

“I mean, I’m fine with painting a canvas or pottery. I think we should let her choose since art is one of her passions.” Your heart went out to the girl. Was that why Steve set his sights on her? Did he feel like he was rescuing her in some sense? “And does she have a preference on wine? White or red? Sweet or dry? Maybe I can pick a bottle for her while I’m at the vineyard tomorrow.”

Steve glanced at you again in the mirror, impressed. “That’s very considerate of you,” he said, sharing a quick look with Bucky, too. “And she likes sparkling sweet wine.”

“I have a very considerate girl,” Bucky boasted, kissing your temple. “You really are thoughtful.”

“I try to be,” you whispered, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. “I’m sure Bucky will give me the details once it’s set up,” you said, not finding it in you to argue since you were outnumbered.

“He will,” Steve smiled, clearing his throat. “And now that we have that out of the way…”

“Really, punk?” Bucky asked, tightening his hand on our shoulder.

You sat up a little. All the warmth had left his voice, and he tensed up beside you. “What’s going on?”

“Tell her, Buck,” Steve urged.

You held your breath. Was this about earlier in the day when Ray spoke with Bucky? “Yes, please, tell me.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Mrs. Crandle wasn’t at work today, was she?” he asked as if he already knew the answer.

“No, she…” Your eyes widened. Kate said she called out for some business reason. “Oh, my god. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Bucky assured you, cupping your cheeks. “She’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“For now, she is,” Steve muttered under his breath.

“Just shut up and drive,” Bucky ordered when you gasped. “The reason she was suddenly out of work today was because of Zemo.”

Your heart sank. What the hell would Zemo want with Mrs. Crandle? “What do you mean?”

“From what we’ve gathered, he met up with her to tell her that she won an all expenses paid trip to a flower expo. She was shocked since she didn’t remember even entering the contest, but he told her someone anonymously registered her,” he explained. “He asked questions about some of her employees in case she wanted to bring anyone from her shop along and your name came up.”

“But why?” you asked. Why would Zemo make a contest just to talk to your boss?

“We still don’t know the angle.” Bucky’s jaw clenched. “He could be doing it to show that can get to people close to you.”

“Like you with Addison and Brady?” you asked. Nick was Brady’s boss now, and it was clear that it wasn’t a coincidence.

“Bucky doesn’t have his hand in the shop out of respect for you, and Zemo knows that,” Steve chimed in before Bucky could argue. “So it’s possible that he may be trying to butter Mrs. Crandle up before he makes an offer, whether it’s to offer some kind of protection or to buy out her shop completely.”

The thought of Zemo owning the shop where you worked or having his hand in it made your stomach turn. “She loves her shop, and she’s honest when it comes to business. She wouldn’t want someone stepping in or buying it,” you said, your breathing a bit heavier. “Is she in danger? Is something going to happen to her because of me?”

If something happened to Mrs. Crandle, you’d never forgive yourself.

“It isn’t because of you, Kotyonok. It’s his actions,” Bucky answered. Just like Bucky’s actions put you in the line of fire. “I hesitated telling you because we still need answers, but she’s safe. We also have someone keeping an eye on her, just to exercise caution.”

You exhaled. If Zemo was trying to scare you, it was working. “Please, don’t keep me in the dark,” you said. Even if it scared you, you had to know. “And Mrs. Crandle is one of the most harmless people in the city and the shop is all she has. If he-”

“We won’t let anything happen to her,” Bucky promised. It was a lot to promise. “And I’m sorry I didn’t say something this morning. I just wanted you to have a normal day.”

You understood part of Bucky’s reasoning. Telling you even when she wasn't in immediate danger would've thrown your whole day off. But what was a normal day now? “We deal with ups and downs every day. So just tell me next time something’s going on, especially if it involves someone important to me.” Ignorance isn't bliss in the world Bucky lived in.

He regarded you with a soft smile. “I will.”

You stayed quiet for the remainder of the ride while Bucky and Steve discussed dinner options for the double date night. It would’ve been endearing with how excited they were, had it not been for the fact that you and Steve’s girl didn’t exactly have a choice. What was going to happen at Thor’s party?

And what about your loved ones? Were they safe? You thought being by Bucky’s side would keep them safe from his wrath, but what if Zemo went after them? You had to trust that Bucky and his men wouldn't allow that to happen.

“You two have fun tonight,” Steve winked. “Try not to get too handsy, jerk.”

“What?” you asked, your throat dry once you realized you were at Bucky’s place. God, you were really there. There was no backing out.

“Just get in your car and go, punk,” Bucky chuckled, helping you out and grabbing your things. “He really is excited for you and his girl to become friends.”

“I’ll bet,” you said, giving Steve a small wave for his benefit.

You counted the number of steps from the car to the elevator. This was similar to when he brought you here the first time because you didn’t know what to expect. You weren’t sure if it was better or worse though knowing what you knew now.

“Where’s Ray?” you asked.

“He’s busy,” Bucky answered cryptically, sweeping his gaze over you. “You seem nervous. If you’d rather skip your day out tomorrow, I can help you find a few ways to relax.”

“How about I find a way to relax and still go out tomorrow?” you suggested.

“You’re really determined to go. And here I thought Steve and I were the stubborn ones,” he smirked, guiding you into the penthouse. “Why don’t you take a seat in the living room and I’ll put your stuff in the bedroom?”

“Okay,” you breathed, hoping he didn’t notice you trembling as you walked through the place. It felt warmer than the last time you were there, more like the temperature that you kept at your place. And as dangerous as Bucky was, you somehow felt safe being there. Someone like Zemo wasn’t going to get in there. Clark wouldn’t either.

Rubbing your arms, you took a seat on the sofa. It was a beautiful room, but nothing like your living room. It wasn't just the difference in size, but you noticed once again that there were no nicknacks or homey touches. Maybe you could add a pop or color or even some flowers to… Oh, God. You were really thinking of how you’d decorate the place.

“You still look nervous,” Bucky said once he joined you, giving you absolutely no space as he took a seat. “You don’t have to be.”

“I’m not nervous,” you lied, biting your lip. “Okay, I am a little.”

He hummed. “Were you expecting me to drag you to bed?”

You nodded slowly. He behaved himself in the car with Steve there, but now the two of you were alone and you had no idea where Ray was. There was nothing to stop him from taking what he thought belonged to him.

“You thought sex would make it up to me because you walked home alone?”

“No,” you said immediately. You shouldn’t have to give him sex to say you’re sorry, especially when he had a much longer list of things he needed to apologize for. “I just thought this was a natural step in a relationship, you know? Spending the night together.”

A natural step would’ve been him staying at your place, too, but he was certain you would live at his place. And having him in your space, it didn’t feel the same. It was something you wanted to keep sacred.

“It is a natural step, but I don’t think you offered to stay here to make it up to me.”

His statement surprised you. That was part of the reason. If you made it up to him, he wouldn’t object to you going out with your friends. You weren’t going to bring up Clark or that the thought of being alone at your place made you nervous. “Then why else do you think I’m here?” you asked.

“Because you like being near me,” he said, your eyes rounding. “You slept beside me last night and you want to experience that again. Either that or being near me makes you feel safer than you want to admit.”

You scoffed. “No, that’s…” You shook your head. “I mean, no. That’s just-”

He gently smiled. “It's okay to admit. It'll be our secret.”

You shook your head again. Admitting that being in his arms wasn’t terrible and that his place did feel safer than yours at the moment would give him another win. “I'm not admitting anything.”

The smile on his face widened. “Is it because I'm right and you don't want me to be right?”

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” you said, standing and crossing your arms. “I should just go.”

“No, no, no. I’ll stop teasing. Please stay,” he nearly begged, getting to his feet, too. “How about I run you a bath and you can relax?”

“...A bath?” you asked. It wasn’t fair. He knew how much you loved taking baths.

He nodded. “A warm bath and a glass of wine, too.”

You uncrossed your arms, avoiding his hopeful gaze. It was a bit of a rough day, on top of a rough week. You deserved to relax. “Okay, that actually sounds really nice.”

He smiled and offered his hand. “I have bath bombs or salts if you want those, too. Anything to help you relax.”

“You have bath bombs?” you asked, your curiosity peaked. “What kind?”

“I have honeysuckle, lavender, vanilla,” he smiled softly. Each scent sounded like something that would help make the stress leave your body. “Let me show you.”

You let him lead the way you were pretty sure most of your apartment could fit inside the luxurious bathroom. The inviting tub almost made you burst into happy tears. It was nothing like your builder's grade tub. This was an honest to goodness clawfoot tub of your dreams.

“You like it?” Bucky smiled.

Blinking, you remembered Bucky saying how he wanted to fuck you in his tub. Would it be tonight? “I love it,” you admitted.

His smile stretched from ear to ear. “I’ll grab a tray and I can bring you a book if you want. Or you can just relax and enjoy your wine.”

“Well.” You thought it over. “I wouldn’t mind a book.”

Bucky nodded and brought the bath bombs out for you to choose from before he ushered you into the bedroom. “Why don't you stay here and pick one out while I'll get everything else you need?”

“Okay,” you said, holding your breath as you stared at the king sized bed. You avoided looking at it when he led you into the bathroom, but now you couldn’t help yourself. That was the bed he expected you to sleep with him in… the bed he’d fuck you and make love to you in. The satin sheets were a dark promise that he’d get everything he wanted and more.

Shaking your head, you carefully picked up each bath bomb and gave them a sniff. Each one smelled better than the last, and your eyes nearly rolled back at the one you selected. You wondered if he had these before you met or if he bought them specifically for you to have available.

Bucky came back after a minute and took your hand, guiding you back into the bathroom. “I’ve got everything all set.” The tub was steaming, candles were lit, and there was a generous glass of wine waiting on the tray with a book. “There's a robe on the back of the door, and I'll make sure fresh pajamas are ready for when you get out.”

You tried not to choke up. It felt romantic, but you appreciated how thoughtful it was. “I…” You had to clear your throat. “I brought pajamas.”

“I know, but I wanted to surprise you,” he smiled. “They’re your size and I think you’ll like them.”

“Thanks.” What other clothes did he have waiting for you? “What will you do while I'm in the tub?”

“I have a couple of calls to make.” He kissed your forehead. “And there's something else I want to set up for you.”

You shook your head. “I think this is more than enough,” you said honestly. He didn’t have to go to the trouble of setting this up. “But…” You fidgeted a little. “You promise you won’t just… barge in, right?”

This was still his home. He could easily make an excuse to go into his bathroom for whatever reason. And being naked in the bathtub, you’d be more vulnerable than normal.

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched. “Of course I won’t. This is your relaxing time,” he promised, kissing your forehead again as you breathed easier. “And like I said, I have a few things to do.”

You felt a little sheepish at his expression. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“Nothing to apologize for. I don't blame you for double checking.” He patted your backside with a gentle hand. “Just enjoy your time.”

With a small smile, he shut the door behind him. You waited a full minute after hearing his footsteps fade before you undressed and added the bath bomb to the tub. The scent brought a smile to your face before you tested the water temperature with your hand. It felt perfect, evident by your sigh once you got in.

You took your time sipping your wine as you began to read. Was this really going to be your bathroom now? Would you relax here after a rough shift or just because you felt like it? How many nights would Bucky insist on joining you?

But the man was, surprisingly, true to his word. He hadn’t disturbed you once. Even after you finished your glass and added more warm water to the tub, he didn’t knock or barge in. Even when you grudgingly got out of the tub and dried off before you pulled the plush robe on, he wasn’t sitting there waiting. Was he actually respecting your boundaries?

Peeking out into the bedroom, Bucky had laid out a pair of soft pajamas like he promised and was still nowhere to be seen. You were still quick to change so he couldn’t sneak a look at you. But where was he?

You thought of calling out when you went to search for him since the lights were dimmed all over the penthouse. Your fingers touched one of the walls. Would he ever hang a picture of his mom up or was it too painful?

Tiptoeing over to the balcony when you saw the door open, you spotted Bucky reading a book, too, and sipping whiskey from a tumbler. He looked completely at ease, lost in his own lonely world, and you weren’t sure if you should disturb him. Turning around, you wondered where you should go. Maybe you could curl up on the couch or something before he could-

“All finished in the bath?”

You froze and turned back toward him, his hair gently blowing in the breeze. “Yeah, sorry. I didn't know what to do when I was done, so I was going to wander around.”

He downed the rest of his glass and smiled. “You're welcome to wander, except into the den which is being redone.” He offered his hand again when he stood. “Did you enjoy your bath?”

“I did. That bath bomb was incredible,” you said. There was no reason to lie. “So was the wine.”

You gulped a little. Oh, god. You didn’t see him pour the glass. Why did you accept that from him? He could’ve put something in it. No, he wouldn’t. He wanted you to want him without that sort of influence.

“I'll get you more. The bath bomb and the wine.” he smiled, leading you back to the living room where he had pillows and blankets set up.

“Bucky, you didn’t have to-”

“I don't have to do anything, but I wanted to. Do you like it?”

You looked at the lush blankets and fluffy pillows. Like the bathroom, it looked like a dream. Looking back at him, you smiled softly at his once again hopeful expression. He carried himself with such confidence and didn't seem to care if he impressed others except for you. “I do. Thank you.”

He smiled, too, his whole face bright. “I thought it would be another good way to relax.”

The memory of Clark walking you home popped in your mind for some reason before you pushed it away. “This is all thoughtful, but aren't I supposed to be making it up to you?”

He frowned a little at your expression. “You being here is more than enough.” His fingers barely grazed your cheek. “Are you okay?”

You blinked and nodded. “I’m fine.”

Bucky considered you and you couldn’t help but fidget again when he pinned you with his gaze. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

You bit the inside of your cheek and closed your eyes. “I just don't understand why you’re doing all of this.”

He could’ve been manipulating you again, but it actually seemed like he was trying to be a doting boyfriend without expecting anything in return. Your guard was down enough for him to worm his way in, and you all too easily accepted the kind gestures. Why were you making it easy for him?

“You mean setting up the blankets and pillows? I thought we could lay together and watch a movie. Or talk.” His fingers touched your cheek again. “Whatever you want.”

You avoided his gaze when you opened your eyes. “That’s all you want?” you asked. He hadn’t dragged you to bed once you arrived, but he also didn’t say that he didn’t want something.

He ran a thumb over your bottom lip. “Well, I won’t lie to you. I want you, but I'm not pushing you. This is the first time you came to me willingly, and I want to cherish it.”

You shivered at his touch. “Yeah, I did come here willingly,” you said. Sort of.

“And how do you feel being here compared to the first time?”

“Better,” you admitted. You weren’t completely terrified this time, and you also felt like you had some control over. Maybe not much, but some.

“Good. Now, shall we?”

You nodded and allowed Bucky to help you settle into the comfort of the pillows. He pulled you close, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been before. This felt more gentle. More… right.

It should’ve felt wrong.

The room was so quiet and all you could hear for a minute was the gentle sound of his breathing and his heart beating. “What's your favorite color?” you asked. “I don't think you've told me.”

You weren’t sure if you had taken the time to ask because, well, it hadn’t been a real relationship in your eyes. But you needed to know him. Call it acceptance or ammunition. Maybe both.

“Blue,” he answered, his hand absentmindedly moving along your side.

“And your birthday?”

“March 10th.”

“Wait, you're a Pisces?” you smiled a little. “That explains so much.”

He smiled down at you and chuckled. “Oh, does it now?”

You laughed lightly. “Well, yeah. I mean, you’re just… you know…” He raised an eyebrow and waited for you to finish. “Emotional.”

“I can't argue with that,” he smiled, leaning in a bit. “Does it explain anything else?”

“Well, you're…” You were a little distracted as he kept rubbing your side. “Intense. Passionate. You want to be close to the person you fall for.”

He fit that to a tee.

His darkened eyes made you lose your breath. “I can’t argue with that either,” he whispered, pulling you close without hesitation and fusing your mouths together.

Bucky held you tight and rolled you over so you were on top of him, his hands skimming your thighs as he made you straddle him. A small sound escaped when he brushed against you, your heart pounding in your ears. “Bucky-”

“Stay home with me tomorrow,” he whispered, sitting up with you in his lap still. “We don’t have to go anywhere. We can spend the whole day together.”

“No,” you said firmly. You were going out with your friends and that was final. “Send Ray or someone to watch over me. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Please?” he asked, thrusting his hips up. “I’ll make it worth your while if you skip.”

Natasha’s words crossed your mind, reminding you that you had power. But a sinking feeling washed over you because that power had to come from your body, right? You shouldn’t be expected to give him sex, but you could give him something to hold him over. Pushing the dread away, you could hate yourself later for it. “You can spend time with me when I get back,” you offered, grinding your hips against his. “I’ll be all yours.”

The sickening feeling you expected when he moaned didn’t come. “You promise?” he murmured.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, grinding your hips again. “You can even drop me off at Addison’s, and I’ll let you know when I get back to my place. I promise.”

“Okay, Kotyonok,” he groaned, his hands grabbing your waist. Your triumph didn’t last long. “Keep doing that and I’ll pay for all the bottles of wine you want, too.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Let me touch you. Please, just let me make you feel good,” he half begged, half demanding between kissing you again. He truly hungered for you. “I'll make you feel amazing if you just let me touch you.”

You took a deep, shaky breath. How far would he take it if he touched you? No, you had to stay in control. “You are touching me.”

“Let me take you to bed. I'll eat your pussy so good you'll cry.”

You tensed and tried to push yourself up, but he grabbed you and situated you over one of his massive thighs. He had a firm hold on you and it made your heart pound. “I don't want you to be scared. I'll take such good care of you.”

“I just… I’m not…” If he took you to bed, there’d be no turning back, and you had to maintain some control.

“You’re not ready for that,” he stated, his eyes still dark. Shaking your head, it worried you how he’d take it. But he suddenly started moving you over his thigh, hard and slow. “Okay, Kotyonok. I won't put my tongue or fingers in you just yet, but I still want to make you feel good.”

You made a small sound, trying to get your body to relax. You had never ridden anyone’s thigh before and you hadn’t pictured it like this. But the blissful look on his face, he looked like he was in heaven.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you? Especially like this,” he praised.

“I…” you whimpered. “I’m not-”

“Yes, you are,” he growled, tightening his grip. “And you deserve to feel good. My girl deserves whatever she wants.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders when he flexed his thigh, sending an unexpected shock through your entire body. “Oh, my God,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

“That felt good, right?” he asked, watching you with lidded eyes. “You want me to keep going? Make you come all over my pants?”

You whimpered when he held you still, unsure it was his dirty talk or the slight edging that had you trembling. “Bucky…”

“Tell me, Kotyonok,” he ordered, licking his lips and relaxing back into the blankets and pillows. “Tell me you want me to keep going and I will.”

You looked deep into his eyes. There was so much fire in them and it was burning for you. Your breath caught as he flexed his thigh again and you found yourself nodding. “Please, Bucky. Keep going.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I said,” he whispered, sliding his tongue along your lips. “Tell me.”

You swallowed hard, your core throbbing. “I want you to keep going,” you breathed.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, rocking you over his thigh again and sitting up, desperately pressing his lips to your neck. “You'll never have to beg for anything you want. Just ask or tell me and it's yours.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as your nails dug into his shoulders, feeling his thigh getting wetter beneath you. “Please…” you whispered, unsure of what exactly you were asking for. Mercy? To be put out of your misery? You could ask for anything except for freedom.

“Still begging when you don't have to.” He chuckled affectionately. “You’re so sweet.”

The pleasure building inside you was bittersweet. Sexual acts were, in your eyes, something to bring you closer together. What would he want next? What would you want next?

“Fucking yourself on my thigh. Wait ‘til you fuck yourself on my cock,” he gruffly spoke, your walls clenching around nothing when he lightly nipped over your pulse. “Just let go if you want. Make a mess for me.”

You were breathless from how close you were. “Do… that again,” you said, unable to let yourself feel embarrassed in the moment.

Bucky nipped your neck again and smiled when you moaned. “Fuck, that’s my beautiful girl. Doing so good for me, telling me what you want,” he said gruffly, dragging you faster along his thigh. “Now I want you to come for me.”

Your mouth fell open when he rocked you faster and bit down once more, hard enough that something inside you snapped. It didn’t just snap, you shattered. You saw stars. You couldn't stop it.

“There you go. Coming just for me,” he smiled, burying his face in your neck. “Fuck, you got my thigh all wet. Just ride it out. Good girl.”

Your face burned and you wanted to hide once you slowed down, but he wouldn’t let you when he lifted his head. He looked so happy, like a cat who got the cream. Your release dripped from your pussy and soaked your pajamas and his pants. You let him get you off.

And breathing hard, you surprised both of you by leaning in and kissing him.

He let out a deep moan, kissing you back with everything he had as he held you closer. You were still shaking from your orgasm, and you could blame that for the reason why you kissed him. And he behaved, not letting his hands wander as his tongue moved with yours.

He kept his mouth close to yours when you pulled back. The orgasm surprisingly helped you relax, but it worried you, too. Had you pushed too far with what you just did? Would he want more? You couldn’t let him in, and you weren’t ready to let yourself fall for him after everything. Not yet.

“Um, thanks,” you said, unsure of what to say to break the tension.

“Thank you,” he smiled.

His smile confused you. “But… you didn’t…” you trailed off. He was hard in his pants, and you hadn’t gotten him off. You selfishly got yourself off on his thigh with his encouragement.

“That doesn't matter,” he assured you, kissing the tip of your nose. “You trusted me enough to make you feel good.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “But that’s… No. I…” You just wanted a bit of time with your friends, it wasn’t about trust. Was it? How could you trust this man?

He tucked your head under his chin and wrapped one of the blankets around you. “I know you're still a bit scared and you don’t want to trust me, and that’s okay. It’s scary to let someone like me in after everything.”

You shut your eyes to hold back tears. He had scared you from the moment you met, but you wouldn’t say you were completely scared of him right now. Not really. You didn’t know how you felt.

That was what scared you.

“Will someone keep an eye on my place while I’m out tomorrow?” you asked curiously, hoping the question didn't sound weird. You just didn't want Clark snooping around, and you didn't want Bucky worked up if you mentioned him.

“I have safety measures in place,” he replied. “Do you feel safe here?” he asked above a whisper.

“Yes,” you replied. You felt safe and in danger all at once. It was a strange feeling.

“Good,” he whispered. “Hey. Maybe you can spend the night tomorrow, too? We’ll do a movie night.”

“Maybe,” you whispered, your heart finally starting to slow to a steady rate. “And pizza.”

“Pizza and a movie? It’s a date,” he smiled. “We can talk about redecorating the place, too. Make it a real home for us.”

“A real home,” you whispered, knowing full well you were home for Bucky.

He rubbed your back and you noticed how relaxed he was. He was content to just hold you. Like an actual couple. Exactly what he wanted.

And if he noticed a tear streaming down your cheek when you eventually fell asleep in his arms, he thoughtfully kept that to himself.

So, that happened. It could've been... worse? He's wearing his girl down, isn't he? How are things going to be in the morning? Will he leave you be when you're with your friends? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[imsobadatnicknames2]

sorry to bother you and please delete this if it's too obnoxious but can you explain what was going on in that last post with the "smol bean hitler" thing I have cognitive issues and definitely want to block at least one of the people involved but I don't really understand what's being said?

Okay I don't blame you for not understanding it because there's a lot of context there. I will do my best to give a rundown of the situation and explain everything to the best of my ability, but my account of the events might be incompelte because I really didn't witness everything.

A little over a week ago, tumblr user siwolism made a post about how she watches a lot of videos about korean fried chicken, and she had noticed a trend in the comments of these videos: a lot of those videos had comments from americans (mainly black americans) bragging about how the only reason why koreans have fried chicken is because african-american soldiers took the recipe to korea during the korean war. She said that as a korean she found these comments uncomfortable because for korean people the korean war was an extremely bloody conflict and korea hasn't still fully recovering from its effects, and americans displaying such pride about any of the things they did during the korean war is an appalling display of american chauvinism. And that the fact that black americans were displaying the same chauvinistic mindset that she would have expected from whtie americans showed that being black or any racial minority in america doesn't exempt anyone from the privileges of american imperialism or the chauvinism of defending it.

At some point I got involved by making a comment on the post, about how I found it silly that people were insulting op and tagging the post as "#tw antiblackness" when all she did was complain that it's downright evil for americans, regardless of race, to joke about the time the USA invaded korea so violently that 1 out of every 10 koreans got killed.

(I still stand by that, considering that the post didn't complain about black ppl in america in general, only about the ones that she saw acting in a specific chauvinistic way, and despite how much people have accused her since of "singling out" black americans as the main beneficiaries or defenders of american imperialism, the post went out of its way to make it clear that this was just a manifestation of a wider problem that applies to all americans regardless of race)

I also made another addition to the post about how i think many of the people making those comments were probably motivated by the way so many african-american inventions in the US have their roots erased once they become popular with non-black people, but that in my opinion they were failing to understand that, despite how superficially similar they may look, "a black american telling a white american that they should be thankful because black people invented jazz and rock" is a fundamentally different situation from "a black american telling a korean that they should be thankful because black people brought fried chicken to them during the war", because the power dynamics between these two countries and the history of the korean war fundamentally changes the situation.

These additions in particular picked up a lot of steam, which somewhat accelerated the post in question breaking containment.

Siwolism was accused of being antiblack for using the term "amerikkka" in her post. Your mileage may vary on that one, but regardless of your opinion I don't think it invalidates any of the things she said in the post.

She was accused of erasing the racism and oppression that black people face in the USA. She repeatedly clarified that she (like any serious anti-imperialist) recognizes that racial minorities in the imperial core face racism and oppression, but that their oppression in that axis doesn't erase the fact that living in the imperial core puts them in a position of privilege over people in the imperial periphery.

She was also accused of erasing anti-black racism in korea (which is a complete non-sequitur tbh, unless you're interpreting her post as "all black people oppress all korean people" and not "black people in america have the capacity to act in imperialistic ways toward people in other countries"). She clarified that she thinks racial discrimination in south korea is a serious issue, that she faces a great deal of it as a north korean immigrant of hui chinese descent, but that she obviously doesn't have it as bad as the discrimination black people face in korea. However, she said the situation of a black person from korea and a black person from america is not the same with relation to imperialism, and when a black soldier is stationed in one of the numerous american military bases in korea they don't face the same struggles as a korean black person because they're acting as part of an imperialist occupying force.

As the post broke containment, she faced increasing levels of harassment. She started getting anons calling her anti-asian slurs, particularly someone who called her an "antiblack gook bitch", "gook" being a slur extensively used by american soldiers to refer to koreans during the korean war.

(that might have been the same person who left me an anon calling me a "fucking antiblack beaner" in response to my additions to silowism's post but who knows)

She also had multiple anons telling her that they hoped she and all her friends got killed by the next american soldier they encountered, which is especially vile considering that american soliders stationed in military bases in south korea have a history of killing and commiting sexual violence against korean women and facing no consequences for it, to the point that the US government coerced the South Korean government into signing a treaty that prevents any US soldiers caught comitting such acts from being tried in a South Korean court.

At some point she psoted the following meme

This is a meme that has been used numerous times on this website to make fun fo the way how a post gets misinterpreted in increasingly ridiculous ways as it gets further away from your mutual circle. I think it's clear that none of the categories on the right are targeted specifically at black people, but instead at the people running with the worst possible interpretation of anything she said in her post (a lot of whom weren't even black americans, I think it's important to acknowledge that a lot of them were white americans who were pissed of that imperialism were being called out and decided to amplify the accusations of racism because it was a progressive-sounding way to shut down discussions of american imperialism). Still, a lot of people ran with the worst faith interpreation of it and started talking about how she "literally said all black people are illiterate chimpanzees"

She also, at some point, after days of continued harrassment, told one of the people harassing her to hang themselves. Again, people ran with the worst possible interpreation of it to talk about how "she's literally sending lynching theats to black people"

Eventually the harassment was so much that she deleted her blog.

Almost two weeks later people keep playing telephone with increasingly outlandish misinterpretations of the things she said, resulting in the tags you saw screenshotted on the post you're referring to, where someone accused her of "implying black people invented imperialism"

so yeah like I'm not going to tell you who to block or even to block anyone at all, but that's my attempt at catching you up to speed on what's going on in that post.

[jsxjmn]

— I hope she buys you flowers

pairing: daniela avanzini x fem!reader - megan skiendiel x fem!reader

synopsis: after abandoning you like a lost puppy because she was bored and tired of you, daniela began to realize how much you mean to her.

warning: angst, swearing. men please dni! normal texts is present, small and italic texts are past.

wc: 1.5k

Daniela’s POV

Sitting here alone at our villa while watching the other girls have fun, and there she is, my girl, or should I say Megan's girl. She used to be mine, mine to keep and mine alone, and now she's someone's girl, and all because I was stupid, so stupid to let her go.

"Dani? Are you coming? Y/N's about to blow her cake," Sophia asked me while applying her sunscreen.

my hearts breaks a little when i hear your name~

‘Y/N Isabel Laforteza my leader’s baby sister’

"Uhm, no, I'll probably go to my room; my head's kinda heavy," I said, standing up. Sophia looks at me with her 'I know you're lying' look.

"Dani," she said while putting the sunscreen on her bag, she's about to say something when I cut her off, "Not now, Sophia, I'm not ready," I said. "Not ready? Not ready to what? Face what you used to have?" she said.

"Sophia, please stop!" I said, frustrated. "No, Dani! I'm so done with this; I'm so done with your attitude! you're being unreasonable!" she said, furious.

"I’m unreasonable? Wow! Do you want me to be happy for them? Do you want me to just accept that my band member stole my girlfriend and you guys supported her? You’re the one who’s unreasonable!”

"Are you hearing yourself? No one stole Y/N from you! You broke her and left her like a puppy! And I’m unreasonable? You left my sister, Daniela, not just anyone but my sister! And I’m here trying to set aside everything that you’ve done to my sister just for this fucking group! So don’t tell me that I’m unreasonable when I’m here trying my best to be your leader when God knows how much I want to murder you right now, so do what you want! Go to your room and be the selfish bitch you are; I’m done with you!" she said and left.

“Sophia, I'm sorry” I tried saying, but she slams the door. ‘Nice one, , Dani. You’re such a great fucking bitch.’

~

That I should've bought you flowers and held your hand ~

“Dani? Can you please buy me some roses? I really love them” Y/N said while looking at the flower shop near the park. “What? No! They’ll die anyway; I don’t want to waste my money,” I said while looking at my phone, not even glancing at her. “Oh, okay, sorry,” she said.

We walk at the park for a while when I felt her hand holding mine. “What are you doing? ” i asked while pulling my hands “i uhm, i just want to hold your hands” she said looking down

“Are you hearing yourself? You act like you’re not Sophia’s sister! What if someone saw us? I don’t want to be involved in a dating scandal, Y/N” I said furiously and walked away without even looking back.

“Dani, i’m sorry” i heard her but i just ignored her

~

“Happy birthday, baby!” Megan said and kissed Y/N’s cheeks,

“You guys are so disgustingly sweet! ”Lara said, “Please, Megan, stop kissing my sister in front of me!” Sophia said, pulling Y/N away from Megan,

“You’re such a cock blocker, Ate!” Y/N said, rolling her eyes, “Then stop kissing in front of me! ”Sophia said, “I’m just happy, okay? She bought me flowers; no one has done it before” Y/N said mumbling the last part.

“Dani? Can you please buy me some roses? I really love them”

“I bought you flowers for your graduation. ”Sophia complained, “That's different” Y/N said. “Yes, Sophia, it's different; you're so old” Lara said, making the rest laugh. “I am not! ” Sophia said earning a giggle from Y/N

“Yes you are, so if you excuse me, i want to hold my girlfriend’s hand” Megan said pulling Y/N

“I, um, I just want to hold your hands.”

“Are you hearing yourself? You act like you’re not Sophia’s sister! What if someone saw us? I don’t want to be involved in a dating scandal, Y/N”

‘She looks so happy, not the same way when she’s with me. I really messed up, huh?’

~

Now I'll never, never get to clean up the mess I made, oh and that haunts me every time I close my eyes~

“Y/N, let’s break up. I’m so tired, and I’m bored of this relationship,” I said, looking at Y/N.

“What? You’re joking, right? It’s not a good joke, Dani,” she said, looking confused.

“I’m not; I’m done with us,” I said and walked away.

“Dani, please! Let’s talk!” She begged while following me, and I just walked towards my car. “Dani, please! You don’t mean that! Let’s fix this, please! I’ll do anything!” She begged , but I just went inside my car and left, leaving her there. Like a puppy.

*72 missed calls from Bae

*5 missed calls from our leader

*9 missed calls from Megan

~

“You guys did so well!” Y/N said while hugging Yoonchae, We just finished our MAMA performance.

“Really? Did you take some video?”Yoonchae asked, “You bet she did; she probably has a Megan fan cam on her phone” Lara said.

“Hey! I have some of you guys, meanie” Y/N said, pouting, ‘cute’

“Hey! Stop bullying my girlfriend. If you guys want a fan cam of yours, find yourself a partner and leave my woman alone” Megan said, pulling Y/N.

‘I have a partner; she used to be. I used to have those fan cams.’

~

Now my baby's dancin', but she's dancin' with another man~

ding dong~

“Dani, can you open the door, please?” Sophia said. “Okay,” I said, and I walked towards the door. I opened the door and saw Y/N.

After 2 months of not seeing her and not hearing anything from her, she’s here standing in front of me.

“What are you doing here? I told you we’re done,” I said. I’m about to close the door when I heard Megan, “Sophia, is that Y/N? ”Megan asked Sophia, “I don’t know; Dani opened the door! ” Sophia shouted from the kitchen.

“Well, as you can see, Daniela. I’m not here for you,” she said. I was about to say something when Megan ran towards the door, not even glancing at me. “Y/N! You’re here so early. You said you’d pick me up at 6:30, and it’s only 6. The reservation was 7, right? Did i read it wrong? ”Megan asked, panicking,

“You didn't read it wrong, Megan; I was just excited for our date, so I’m here, and I want to go somewhere before we go to the restaurant,” Y/N said, giggling.

‘Date??’

“Okay, let’s go. Sophia, we’re leaving” Megan shouted. “Okay! Be safe; take care of my sister! ” Sophia shouted; Megan and Y/N just left like I wasn't there.

I closed the door and walked towards me and Manon’s room while thinking about what I heard: ‘date? They’re going on a date?’

“You look like someone who has seen a ghost,” Manon said, laughing. “They’re going on a date,” I said. “who? ”Manon asked, “Megan and Y/N” I said. “Oh, um, yeah” Manon said, making me look at her in disbelief.

“You knew? You fucking knew?”I asked Mad, “Well, everyone of us knew. They’ve been talking for a month now,” she said, not even looking at me, just focused on her phone.

“Are you guys fucking serious?”I asked, “Yeah, and I don’t see any problem with that” she said, glaring at me. “She’s my fucking ex. ”I said, “and? ”Manon asked, closing her phone, “She’s my ex, and you let her date Megan?'What the fuck is wrong with you all??”I shouted at her.

“What’s going on?”Lara asked confused while entering our room. “You guys happened. You fucking let my ex date my bandmate and didn't even tell me! ”I shouted at the both of them, “Hold on! Who the hell do you think you are for us to tell you everything? You’re just her ex!” Lara said and walked towards me.

“What’s going on here? I heard someone shouting. ” Sophia entered the room while Yoonchae walked behind her.

“Well, Dani here is mad because we did not tell her about your sister and Megan! ”Lara said, “Why would we tell you? You didn't even tell my sister a reasonable reason when you left her; do you think you still have a right to know about it? ”Sophia said, looking at me in disbelief.

“Wow? So you’re teaming up now?”I said, laughing, “We're not; we just happened to use our brains, not like you! Who just left my sister in the park without any explanation, and now you’re mad because we did not tell you about her and Megan?” Sophia walks toward me. “Listen here, Daniela. Stay fucking away from my sister” Sophia said before walking out of the room, followed by the rest.

~

“Daniela, can we talk?”Y/N asked, “Of course” I said, and she sat in front of me.

“I just want to thank you,” she said, making me confused. “What do you mean? I didn't do anything” i asked confused

“Exactly, that’s why I’m thanking you. Thank you for abandoning me, because if you didn’t, I wouldn't be with Megan, right now. I won’t be happy the same way I am now, so thank you” she said before standing up.

“I’m too late, huh? ”I asked, she looks at me before smiling, “You’re far from being late, you’re done” she said before leaving me, leaving me the same way I did.

Oh, I know I'm probably much too late To try and apologize for my mistakes

tags: @cwpiqwon

[3amfanfiction]

Our Girlfriend pt 2

The morning after.

You can thank @disasterofastory for this piece about the morning after you had four men in your bed. Considering you'd never spoken to two of them, how is this going to go? 1.5k little ficlet of a scene. A little bit of fluffy sweetness to even out the pure smut of the first chapter.

Part one

The bed was almost empty by the time you woke up, only you and Johnny remaining. You were curled up to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart as your eyes peeled open, sticky with sleep.

You didn't move at first, just laid there content to breathe in the still morning air where nothing needed to be done. There were no deadlines to meet, no chores to complete . . . it was just you, existing.

You watched as the thick chest under your cheek raised up as he drew in the breath to speak. Your quiet morning was about to be disturbed. You held onto the few split seconds you had remaining, locking onto this peace to get you through your day.

"You awake, love?"

Because real life always came knocking.

You hummed an assent, not interested in trying to force your tongue into shapes that would make words. You felt wonderfully wrung out, with only the things occurring right this moment needing thought. There wasn't any stress about yesterday or any worry about tomorrow.

Johnny stroked along your back gently with calloused fingers, a slight tickling scratch to go along with the warm caress. It roused you enough to turn and press a kiss to the warm skin you were laying on, a non-verbal 'good morning' in place of any proper greeting.

Johnny pressed a return kiss to the crown of your head, never ceasing the running of his palm over your back. You really did love him. You knew it was fast, that people say there was no way it would last because of how quickly you two fell together but you ignored them. Johnny was something special and you were thankful he was in your life.

The sun had shifted slightly when he spoke again. "How do you feel this morning?"

As a matter of fact . . .

"Johnny." Firm. You know he'll try and wiggle his way out of an answer if he catches any hint of weakness. "What was that last night?"

He didn't respond at first. After a moment you tilted your head up to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling, a serene look on his face with a hint of a smile on his lips.

"It was nice, wasn't it? I can't believe I decided to take a nap right in the middle of it though. Don't worry, love, I'll be making it up to you." He was coming to life with every word spoken. His face more animated, fingers starting to twitch and legs rubbing together. You knew you only had a few more minutes in bed before he would be up and gone—ready to start another day.

"That wasn't what I meant and you know it. Why did they all talk like we were dating? What have you been telling them?"

"Nothing that wasn't true, I promise." He turned to look beseechingly into your eyes, ensuring you saw the truth in what he was saying. "I told them about you, of course. How amazing you were—always looking out for me, being so understanding, not taking any of my shite." He grinned at the last one, ever amused by your backbone, "and they fell in love with you, just like I did. And then you went and showed me that you loved them back and I couldn't let it go. I had to bring the four of you together."

Immediately you clocked what he meant. "Johnny MacTavish, those muffins weren't—they didn't mean—" How could you even begin to explain away this misunderstanding? Especially after what happened last night? You didn't get any further before the bedroom door opened.

"Good morning, sleeping beauties," Kyle beamed as he walked in holding two coffee cups. "You two finally ready to join the rest of us?"

Oh shit. The rest of them.

How are you going to face them? You'd never even properly met two of them and you let them into your bed. You'd let the man standing in the doorway come in your mouth last night. You've never even spoken to him.

All of a sudden you found yourself tongue-tied, unable to do anything more than mumble a shy thank you as you were handed your cup of coffee. Starting to sit up you realized you were still completely naked under the blanket and looked around self-consciously for a shirt to pull on.

Kyle saw slight panic in your eyes and grabbed a t-shirt off the floor. It was the one Simon had worn last night. You thought about putting up a fuss, asking for one of your own but in the end you graciously accepted, more worried about being covered in the bold light of day than worrying about who's shirt you wore.

Comfortably covered once more you turned to face the two men, looking at you with differing shades of the same smile. You felt around the corners of your mouth and eyes to make sure there weren't any lingering crusties before you took a sip of your coffee. Your eyes widened and darted up to Kyle's face.

"Johnny hasn't stopped talking about you since he you met. Any one of us could make your drink with our eyes closed by now," he teased gently, good-natured mirth shining through his warm eyes. "I hope you don't mind, we took liberties with your kitchen. Cap and Simon are finishing breakfast right now. Well," he allowed with a small shrug, "The captain is, Simon isn't allowed near the stove. Not unless you want a bit of char on your food."

"You didn't have to do all that, here let me . . . " You worked to pull yourself from the bed without spilling your coffee or flashing anyone. "Let me get dressed and I'll be down. They're guests, they shouldn't be cooking." Of all the things. You didn't truly mind the thought of them in your kitchen but it felt like you should protest on principle. When you stood up your hips gave a worrying twinge and you braced yourself against the mattress. Yeah, maybe you should just leave them be after all.

It was embarrassing how quickly Johnny and Kyle were at your side, clearly no worse for wear after the night you all had. You'd like to see them jump up like that after having their hips spread around another's torso. Not so easy then, huh?

Waving them off exasperatedly you gingerly left the room and headed for the kitchen. You walked in just in time to see John swatting at Simon, shooing him away from the stove where he had picked up a spatula and was attempting to stir the eggs. You must have made some sort of noise because both men turned to look at you, freezing as they took you in. Standing in the kitchen with bare legs and Simon's black t-shirt, Kyle and Johnny clustered behind you, you must have made quite the sight. John was the first to come to his senses, pushing the utensil back into Simon's hand distractedly and walking over to you.

"Good morning, sweetheart." He looked you up and down, "we weren't too rough with you last night, I hope?" he questioned with a raised brow, his soft-looking mustache bristling with the movement of his mouth. It twitched while he waited for your answer—worried but fighting not to show it.

"I'm good," you reassured, "Better than, even." You smiled sweetly up at him, enjoying watching the tension leave his face, the little furrow between his brow disappearing. It almost startled you, how fond you were of these men. It was strange.

You didn't know the exact shade of blue John's eyes were but you knew he needed reading glasses if it was late at night and he was still working on paperwork. You'd never seen the way the hair curled at the nape of his neck but you knew he liked deep-tissue massages after tough missions.

So strange. You knew them intimately and as strangers all at once, a unique dichotomy to be in. You wondered if they felt the same way. They knew how you took your coffee and what you would normally make for yourself for breakfast. Was it so hard to believe they were in the same boat as you? That they knew you as deeply as you knew them?

You found it was easy to fall into their orbit. All of them drifting around the others in ever-changing patterns. Present but not suffocating.

They liked to keep a hand on you though, for all that they gave each other room to breathe. They would take turns standing beside you after you took a seat—a hand placed low on your back as they came in for a kiss or moving over to hold your hand while they spoke about anything under the sun.

You laughed when the eggs Simon had been tasked to look over had to be tossed out after smoke started wafting from the pan. The happy peals doing more to settle the men than you knew, because hadn't you realized? They were already falling for you too.

Next

[seraphont]

What was the thing you disliked the most about the finale?

i dont really dislike anything about the finale! it introduced a couple of cool worldbuilding bits that I really enjoy for the series. I only have thoughts on how I would have liked it to be adjusted.

on my initial watch- I wasnt a fan of the pacing, but after watching it again- while still not the biggest fan- its clear ep 8 is supposed to be played directly after ep7, not really a standalone ep.

the main thing I would have liked to be changed tho:

while I do love the V vs J fight, I feel like it would have been more impactful story wise to have a convo/fight between J and N instead. two characters that were set up to have conflict, unresolved, who never meshed well throughout the series.

the beginning of the series N was a textbook fawner, an invertabrate, no spine- who had a hard time standing up for himself without some encouragement from Uzi. while we saw a change in development with how he stood up to "Tessa", I feel like a final fight vs J- his tormentor, would have been the bow on top of his growth.

and also? maybe we could have gotten J's motives/reasoning for being an asshat? she clearly had shit happening, would have been cool too.

I just think it would have been way more impactful seeing this N vs J fight paralleled with how they interacted first ep. to really drive home how much N had grown over the course of the series.

[tossawary]

Qijiu's reunion at the Immortal Alliance Conference could have so easily gone differently. If Yue Qi had had the time to express joy over Shen Jiu's survival, before Shen Jiu got angry at apparently being abandoned for a better life, and before Yue Qi then assumed that the failed rescue was the unforgivable harm rather than the apparent failure to return at all, they might have gotten somewhere.

But, you know, another way things could have gone differently is Yue Qi and Shen Jiu not coming face-to-face and recognizing each other at the same time. It could have been one or the other.

Wu Yanzi presumably can't slip into the conference because he's (not invited and also) a wanted criminal, but he might have been able to send his apprentice in to walk around, with Shen Jiu pretending to be just another random disciple among the crowd. If Shen Jiu had disguised himself to enter the conference early, he could have easily seen Head Disciple of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect Yue Qingyuan in a position of dutiful prominence during some opening speech, without Yue Qi noticing him in return.

The conclusions that Shen Jiu would jump to without any indication Yue Qi even remembers him? Bad. Obviously, the only thing to do there is take furious revenge and completely ruin this Yue Qingyuan's beautiful new life somehow.

Likewise, if Shen Jiu had been wandering around the conference to scope out the valuables, Yue Qi could have seen him through the crowd without being noticed in return. Maybe CQMS's head disciple is better situated making the mingling rounds rather than standing up somewhere with the talking heads. Before Shen Jiu knows what's happening here, he's being accosted in a quiet corner by some young master on the verge of crying on his stolen uniform. He just barely manages not to stab this guy about it.

"Xiao-Jiu, you're alive! I came back for you but I was too late and found that awful place burned to the ground! Nobody knew where you'd gone. You're a disciple of Huan Hua Palace now? I'm so happy for you!" this person says, beaming with ugly joy- wait, is this...? "I'm so sorry that Qi-Ge was so useless."

Shen Jiu barely manages to stumble out of this conversation without passing out. Yue Qi gets dragged away by some Cang Qiong master for some social responsibility, clinging to Shen Jiu's hands and swearing to find him later, and he thinks Shen Jiu is a Huan Hua Palace disciple. What was Shen Jiu supposed to say to that assumption? That he's actually lying scum?!

Shen Jiu now has to survive this conference without Yue Qi finding out the truth and without Wu Yanzi finding out about Yue Qi. Upping the tension of this fic idea: maybe Wu Yanzi does find out that Shen Jiu knows the head disciple of CQMS. (Maybe Wu Yanzi was lurking around the edges in disguise as well. Maybe Wu Yanzi witnesses some later conversation between Qijiu.) Wu Yanzi now wants to use Shen Jiu as an "in" to rob or otherwise harm CQMS.

If Shen Jiu is the one who saw Yue Qi first and jumped to angry conclusions and revenge plans about it, maybe the spiteful Shen Jiu likes the idea of reuniting with Yue Qi just to fuck him over like that. He's going to regret that pretty quickly, though.

[ebodebo]

Bite to Break Skin

—hear me out: simon as your new boxing coach…

current warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, p in v, mentions of evil nasty men, bad interruptions of boxing lol, cliche as hell, but cutie, boob play, teasing, ghost being a bastard, some fingering, making you be still idk the term, multiple orgasms, & nasty kissing through his mask.

"Goes by Ghost," Mac, the older man who owned the gym you frequented, said, leading you to the back section, where the boxing room was. 

"He's one of the best God-damn soldiers I've ever met, I'll tell you what. Saw him take out some insurgent with just his bare hands," he gruffly laughs out before glancing at your doe-eyed state.

His eyes soften, putting his hand on your shoulder lightly.

"He's a secret softie. He'll take good care of you."

You tightly grip the bag over your other shoulder as he leads you to the room this Ghost guy was in, your nerves getting the better of you. 

Mac grips the handle, but before he pulls on it, he turns to look at you. "He's not so good at casual conversation. Might be a little blunt, but most vets are. Just try to have fun, okay?" 

You nod meekly as he pulls the door open for you to step inside, closing it behind you as you fully step inside.

The room is dimly lit, with the only source of light coming from a few small windows high up on the wall.

You are in a relatively small room with punching bags, speedballs, and jump ropes neatly hung on the wall.

"You the new girl?" A deep, English voice boomed around the room in an echo.

You turn around quickly to be met with just about the hottest guy you've ever seen. 

He was tall, with a muscular build.

He wore a plain white t-shirt, dark gray sweatpants, a simple black Manchester United football cap, and a simple black mask covering his face's lower half.

"I—yes. I am," you stutter out, feeling a sudden surge of nervousness.

"Got gloves?" He gruffly questions, grabbing some focus mitts for himself and slipping off his cap.

"Yeah," you sputter, moving to set your duffle bag down to fumble through it before pulling out a pair of bright pink boxing gloves.

"Cute," he hums lowly as he sees you slip the neon gloves on, nearing back towards him.

You feel your face warm at his, granted dry compliment, but a compliment nonetheless. "Thanks," you murmur, now standing in front of him.

"Let's work on your stance." He demonstrates a broad, balanced stance. "A good stance gives you more power and speed."

"What if my stance isn't wide enough?" You question, awkwardly mimicking him, feeling out of your element. 

"You get socked," he says casually. "Widen your legs."

Oh. Oh no.

There was no flirty undertone whatsoever, though you couldn't help how your stomach fluttered at the ask. 

How the hell were you going to be able to work with him? 

"If you were to break like that," his voice is low, distinctly gravelly.

"Out there," he raises his hand to point out the window. 

"You're gettin' your ass handed to you." 

You nod lightly, inhaling a deep breath, determined to clear your mind and focus on the task.

"Focus," he rasps as you adjust your stance to widen your legs.

"Good. Now throw a jab," he orders, his eyes narrowing.

You raise a brow in confusion. "At what?"

"The air," he monotonously says, raising one of his brows. 

You turn to look over your shoulder. "The bag is right there?"

He lets out an irritated sigh. "And if I wanted you to punch the bag, I would have said so," he mutters in a sharp, caustic tone. 

"Just throw a punch."

You tentatively throw a jab, feeling an odd sense of adrenaline. 

"Rotate your hips," he commands. "Generates power."

You nod, throwing yet another jab, this time with a confident hip rotation, making your punch faster and more powerful. 

"Good girl," he gruffs. "Let's get you to practice your cross."

You spent the next thirty minutes or so reviewing various punch and foot techniques and only slightly googling him, growing increasingly impatient.

Hell, you didn't think you would be doing hard combat at the first go around, but you thought you'd be doing something a helluva bit more interesting than just punching some guys' hands. 

"Is this all this session is going to be?" You grunt out, laying a punch to his mitt. "Punching your hand."

There's a flicker of amusement in his eyes before he shakes his head from side to side. "You're not ready for more."

"Come on," you probe with a sly tone. "The whole point of this is so I learn self-protection. Some guy in an alley could try to rob me. I should learn something more practical."

He narrows his eyes at you before taking a breath. "Fine."

"Wait, really?" You ask with perplexity.

He shrugs. "You want practical? I'll give you practical."

You nod your head because hell yeah.

He's finally going to teach you something you can actually use.

"Block me," he mumbles, tossing his focus mitts to the side.

You let out a dry laugh. "I can't block you."

"Thought you wanted to learn more self-protection?" He clicks his tongue.

"Well, yeah...but I can't take you," you cross over your chest.

He lets out an arid chuckle.

"Sweetheart," he begins. "Most men that prey on women are built; they prey on women because they think they're weak. An easy target."

Your eyes shift to the ground, looking at the dark blue rubber flooring you stand on. 

"How bout' we show them you're not?" He tips his head towards you.

You bite your bottom lip in between your teeth until you taste a coppery liquid coat your tongue.

"Well?" He urges, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You glance up at him, inhaling a deep puff of air, before nodding your head and issuing a crisp, 'Fine.'

He gives you a curt nod, flexing his hands. "Gloves up."

"Don't take it easy on me," you say, raising your hands to assume a blocking position. 

He raises his hands. "Wasn't going to."

You puff out a breath, feeling confident despite your little training.

He threw a jab, precise and fast, to your left side.

You could feel the rush of air as his fist sliced through the space, the sound of his knuckles cutting the silence. 

You raised your arm to block it, but his punch was just a feint, and he quickly followed it up with a cross.

You tried blocking the cross, but his punch was too strong. 

His blow sent you stumbling backward, but you refused to give in, your arms flailing wildly to try and find balance, though to no avail.

As you fell, Ghost tried to grab you, but his own feet got tangled in ropes, and together, you both hit the mat, his hand extending out to rest beside you before his body weight fell on you. 

You both just lay there, panting and tangled.

Your nails dig into the flooring beneath you to suppress your nerves and the hoard of butterflies swarming in your stomach.

He has yet to look at you, his eyes wandering about the flooring as he catches his breath.

His eyes flick to yours already on him. 

"What?" He almost spits, the tension in his voice palpable.

"You—you have pretty eyes," you sputter out, your vulnerability laid bare.

There's a beat of silence.

With your eyes still locked on his, the air thickens, building an intense anticipation.

Until his masked lips, a tempting mystery, dip down and consume your lips in a passionate kiss.

You can feel the outline of his lips on yours, a tangible connection as you reciprocate the ferry kiss with equal fervor. 

Your skin is sizzling.

You're sure if someone took a match to your skin, you would be set ablaze. 

All you can hear is your own heartbeat as he pants through the mask, lips feverishly sucking on yours through the fabric. 

His fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head desperately as you throw your gloves off to the side.

"Christ," he mutters into your lips as he gropes your breast through your bra. 

You let out a whine at the contact, placing your hand over his, pawing at your breast, holding it tightly so he doesn't move it. 

His hand squeezes your covered breast before his fingers skim down to the band of your bra, slipping his pointer under to skim your sensitive nipple.

Your mouth hangs agape as his fingers prod the sensitive bud, flicking it and moving it against the rough pad of his finger. 

"Sensitive one," he tuts, taking his finger out and instead reaching to unclasp your bra, letting your breasts pour out freely. 

His coarse hand wastes no time fondling your bare breast, pointer, and thumb, going back to roll your nipple between the two fingers. 

You squirm under his touch, equal parts aroused and impatient. 

"You're impatient," he observes, his fingers still tweaking your nipple.

"I just—need you," your voice is already strained. "Can't wait."

The corners of his eyes crinkle, insinuating a smile—what a bastard.

"Oh," he hums in a condescending tone. "Thought you were going to be a patient girl," his finger skims down to the waistband of your pants before he pulls it away. "Was I mistaken?"

"No—no. I can be...patient," you force out, already mourning the contact.

"You sure?" He questions, his tone low and sultry. 

"Because only patient girls get to come."

You release an anguished moan at his words, issuing a hurried, breathless 'Yes.'

"You gonna be a good girl and let me play with you?" He brings his hand back to skim over your stomach.

Your eyes flick to his, full of irritation.

"I said yes," you say through gritted teeth.

He dips his head forward, eyes narrowing at your tone. 

"You're still impatient," his tone is low as he pulls his hand away again.

You shake your head from side to side, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I—no. I can be patient."

His eyes glaze over your face—sincerity apparent in your eyes. 

He hums in acknowledgment, bringing his hand back to skim the warmth of your body. 

"Fuckin' perfect," he mutters under his breath as he drops to his knees so one of your legs is in between them.

His fingers move to dip under the waistband of your pants before gripping either side and slipping them down over your thighs.

He eyes the fresh wet spot on your underwear, reaching out to touch it with a finger. 

You let out a whine as your body thrusts forward at his touch.

His eyes snap back to yours in warning.

As his fingers rub easily over the fabric, you sink back into the floor. You suck in a breath, fingers balling into a fist as you close your eyes.

"None of that," he gruffs, gripping the sides of your underwear and slipping them off smoothly. "Open."

Your eyes snapped open to meet his dark ones, peering at you.

"Good girl," he praises, his pointer rubbing over your slit that was already coated with your arousal. "You're soaked, Sweetheart."

You hold a whine in your throat as his finger moves to swirl inside you.

He begins pulsing his finger inside you, prodding against your sensitive clit. 

You remain still as his finger moves against you, only moving your mouth to let out an occasional whiney moan. 

"Look at you," he coos. "Bein' so good for me."

His finger picks up pace, moving against your clit with much pace.

"Can you take more?" He grunts out.

You hastily nod your head—aching with the need for relief. 

When he adds his middle finger into the mix, you swear you see heaven—or something very near.

He's panting as his fingers move inside you with urgency, as you let out breathless wails and feel your lower stomach start to tighten.

"I'm gonna—come," you whine, head throwing back as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Can tell. Squeezin' my fingers so tight," he groans.

It only takes a couple more pumps of his fingers for you to come undone.

Crying out in relief, chest heaving, legs shaking.

His name falls off your tongue as you come from his fingers.

Talk about a wet dream come to life.

You're still panting, coming down from your high, as Ghost reaches for the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, tugging them down to unveil his painfully erect cock, the tip already leaking some pre-come.

"I won't last too long," you sputter with equal parts anticipation and excitement as he gives his cock a nice tug, hissing a little at the contact.

"Oh, trust me," he wheezes. "Me neither."

"But I need to feel you."

You feel your face warm, your stomach tighten, and your throat dry.

All of a sudden, you're aroused despite having just came.

He positions himself to line up against your entrance, eyes locking on yours. "Ready?"

You nod, gripping his shoulders tightly. "Ready," you affirm.

He pushes his cock into your already-soaked entrance with ease, grousing as his teeth clench.

"Shit. You're tight, Baby," he mumbles, pushing himself into you deeper—still not moving the entirety of his cock in. 

"Sorry," you murmur breathlessly.

"Don't apologize," he says instantaneously, hand moving to rest on the nape of your neck. "Feels fuckin' good."

Your eyes glint at the compliment, though squeeze shut as he starts pumping in and out of—feeling so full, yet empty.

"Need—need more," your voice is coarse. "Put it all in."

His eyes widen slightly. "You sure you can handle it all?"

You hiss out a breath. "I can."

He nods, pushing the rest of his cock inside you.

Your head falls back, mouth opening to make noise before he bends down to capture all the wines he elicits that slip through your lips. 

His mask is soaked.

You can feel the wet fabric against your damp skin. 

It's hot. Really hot. 

You could probably get off to just making out with him. 

The outline of his tongue moves under the mask to trace the outline of your teeth, fabric lightly snagging on them.

You groan into his mouth as you're wildly sucking at the fabric, franticly seeking his tongue and lips. 

"Fuck, Baby," he curses, his pace picking up. 

"You're so good—so good."

You moan into his mouth, mouth hanging open over his masked one, as you feel yet another orgasm approaching.

"I know—I know," he murmurs before you say anything.

He can feel you.

You press your mouth back to his, your tongue coming out to push through the fabric before you tighten around him.

He lets out a gravelly moan as he feels you come, gripping you tighter as he comes himself. 

He lets his forehead fall against yours as both your chests rise and fall almost simultaneously.

A curse falls from his lips as he pulls out of you, easing his underwear and sweatpants back up.

His eyes lock to yours. "Need help?" He asks with sincerity.

Your lip quips, shaking your head. "I can manage."

You pull your pants up, only slightly hissing, before gripping your shirt and pulling over your head.

He helps you to your feet, reaching down to grab your bra.

You shoo his hand away. "Keep it."

His eyes narrow as he smiles under his mask.

Grabbing your duffle bag, you sling it over your shoulder, shoving your gloves in it. 

"That was great—really great, but what if someone does try something?" You ask, your concern evident in your tone.

"Don't need to worry about that," he simply says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"What? But what if—" You begin before he interrupts. 

"Just...listen to me. Yeah?" He murmurs. 

You narrow your eyes before your eyes soften up. "Yeah. Okay, okay."

"Come back tomorrow. Show you some new moves," he shrugs. 

"Similar to today, yes?" You cheekily ask. 

He lets out a dry laugh. "If you want."

"Can't wait," you chirp. "See you."

He gives a curt nod as you approach the door. You offer him a bright smile as you turn back, pushing the door open with purpose.

Stepping outside, you leave him to reflect on your interaction, giving him time to reminisce about the encounter for the next twenty-four hours until he feels you again.

You still wanted to learn how to protect yourself independently, but it didn't hurt that you had unexpectedly attained your very own guard dog, who wasn't scared to draw blood.

Just give him the command. 

a/n: i can’t believe i haven’t done this before...we also don't need to talk about the logistics of this, okay?

divider!

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[baepsays]

Domesticity is a privilege, and privilege is attracted to Gojo Satoru.

Wait we might need to reiterate that. Because if privilege is attracted to Satoru, and being domestic with the love your life is a privilege — how come he hasn't attracted that wishful life yet!?

I mean he's already privileged (in capitalistic and aesthetic sense), he is hopelessly in love with you, so by default next outcome in this equation must be—you, him, and your cats, chilling in your bed. Just watching the rerun of your overwatched favourite show while the cats cuddle up to you two.

Now the only problem is despite being capitally and aesthetically blessed by default, the whole wooing the love of your life thing doesn't happen by staring at them from a distance while making up little scenarios in your head —how your first date would go, your first kiss, what if you met back in high school, meeting the parents, getting their blessings, getting married, and adopting two cats.

You might call him pathetic, but do not worry his friends do not shy away from voicing that fact out every two seconds. Because every two seconds he's letting out a big sigh and going "y/n would like that." or,

"y/n should try this."

"y/n"-

You get the gist of it. Really- thoughtful of him.

So this brings us here, THE Gojo Satoru sitting on the curb of the sidewalk infront of your building. With a bouquet in his hands, decked up in a three piece (probably Italian) custom suit, tie is tied rather not how a tie should be tied. But it works for him. Everything works for him.

Now do not take him for a creep! He's a gentleman of the highest stature. Gojo is actually waiting here for you for that date he secured with you after graciously asking you (practically begging you and with the help of Geto Suguru who made the dire mistake of introducing you to him in the first place).

"Satoru? What are you doing here?"

That is a valid question to have, to walk up to your building, exhausted after work and to see your date sitting outside your building, on the sidewalk nonetheless. Isn't he loaded? Where is his car even?

"Oh I was waiting for you! What are you doing out so late?" At this point he got up to stand face to face with you (took a lot of courage for him to do that!).

"I had to do overtime and, no, wait. Why are you waiting for me at 2 AM?

"Oh you know to pick you up for our date!"

"Satoru. That is tomorrow. I am supposed to see you at 4 PM tomorrow. Were you planning on to camp out here all night? where is your car??" (my concern as well)

"First of all- I got too excited and I couldn't sleep. sooooo-" he stretches it on, what's about to come next couldn't possibly be any better.

"So I thought I'd put on the suit I bought for our date! Then I thought hmm well now if I sleep in this it'll get creases and I won't have much time to get it ironed. Then I saw the flowers, I was growing to give you, sort of wilting away. And I couldn't possibly give you dead flowers for our first date! And I was waiting in my car, then it got towed away, and-"

"STOP."

What do you even do in this situation? Tell him to go home? How is he going to do that with practically no public transport working at this hour and his car gone. Even you barely caught the last train home. I mean any other individual would get weirded out, get angry, and upset. But you, well,

"How about instant ramen and a movie for a first date, on my couch?"

I suppose you are attracted to Gojo Satoru just as much as privilege is attracted to him. And oh what a privilege it is to be loved and to be wanted like that one soft blanket you just want to snuggle up into at the end of the day.

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (11)

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

Chapter 11 - 50/50

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 12

PREV : Chapter 10

You brought your fingertips to your lips, tracing the delicate, swollen skin. The warmth of his kiss lingered there, a memory etched so vividly that it made your cheeks flush every time you thought about it. Ever since that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet Young-il’s gaze. Embarrassment bloomed every time you saw even the faintest glimpse of him.

You’d spent some time trying to understand it. Why had he kissed you? Was it to take your mind off everything you’d seen him do to Min-jae? The thought made you pause. It was a caring gesture, or perhaps a manipulative one. Either way, it had worked. It had calmed you. The kiss pulled your thoughts away from his ruthless act. Whether intentional or not, his actions had eased the storm inside you.

The third game was over, and you descended the labyrinthine stairs again. The line of players moved slowly. At the very front of your group were the mother and her son Yong-sik. Just behind them was Hyun-ju, her face distraught, with Gyeong-seok walking behind her. Player 333 followed close behind.

Then came Jun-hee. Behind her was Dae-ho, and then Se-mi. Gi-hun tailed behind. You were next, with Young-il just behind you like your shadow. At the very back of the line was Jung-bae.

As you descended, you focused on the steps in front of you, avoiding any accidental glance backward. You couldn’t risk catching Young-il’s eye again. Every time the memory of his lips on yours surfaced, you felt the heat creeping back up your neck like lava.

That’s when Gi-hun glanced over his shoulder and spoke up solemnly, “When we get back, let’s count the number of people remaining.”

You blinked at him questioningly as Young-il replied from behind you, “Why?”

“If we count the numbers of Os and Xs, we’ll be able to see who’s likely to win the next vote,” stated Gi-hun.

You stayed silent as Young-il responded, “We’ll have to hope more people from the other side died.”

You couldn’t stop your thoughts from drifting back to Lee Min-jae and his friends. You briefly recalled that they had been among the players who voted for O. The memory of them lingered, but it was overshadowed by the shocking scene you had witnessed. His strength, his ruthlessness. It was unsettling. If he wanted to, you realized, he could probably take down half of the O players without breaking a sweat. The sheer intensity of his combat prowess was terrifying.

I never had the chance to ask him what he did before coming here, you thought. Was he in elite forces or something?

You finally reached the dormitory, and as you stepped inside, you immediately noticed them. Player 333 discreetly yet gently pulled Jun-hee away from the group. Your heart skipped a beat as worry crept in. You observed them from a distance, concerned about the pregnant Jun-hee and whether she might be taken advantage of.

After a few moments of watching them converse quietly between the bunk beds, you relaxed. It seemed innocent enough. Satisfied that Jun-hee was okay, you turned to follow the rest of your group. That was when you noticed Se-mi had strayed away. She walked off from everyone. You wondered why she didn’t stick with your group. For a moment, you considered calling her, but you hesitated. It felt too soon to cross that line; after all, you had only just met her.

“[Your name].”

You heard your name and turned to see Young-il. He had stopped walking with Gi-hun and the others and was now standing a few paces away, waiting for you. A small, warm smile curled his lips, and his face softened as your eyes met.

“Come,” he said simply.

You walked toward him, and together, the two of you headed back to your group’s usual corner. As you walked, Young-il’s left hand lifted, and he tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. The gesture made you blush, and you stole a sneaky glance at him. You didn’t expect him to be so openly affectionate, even in front of others, especially after his confession. But then again, you hadn’t stopped him, had you?

The two of you reached the corner and immediately noticed a change. Many of the beds had been removed due to the dwindling number of players. Your group’s corner now consisted of stairs leading up to a few remaining beds. Beneath the stairs, a clear space offered an ideal spot for the group to sit around on the floor. Gi-hun and Dae-ho wasted no time claiming it as their own.

As you arrived, you couldn’t help but notice Jun-hee’s absence. She was likely still talking with player 333. Maybe he likes her, you mused to yourself, thinking about how adorable Jun-hee could be.

You and Young-il sat down on the lower bed tucked under the stairs right beside your group's spot. It offered a clear view of your group’s corner. Not long after, Jung-bae rushed back to the spot, ducking under the stairs to join the others.

“Gi-hun,” he began, “there are 55 people who voted in favor of continuing.”

Gi-hun stood straighter. “Are you sure?”

“I counted them twice,” Jung-bae reassured him.

Dae-ho, standing in between them, pointed at the O patch on Jung-bae’s chest. “What about you? Did you include yourself?”

Jung-bae glanced down at his patch, his expression momentarily blank. Then, looking back up at Gi-hun, he said, “It’s 56.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his antics. Dae-ho sighed heavily, closing his eyes as if counting in his mind. “We have 44 people on our side. That means we’re outnumbered by 12.”

Jung-bae leaned his head back in mock despair. “Shoot, that means we’re likely to lose again.”

That’s when Young-il stood up from beside you and walked over to the group. “It may seem like a big difference, but if six of them change their minds, it’ll be 50/50, all tied. If seven of them change their minds, we could win.”

“But those who pressed X might change their minds too,” Dae-ho pointed out.

Young-il met his gaze and replied, “They probably won’t change their minds easily.”

“Why not?” Dae-ho asked, curiosity evident in his voice.

Everyone’s eyes fixed on Young-il, waiting for his explanation. He didn’t keep them in suspense for long.

“They wanted to quit even when the prize was smaller,” he said evenly. “Now they can leave with even more money. They wouldn’t want to risk their lives playing another game.”

Jung-bae spoke up, “I’m going to press X this time. That means we’ll have a tie if five others change their minds. With six more, we win.”

You cast your gaze to the floor, feeling a tiny sense of hopefulness in your heart. You really wanted to leave this place. Young-il’s words made you feel hopeful that maybe… the next voting process would end with a majority of X votes.

You heard Gi-hun say, “Then let’s go over there and try to convince them.”

“No, that’s too risky,” countered the calm Young-il. You brought your gaze back to him. You noticed Gi-hun also staring at him in surprise, not expecting such direct opposition from Young-il. The latter continued, “Most of them will want to continue the games. If we make a move, they won’t just sit back and watch.”

Gi-hun frowned in displeasure, his voice carrying an edge as he said to Young-il, “So you think we should just stand here and pray they change their minds?”

He paused to take a step closer to Young-il, as if daring him to challenge his view. “What if we lose again? We march down, hand in hand, to play another game?”

“I understand how you feel,” responded Young-il. “I also wish I could leave right now. But this is the moment to stay calm.”

You slowly got up from your seat on the bed, feeling the tension rising between these two.

“Stay calm? We’ve already taken a vote twice,” retorted Gi-hun with a scowl. His voice rose slightly as he said, “If we can’t convince them, we’ll have to bring them over to our side by force.”

“If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote,” countered Young-il. He refused to back down. Though he seemed calm, you could detect a hint of frustration in his tone. “Is that what you want, Gi-hun?”

You, Dae-ho, and Jung-bae stared at them quietly as the unpleasant tension crackled between the two men. Young-il and Gi-hun locked eyes, their glares daring each other to relent and concede their own view.

You hated this kind of argument, especially within a group of close friends like this. Simple disagreements had the potential to spiral into something bigger, risking unnecessary conflict and possibly breaking the group apart. You wanted to stop that from happening.

“Look, Gi-hun,” Jung-bae said softly, trying to diffuse the tension. “I’m too scared to play another game. I’m sure there are more people who feel the same way.”

Dae-ho stepped closer to the two men, his voice calm. “That’s right. If it’s just five or six people, we’ve got a shot. I did the math, and the prize is now over 300 million per person. I think that gives us a pretty good chance.”

It was clear that both Jung-bae and Dae-ho were siding with Young-il. Their reasoning seemed to chip away at the growing tension.

Hoping to help ease the atmosphere further, you added, “Let’s not forget about those we’ve acquainted with recently. Like Hyun-ju, Yong-sik, and Se-mi. They all voted for O before, but after that last game? I don’t think they will want to continue playing.”

Gi-hun and Young-il remained locked in their tense stare, but you noticed the atmosphere had started to shift. The pressure between them lessened slightly, thanks to the combined efforts of Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and your input. The argument hadn’t dissolved entirely, but at least for now, it felt like the group was pulling back from the edge of something worse.

The familiar blaring noise echoed throughout the dormitory. The double doors slid open, revealing the pink-clad guards as usual.

The square guard in the middle stepped forward and announced, “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the third game. Now, here are the results of the third game.”

After much announcement, the TV screen finally displayed all the necessary details. There were 100 players remaining. The accumulated prize money stood at an astonishing 35.6 billion won. Distributing all of that equally would mean that each player would earn 356 million won.

Your eyes widened in astonishment as the weight of that number settled in. With that amount, you could finally wipe away your family’s crippling debt and pay off the mounting hospital bills. Now you were more enthusiastic to quit this game, to take the money and leave. You couldn’t bear the thought of risking another game.

Your group, along with the other players, gathered at the far back of the dormitory’s clear center. The square guard’s announcement had concluded, and the guards were now setting up the voting counters.

Standing in the throng of players, you were lost in thought when you heard a familiar voice beside you.

“I’m glad,” Young-il said, his voice calm yet carrying an undertone of sincerity. You turned to him, catching the small smile tugging at his lips. “At this amount, you can pay all of your debts.”

A grin spread across your face as hope bloomed in your chest. “Yeah. Now I want nothing more than to go back home. My little sister must be worried.”

Young-il’s gaze lingered on you. He seemed curious but hesitant as he asked, “What are you going to do with the remaining millions?”

You looked away briefly, a genuine smile gracing your lips. “I’d use it to give my family a fresh start. My parents have endured so much. They’ve sacrificed so much for us. I’m going to give it all to them.”

Turning back to him, your warm smile deepened. “They deserve it.”

Young-il stared at you for a moment, his small smile growing as a glimmer of admiration flickered in his eyes.

He said softly. “It’s rare to see someone who thinks so selflessly, even in a place like this.”

That’s when a thought crossed your mind, and you glanced up at him, your voice soft and a little hesitant. “Young-il, if we manage to get a majority of X votes and we get to leave… will we still keep in touch?”

Young-il’s lips curved into a subtle smile, and he held your gaze for what felt like an eternity. His expression was calm and thoughtful as if weighing something significant. Then, with a reassuring nod, he said, “Of course. Once we win the majority vote, give me your phone number and address. I’ll contact you.”

Your face lit up with a wide smile, warmth spreading through you. Standing so close to him, it felt like the world around you faded, leaving just the two of you in this quiet moment.

You knew what he had done this morning should be a red flag to you. His capability to kill with such decisiveness and lack of hesitation should have terrified you. Yet, despite it all, your heart betrayed you. This wasn’t just a crush anymore. You were falling for him. For the man who had shown you his strength, his vulnerability, and a side of himself that he seemed to reserve only for you.

Then you heard Jung-bae say to Gi-hun, “356 million. With that kind of money, some of them will change their minds.”

Dae-ho continued, “If we get six more people, it’s a tie. If it’s seven, we win.”

Gi-hun nodded in response. Now that you were looking at them past Young-il, who was standing beside you, you took in your friends’ positions in the crowd. Starting from the far left were you, Young-il, Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Gi-hun. Behind you all were Jun-hee, the mother and Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, and Gyeong-seok. You noticed the distance between both Young-il and Gi-hun, and it wasn’t hard to discern why. After all, they had come close to arguing moments ago.

“The vote will once again be conducted in reverse order of your player numbers,” the guard announced. “Player 456, please cast your vote.”

Gi-hun stepped forward and headed toward the counter. Along the way, the guard reminded, “To ensure fair and democratic voting, we will not tolerate any disruptions from this point onward.”

Without hesitation, Gi-hun pressed the X button, emitting a deep beeping noise. He then went to stand in the X zone.

After a few players took their turns, it was finally yours. You sent a glance at Young-il before stepping out of the crowd. When you reached the counter, you pressed the X button decisively and then walked over to stand beside Gi-hun in the X zone.

Next was Jung-bae’s turn. True to his promise, he pressed the X button, replacing the O patch on his chest with the X one. He then went to stand on the other side of Gi-hun.

Right after him came Dae-ho’s turn. He pressed the X button and joined you, standing beside you in the X zone.

The next player was someone you had gotten acquainted with during the last game – Se-mi. You were pleasantly surprised when she stepped up to the counter and pressed the X button. After replacing her O patch with the X one, she headed toward the X zone.

As Se-mi approached, Jung-bae reminded aloud, “Five more.”

Se-mi made her way to the X zone and caught your eye. You gave her a warm smile, which she returned with a friendly smirk before she positioned herself in front of your group.

A few minutes passed, and Jun-hee took her turn. Without hesitation, she pressed the X button. Shortly after, an O player stepped up. She hesitated at the voting counter, glancing between the X and O buttons. Finally, she pressed X. The sound of the deep beeping noise echoed, and Jung-bae and Dae-ho jumped in delight. Dae-ho exclaimed, “It’s four people now. Four more, and we win.”

Next was the mother’s turn. She pressed the X button. Then, another O player, player 125, followed suit, pressing X after a brief pause at the counter. The combined cheers from Dae-ho and Jung-bae echoed through the room. They turned to you and Gi-hun, saying in unison, “With three more people, we win.”

Your heart raced as you watched the process unfold. Young-il had been right. O players were changing their minds, one by one. Your mouth hung slightly open as the realization of leaving this game began to feel more and more tangible. This could be it. You could be free of this nightmare.

Then it was Hyun-ju’s turn. She approached the counter slowly. She stood there, staring at the buttons, her inner turmoil visible to everyone. After a few agonizing moments, she pressed the X button. The sound of the deep beep was like music to your ears. Cheers erupted around you. Dae-ho clapped enthusiastically, while Jung-bae, unable to contain his excitement, threw an arm around Gi-hun in a side hug. You found yourself grinning uncontrollably.

“Only two more now!” reminded Jung-bae, his voice filled with hope.

Hyun-ju replaced her O patch with an X and walked over to the X zone. Her movements were slow, her head hung low. The weight of player 095’s death clearly still lingered heavily on her. As she approached Jun-hee’s side, the mother came to her and gently patted her shoulder, offering silent comfort.

Soon enough, every vote caused either cheers or groans, depending on the outcome. When another O player pressed the X button, the O voters groaned loudly, while the X voters erupted into cheers.

“He switched to X!” effused Jung-bae, his excitement palpable. “That’s six! It’s a tie now! If we get one more person, we win.”

You bounced on the spot in pure delight, earning a pleased glance from Gi-hun. His expression reflected a mix of relief and hope.

Dae-ho, elated yet still astonished, said with a trace of disbelief, “Are we really going home?”

The anticipation mounted as Yong-sik’s turn came. As he approached the counter, Jung-bae couldn’t hold back and asked his mother, “Your son will definitely vote X this time, right?”

The mother nodded reassuringly. “Don’t worry. My Yong-sik will definitely press X this time.”

True to her words, Yong-sik pressed the X button firmly, his determination evident as he immediately ripped off his O patch. The screen updated to [X: 49 | O: 49]. The X zone exploded with cheers, the noise almost deafening. You jumped in happiness, your cheers blending with those around you.

Yong-sik turned to the X zone, proudly displaying his new X patch, and effused, “Let’s go home!”

The cheers from the X voters grew even louder. You felt an overwhelming sense of joy and relief. Glancing to the back, you counted the remaining unvoters. There were only player 006 and Young-il left. Both already had X patches from the previous vote. You grinned widely, filled with the certainty that these two would solidify the majority and secure your return home.

But then, as player 006 reached the counter, she pressed the O button.

A shocked silence fell over the X zone, quickly replaced by gasps and groans of disbelief. The O zone, however, erupted into cheers like fireworks. You froze, staring in shock as the voting results shifted to [X: 49 | O: 50].

You couldn’t believe it. Everyone in the X zone wore expressions of frustration and disappointment. Your earlier happiness crumbled, replaced by a gnawing dread as the reality of the situation set in.

“Lastly, player 001,” announced the square guard. “Please cast your vote.”

All eyes turned to Young-il. The dormitory fell silent as he began his solemn walk towards the counter. You watched intently, your breath catching in your chest. Dae-ho whisper-called his name, using his hyungnim honorifics. When Young-il glanced his way, Dae-ho raised a supportive fist and said, “Fighting!”

Young-il didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he gave Dae-ho a brief glance before shifting his eyes to you. Your heart thumped in anticipation as he turned his attention back to the front and continued walking. Dae-ho leaned toward Jung-bae, Gi-hun, and you, muttering, “It’s going to be 50/50, so it’s still a tie, isn’t it?”

You nodded slightly, unable to tear your eyes away from Young-il. The tension in the room was almost suffocating. As he reached the counter, he paused, standing silently in front of the buttons. You could see his gaze fixated on the large TV screen above. Seconds stretched for so long as he stared at the screen, his expression unreadable.

What is he thinking? Why hasn’t he pressed the button yet? Your frown deepened as worry gnawed at you. Could he… could he be considering voting for O?

The entire room seemed frozen, holding its collective breath. Young-il finally shifted his gaze to the buttons before him. His hand hovered over them, and the suspense was unbearable. Then, at long last, he pressed the X button. The deep, resonating beep confirmed his choice.

You exhaled loudly, your relief palpable. Around you, the X voters erupted in cheers and applause, their earlier anxiety melting away into joy.

Young-il turned around, his face breaking into a wide smile. He lifted his hand, forming an ‘OK’ sign as he looked directly at your group. He let out a visible sigh of relief and began his walk back to the X zone. The X voters at the front parted to let him through.

You smiled widely at Young-il as he arrived and stood beside you. His wide smile and reassuring nod brought a wave of relief that washed over you. His expression was a stark contrast to the solemn demeanor he had while deliberating in front of the voting counter.

“The vote has ended,” declared the square-masked guard.

“Wait, it’s a tie,” asked player 100, his voice laced with confusion. “What happens now?”

“Clause three of the consent form. In the case of a tie, players will vote again,” reminded the guard.

An X voter raised his hand, his voice breaking the growing murmurs. “So when are we going to vote again?”

“To give you some time to think, the vote will be conducted tomorrow,” the guard explained. “Until then, please think carefully about your future.”

A mix of sighs and quiet conversations filled the dormitory as players began to process the announcement. Slowly, everyone dispersed from the X and O zones. Disappointment hung heavy in the air, but there was also a sliver of hope. You felt it, too. The tie meant another chance tomorrow, another opportunity to sway the outcome.

Young-il nudged your arm softly, a subtle gesture that snapped you from your thoughts. Without a word, he turned and started walking. You followed him immediately, weaving through the crowd. Your steps took you past Gi-hun, who stood motionless in the middle of the dispersing players, his downcast gaze told you he was lost in a labyrinth of thoughts.

The quietness between you and Young-il as you moved toward your group’s corner was calming. It was as though the weight of the day’s events didn’t feel as heavy when you were walking beside him.

Still, you couldn’t hold back your curiosity and asked with a raised eyebrow, “Why were you taking so long to vote X? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Young-il chuckled softly, his amusement clear. You added with an exaggerated frown, “If you’d voted O, I would scream and die on the spot. That would’ve been my way out of this game.”

He laughed at your dramatic response, the sound warm and light. Glancing at you, he noticed the pout on your face and shook his head gently. He lifted his left hand and caressed the back of your head, brushing your hair as well.

“Sorry,” he said, the smile lingering on his lips. “I was just thinking about something else.”

“What were you thinking about?” you asked immediately.

As the two of you slowed your pace, nearing the corner where your group usually gathered, his gaze shifted around the room purposefully, almost as if looking at every surviving player. Then, his smile faded slightly as he explained, “I was wondering why so many people still insist on staying. They already have a share of 356 million. It’s enough to start over, right? I don’t know their reasons, but… it says a lot about this world.”

You stared at him silently, your mind catching onto his words and lingering on their weight. He looked down at the floor, his expression turning into something more thoughtful.

“It’s frustrating,” he continued, his voice quieter. “If everyone got one billion, would they finally vote to leave? Or would they insist on staying here?”

Young-il paused, bringing his gaze to you, and added solemnly, “If everyone knew about Jun-hee and her pregnancy, would that change their minds? Would they vote X for her sake? Or would they judge her for being here?”

His words sank deep into you, leaving a heavy pause in their wake. You found yourself thinking about Jun-hee, the fragile girl carrying a life within her. Would revealing her situation stir compassion or make her a target for scorn?

“This place exposes who you really are,” he said. “People can’t hide forever when they’re pushed to their limits. Even those who think they’re good, moral people find out just how far they’re willing to go when it’s their life on the line.”

You thought back to everything you’d seen so far. The alliances formed and broken within seconds. The violence when everyone’s lives were on the line. Even Min-jae and his friends revealed their true nature in their desperate, violent attempt to survive.

Then, you felt the gentle brush of Young-il’s hand against the back of your head, his fingers weaving softly through your hair in a way that made you feel safe. His touch was tender and when you turned your gaze toward him, he was already smiling at you.

“This place also shows who can hold onto kindness, even when everything around them turns to chaos,” he said.

His words lingered in the air, resonating deeply within you. You found yourself smiling warmly, his sentiment striking a chord you hadn’t expected. He slowly withdrew his hand, the warmth of his touch still lingering.

But then you remembered something. You looked up at him, your wide, doe-like eyes shimmering with sincerity, and said, “That’s you, though.”

Young-il’s gaze lingered on you, his expression shifting. His faint smile faltered and then disappeared entirely as he stared at you. You kept your smile, unwavering and genuine, as you continued, “You’re kind, too. You stay calm when everyone else is panicking, and you’re always the first to tell us to stay grounded. When player 333 was being bullied, you stepped in...”

You paused, lifting your hands in a playful yet subtle attempt to mimic his combat moves from that moment. “You were like a police officer in this place. Fair and protective.”

Young-il’s eyes remained fixed on you, his astonishment evident. The silence between you grew, stretching into something heavy yet unspoken. You tilted your head, puzzled by his reaction, but your smile remained intact.

Finally, a small smile returned to his lips. His eyes softened, glimmering with something you couldn’t quite name. Admiration? Gratitude? Both? His gaze flickered between your left and right eye, then briefly to your lips before dropping to the floor. A quiet chuckle escaped him, and he gently placed a hand on your back, guiding you forward.

“You’re too kind for this world, really,” he murmured, almost to himself, though you heard every word.

***

Minutes after the voting, dinner time arrived. The line to get your meal moved steadily, and you soon received a single roll of gimbap wrapped neatly in aluminum foil. You were puzzled when you unwrapped it and found a fork included. While a fork could work, gimbap was typically eaten with chopsticks or even just your hands. The choice felt unusual. Adding to your confusion was the glass water bottle handed out with the meal. Why a glass bottle? Wouldn’t plastic have been cheaper?

Seated at the staircase of your group’s corner, you unwrapped your meal and glanced around. Young-il was on your left, eating quietly, with Dae-ho next to him. Behind you, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, and Gyeong-seok sat on the upper staircases, and to your right, the mother and Yong-sik settled in, their quiet bond evident.

Before long, Jung-bae and Gi-hun returned with their meals. Jung-bae, ever animated, grinned widely as he addressed Young-il. “I’m glad Young-il gave us another chance to vote again.”

“Same here,” added Dae-ho. “I was nervous, though. I thought he might vote to stay, like on the first day.”

Young-il chuckled lightly. “The money’s enough for me now. So it’s time to get out of here. Alive.”

Gi-hun took a seat on the lower staircase in front of the mother and Yong-sik. His gimbap remained unopened as Gyeong-seok spoke up, “But do you think we’ll be able to win the second vote?”

Young-il’s eyes shifted to the O players gathered on the other side of the dormitory. “We’ll have to go for broke. Like Gi-hun said earlier, we should try to convince some of them to change their minds before the second vote.”

You took a bite of your gimbap, savoring the familiar taste despite the tension. Yong-sik chimed in, “Will they, though? They seem to have lost their minds over the money.”

His mother, ever nurturing, offered her perspective. “The way I see it, we’re more likely to win. All we’ve got to eat is this roll of gimbap. Tomorrow, everyone will be hungrier. And when you’re hungry, you start to miss home.”

That’s when Yong-sik got up from his seat and stared directly at the O players across the dormitory. He called out boldly, “Hey!”

The chatter among the O players quieted as they all turned their attention to him. Holding up his opened roll of gimbap, Yong-sik continued with a wide grin, “Don’t agonize over your decision while eating this dry gimbap. I just want one of you to come over to our side.”

You noticed his mother and Dae-ho exchange amused glances, their expressions mirroring pride and encouragement. Yong-sik’s voice took on a friendlier tone as he added, “If we get out of here tomorrow morning, we could get Korean beef! I’ll tell you what. It’s my treat!”

His mother’s face lit up as she shot up from her seat and chimed in, “And after that, the noodles are on me!”

“Come on!” shouted Dae-ho, gesturing with an enthusiastic wave of his arm. “Come over to our side! Anyone!”

The atmosphere shifted, and for a moment, it seemed like the X side’s lighthearted plea might sway someone. But then, player 100 stood up abruptly from his seat on the staircases, his voice booming, “Once you all die in the next game, we can all leave with 800 million each! With 800 million, we could buy a freaking cattle ranch!”

Your eyes lowered as a sense of unease crept over you. They’re already counting how much they’d get if all of us X voters die? That’s ruthless.

The O voters erupted in agreement, cheering loudly like a united front of villains rallying behind player 100’s words. Their confidence was palpable, and now it was their turn to call out, trying to coax X players into switching sides.

Out of nowhere, Dae-ho stood up. He took a few steps forward and shouted, “Oh, really? 800 million? Who are you kidding? You really think you’ll still be alive after the next game? If you don’t get out now, you’re all going to die!”

Player 226, the man you recognized as player 100’s right-hand man, stepped down from the staircases with an air of defiance and retorted, “So let’s play one more game to see who dies. Stop trying to run away like a goddamn coward.”

Dae-ho let out an irritated laugh. “What did you say? Hey, come here.”

He surged forward aggressively, and Jung-bae scrambled to his feet to intercept him.

“Come here, asshole!” Dae-ho shouted again.

Player 226 grinned provocatively, taunting him further, as Jung-bae latched onto Dae-ho and tried to drag him backward. But Dae-ho, fueled by anger, pushed Jung-bae away and rolled up his sleeve to reveal a bold tattoo. “I was in the Marines, fucking asshole!”

The O players roared with laughter, their mocking voices filling the air. Player 226 smirked and shot back, “Oh, yeah? Then I was in the air force, fucker!”

Before the tension could escalate further, another O player shouted crudely, “Hey, if you want to go home, why would you even bother eating? Just starve!”

His taunt struck a nerve among the X players. You noticed many of them stand from their seats and they approached the middle of the dormitory. Jung-bae, clearly triggered by the comment, marched forward, pointing accusingly at the man who had spoken. O players began rising in turn, meeting them head-on in the center of the room. The verbal onslaught intensified as insults and curses flew back and forth.

The red and blue lines between the X and O zones were the only things keeping the situation from boiling over into a physical fight. Despite the yelling and chaos, you observed that neither side dared to cross the line in the middle.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief. At least it’s just words, not fists, you thought.

Amidst the escalating noise, your attention was drawn to Gi-hun. He unrolled the foil around his gimbap and froze, his mouth slightly open as if in shock.

Curious, you leaned closer to get a better look at what had shaken him so deeply. Before you could see anything, Gi-hun picked up the fork from his foil and held it up, his gaze fixed on it with apprehension.

“Gi-hun?” you called softly, tilting your head in concern. “What’s wrong?”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Young-il glancing at Gi-hun. Gi-hun remained unresponsive, staring at the fork as though it carried a weight only he could feel. Despite the escalating chaos of the shouting match between X and O players, your focus stayed on Gi-hun, your bewilderment growing with every passing second.

***

Eventually, the heated exchange between the X and O players fizzled out without resolution. You finished your roll of gimbap, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Though your water bottle was still half full, you decided to conserve it for later.

Standing up, you scanned the dormitory for a trashcan and spotted one near the door to the women’s bathroom. Clutching the crumpled aluminum foil in your hand, you began to make your way there.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Young-il jogging to catch up with you. Assuming he intended to toss his trash as well, you smiled faintly and continued walking. But before you could reach the trashcan, he placed a hand over yours, halting you mid-step. His gaze locked on yours, serious and unwavering.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, tilting your head in innocent curiosity.

Without answering, he gently took the crumpled foil from your hand and began to unfold it. Inside lay the unused fork that had come with your meal. He carefully removed the fork, crumpling the foil back into a ball with his other hand.

Holding the fork out to you, he said in a low, deliberate voice, “Judging from how tense things are getting, it’s better to keep this with you.”

You blinked, startled by his grave tone. The realization of his words and his past as a winner of this horrific game clicked into your mind. He’d been through this before. He knew things you didn’t. Raising your eyebrows, you asked cautiously, “Why? What would I need this for?”

Young-il’s eyes darkened slightly, his expression unreadable. “It’s for your protection.”

Before you could probe further, he turned on his heel and strode to the trashcan, disposing of the crumpled foil. Returning to your side, he rested a hand lightly on your back and began guiding you back to the corner where your group was sitting. His touch was steady, reassuring, but it did little to calm the apprehension bubbling in your chest.

Slipping the fork into the pocket of your green pants, you decided to trust him. He had seen more of this place than anyone else in the dormitory, and if he thought this was necessary, there had to be a reason.

***

For the rest of the allotted free time, you found yourself caught up in animated conversations with your groupmates. Laughter mingled with lighthearted banter as the tension of the dormitory seemed to momentarily ease. You noticed Gi-hun lingering nearby, his posture still tense but his ears clearly tuned to the ebb and flow of your discussions. Gradually, he drifted closer, his guarded demeanor softening as he joined in here and there.

At one point, Young-il excused himself to attend to something, leaving you momentarily alone in the corner. Before long, Gi-hun appeared by your side, settling down on the staircases next to you. You turned to him with pleasant surprise.

“Are you free if I ask you something?” he began, his tone tentative.

You smiled warmly. “Of course. What is it?”

Gi-hun’s gaze dropped momentarily as he stared at the floor. He was evidently thinking about the best way to convey his question to you. After a few seconds, he looked back at you, hesitating for a beat before finally speaking.

“I’ve noticed something about you and Young-il,” he said, his voice carefully measured.

A wave of warmth crept up your cheeks, and you fought to maintain your composure.

Gi-hun leaned slightly closer, his expression earnest. “You two seem so close. So, I just want to know… what is it between you two?”

Your gaze shifted shyly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your pants as you considered your words. “You could say that we are close. We talked a lot during our time keeping watch together.”

Gi-hun’s eyebrows lifted slightly in acknowledgment. “Oh. So, did he tell you about his wife?”

At his question, your smile faltered, and your gaze dropped. “He did.”

The memory of Young-il’s confession lingered in your mind. The sorrow in his voice when he spoke about his wife, and the depth of his pain, felt so real. But as Gi-hun’s words registered, a thought began to nag at you. Gi-hun had mentioned Young-il’s wife before, but it was clear he didn’t know she had passed away. That meant Young-il hadn’t told him everything.

Why hadn’t Young-il shared the full truth with Gi-hun? The man seemed to trust him. Or was it something else entirely? Or was he lying to you?

Doubt began to creep into your thoughts. Had Young-il been honest with you, or was there more to his story than he had let on?

You hesitated, wanting to tell Gi-hun the truth about Young-il’s wife but knowing it wasn’t your place to share. It was something deeply personal – a story only Young-il should tell. So you stayed quiet, even as the weight of the secret pressed against your chest.

Your silence must have spoken volumes because Gi-hun, ever observant, spoke up gently, “I’m sorry if my question upset you. I didn’t mean to pry.”

You gave him a faint smile, though it felt forced. “It’s okay. You’re just being thoughtful. I hope that, in time, Young-il will share everything with you himself.”

Gi-hun studied you, his curiosity evident in the way his eyes narrowed slightly. You could see he had more to ask, but before he could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“May I sit?”

You and Gi-hun both jolted slightly, startled by the interruption. Looking up, you saw Young-il standing there, smiling at the two of you. But there was something about his smile. A subtle edge that made you wonder if he had overheard your conversation.

Gi-hun quickly scooted over to make space, gesturing to the empty spot beside you. “Sure.”

Young-il lowered himself onto the step, sitting where Gi-hun had been moments before. He turned to you with a smile that seemed expectant, almost playful. “So, what were you two talking about?”

You froze, caught off guard by the question. Words failed you, and for a moment, you could only stare blankly. Thankfully, Gi-hun stepped in to fill the silence.

“I was just asking about you two,” he said, his tone neutral. “You seem much closer now.”

Young-il’s gaze shifted to Gi-hun, his expression unreadable. Then, he replied, “I hope that’s alright with you, Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun’s lips pressed into a thin line. He nodded solemnly as he answered, “It’s alright. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

The air between the three of you felt heavy, but Young-il’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. His presence alone seemed to assert that the conversation had reached its natural conclusion, leaving you with more questions than answers.

The familiar melody of the school bell echoed throughout the dormitory, silencing every murmur and drawing all attention to the speaker system. You assumed it was another announcement signaling bedtime. But this time, the voice that followed shattered that assumption.

“The following players have been eliminated: Player 230, 268, 212, 331, and 401. End of list.”

Your eyes widened in shock. The air seemed to freeze around you. What? How? The immediate question that ran through your mind was whether some hidden game had occurred without your knowledge. What else could lead to eliminations?

Gasps and murmurs filled the room as players turned to one another. The tension escalated as the sound of money dropping into the piggy bank reverberated above. Everyone’s gaze shot upward, watching as stacks of cash piled into the transparent bank, the accumulated prize money growing visibly larger.

The TV screen updated almost immediately:

Accumulated Prize Money: 36.1 Billion Won.

Prize Per Person: 380 Million Won.

Your mind reeled. Around you, players were standing in silence, their bewilderment palpable. Despite the bombshell announcement, you remained seated on the staircase beside Young-il, who exuded an unsettling calmness.

Jung-bae turned to Gi-hun, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What’s going on?”

You shifted your gaze to Young-il, seeking answers. His face remained composed, but his eyes carried an unspoken message. His expression wasn’t one of confusion or surprise – it was resolute, almost knowing.

You could feel the weight of his gaze, the subtle tension in his jaw. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

NEXT : Chapter 12

PREV : Chapter 10

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot, even got me thinking on what Hwang In-ho fanfic should I make next. So what do you think about you and Young-il's conversations here? Do you notice that you chose to ignore Young-il's past chapter's ruthlessness? What about your conversation with Gi-hun? What do you want to happen next?

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

[twstfanblog]

Hello I have a request, if you aren't doing requests please ignore this! But anyways the request is that may I have the TWST characters (especially the housewardens) and how would they react see their s/o in like traditional clothing from their world (example: Chinese traditional clothing is like qipao) Thank you so much! Have a fabulous day 💝

Qipao (Traditional & Modern) Reactions

Housewardens x Reader

Riddle

Traditional

Thinks the dress is beautiful. Even though it's loose, it still carries an air of professionalism. A perfect garment for his lovely rose. Really likes the modest nature of them.

Asks you lots of questions on the history of the garment if you know it. Ask if he could wear one as well. Just so many questions, he's pulled out a notebook to take notes.

Matching rose patterned qipao/tang suit for walks in the garden together!

Modern

WHY IS THE SLIT SO HIGH!?

Still thinks it's a very pretty dress, but he can not stop looking at the thigh slit. It compels him. Good lord, you're not even wearing tights!

Struggling to remain polite, but the dress is form fitting and you have a very lovely ass- excuse him, he needs to...be...out of the public eye.

Leona

Traditional

Jokingly calls it your fancy potato sack. Apologizes if you get actually mad at him calling it that.

Lowkey, he really likes it and does enjoy that it's still comfortable enough for you to nap with him. Half serious asks if they're pajamas.

Will start wearing Dashikis when you wear your qipao. Cultural matching ❤️

Modern

AYO-

Goes dead silent, his eyes are watching your every move. The dress is tight, the slit is mid thigh. You look good and he's pissed you're not in grabbing distance.

Tells you you can't wear that qipao outside of his room. Not even Ramshackle. Now walk closer, he's gonna...grab ya.

Azul

Traditional

Fascinated and asking questions. Both about the cultural history and the manufacturing side.

Thinks it's a very lovely dress with high marketing potential; simple yet perfect for all class levels due to the fabric and embroidery you can make with.

Lowkey wants to gift you some more because he just likes them so much and he thinks you look elegant in them (Be his spouse please).

Modern

Honestly, it took him a hot minute to really notice. Since modern qipaos are made to be so fancy, he first started picking it apart to discern value like he does all new things.

Really noticed the silhouette and how revealing it was once he looked at the chest area and saw how tight it was.

Compliments the dress but then says he has important business to do. No, he will NOT stand up-

Kalim

Traditional

OH! You look so pretty! You always look pretty, but the qipao just makes you look EXTRA pretty like every other thing you wear.

He's breaking down the outfir by the quality of fabric alone. He pouts it's not 100% some super rare silk that only grows in 4 parts of the world in Spring during the rain on a full moon.

Whining at you and Jamil to let him make so many qipaos. He will have a literally factory up and running by mid day just to make you more of these gorgeous slips so that you're always cozy.

Modern

Nearly ruins it doing a spit take at seeing you. The boy is too stunned to speak, mouth open and getting coconut juice all over his front.

Once he snaps out of it he's all smiles again and asking you to show it off. Do a spin! The fabic is so pretty when you twirl, can you dance in it!? Come dance with him!

Lowkey just way too excited about you being in them. Fills him with some kind of energy where he just wants to hold you and spin around with you. Keeps fighting himself to not get down on one knee.

Vil

Traditional

'Oh?'

Interested in them but has his complaints (as always). He doesn't like how they hang shapeless, but the positives manage to outweigh the negatives in its function and appearance. Over all thinks its a cute house dress design and that you look nice in them.

Ends up commissioning some silk qipaos to have as lounge wear. Being comfortable, yet ready to host is an amazing new option he's gained.

Modern

'OH!?'

More complaints but it's because the dress is so sexy. It's too tight, the slit shows too much thigh, the boob window is unnecessary. He won't stop complaining but lowkey is so FLUSTERED.

He keeps tugging and picking at the outfit like he isn't pulling you into his lap to mutter into your neck all his frustrations on having such an attractive partner.

Idia

Traditional

Almost didnt really notice because he was showing you something in his game. Once he does notice he remarks on how nice you look.

Honestly, doesn't say much about it but will take notice if you wear them a lot when you go see him. He'll ask about them, asks if you really like them. He can and will buy you a bunch of them in various colors and patterns.

He does get you matching ones of your mains in the current MMO he's dragged you into. Lazy cosplaying for the win.

Modern

He took one look and froze, only unfroze because he started dying in game.

How could you do this? Why have you come into his room looking SEXY and forced him to look at you? What do you think hes gonna do???? Rip your clothes off and throw you on the bed????

He keeps peeking at you then turning away with his hair giving away just how flustered he is. Still manages to stutter out how nice you look.

Malleus

Traditional

Oh look at this. His lovely child of man is in new clothing. Please give him the entire history on the garment.

Lowkey, I think he'd really like them. It's very simple but with the potential of being super fancy just with easy fabric choices and embroidery.

Compliments you all the time when he sees you wearing one. Asks if only certain people can wear them. Do you think he'd look good in one? Just really likes them.

Modern

"...So, would you like a Summer wedding?"

This a dangerous game. He loves you so much already, but now you show him how attractive you are in tight clothing that shows off your skin? He will marry you, he will marry you so fast.

Lowkey rips it on accident, and apologies for hours. God forbid if you got one with a dragon winding around you. He honeslty got a little territorial and that's why his claws got caught on the stitching...