#and had to survive to return back……..

[ask-underfazverse]

"I often see my twin in him. He isn't related, but... some of us do consider him family. He was one of the first people to know the darkest parts about us. For simplicity's sake, our father was... an evil "Saint." And the things he's done to us, and our connection with him made us... impulsive, clingy, and controlling. Power, immortality, and child abuse are a terrible combo. For abuser and victim alike... what's worse, is we weren't used to surviving with people that didn't understand sacrifices must be made, for the good all. So we go back and forth, pleading to be listened to, or having bouts of violence. Malak had enough, and used a weakness against us, to try and sacrifice us to another deity that we were trying to protect him and some other people from. She had grown more active and violent with our arrival, so it seemed logical that we would have been the only one's she would have wanted... but it backfired, and he and his fellow traitors fell into the same trap. A nightmare, created by one of my brothers, who went to the side of our enemy, due to our... unfortunate cruelty in the face of fear and madness. In that nightmare, he pushed past his own fears, and saved our inner children. Became an "older" figure that finally came to save us from an eternally ending world. He was the first person that really made it feel like it wasn't our fault our own world fell apart. In a nightmare like that, heroics are hard to fake... in return for his deed, I promised to give him more privacy. He argued that he didn't deserve it, especially after betraying me and my kin... but he did what was right in the face of not only his own pain, but also the pain of others. And he rose above it all. If we stayed in that nightmare, we would have all perished... and he was the first one to make an effort for us all to escape. He's a good man, just in a bad place. Most people are. The scum of the earth can be someone else's hero under the right circumstances. He gave us courage, insights, plans, and... he gave me a chance to feel young again. I am young saint, you see... I've only truly achieved sainthood recently, as reward for enduring my father's wrath for billions of years, and saving the ancient saints of my world, who we call Gods."

He licks his lips, like a young man struggling to speak. His voice wavers. "...b-before all that. We were kids. Children... cursed to be born as men. Cursed to be seen as "old enough" so no one would realize we weren't raised. For eons, we thought we should've been old enough. We thought we should have been better... that we should have known better. But throw an infant into battle for freedom, it shouldn't be surprising when tyranny prevails. Malak...? Malak, for a moment, broke our "normal" in that dream. I felt a bit like myself again, around him. To that, I owe everything. I don't know if I would have begun healing, or even gotten to sainthood if he didn't betray me that day. I am grateful he did."

The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities...

Most worlds tend to connect through similar builds. Through stories, people, themes...

It's no surprise seeing a stranger to the multiverse. What IS surprising, however, was his condition. Covered in deep wounds, limbs twisted and torn, and he appeared to be drowning in his own blood by the time he was found. Holy weapons were embedded in his skin, and the flesh sizzled liked bacon around it.

He had red skin, gray hooves, horns that looked far too round and circular to have normally grown out of his head. His long pointed tail is covered in hand prints, and there are bones exposed out of his back. He lays face first in a pool of his own boiling blood, barely breathing or moving.

@ask-underfazverse

Cry’s come from the mass amounts of strangers, many just back away to cowedly to do anything, but a few step up, and begin to heal him. Mainly the younger, less evil Malak’s, a few Doug’s that are just simply concerned, and only one Bierce.

Dream Malak very hurriedly takes him to his hospital, with the help of the others.

[kashverse]

Hello!

Im really interested in Choso’s and YN relationship in you Parents AU (that’s what I’m calling it at least). Poor man could use a break from the chaos that is babykuna.

I was wondering if you could write something YN helping him relax after a day of babysitting Sukuna kids. It looks like it’s a lot for him.

what the hell happened with the babies of the gojo and sukuna household? → read here !! what the hell are the cats listening to? → read here !!

choso does not get paid enough for this. in fact, he does not get paid at all. and while he loves his niece—his little princess, his munchkin—he is still just a man. and by that, he means that he has a limit.

today’s adventures in babysitting included two crying toddlers, an overdramatic maine coon mourning the chaos of his life, a tabby cat that looked ready to commit war crimes, and sukuna popping a tylenol like it was a tic tac. he does not know why babytoru and babykuna were beefing over a slide, he just knows that he was the one left carrying a screaming, sand-covered babytoru back to her father while babykuna sniffled against her own dad’s leg, refusing to apologize. and after all of that, after an entire day of unpaid labor, choso finally drags himself home—shoes scuffed, hoodie covered in child fingerprints, mentally and emotionally drained—and nearly drops to his knees in pure joy when he sees you sitting in his living room.

you, his beautiful, ethereal girlfriend, sitting cross-legged on his couch, home after weeks of being away on jobs, looking like a dream. he barely even has the strength to speak, just lets out a breath of relief, shuffling towards you like a war veteran returning home. “long day?” you murmur, cradling an espresso cup in one hand like the wise, all-knowing woman that you are, watching him with mild amusement as he melts onto the couch beside you, face buried in your lap.

“i don’t know how i survived,” he mumbles into the fabric of your sweatpants, clinging to your thighs like a lifeline. “they were fighting. over a slide. babykuna pushed babytoru, she landed face-first in the sand, ruined her ‘loo-wiss vuhee vu-ton’ dress, and then they both started crying.” you hum in understanding, carding your fingers through his hair while taking a slow sip of your espresso. “ah, yes. the pride of youth.”

he groans. “it wasn’t pride. it was war.”

“you are but a man,” you agree sagely.

“i am but a man.” he sighs, body going limp. “but at least i have you.”

choso nuzzles deeper into your lap as if hoping you’ll absorb all the pain from today. you, his beautiful, always-on-the-go girlfriend, who has been hopping between countries for photoshoots and runway shows for weeks now, are finally home, blessing him with your presence. and oh, how he needs it.

“you look nice,” he mumbles against your thigh, voice muffled but full of reverence. “haven’t seen you in sweats in forever. usually, you’re in those fancy dresses or some… couture thing.” you smirk, taking a slow sip of your espresso. “i do wear normal clothes, you know.”

“do you?” he deadpans, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze. “last time you were here, you had a suitcase full of silk and cashmere.”

“a woman has needs.” you shrug.

“my need is you.” he grumbles, arms tightening around your waist. “in sweats. forever.”

you chuckle, setting your cup down to comb through his hair. “well, lucky you. i’m not leaving for another week.” his grip immediately tightens. “a week?”

“a whole week.”

he groans, melting against you like butter on toast. “best news i’ve heard all day.”

“better than the cats liking ‘creep’ by radiohead?”

“by far.”

you pat his head, the ultimate seal of approval. “now, do you want to keep complaining, or do you want me to kiss you until you forget the traumatic events of today?”

he doesn’t even hesitate. “kiss. immediately.”

[parasolladyansy]

I can’t imagine the subway bosses are taking the “loss” of Ansy well =[

BW Survival AU - lesson 2

Ingo & Emmet both prided themselves of remembering their repeat passengers. She was one who didn’t battle much, but used the subway often to get to where she needed to go.

Ingo liked to talk with her, fuss over her even, always happy to help with whatever obstructions dotted her route (Gym Leaders, Team Plasma, feeling alone or helpless), while Emmet made it a game to see how fast he can help her find her smile (his favorite joke so far would be to talk about how wonderful her smile was when she obviously had none, making her laugh in confusion, then again good spirits).

They would sometimes think to themselves how they might’ve become very good friends, together with Elesa & Skyla. Had she not…

For the sake of their passengers, they carried on. They left their Pokémon in their safe spots, running the subway as strictly transportation…when it isn’t being used for the resistance.

Once in a while, they would remember her - how she tried to venture alone against the King, who even the Champion failed to best. In his most private moments, Ingo would sometimes think to himself:

“If only there were some way to reverse one’s tracks, & return back to a station…a time before she met such an end…”

Lesson 2: You can’t help everyone, but those you can, you should.

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: revenge

word count: 1.5k

Permanent taglist: @motheroffae @tele86 @demon-master-zero @thegoddessofnothingness

Azriel permanent taglist: @kathren1sky-blog

Taglist @sinfully-yoursss @sillyfreakfanparty @phoenix666stuff @ quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @hellohauntedturnstudent @love-over-fears @kk191327 @i-am-infinite @historygeekqueen @yourdarkrose @fr0stfall @dnfhascorruptedme

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

******

Chapter 14

The journey to the Cauldron’s resting place was treacherous. Hidden deep in the wilds of the Night Court, the ancient artifact lay in a chamber buried beneath layers of stone and magic.

Few dared to seek it out, and even fewer survived.

The Cauldron was not a benevolent force; its power was raw, unbridled, and often cruel.

Rhysand and Feyre had reluctantly given him the information he needed after hours of convincing.

“You realize the Cauldron doesn’t grant favors without taking something in return,” Feyre had said, her expression serious.

“I know,” Lucien had replied, his voice steady. “But this isn’t just for me. It’s for Elain, too. Neither of us deserves to be bound to something we don’t want.”

Rhysand had leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes unreadable. “You’re playing with fire, Lucien. Be sure you’re prepared to pay the price.”

Now, as Lucien approached the hidden chamber, those warnings echoed in his mind. But he pushed them aside.

This was the only way.

*****

The chamber was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against his ears and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The air was damp and cold, carrying the faint metallic scent of ancient power.

At the center of the room sat the Cauldron. It was enormous, its blackened surface gleaming faintly in the dim light that seemed to emanate from nowhere. Shadows clung to it, writhing like living things, and the air around it pulsed with an energy that felt alive.

Lucien stepped closer, his boots echoing on the stone floor. His chest tightened as he felt the weight of the Cauldron’s presence, its attention turning toward him like an unseen gaze.

“I’ve come to make a request,” he said, his voice firm despite the way his hands trembled at his sides.

The Cauldron seemed to react, its shadows rippling outward like a wave. A deep, resonant hum filled the chamber, vibrating through his bones.

Lucien took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet the Cauldron’s invisible gaze. “You forged a bond between me and Elain,” he said. “A bond neither of us chose or wanted. She has rejected it, and I… I no longer wish to carry it. I ask you to sever it.”

The shadows around the Cauldron deepened, the hum growing louder. The air became heavy, pressing down on him with an almost physical force.

“I’m not asking for power,” he continued, his voice steady despite the pressure building around him. “I’m not asking to reshape fate. I’m only asking for freedom—for both of us.”

The Cauldron pulsed, its power shifting as though it were considering his request. The shadows swirled faster, and for a moment, Lucien thought he heard faint whispers, voices speaking in a language he couldn’t understand.

Without warning, the Cauldron erupted with power. Shadows and light burst from its surface, swirling in a chaotic dance that filled the chamber with an overwhelming energy.

Lucien staggered back, gasping as the force of it struck him. The bond—the faint, constant thread connecting him to Elain—suddenly flared to life, its presence sharper and more tangible than it had ever been.

The Cauldron’s power latched onto the bond, and Lucien cried out as a searing pain tore through him. It was as if the magic was pulling at his very soul, unraveling something that had become a part of him.

He fell to his knees, clutching his chest as the bond stretched and frayed. The pain was unbearable, sharp and relentless, but he refused to yield.

He had endured worse.

He had survived death, betrayal, and heartbreak.

He could survive this.

The tension in the bond built until, with a final, blinding flash of light, it snapped.

Lucien collapsed forward, gasping for air as the room fell silent once more. The weight he had carried for so long was gone, the thread that had tied him to Elain severed completely.

He remained on the ground for a long moment, his body trembling from the strain. Slowly, he reached out with his senses, searching for the bond that had always been there—a faint hum he had grown so accustomed to.

But there was nothing.

He closed his eyes, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

For the first time in years, he felt truly free.

As he pushed himself to his feet, his legs unsteady, he turned to the Cauldron. Its shadows had retreated, its power quiet once more. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

The Cauldron offered no response, its ancient presence as indifferent as ever.

Lucien staggered out of the chamber, the cold air of the forest a welcome balm against his heated skin. Though he was exhausted, his chest felt lighter, unburdened for the first time in years.

He was free.

Free to live, free to love, and free to give his heart to someone who deserved everything he had to give.

His heart, finally untethered, was now free.

*****

Meanwhile, somewhere in a tavern in Hewn City…

Elain Archeron had never known such hatred before.

Had never felt rage so consuming, so suffocating, so utterly venomous that it burned her from the inside out.

But that was before she watched Azriel kiss you.

Before she watched him vow himself to you, swear that you were his forever, claim you with every breath, every touch, every whispered word of devotion.

Before she realized—she had lost.

And you had won.

You.

The obstacle standing between her and the life she was meant to have.

The woman who had stolen what should have been hers.

She despised you.

Despised everything about you.

Your strength.

Your resilience.

Your beauty.

Your fire.

But more than anything—she despised the fact that Azriel loved you.

That no matter what she had done, no matter how carefully she had executed her plan, no matter how much she had manipulated him, drugged him, twisted his mind—

It was never enough.

Because in the end, he still chose you.

And now?

Now, she had nothing.

Lucien had broken the bond, severed the last thread of her security, her safety net.

She was exiled.

Banished.

Cast out like nothing but an inconvenience.

And it was all your fault.

If it hadn’t been for you, Azriel would have fallen for her.

If it hadn’t been for you, he would have stayed at her side, chosen her, loved her the way she was meant to be loved.

If it hadn’t been for you, she wouldn’t be wandering through Hewn City now, alone, desperate, furious.

But she would not remain powerless.

No.

She would make sure you paid for what you had done to her.

Would make sure you suffered as she had suffered.

Would make sure that if she couldn’t have Azriel—then neither could you.

Her hands curled into fists as she prowled through the dark streets of Hewn City, hatred pulsing through her veins like a living thing.

And then, like fate itself had whispered her vengeance into existence,

She heard a name.

Alatar.

Her breath caught, her heartbeat thrumming with wicked purpose.

She had heard of him before.

He was the one who had taken you in, the one who had nearly broken the mating bond, the warlock who was feared throughout all of Prythian.

And now—he would be her salvation.

Because if he had nearly severed your tie to Azriel before, if he had nearly erased you from the world, if he had once claimed you as a valuable addition to his collection…

Then maybe, just maybe—

He would finish the job.

A slow, twisted smile crept across her face.

Yes.

If she couldn’t make Azriel love her, then she would tear you away from him.

For eternity.

And then—then, she would watch him fall apart, shatter, break beyond repair.

And when he was nothing but a shell of the warrior he had once been, when the grief had hollowed him out until there was nothing left—

She would be the only one left standing.

She would be the only one who could comfort him, who could pick up the broken pieces.

And maybe then, just maybe, he would finally see her.

Finally love her.

Finally realize that she was the one he should have chosen all along.

Elain’s steps quickened, her heart pounding with dark, unrelenting purpose as she moved through the shadows, heading straight for the one male who could help her make her plan a reality.

Because she was done waiting.

Done hoping.

Done losing.

This time—she would take what she wanted.

And she would watch as you suffered for ever daring to stand in her way.

Chapter 15

*****

This chapter will be the prologue to Lucien's story that I have written and am currently editing. And - of course, this story will continue on. Thank you for reading my silly fics!

[revelboo]

That Optimus cameo in Trailbreaker's last chapter fucking sent me. Any chance we could get an update on boss bot?

Sure!

Gravity Pt 13

Optimus Prime x Reader

• Draped against his chin, you study those serious optics. Wonder if stress and worry are all the big guy runs on, because those smiles are rare enough but so gorgeous. “Maybe the humans will mellow them out some,” you say and he groans, those pretty blue optics shuttering. Though to be fair, all you know about the Decepticons is that they’re the bad guys here. “I mean, you guys have been fighting for how long? Maybe they just really needed to get laid, you know?” Engine sputtering, he squints at you and he looks like he’s somewhere between trying not to laugh and indignant on behalf of those other humans. “Hey, humans survive. We’re like cockroaches.”

• Venting as you just grin down at him, he can’t understand your, well, it’s not quite optimism. He doesn’t know what this is. Jazz and Blaster are the earth experts, but Jazz is spending most of his time outside the Ark lately and he knows he needs to look into that, but even with the Decepticons being quiet, he’s been busy. There’s Hound and Trailbreaker’s attempt to preemptively save humans from getting abducted by Decepticons to deal with. When Red Alert had reported that to him having hysterics about there being more humans on the Ark, he just hadn’t had the energy to deal with it. Or to round up the Autobots with humans and try to talk about interspecies relationships. Especially since he’s been making love to you, though at least he’s the only one who’s intimate with their human.

• Boosting yourself up to sit on his chin, you grin down at his serious frown. “I mean fucking me is how you destress, right?” Bigger frown as he reaches up to run a servo against your spine. Reminding you that he’s a hopeless romantic. That it’s not just sex to him, despite that being what you insist to keep your heart safe. Because he’s so sweet and you know you’re in trouble as you stare down at those optics, getting lost in them as your heart aches. Know you’re lying to yourself about not falling for him. That you’ve already fallen down that rabbit hole knowing you’re going to get hurt.

• “It’s not like that.” At least not to him. Knows you’ve made it abundantly clear that you want nothing more from him, but he can’t accept that. Because this isn’t just interfacing or stress relief. Wants to come out of recharge with your warmth in his arms, to see that mischievous grin and hear you laugh every cycle. To watch you dance because it makes you happy. To dance with you. And he vents, freezing as you lay a hand on his cheek and drape yourself against his face. Realizing he’s falling in love with you. And wondering if you could ever love him or if there’s too many difference to bridge between you. That he’s already so lost in you.

• “Talk to me, big guy.” Because he’s doing the thousand yard stare he does. Lost in some thought or memory. And you gasp when he cups a hand against your back, rolling and mass shifting. Your back hitting the berth as his mouth comes down on yours. Kissing you with a desperation you’re not used to from him. Like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Not sure what flipped his switch, but more than willing to roll with it as his glossa steals inside to tangle with your tongue. All sweet urgency and need as you slip a little farther past the point of no return.

Previous

[circeyoru]

Love Trial _ Part 5 *END*

[Sung Jinwoo x High School Ex-Lover!Reader]

Part 1 ― Part 2 ― Part 3 ― Part 4 ― Part 5 (here)

Your first meeting with the boy named Sung Jinwoo was like any other. You two lived close and you two went to the same highschool. The two of your parents got to know each other and naturally so did you two. Jinwoo and you did mostly everything together, you two even welcomed his little sister into the world and you became something like an honourary sibling in the Sung family. Your relationship with them and him was just so close.

Your romantic interest towards the teen named Sung Jinwoo was also like any other. A little rumour, a little gossip, and a little curiosity. You developed real romantic feelings for him. Though it seemed like nothing changed much, the title changed from close childhood friends to significant others. You thought that was enough. He did too. It was enough because you two had each other to share your happy and depressing moments without shame or fear of abandonment.

Your bond with the man named Sung Jinwoo was unlike any other. A bond like family, a bond like best friends, a bond like soulmates. You two completed each other and complimented each other. While Jinwoo was logical in all he did, you were emotional in all you did. Clashing perspectives brought you two closer than ever and broadened your horizons. Everyone thought the only thing missing between you two were the wedding vows that would seal the deal.

Found you when your heart was broke I filled your cup until it overflowed Took it so far to keep you close (keep you close) I was afraid to leave you on your own

The picture-perfect world fell when Jinwoo’s father went missing in a gate and his mother fell victim to the Eternal Slumber. His sister was still studying and so was he. By a stroke of luck, he awakened at the right time, but only as the lowest. Still, he gave up on his studies and worked as a Hunter for money to protect his remaining family. You were by his side, cheering him on.

You lost count of the times Jinwoo appeared to you in new wounds or bandages. At times, you were even called to the hospital to see him because he didn’t want to worry his younger sister. Your worry and concern was through the roof everytime the hospital or Hunters Association number rang your phone, your heart beat a million per second as your mind hoped for the news that your lover survived by some miracle or mercy of whatever higher being. You’d scold and warn him to be careful, that there were still people waiting for his return, not just you. He’d give you the same smile. Both of you knew, there was no way he’d give up his career as a Hunter.

I said I’d catch you if you fall And if they laugh, then fuck ‘em all (all) And then I got you off your knees Put you right back on your feet

“Why don’t I introduce you to a stronger Hunter as your lover?”

“You’re still with that guy?”

“Poor you… Having to deal with him.”

“You know you deserve more, right?”

“Shut it! Sung Jinwoo is my lover and that’s that!” You also lost count of the people talking directly or indirectly and even behind your back that you should abandon Jinwoo as a lover. Perhaps you could stay friends, but not lovers―was the message from all of them. Sung Jinwoo, the Weakest Hunter of All Mankind, that was his title. While you were successful and talented in what you did as an ordinary citizen, the only bad quality people poked fun at was the lover you took care of.

You never let Jinwoo hear any of these, and you never let him doubt himself. Even when he did, you reassured him and stayed by his side. You’ll use your hard earn salary to buy a dagger for him to raids and kill monsters with higher rewards, you’ll research and read articles with some information that would benefit him. You did all that you could as a citizen with a Hunter lover. Still, you thought that wasn’t enough.

Choi Jong-In once offered a place for your lover, seeing you struggle in trying to help. He knew who your lover was and he knew how much you cared. He wanted to repay your indifference to his high status and still stayed as a loyal friend. You declined, knowing Jinwoo was a righteous person, he wouldn’t take the backdoor for money. He wouldn’t stoop so low. Even if he did and the results were good, he still wouldn’t be entirely happy.

Just so you could take advantage of me

When you heard he survived a Double Dungeon, you dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. He slept on the bed so peaceful, ignorant of the turmoil he caused you. You sat by him, waiting for him to wake up. Your hand brushed through his hair, his peaceful expression was so familiar that it reminded you of those days when he had no responsibility but studying and forcing you to study.

Your voice cracked as you cried, never have you cried in public but only in front of Jinwoo. “Please… Wake up…”

Just him.

Tell me how’s it feel sittin’ up there? Feeling so high but too far away to hold me You know I’m the one who put you up there Name in the sky Does it ever get lonely? Thinking you could live without me Thinking you could live without me Baby, I’m the one who put you up there I don’t know why (yeah, I don’t know why)

When he woke up, there was no call from him nor a text. You only knew because a doctor was kind enough to give you a call and asked why you hadn’t been visiting after his wake. You went to the hospital only to see him working out and people staring. Jealousy and envy didn’t cross your mind, but you did smile as you saw him back on his feet. Still, a small voice in your mind questioned why he didn’t at least text you.

You thought that was just the one time.

The usual cafe dates and routine dinners at his place with his sisters were all gone. He stood you up and forgot about them all. Even his sister barely saw him around the house. His sister took a picture of him and showed it to you one time during dinner. You hardly recognized him. Taller, muscler, and more mature looking. Looked like he went through a second puberty.

But you asked if he was fine. His sister answered yes. That was all that mattered, as long as he was fine. Your heart was at ease. Like in the past when Jinwoo went to raids on days unend, you’ll wait for him as his loyal lover. Never overbearing, never too clingy, never too nosy.

Thinking you could live without me Live without me Baby, I’m the one who put you up there I don’t know why (I don’t know why, yeah yeah)

Finally, he approached you and you two reunited for what felt like forever. Jinwoo joked, saying it was his sister nagging him to see you and you laughed along with him. You told him you understood his busy Hunter life. So started his tale on raids and dungeons while you listened. You knew he was keeping something from you, you felt it, but you didn’t question it. 

A positive turn was in his life and he looked like he was in control of it all. He told you you didn’t need to waste money and time on helping him any longer. “It’s never a waste on you, Jinwoo.” You spoke to him softly with a warm smile as the breeze flowed through you two that night. “Well, you’ve told your side, my turn!”

Gave love ‘bout a hundred tries (hundred tries) Just running from the demons in your mind Then I took yours and made ‘em mine (made ‘em mine) I didn’t notice ‘cause my love was blind

You never knew he turned into an S-Rank. You only knew from Jong-In when he coincidentally found out. You felt… betrayed? In the dark? Untrusted? Surely, Jinwoo had his reasons to hide this from you. Surely…

Jinwoo said his Shadows would protect you, he placed guards on you for your protection. Precious soldiers that he didn’t have many. He said he’d be gone for a week to get something to cure his mother and he disappeared. Ironically, the soldiers he left spent more time with you and cared for you more than he did after his change. But you told yourself it was a sign of his love and affection to you. You told yourself that over and over again.

Said I’d catch you if you fall (fall) And if they laugh, then fuck ‘em all (all) And then I got you off your knees Put you right back on your feet Just so you can take advantage of me

When people went in search of Jinwoo, you warded them off and told them it was an invasion of privacy. Some even spread rumours that Jinwoo was a fake ranker and that he had done unsavoury things inside dungeons all along. You defended him and told them all off. No one understood his pain and suffering. No one saw his battered self that was barely clinging to life. No one was there when he was on the edge all his life. None of them but you.

Why are people only flocking to him when they have something to benefit them? It was sickening. Jinwoo deserved more. When he was weak, he was looked down on and mocked. When he is now strong, they claimed he was a fake. When would they see Jinwoo for who he was? He was so much more than his power. He was a person, just like them and you. He has feelings and emotions. He has a past and he has a right to his own life.

Tell me how’s it feel sittin’ up there? Feeling so high but too far away to hold me You know I’m the one who put you up there Name in the sky Does it ever get lonely?

His mother woke up and you were beyond ecstatic for the Sung family. You let them have their moment and you were asked to join in by his mother. You let the tears flow as you welcomed her back. You thought, now things would return back to the way they were.

You were wrong.

More and more, you saw Jinwoo with Cha Hae-In, the S-Rank before him. You saw them all chummy and smiles. You told yourself it was just because they were colleagues. Plus, Cha Hae-In was the only female S-Rank in the country, so it made sense. If all the S-Rank that interacted with her was a crush, then she’d have a harem by now. You surpressed the envy and jealousy within you, you were above it. You trust Jinwoo. You trust your love.

Thinking you could live without me Thinking you could live without me Baby, I’m the one who put you up there I don’t know why (yeah, I don’t know why) Thinking you could live without me Live without me Baby, I’m the one who put you up there I don’t know why, yeah

It was nothing. It was nothing. It was nothing. You lied and lied. Jinwoo’s smile was softer and wider towards Hae-In. Jinwoo’s time was spent with her and not you. It was nothing. It was nothing. It was nothing. You told yourself over and over. Please. Everything that you have done for him. Everything that you two have been through together. Doesn’t those times mean anything? Prove the negativity inside you wrong! Please, Jinwoo!

You don’t have to say just what you did I already know (I know) I had to go and find out from them So tell me how’s it feel (oh-whoa)

Your hands came up to your ears and applied pressure on them. “I’m sorry. Let’s break up. I’m sorry. Let’s break up. I’m sorry. Let’s break up. I’m sorry. Let’s break up. I’m sorry. Let’s break up. I’m sorry. Let’s break up.” It looped in your mind over and over again. Please shut up. Please stop it!

Third time’s a charm.

Your tears flowed in public and Jinwoo wasn’t even there to embrace you. You cried your heart out, you pleaded that it was all a nightmare. What did you lack? What did you do? What happened? In your friend’s arms, you begged for something over and over. Over… It was all over.

Now your heart was broken and you were but an empty shell. The Shadows that Jinwoo sent for your protection was all a painful reminder. They tried to comfort you when you were crying yourself to sleep, the knight Igris and the once destructive foe on Jeju Island Beru, both tried to soothe you. As much as you appreciated their kindness, you sent them all away and told them never to come to your side again. The Shadows mirrored their Lord and Master. You saw him in everything they did for you. Their presence by your side was too tortuous for you to bear.

Tell me how’s it feel sittin’ up there? Feeling so high but too far away to hold me You know I’m the one who put you up there Name in the sky Does it ever get lonely? Thinking you could live without me Thinking you could live without me Baby, I’m the one who put you up there I don’t know why (yeah, I don’t know why)

Anger and resentment. It was all so draining. You found yourself as an empty shell before the mirror. Your smile was gone and the life in your eyes and long been dulled over. You blinked and opened your eyes, this was your reality. You returned to bed and scrolled your phone, a name pinned to the top of your chat so it was more accessible to you anytime and anywhere. You unpinned it and blocked it.

You scrolled through the messages of comfort from your friends and colleagues; even your boss and manager sent you their regards and understanding. You chuckled bitterly. Instead of wallowing in sorrow and drowning yourself in anguish, you should really change things up a bit.

So when the light from outside blinded you and a second chance was given to you. You let go of that boy, that teen, and that man that was once your whole life.

⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧⬪⬧

The dream of you leaving, the sight of your cold gaze, the indifferent attitude you held towards him. It was all an endless nightmare for the Shadow Monarch. This was nothing compared to the war waged between him and the Monarchs to ensure humanity’s safety. He thought he could handle everything when he returned, that your innocent smile would greet him once high school started.

Oh no no no I don’t know what moved me You know that you are everything that I’ve ever wanted Hey, before you bring the hammer down on me Give me a chance you know you’re all I’ll ever need

Yet all he met was the horrifying realization that you had all your memories of the past intact and made an effort to separate the reunion between the two of you. You weren’t in the same neighbourhood, you weren’t in the same school, you weren’t in the same grade. Nothing of the past was the same when it concerned you. The chance he thought he had was nonexistent from the beginning. It was all wishful thinking on his part.

Oh! Don’t look at me like that Not again! I’ll change it! I swear that I’ll repent! Show me a bit of mercy, stay the execution please If just this once forget these deeds of mine

You spared him nothing, not even hatred, when he was finally in the same school as you. College was the only way the two of you could meet, as it was hard to justify him changing schools or neighbourhoods to his parents. It was something his patience needed to bear for his mistakes. He dug his own grave after all. 

So carefully form the perfect crime Build my defense and plan my tight alibi But even so it seems you can’t be fooled Even with all my tricks, I’m falling No no no!

He built himself a reputation―became a track star that even other schools would pay attention to. All in hopes of gaining even a mini bit of attention from you, but in return, you merely ignored it all and stayed far away from athletic news or anything related to it. Yes, he met Cha Hae-In. And yes, he helped her when she was in need, but that kindness he received, he wished it from you. Don’t give up on him or his love for you!

So now you’ll pass the verdict for crimes of passion How bad are the charges they’re going to list? Down and pleading after my final remarks By powers here you gave the sentence and I was guilty

Though, as popular as he was, you held your own fame. In the academic side, you used your past memories to your advantage and was dubbed as a genius. You won awards and was praised by your peers, even looked up to by the younger ones. As if to show him you didn’t need him in your life, you were blooming with success and happiness in your time without him.

Oh no no no! This verdict is the worst I don’t know what I’d do if ever that you’d leave me If that’s so well then at least I’ll go out by your hand Throw me away into the darkness let me fall

Talk of you and Choi Jong-In as a couple was all over campus. It irked him and made his chest tight as if a giant was crashing him in its grasp. He saw the two of you together. In this life, you were closer to Jong-in more so than the last, the title of childhood friend, best friend, and now boyfriend, all belonged to the former fire mage. He was nothing in your life, just the one that broke your heart in the past.

Oh Jesus! The evidence is clear I’m to blame it looks like I won’t talk out again But on the other hand there’s much worse a fate than to be trapped Here by your side at least I’m close to you

His Shadows pointed him toward where you were and his legs brought him to you. His loyal Shadows aimed and aided in his quest to return to your side and prove his fault. Even his Shadows bore the fate of their Master of being shunned by you, they knew you more as they were tasked with your safety, even before Hae-In was in the picture. They would have stopped their Master if they knew the reckless move he’d make that day. Even they knew that their Master would one day learn to regret it.

Now, they have to help their Master no matter what. They much preferred you over that woman. You were the only one by their Master’s time and time again, through his weakest and strongest. You never let him go until he was the one that said so. You had been in his world for the longest and you should have. They wondered how their Master couldn’t understand that. This loyalty, this devotion, this love, was not something that could be thrown away so easily.

Because their loyalty was set in stone to belong to Jinwoo when he commanded them to join his army. Yours was special and unique. A priceless treasure that should have been revered, appreciated, and maybe hidden away from the world. That was what Jinwoo should have done without mistake!

My stupid flaws and mistakes I make That one mistake, I thought no way I could lose But now I see that you’re not coming back Though I may kick and scream it’s all a waste You won’t be hearing me

With Jong-In by your side, Jinwoo’s place appeared to have been taken. The shock that the rumour of you two being a couple stunned him. This must have been what you felt when you saw him with Hae-In in the past. His Shadows was enraged that it wasn’t their Master who was by your side, that it wasn’t their Master that held your hand. Jinwoo could only watch Jong-In drag you away and you spearing him an uninterested glance, he could only wish for your gaze on him once more.

What kind of perfect love crime would make us both cry? So far is the distance between you and I The one who gave love, and one that can’t get enough Let’s tie our fates and reach an ending together here at last

Give him a chance, just one chance, to correct the wrongs. At least let him atone like the criminal he was. The victim needs their justice and he’ll serve it. Please, don’t let him off the hook so easily. 

Like his prayer was heard by whatever god there was, you gave him what he wanted and he took it. He didn’t care if your schedule and his clashed where he couldn’t catch you. He’ll use his powers to his advantage. He’ll have a Shadow in his lecture and record everything so he could still know what was going on, meanwhile, he’d be with you in your lecture so that he could stay by your side.

He’d listen to everything you’d share, even make friends with your friends so they could lend him a helping hand. He’d show you that you were the only one on his mind to court, not anyone else and especially not Cha Hae-In. He’d swap his electives so that he was attending the same class as you, he’d go wherever you were, even if you were going to a literature book club or an idle stroll. He’d be there. Whatever you do, just let him into your life.

You’re suddenly interested in a band? He has concert tickets and he could even give you a ride on Kaisel to get there. You wanted to try a restaurant but your friends are too busy to hang out? He can fill in and pay for your meals, even eat what you dislike so there’s no waste! You’re very into an Otome game? He’ll… grudgingly study it and give you the best tips to get what you want!

No matter is too big or insignificant when it involves you. Jinwoo would smile and provide you with absolutely everything.

Pass the verdict for crimes of passion Let’s hear all the charges you’re going to list I’ll repent it by spending my life with you I’ll see it through we’ll be together ‘till death do us―

You, being the same as you were, slowly started to cave and let Jinwoo near you. Even smiling and joking like the past. You knew Jinwoo knew his efforts were paying off and at some point, you and Jong-In had ended your little joke as each other’s significant other. Of course, Jong-In was immediately crowded with proposals and confessions, then you and Jinwoo would laugh and tease the flustered guy.

Somehow, Jinwoo fit into your group and became an honourary member even though he was in a different department. Jong-In, who was once wary of Jinwoo because of his Shadows, also warmed up to the outsider. You were the odd one out since you were the only one that appeared to have bad blood with Jinwoo still. 

“I am sorry for what I did.” Jinwoo said one day when you told him you couldn’t let go of the fear that history might repeat itself. “It was wrong of me.”

Those words had an effect on you, an effect you thought would have been long buried the day your heart was broken. Your mind raced, debating whether you should open your heart again and let him have your weakness. Love is a double-edged sword. It could protect and care, but it could also destroy and harm. 

Will you give Jinwoo that sword?

Here’s the secret from trying passion I’m glad that you taught me the life I should live Faking crying you lay down the penalty

“I guess you leave me no choice.” You hummed and spun on your heel, hiding a goofy smile that would give away your joy and relief. If you’re giving away the key to your heart, you might has well hold his. “We’ll only be a trial couple. Just so I could see the Shadows again.”

Jinwoo smiled and laughed with you, “Alright. Whatever you say, Love.”

You smiled slyly and gave the sentence

And laughing you said That I was guilty

“And that was the hardest trial of My Liege and your father.” Beru finished his tale with a claw raised in the air. “Remember, Young Lord, your mother is the only person you can never cross!”

“Ohh. Mommy is scary…” Your son, Suho, nodded in agreement to Beru’s warning. “But Daddy was wrong first! If it was me, I will punch and kick! And push Daddy out of the house so it’s just me and Mommy here!”

“Our Liege did deserve at least that much.” Bellion chimed in with a solemn nod.

Igris sighed, as he slowly backed into the kitchen, what was about to happen next would not be pleasant.

Behind the three of them was an enraged Jinwoo who had just returned home from work and you covering your giggles with both hands. Jinwoo had picked you up from your workplace and the two of you went for a little shopping since the three strongest Shadows of Jinwoo was watching your son. Though, the scene you two returned to was not good, at least, for Jinwoo who was the man of the house.

Jinwoo cleared his throat loudly and the three on the floor slowly turned their heads to the front door. The imposing father crossed his arms with a hard glare and the smiling mother―that was you―laughed aloud like no tomorrow. Jinwoo’s tried his best to maintain a stoic and angered expression, but your laughter and shaking grip on him was breaking his character. “Beloved… Please…”

“Haha, alright, I’ll go check up on Igris who’s the only good Shadow who wouldn’t gossip behind your back.” You chuckled and went into the kitchen, sure enough, there was Igris doing the cooking preparations. He gave you a courteous nod that you returned, “You guys are never letting Jinwoo down what that mistake, huh.”

Igris nodded again.

You giggled like a child, “Hehe.”

This peaceful and joyful time was the ending of your little love story. The mixture of screams and laughter from your son and the embarrassed scolding from Jinwoo, then there was you enjoying everything with a smile. Never would you imagine this sort of life back with Jinwoo.

~Song Use Credit~ (don't tell me you guys didn’t notice...)

Reader’s POV Song: {Without Me} by Halsey

Jinwoo’s POV Song: {Love Trial} English Cover

Base by Will Stetson Supplementary by JubyPhonic (give both a listen if you haven’t heard them before~~)

Note: And this is the last part! Honestly, when I first read the request, I genuinely thought it was going to be the one part with the song reference. But noooo, ideas just kept popping up more and more… So, oh well, a series it is~ The ending feels more like a recap to me, but I was determined to put the song in!!! 

Also a little trivia, Reader’s/your past and POV was written like so last minute before this upload. Don’t like why, but it felt so right to put it there. I realized Reader’s POV on what happened kind of was never detailedly mentioned but Jinwoo’s was. But then I didn’t want to separate the posts, so I just mushed it into one (else it’ll be a part 6 as the end).

Anyways~~ Thanks for reading and waiting for this series’ updates~ We're at the end of the road. See you in the other stories!!

Happy Valentine’s Day guys~ Hope this would brighten your day or give you a smile. My chocolate gift to you~

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

Taglist: @rozuburedo @ariseverdark @skylar896 @o-qi-shisme @my-arietta @mydearestbeloved @the-dumber-scaramouche @mochinon-yah @waka-babe @ditmemay1234 @mangooes @cottonbeeeeeeee @gurlie919 @j1yuji @knucklesdeepmingi @amayakurusu13 @rjasmin2021 @needsleep3000 @backgroundcharactera @mushy-mushroom04 @sxftiebee @tanspostsblog @izaquix078 @lilliana-14 @simpforskz143148

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (19)

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

Chapter 19 - Heart

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 20

PREV : Chapter 18.1

[Hwang In-ho’s Flashback…]

In-ho could tell how friendly, kind, and unassuming you were. He had only known you for days, but through careful observation, he had begun to understand the kind of person you were. Your interactions with others painted a clear picture.

When another player glanced at you and you noticed, you would look back and smile. That simple gesture often left the other person flustered or smiling in return. It was effortless, the way you made people feel at ease.

Whenever you spoke with Jun-hee, your hand would often drift toward her hair, brushing through it with a tender touch. When she asked why, or if something was wrong with her hair, you would simply laugh and say you liked messing with people’s hair. It was a harmless joke, but Jun-hee knew better. You weren’t messing with her hair. You were combing it gently, absentmindedly offering comfort through the smallest gestures. And she let you because she understood. It was just your way of showing care.

It wasn’t just with Jun-hee. You had a way of making everyone feel seen. If someone was nervous, you reassured them. If one was isolated in the group, you included them. If someone preferred silence, you stayed silent. Your kindness wasn’t just in words; it was in your actions, the way you instinctively reached out, making those around you feel safe.

But In-ho wondered. Would that kindness persist when your life is at risk? He wanted to see you in such a situation.

Would you still be as caring toward others if it meant putting yourself in danger? If players turned on one another to reduce the numbers, if it became a fight for survival, would you cling to your kindness? Or would you prove what In-ho already knew about humanity? That when it came down to it, people were selfish, greedy, and willing to sacrifice anyone to save themselves? The only real difference was how well one could hide that truth.

On another note, your friendliness made others naturally gravitate toward you. You were like home – warm and welcoming. Helpful. People sought you out, drawn to the ease with which you carried yourself. So it didn’t surprise In-ho to see other players striking up conversations with you, especially those who had questionable intentions.

That evening, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, even asking Jun-hee if she wanted to go too. But Jun-hee smiled and declined, leaving you to go alone to the female’s restroom.

And, as always, In-ho watched.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and In-ho grew concerned. Amidst Jung-bae’s recounting of his past antics, In-ho found himself glancing around, wondering what was taking you so long to return.

Then again, he reminded himself – you were a woman. Men usually went to the restroom, handled their business, washed their hands, and left. Women, on the other hand, often took longer. He had learned this from years of living with his late wife, recognizing the small habits and routines that differed.

Still, an uneasy feeling settled in his chest. He forced himself to focus back on the conversation between Jung-bae and Dae-ho, while Gi-hun, seated nearby, sat silently with his gaze down, glowering.

After staring at him quietly, In-ho then tilted his head back up. And his entire face fell.

Near the entrance of the female restroom, he saw you and you weren’t alone. Three men surrounded you. Their stances seemed imposing as if they were cornering you without touching you.

His heartbeat spiked. He zeroed in on your expression.

You looked anxious. Your posture screamed discomfort, your hands tense at your sides. You wanted to step away, to put space between yourself and them but every time you shifted, they followed, subtly blocking your path.

In-ho had seen enough.

He pushed himself up from his seat and strode toward them. Adrenaline already coursed through his veins. He braced himself, ready to subdue these three boys if needed to, just as he had when he put a certain purple-haired punk and his lizard-faced lackey in their place.

As In-ho closed the distance, he caught the tail end of the conversation between you and the three boys.

“Just a quick chat with us. You’ve been hanging out with those uncles all day. Switch it up for a bit,” one of them said, and In-ho immediately pegged him as the ringleader.

His friend chimed in, “Yeah, come on. We’re not asking for much. Just a little time to get to know you better.”

“Exactly. It’s not like we’re asking you to stay forever. Just stop by. We’ve got a good spot over there,” the third one added.

The smile on your face was tight, forced. “I appreciate the offer, but really, I need to get back. Maybe another time.”

“Why not now?” the ringleader pressed.

That was when In-ho finally spoke, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “She said no.”

The group’s attention snapped to him, frozen under his presence. His voice was sharp and final. His dark glare bore into the ringleader.

Fear flashed across the ringleader’s face but he covered it up quickly, forcing a casual front. “Oh, hey. We just want to have a chat with her. It’s okay, right?”

In-ho didn’t slow his pace. He closed the remaining gap, stepping between you and the ringleader intentionally. You ended up behind him, entirely shielded by his body. His gaze never wavered from the ringleader – player 299.

“You’re pressuring her. That’s not how conversations work,” he said, voice even but carrying an edge.

Silence settled between the group. The ringleader’s friends exchanged uneasy glances. A moment ago, they had been bold, confident, enjoying cornering you. Now, they looked like hyenas caught in the presence of a lion. Ready to bolt the second he moved.

The ringleader stared at In-ho, his expression flickering between defiance and calculation. He wanted to fight back, to act as if he wasn’t intimidated. But he knew better. Everyone in this room had seen what In-ho was capable of. The way he handled the purple-haired rapper and his lackey had been a clear message.

Forcing a smile, the ringleader raised his hands mockingly. “Alright, alright. I get it. I apologize. I didn’t realize I was being forceful.”

He tried to peek around In-ho’s shoulder, calling your name. That ticked something inside him.

“Sorry about that,” the ringleader added as if he expected his words to smooth over the situation.

In-ho’s glare hardened, silencing him into submission. His blood boiled at the audacity of these boys, thinking they could corner and coerce you. There was no respect from boys nowadays. They were like dogs, preying on any girl who smiled at them out of mere politeness.

Without a word, In-ho turned to you. His expression softened instinctively. “Let’s go.”

He led you back toward your group. You followed quietly, and though you hadn’t said anything, he could feel the tension in you. You had noticed how rigid he was, how his shoulders remained tense even as he walked.

Just before reaching the others, he suddenly stopped and turned. His hand came up, gently grasping your forearm. You looked up at him, the dormitory noise fading into the background as your eyes met.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

But he didn’t let go. There was something else gnawing at him.

“How does he know your name?” he asked. His voice carried a slight edge.

“He asked during the voting earlier,” you replied simply. “We were in the crowd, and he came over and introduced himself.”

Your answer was clear, direct. No hesitation. No nonsense. He appreciated that.

But those boys had approached you before? Right behind his back? Literally?

In-ho scoffed inwardly, his expression betraying nothing. Who do they think they are, asking for your name? He thought. Immature, desperate, like perverted dogs pressuring a girl simply because she was kind to them. They didn’t deserve you.

You deserved someone who could lead and guide you. Someone mature, someone who wouldn’t take advantage of your kindness. A man who could take care of everything so you wouldn’t have to think twice about anything. You deserved stability, protection, and ease – things those boys could never offer.

His gaze lingered on yours longer than intended, and for the first time, he truly took in your features. Your eyes – so striking, so expressive – held him in place, and he found himself appreciating them in a way he hadn’t before.

Then his gaze drifted downward.

Your lips. Soft, plump, even with the dry cracks from dehydration in this place. A thought flickered through his mind before he caught himself. His jaw tensed and he quickly averted his gaze, shifting to your left eye before ultimately lowering his eyes altogether.

“If those boys bother you again, tell me,” he said.

You didn’t answer immediately, and the silence made him glance at you again. Your expression was unreadable at first but then he saw it. You were stunned. As though you hadn’t expected him to say that. It’s as if his words had landed somewhere deep inside you.

But then something changed.

You withdrew. Not just in expression, but in movement. You stepped back, putting space between you both. Then, your tone was polite but firm when you spoke, “Thanks, but don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

He said nothing.

For the first time in a long time, In-ho felt thrown off balance. He had seen hesitation before, seen people second-guess their words or actions. But this was different. This was retreat.

It was as if you no longer wanted to be associated with him.

And that realization stung in a way he hadn’t expected.

Could it be that you were acting this way because of Gi-hun? Because you knew he had a wife?

Had Gi-hun really ruined everything?

Without waiting for a response, you walked away and rejoined the group. You sat next to Jun-hee, keeping your focus on the others, pretending not to look in his direction. But In-ho wasn’t fooled. He saw it. And he sat there, staring at you in stunned silence.

The next few hours were awkward between you both. Jung-bae and Dae-ho kept the conversations lively, jumping from topic to topic, and you always joined in. At one point, In-ho interjected, responding to something you said, hoping you would acknowledge him.

Imagine his surprise when you merely gave him a polite, forced smile before turning to someone else and changing the subject entirely. No one else noticed, but he did.

He knew right away. You were distancing yourself from him. For your own sake, for his, and for his late wife’s. That had to be it.

In-ho clenched his jaw, suppressing the frustration brewing inside him. He wanted to tell you the truth – that his wife had passed years ago.  But the two of you needed privacy so he could tell you that. He wanted to tell you that after his wife and baby’s death, he trapped himself in isolation. He wanted to tell you that your presence had been the first real thing to pull him out of it. That, if anything, he just wanted to exist near you for as long as he could… until your true nature reveals itself, and your elimination inevitably follows.

Because at this point he still believed that.

He still thought that, at your core, you were no different from anyone else. That your kindness, your warmth, was just a mask – just like his. He wanted to wait and see. To prove himself right.

But how could he bask in your presence if you are already slipping away?

***

“We need to take turns keeping watch after lights-out. I’ll take the first watch. The rest of you should decide the order,” Gi-hun said as he adjusted the mattress beneath a bed.

Dae-ho pointed out, “Other than that, we have to figure out who’s sleeping where.”

After he, Jun-hee, and Jung-bae claimed their spots, In-ho turned to you. He noticed the way you were contemplating your choice, eyes scanning the available spaces.

With a soft voice, measured and polite, he asked, “Which spot do you want to take?”

You glanced around before finally pointing. “I’ll take the middle floor.”

In-ho followed your gaze, noting the empty mattresses on either side of your chosen spot. If he took either one, it would place him close to you – perhaps too close. He wondered if that would make you uncomfortable. But you had already made your decision.

“I’ll sleep under the bed on your left,” he said. “That means Gi-hun will take the one on your right.”

Dae-ho nodded. “Now we just have to decide the order for keeping watch.”

“I’ll take the second watch, after Gi-hun,” Jung-bae volunteered.

“Third watch here,” Dae-ho raised his hand.

As In-ho stepped closer to collect the extra pillows and blanket from your arms, you spoke up unexpectedly, “Can I keep watch too?”

He didn’t have to look up to know that everyone in the group was staring at you in surprise. As he took the pillows and blanket from your hands, causing the brief brush of your fingers against his, you helped handing them to him gently. Then you added, “How about the last watch? I can wake up early.”

Dae-ho was the first to respond. “Ladies don’t have to. You and Jun-hee should take a full rest.”

“Yeah, no need for you to worry about keeping watch,” Jung-bae added. “We’ve got this.”

You hesitated. In-ho, on the other hand, quietly placed the pillows and blanket onto your plain mattress.

“But it’s fine if I take the last watch,” you said, lowering your gaze. “I want to freshen up before the next game anyway.”

An idea formed in In-ho’s mind. Before anyone else could refute your offer, he straightened up and spoke, “Okay, you take the last watch.”

Everyone turned to him in confusion. In-ho glanced at the others briefly before settling his gaze on you.

“I’ll take the fourth watch, after Dae-ho,” he continued. “Then it’s your turn. But I’ll keep watch with you. It’s not safe for you to do it alone.”

The group accepted his suggestion and went back to adjusting their mattresses. In-ho caught the flicker of conflict on your face before he turned to his own mattress. He knew you wanted to distance yourself from him. And yet, here he was, making sure he still had moments with you. He could tell you were conflicted. But you didn’t reject him outright, and that was enough.

That night, sleep didn’t come to him immediately. He lay still, eyes closed, waiting for exhaustion to pull him under. But then, he heard Jun-hee get up from her mattress, quietly asking Gi-hun for permission to go to the bathroom. A moment later, you got up to accompany her.

Many minutes passed before the two of you returned with Player 149 in tow. After tucking the flushed-face Jun-hee in, you and Gi-hun bid Player 149 good night, and she left.

In-ho assumed you would go back to your mattress. But instead, you sat down next to Gi-hun on the floor and asked him about his previous game.

In-ho became fully alert. Any trace of drowsiness vanished. Now, he was intrigued. You and Gi-hun had barely spoken before, and yet here you were, finally engaging in a private conversation.

He wondered what kind of discussion you would have. Would Gi-hun tell you about his past experiences? Would he reveal his reason for returning? Would he reveal his plan to you? Worse, would he mention his suspicions about him?

Nonetheless, it was better to let them talk.

At first, Gi-hun didn’t respond. The silence stretched, and In-ho watched as you hesitated, disappointment flickering across your face. He almost thought that was the end of it.

But then, to his mild astonishment, Gi-hun spoke.

He told you about his previous time in these games, about the friendships he formed, the games he played, and the brutal reality of being pitted against his late best friend in the final round.

“This place turns everyone into something they’re not,” Gi-hun said. “It doesn’t matter how strong your friendship is. The games are designed to break it.”

Still clinging to that, player 456? In-ho mused darkly.

It wasn’t the games that changed people. The games merely revealed what was already there. Stripped away the pretense. Put lives on the line and exposed the rot beneath. This place didn’t break people. It forced them to confront their own selfishness.

The conversation shifted to the additional rule – the ability for players to vote after every game.

You were surprised, of course. The last time Gi-hun was here, that option hadn’t existed.

“And I have a feeling why the overseer of this game made that change,” Gi-hun said.

“Why?” you asked, curiosity lacing your voice.

“He wanted to prove to me that it’s not the games’ fault that players die,” Gi-hun murmured. “It’s the players themselves. They’re the ones who choose to stay in this game, no matter how much they earn or how high the stakes get.”

A slow smirk almost curled onto In-ho’s lips. Exactly. So, he noticed. But does he realize how wrong he is and his naïve idealism?

“Who is… the overseer of this game?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but even in the hushed silence of the dormitory, In-ho heard it clearly.

Gi-hun replied, “The one who controls this game. I’m sure the guards call him Captain.”

In-ho’s entire face fell. His body stiffened. How does he know that?

Only insiders or the guards knew about that title. Had he overheard some careless guard mention it? If so, those guards had been reckless.

But then the realization struck him.

Jun-ho. Of course.

The evening before the first game, after Gi-hun eliminated the recruiter, went to the club and entered his limousine, there had been other cars trailing behind. But In-ho had been three steps ahead. His pink guards had sniped the tires of those vehicles, eliminating pursuit. The guards then relayed the intel to him afterward, even the appearance of those pursuers.

One of the stalkers was his brother – Jun-ho. The guard took a picture of him so clearly because he got out of his useless car and stood there. He must be listening to the conversation in the limousine through the recorder Gi-hun had brought with him.

Not only that.

His guard – who was the one responsible for transporting new players through the private ferry – had also informed him about Jun-ho’s persistent attempts to locate the island. The guard had been unable to return to duty because Jun-ho kept looking for him for help finding the island. In-ho then ordered him to take some time off, to ensure Jun-ho never got any closer. String him along until he gives up.

So, Gi-hun and Jun-ho were working together to find the island and apprehend me.

In-ho’s expression darkened. Jun-ho must have told Gi-hun a lot, but not everything.

He didn’t tell him who the Front Man really is.

Jun-ho, his younger half-brother, had withheld the most crucial piece of information. If he had shown Gi-hun a picture or even mentioned his name, Gi-hun would have reacted the moment he saw him. He would have screamed, raged, done something.

But he hadn’t.

For now, his identity was still safe.

“Gi-hun, how do you know so much?” you asked him.

“I came back here for a reason,” Gi-hun replied. “I will do whatever it takes to prove to this ‘Captain’… that the world has changed.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Have you met this Captain?”

“Not directly,” he admitted. “But he sees us like horses. Trash, he said. We are just mere trash to him.”

In-ho remained silent. Humanity, when pushed to the corner, revealed its ugliest side. He had seen it in the players, in the VIPs, in everyone who had stepped into this place thinking they could win their way out. The rot had always been there. This game merely stripped away the illusion.

Then Gi-hun’s posture eased. His voice softened as he told you that you reminded him of someone – a friend he had made in this place named Ali. In-ho knew exactly who he was talking about. A foreigner, rare among the players.

“He must have been a kind guy,” you said gently. There was warmth in your tone. In-ho could hear your smile even without looking.

“One of the kindest I’ve ever met,” Gi-hun admitted. “He trusted too easily, though.”

“Is that why I reminded you of him? Because I trust too easily?”

“No,” Gi-hun said. “It’s because you’re all smiles and helpful, even in this dark place. He didn’t make it. But he showed me that even in the darkest times, there’s room for kindness.”

Silence settled between you two, heavy yet not uncomfortable. In-ho opened his eyes and glanced over.

You and Gi-hun were smiling at each other. Warm, understanding smiles. Like something between you had clicked into place, like you had grown closer in a matter of minutes.

Something dark twisted inside In-ho.

***

Finally, it was your turn to keep watch. In-ho gently woke you up, but the moment your eyes opened, he noticed how red they were. Guilt settled deep in his chest. He hated waking you when you clearly needed rest.

Yet even when he offered to take over your shift, you refused. You forced yourself to stay awake, even as exhaustion weighed heavily on you, your eyes still half-lidded with fatigue.

He told you to wash your face, to at least wake yourself up properly. Again, you refused. You explained how difficult it had been for you and Jun-hee to convince the guard to let you use the restroom earlier, and you didn’t want to deal with that again.

But In-ho needed you fully awake before he initiated the conversation he had planned.

So he led you to the door leading to the restroom. Once the two of you stood before it, In-ho knocked. No response. He knocked again, and finally, a soldier appeared behind the circular window.

In-ho met the soldier’s masked gaze without hesitation. “She needs to use the restroom. Let her in.”

The words came out too commanding, too firm – dangerously out of place for someone who was supposed to be just another player.

The soldier stared at him in silence before sliding the window shut. Glancing at you, In-ho caught the flicker of confusion on your face.

A few seconds later, the door opened. The same soldier stood there, now flanked by two more guards.

In-ho turned to you. “Go. I’ll keep watch for you.”

You stepped inside. As you moved past the guards, In-ho’s gaze darkened, turning toward them.

His voice was low, firm, instinctual. “Guard her.”

Your head snapped back toward him, startled. In-ho realized – again – how naturally the order had left his mouth. Years of command couldn’t be erased overnight. Whenever he interacted with his guards, that part of him always surfaced.

And he had let it slip again.

In-ho watched as the guards positioned themselves, one in front and one behind, guiding you toward the female’s restroom. His gaze lingered on the soldier left guarding the door, noting the way he stiffened and instinctively lowered his head in his presence. Satisfied, In-ho finally turned away as the door shut behind him.

It didn’t take long for you to return. Without hesitation, you sat beside him on the floor.

“If I’d known the guards wouldn’t deny you bathroom access earlier, I would have woken you up,” you muttered. “When Jun-hee, the mother, Hyun-ju, and I went earlier, the guards denied us entry. Twice.”

In-ho remained silent, watching you as you spoke, simply taking in your presence. There was something grounding about you, something he had no business feeling in a place like this.

“The mother had to yell, ‘What did I do in my previous life?’ to finally make them let us in,” you added.

A chuckle escaped his lips. Light, genuine. He hadn’t expected that. He realized how human he felt whenever he spoke with you. For brief moments, you made him forget what he was – who he was. The way you told stories, the way you joked, it made him feel something he hadn't allowed himself in a long time.

“At least it worked in the end,” he mused, glancing at you with an ease he rarely allowed himself. “But if you or the others ever need to go at times like this, wake me up. I’ll handle it.”

Once silence settled between you two, In-ho finally took the chance to speak about what had been weighing on his mind – his wife. His late wife.

He told you nearly everything. How her condition worsened, how she had been pregnant, how he had borrowed as much money as he could to try to save her. How, after her death, he had felt nothing but anger – at the world, at himself. How he felt suicidal. And how, in the end, he returned to the ‘program’, the only place where he last had a purpose in life.

You piece everything together fairly quick, which made it easier to tell you what no one else knew.

“I was a winner of this game in the year 2015,” he admitted.

Your expression shifted, but you remained silent, waiting.

“I didn't tell Gi-hun. I never told anyone this. I don’t want to be seen as the winner or a hero. All I want is to do these games and… find the slightest bit of purpose in life,” he said.

He swallowed, trying to suppress the tightness in his throat, the emotions clawing their way up.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through,” you murmured softly.

He glanced at you then, feeling the moisture in his eyes begin to dry. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Life has a way of… pushing you into corners you didn’t even know existed.”

“Still,” you said, your gaze filled with something raw, something that made his chest tighten, “what you’ve endured… it’s more than anyone should bear.”

“And yet,” he said, exhaling, “in these games, I found something.”

Your wide eyes locked onto his, innocent, questioning. And in that moment, he realized just how intensely he had been staring at you.

Why were you so special?

He had come into these games to spy on Gi-hun, to uncover whatever plan he had been hatching. That was his mission. That was his focus. And yet, somehow, somewhere along the way, that focus had shifted.

It wasn’t just Gi-hun anymore.

It was you.

He wanted to know you. To figure you out. Were you truly as kind as you seemed or was it all just a mask, like everyone else? Was there a point where your goodness would crack, revealing the same selfishness that resided in all human beings?

Is your compassion truly genuine, the kind that you would stop and help a homeless man on a freezing night?

Would you prove him wrong, the way Gi-hun had proven Oh Il-nam wrong? That kindness still existed, that someone would stop to help a homeless man in the cold, even when Il-nam refused to believe it till his last breath? Would In-ho finally witness real change through you?

Would you be the exception to the rule, the one thing that made him believe in something again?

“A purpose,” he finally said, his voice steady, resolved. Yes, he has a purpose now.

You waited, holding your breath.

“I thought it was impossible,” he admitted. “That after everything I’ve been through, after losing my wife, I’d never feel it again. But now…”

Now, he had found something.

Or rather, someone.

“I’ve found something worth protecting in this world,” he finished, his gaze locked onto yours.

“Young-il, if you…” you hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper. “If you mean what I think you mean, you’d have to tell me. I can’t just assume.”

In-ho shifted closer, closing the space between you. “I want to take care of you… not just as a friend, but as something more.”

And as those words left his lips, he knew, deep down, why he had said them.

Because you made him feel human again. Because in your presence, the suffocating emptiness he had lived with for years loosened, even if just slightly. Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something – someone – for himself, not just for survival, not just for the sake of proving a point, but because he needed you.

And he hoped to God you wouldn't turn out to be as trashy as everyone else. If so, there was no hope for him in humanity anymore.

“I know that this place is hell,” he resumed, staring at you unwaveringly. “It’s not the kind of place anyone should be finding hope. But you… you’ve brought hope. Hope that the world has given me a gift.”

That after so much suffering and isolation, you were the reward. He wondered if his wife knew how miserable he was – if she had somehow sent him an angel to remind him what it was like to feel something real again.

“Young-il…” you softly called him, too in disbelief to say anything else.

“I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready to give. But let me protect you. Not because we’re stuck in this place, but because… I care about you.”

The words felt foreign even as they left his lips. Caring wasn’t something he had allowed himself in years. Not since he buried his wife. Not since he lost himself to this place.

But you were different.

You made him feel human again, something he had sworn he would never allow. You carried warmth where there should have been nothing but cold indifference. You made him want to believe – just for a second – that there was still something worth saving in this world.

Yet, he couldn’t be naive. He wouldn’t be.

Because despite everything, he still wanted to see your true nature.

Was your kindness genuine or was it simply another mask? Would you still be the same when the desperation set in, when the games pushed you to your limits? Or would you prove him right? That, in the end, everyone was just as selfish as the rest?

So he would stay. He would protect you, care for you – but not just because he needed you. Because he wanted to know.

Because if you turned out to be different, if you were truly as good as you seemed… maybe, just maybe, he could believe again.

***

[The next morning…]

Maybe this was what you felt when you had the urge to brush Jun-hee’s hair. Because when In-ho saw a strand of your hair clinging to your cheek, he felt the same pull.

As the two of you walked toward the center of the dormitory to prepare for the next game, he stepped closer, gently tucking the stray strand behind your ear with his left hand.

You were caught off guard. Your shy smile was unexpected, but he responded with a small one of his own. Neither of you spoke as you followed the rest of the group into the center.

You had been right. No wonder you often combed Jun-hee’s hair. It felt good. Affectionate. Natural.

Then, the next game – Mingle – began.

For the first round, your group and Player 120’s teamed up, moving into a room together. As the eliminations started, In-ho didn’t watch the players being taken down. He watched you.

He saw the way your expression fell, the way your body tensed as the shots rang out. You still cared. You still flinched at the loss of strangers.

Was it real? Would it last?

Suddenly, Gi-hun stepped beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You okay?”

In-ho’s gaze snapped to him instantly, taking in the concern in his voice. Something dark stirred inside him. Did Gi-hun really think a single conversation between the two of you gave him that right? That privilege?

The rest of the group spoke words of encouragement, but In-ho tuned them out. His focus was on Gi-hun’s hand. It lingered too long.

Unnecessary. Intrusive. Unwelcome.

“We can manage this as long as we stay calm and stay together,” player 120 said.

“That’s right,” In-ho agreed, stepping to your other side. His arm came around your shoulders, his hand bumping against Gi-hun’s.

Gi-hun hesitated, then slowly withdrew his hand.

In-ho ignored him. Instead, he gave you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll prioritize the ladies first.”

All of you left the room once the door was unlocked. In-ho kept to your side as you followed the others toward the platform. That’s when he noticed someone walking a little too close to you.

He glanced over. It was the ringleader of the boys who had cornered you last evening. His gaze was sharp, filled with something between resentment and challenge. His grudge wasn’t just against you – it was against In-ho too.

A flicker of irritation passed through him. He glanced at your face, immediately noticing the concern tightening your features. Feeling that urge again, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you slightly closer. You looked up at him, eyes wide in astonishment.

“Ignore them,” he murmured.

You nodded, letting him guide you forward, his arm never loosening. But as he walked, he cast one final glance at the ringleader and his lackeys – a silent, menacing glare that told them everything they needed to know.

When the second round began, your hand instinctively reached for his sleeve again. Just like you had during the first round. It was unconscious, a small act of seeking balance, but it stirred something in him nonetheless. You were like a lost kitten clinging to him for steadiness.

And he found it… endearing.

This time, however, fate pulled him away. He and Gi-hun separated themselves from you and the rest. In-ho remained silent, but he watched Gi-hun closely. Observed the way he moved, the way he placed himself at risk for the others. He was just like you – kind, selfless, frustratingly so.

But In-ho didn’t say a word. He simply watched.

Once the guards finished cleaning up the arena, except for the blood, he and Gi-hun reunited with the others. He expected relief especially from you, but what he didn’t expect was the warmth and happiness from everybody else.

You, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Jun-hee – all of you welcomed him back with genuine joy. Jung-bae even pulled him into a hug, laughing out of sheer relief. For the first time in years, something in In-ho’s chest loosened.

He felt at ease. He felt at home.

He didn’t miss the way you hesitated, how your hands twitched slightly as if itching to embrace him too but you held back. And that was fine. He knew you valued dignity, that you considered others’ comfort before your own. It was just another thing he had grown to admire about you.

Feeling lighter than he had in a long time, he made a lighthearted joke about how their group of six could actually count as seven if they included Jun-hee’s baby. It caught everyone off guard, laughter spilling from the group. Jung-bae, always quick to add on, cracked another joke, prompting Dae-ho to double over in laughter.

Yeah, it feels nice, In-ho thought.

For the first time in years, he let himself enjoy it.

All of you in the group survived the third round. But the aftermath revealed something far uglier. The mother and son duo had been separated during the round. And from what In-ho gathered after speaking with the mother, the son had willingly left her behind in the arena.

Ah, there it is, In-ho mused darkly. The hidden depravity of humanity.

The son had held his mother’s hand like a devoted child all this time, clinging to her as though she was his entire world. And yet, when the time came, he let her go without a second thought. No hesitation. No regret.

And still, when he returned to her afterward, she forgave him.

In-ho, Gi-hun, and you watched in silence. He could tell you had noticed it too. The way your expression wavered, the way your eyes followed the son with quiet realization. And Gi-hun, he frowned.

The teams merged and the next round came. They all survived. But one of player 120’s acquaintances didn’t make it.

The group had grown larger now. Player 333, 246 named Gyeong-seok, and 380 called Se-mi had all joined, forming a solid unit. They all stayed together for what would soon be the final round.

As the carousel spun with its haunting melody, Jung-bae turned to Gi-hun. “What do you think the number will be for the final round?”

Before Gi-hun could answer, In-ho spoke instead. “Two.”

The moment the word left his lips, he could feel the shift. The entire group turned their eyes toward him, questioning.

Jung-bae tilted his head. “Why?”

“There are 129 people left, and 50 rooms,” In-ho explained. “So there won’t be enough rooms for everyone. Only for 100 people. The rest will be eliminated.”

“If it’s two, then…” you paused, eyes flickering to your friends. Then, urgency laced your voice. “Quick. Pair up. Pair up.”

The others reacted instantly, moving to secure a partner. In-ho remained still, watching.

He had broken his own rule.

Fairness and equality were what he upheld in this place. The games were meant to be unbiased. But this? This was an advantage – an unfair one. He had told them the final round’s required number before it was revealed, giving them a chance to prepare while the others remained clueless.

And yet, he had done it anyway.

Because now, his loyalty to the rules had wavered. He had spent so long enforcing fairness, but now he had something more valuable than rules – something he wanted to protect.

Or rather, someone.

He could call it logic, tell himself it was strategy. But the truth was, it was you.

And for the first time in years, fairness no longer mattered to him as much as you did.

And though he wouldn't say it out loud, he had grown unexpectedly attached to the whole group.

Meanwhile, In-ho felt a gentle tug on his left sleeve. He didn’t need to look to know it was you. Even as you faced forward, focused on the rooms ahead, your fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket.

His gaze flickered down to your hand.

For a moment, he simply observed and felt the warmth of your grasp, the quiet way you sought him out without words. Then, with a slow movement, he reached over with his right hand, gently prying your fingers from his sleeve.

A flicker of confusion crossed your face, though you didn’t speak. He could feel it, the way you hesitated, wondering what he was doing.

Then, without a word, his left hand reached for yours. And instead of letting go, he intertwined his fingers with yours, clasping your hand in a firm, steady hold.

His grip wasn’t possessive, but protective. He didn’t need to say anything. He just held on. And that was enough.

Suddenly, the platform lurched to a stop, and the music cut off abruptly. Then, just as quickly, the blaring fast-paced tune resumed, flashing red and purple lights bathing the room in chaos. The announcer’s voice rang through the madness: “Two.”

Without hesitation, In-ho tightened his hold around your hand and pulled you forward, weaving through the frantic players. But before you could reach safety, something ripped you away from him.

Your hand slipped from his grasp.

In-ho barely had time to react before two men barreled into him, their shoulders slamming against his chest. The force sent him crashing to the ground. The impact jarred him, but his focus was singular.

You.

“Young-il!” your panicked scream cut through the chaos, and his blood ran cold.

His head snapped toward you just in time to see the stupid boys' ringleader's smug face as he yanked you back. The bastard had his arms locked around your waist, dragging you toward a different room. Your furious thrashing made it difficult, but the ringleader held firm.

Rage ignited in In-ho’s chest. His vision sharpened, his body tensed.

That fucker had made the worst mistake of his life.

But before he could get up from the floor, the ringleader's friends were on him, shoving him back down with force. They ganged up on him, pressing their weight against his shoulders, knocking him flat. They definitely underestimated him, seeing only an older man – one they thought would be easy to overpower.

The ringleader's friends then scrambled off him and bolted toward their leader. In-ho wasted no time. He pushed himself off the ground with force, his body surging forward the moment he regained his footing.

His sharp gaze locked onto them just as they reached the ringleader, who was struggling to drag you toward an unoccupied room. They grabbed at your arms and legs, forcing you through the doorway. In-ho's pulse pounded in his ears. With every ounce of speed he could muster, he sprinted toward them.

The ringleader's friends were about to leave to find another room. But before they could fully escape, In-ho appeared. He caught up to the nearest one and grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head against the wall just outside. A sickening crack thundered. The force of the impact sent the man crumpling to the ground, unmoving. 

In-ho barely spared him a glance.

His focus was already shifting. He stepped into the doorway, his gaze locking onto the second lackey. Without hesitation, he delivered a devastating punch to the man’s face. A sharp crunch followed as the impact shattered his nose. The lackey dropped instantly, groaning in pain as blood gushed between his fingers.

“Shit!” the ringleader hissed, tightening his grip around you like a shield.

In-ho’s eyes darkened as he took in the scene. Your arms trapped, your body pressed against the boy's unwillingly. He could see it in your posture, in the way your body tensed, the way your breath quickened. Fear. Frustration.

This fucker was holding you like a prize.

That was enough to make something snap inside him.

“Let her go,” In-ho commanded, his voice cold, his tone brooking no argument.

“Fuck no!” the ringleader spat, his tone laced with desperation. “If you want her alive, then go and find another room!”

In-ho didn’t move. He assessed. He calculated. The room was small, the timer ticking down in the background. One wrong move, and that boy might try to use you as leverage.

The ringleader's voice wavered as he shouted again, “So what will it be?!”

Before In-ho could act, you did.

Quick, decisive, brutal. Your right hand shot downward, seizing the boy's precious part in a vice grip. His agonized scream ripped through the air as his body curled inward. He released you instantly, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You stumbled free, gasping, stepping away. But before the bastard could recover, before he could even think about retaliating, In-ho lunged.

His fist connected with the boy's jaw, sending him reeling back. In-ho didn’t let up. Another punch, this one to his ribs. A third to his temple. Each hit was calculated, controlled. No wasted movement. Just cold precision fueled by rage.

“Quick!” In-ho heard you shout. “Shove him out!”

In-ho didn’t listen. He had no intention of shoving the scum anywhere. Instead, he locked his arms around the man’s neck from behind, maneuvering him into a chokehold. As he crouched low, the boy's struggling body bent under his control, submission inevitable.

You froze, wide-eyed, watching him. Watching the way he moved without hesitation. Without mercy.

The timer ticked down, each second tightening the tension in the room. Through the chaos, In-ho caught your gaze from behind the ringleader's head. Your eyes met his, and in that moment, he knew you saw it – his quiet fury, the focused, unrelenting force behind his actions.

One second left.

With a sharp, calculated shift of his arms, a sickening crack echoed through the room. The bastard's head twisted unnaturally to the side.

The long, piercing beep signaled the end of the round.

The boy's lifeless body slumped to the floor. In-ho released his grip, letting his hands fall limply onto the dead man’s chest. His breath came heavy, his hair damp against his forehead, but his eyes remained locked on you. Unblinking. Unreadable.

The silence in the room stretched, suffocating.

You tore your gaze away first, unable to hold his stare. Your eyes dropped to the floor, your body trembling. He noticed every detail – the way your arms shook, the way your breath hitched. He wondered what exactly had unsettled you the most.

Was it because of him and what he did? The side of him you had just seen? Unfiltered, merciless, the part of himself he had long since accepted. Did the way he executed the ringleader shake you?

Did you finally realize? That you're seeing him for what he truly was?

And if you did, would you ever be able to see him any other way?

In-ho saw it. Your trembling form, the way you refused to meet his gaze. He exhaled slowly, standing from where he had crouched over the fucker’s lifeless body. He turned toward you, his shadow stretching across the floor.

He watched you, assessing. And finally, he spoke your name.

You flinched slightly at the sound but you still didn’t look up. He took a slow step forward, then another, stopping just in front of you. Crouching down, he brought himself to your level, close enough that you could feel his presence.

“Look at me.”

When you didn’t, his hand hovered for a moment before resting gently on your trembling arm.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmured. “But I wasn’t going to let him…”

He trailed off, his jaw tightening. He turned his head slightly as if forcing himself to shake off the thought of what had almost happened to you. Of what that bastard had tried to do.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lifted your gaze to meet his.

Your eyes, still clouded with emotion, searched his. But what did you see? The cold, ruthless man who had executed someone without hesitation? Or the man who had laughed with you whenever you made him feel a genuine human connection?

A shaky whimper escaped you, your voice barely holding steady. “You didn’t have to kill him. You could have just shoved him out of the room.”

In-ho held your gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, he nodded slightly as if acknowledging your words. He was not agreeing, not refuting. Without a word, he stepped closer. And before you could react, his arms encircled you, pulling you into a firm embrace.

His grip was unwavering, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold efficiency with which he had ended a life just moments ago.

He had killed to protect you.

In-ho rested his chin gently atop your head, feeling the way your face pressed against the crook of his neck. Your warmth against him, the quiet rise and fall of your breath, lulled him and his heartbeat.

“If I shoved him out,” he murmured, “he would’ve died anyway. The guards would have shot him. At least this way… it was on my terms. Not theirs.”

His words vibrated softly against your cheek, but he could feel your body tense in response. He exhaled slowly, lowering his voice even further.

“Let me protect you in this hell,” he continued. “I’m doing this because I care about you.”

And it was the truth. He didn’t say things like this lightly. He had spent years closing himself off, but here, now, you had become the one thing he didn’t want to lose. The one thing that he wanted to keep watch over.

He could tell his words hit you deeply. He could feel it in the way your breathing changed, in the way you hesitated. Your arms hung limply at your sides as if you were uncertain, overwhelmed by everything – fear, relief, the weight of what had just happened.

Sensing that hesitation, he loosened his hold, just slightly. His hand moved, fingers tilting your chin upward so your wide, startled eyes met his. Then, without a word, he leaned in, brushing his lips softly against yours. It was brief. Just two fleeting seconds of contact. But the moment he pulled back, your stunned expression rooted him in place.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was going to lose you. So now, I’m not going to waste any more time.”

Before you could find the words to respond, he moved again.

This time, he didn’t hold back. His arms pulled you in, his grip firm, his lips capturing yours with a desperate certainty. Again and again, his kisses deepened, each one more urgent than the last. His hand slid up, fingers threading through your hair, tilting your head just enough to give him more access.

In-ho felt the way your body tensed at first, the hesitation before your arms slowly wrapped around his back. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, gripping onto him like he was your only tether to safety.

Even as he kissed you deeply, he felt you tense up. He could feel in the way your breath hitched, in the way your body pressed into his but your mind remained elsewhere. He knew what was creeping into your thoughts, the doubt gnawing at the edges of this moment.

You had witnessed it firsthand. The ruthlessness in his movements, the precision with which he had ended someone's life. No hesitation. No remorse. You must be thinking if this was how he had survived his 2015 game. Cold, calculating, unsympathetic.

Did you finally realize what he had always known? That there were parts of him that could never be understood, never be softened. He could sense that doubt clinging to you like a shadow.

And In-ho? He wasn’t sure whether to reassure you… or let you see the truth.

***

The square guard 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 a series of announcements, the TV screen finally displayed the numbers. 100 players remaining. The accumulated prize money had reached 35.6 billion won. If distributed equally, each player would walk away with 356 million won.

In-ho didn’t need to glance at you to know you were stunned by the figure. He could already sense it in the way your breath hitched and in the subtle widening of your eyes. That amount was enough to change your life and to erase the burdens you carried.

Your group, along with the other players, gathered toward the back of the dormitory as the square guard finished his announcement. The voting counters were being set up now, the process feeling eerily familiar.

Standing amidst the crowd, lost in thought, you didn’t seem to notice when he spoke.

“I’m glad.”

His voice was steady, calm, but there was something deeper beneath it. When you turned to him, he let a small smile tug at his lips. “At this amount, you can pay all of your debts.”

The way your face lit up made something tighten in his chest.

“Yeah,” you breathed, a grin spreading across your face. “Now I want nothing more than to go back home. My little sister must be worried.”

His gaze lingered on you.

“What are you going to do with the remaining millions?” he asked, his curiosity sincere.

You looked away briefly but the smile on your lips remained. “I’d use it to give my family a fresh start. My parents have endured so much. They’ve sacrificed everything for us. I’m going to give it all to them.”

Turning back to him, your warm smile deepened. “They deserve it.”

In-ho held your gaze for a moment, studying the quiet certainty in your eyes. The weight of your words settled in him, something unspoken twisting in his chest.

A rare kind of person, he thought.

His small smile grew as he murmured, “It’s rare to see someone who thinks so selflessly, even in a place like this.”

And for the first time in a long time, he almost wished he could believe in goodness again.

That’s when you looked up at him, your voice soft, laced with hesitation. “Young-il, if we manage to get a majority of X votes and we get to leave… will we still keep in touch?”

In-ho felt something shift.

You weren’t just thinking about escaping. You were thinking about after. About something beyond these walls.

His lips curled into a subtle smile as he held your gaze, letting the silence stretch between you both. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes, the flicker of hope you tried to keep hidden.

“Of course,” he finally said, smiling slightly. “Once we win the majority vote, give me your phone number and address. I’ll contact you.”

The way your face lit up sent something unexpected coursing through him. It was warmth, unguarded and genuine, something he wasn’t used to receiving.

He was taken aback too. You had seen what he was capable of. The way he had ended a life. The way he had done it without hesitation, without flinching.

That should have terrified you. It should have made you run.

But instead, you smiled at him so trustingly. So openly.

***

In the end, the voting resulted in a tie. The manager announced that another vote would take place tomorrow, giving the players time to reconsider their decisions.

As the players dispersed, In-ho walked alongside you, heading back to the usual corner where your group gathered. He was lost in thought when your voice suddenly pulled him back.

“Why were you taking so long to vote X?” you asked, exasperation laced in your tone. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

A chuckle escaped him. He had expected you to be curious, but he wasn’t prepared for the dramatic follow-up.

“If you’d voted O, I would’ve screamed and died on the spot,” you added, frowning in exaggerated dismay. “That would’ve been my way out of this game.”

That made him laugh. A genuine laugh that he hadn’t let out in years.

There it was again. That feeling. You made him feel human.

You reminded him of something he had buried a long time ago – the warmth of companionship, the simple joy of lighthearted conversation. In a place filled with desperation and greed, you were the anomaly.

Glancing at you, he took in the small pout on your face and shook his head. Without thinking, his left hand lifted, fingers threading gently through your hair as he brushed the back of your head.

“Sorry,” In-ho 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 familiar corner where your group usually gathered, his gaze shifted around the room. He wasn’t just glancing. He was observing. Taking in every surviving player, their body language, their unspoken intentions.

His smile faded slightly as he finally spoke. “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.”

He could feel your silent stare, the way his words settled in your mind, forcing you to confront the same questions.

“It’s frustrating,” he murmured, his voice quieter. “If everyone got one billion, would they finally vote to leave? Or would they insist on staying here?”

He let the question hang in the air before bringing his gaze back to you, his expression solemn. “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?”

He saw the weight of his words settle onto your shoulders. Your face told him everything. Concern, uncertainty, a flicker of realization.

“This place exposes who you really are,” he said, his tone edged with quiet certainty. “People can’t hide forever when they’re pushed to their limits. Even those who think they’re good, moral people… they find out just how far they’re willing to go when it’s their life on the line.”

He had seen it before. Over and over again. In these games, morality was a fragile thing, easily shattered when desperation took hold.

Then, without much thought, his hand moved. The back of his fingers brushed lightly against your head, his touch barely there before his fingers wove softly through your hair.

It was an unconscious gesture, something he shouldn’t have allowed himself. But he did.

And when you turned your gaze to him, he was already watching you, a small smile playing at his lips.

“This place also shows who can hold onto kindness, even when everything around them turns to chaos,” he said.

The words lingered between you. He saw the way they resonated, the way warmth flickered in your eyes despite the shadows that threatened to consume everything. Then, you smiled back at him.

“That’s you, though.”

In-ho’s gaze lingered on you, his faint smile faltering before disappearing altogether. He stared, unmoving, as your words settled in.

Your smile remained genuine, unwavering like a candle burning steady against the wind.

“You’re kind, too,” you continued, voice steady. “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 lifted your hands, a playful attempt to mimic his movements from that moment. “You were like a police officer in this place. Fair and protective.”

His chest tightened. He hadn’t expected that. He never told you this, but a long time ago, he had been exactly that – a police officer. He had devoted his youth to it, believing in the job, in the duty, in the justice it was meant to uphold. Until he tried to save his wife by borrowing money. And just like that, it had all been taken from him. Fired. Cast aside. The devastation of that moment had never truly left him.

So when you said that, it was like striking a match inside him. Something buried deep, something he had locked away for years, flared to life. He had spent so long convincing himself that his past was dead, that the man who once swore to protect and serve had been erased the day he was cast out. And yet, here you were, seeing him for something he hadn’t believed he could be anymore. Fair. Protective. Good.

The words cracked through his defenses like a fault line splitting open, and for the first time in years, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to put them back together.

His eyes remained locked onto you, searching, waiting for uncertainty or manipulation. An ulterior motive. But it never came. The silence between you stretched. You tilted your head slightly, puzzled by his lack of response, but your expression never wavered.

Finally, he exhaled.

A small, almost reluctant smile returned to his lips. His gaze flickered between your left and right eye, then briefly to your lips before dropping to the floor. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he lifted a hand, pressing it lightly against your back. A simple gesture, guiding you forward.

“You’re too kind for this world, really,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

In-ho believed that kindness was a weakness in this world. That it was something people pretended to have until survival demanded otherwise. But you… somehow, you kept proving him wrong. You saw something in him that he had long buried, something he wasn’t sure he even wanted to believe in again. And yet, with every word you spoke, every genuine smile you gave, you chipped away at the armor and mask he had built around himself. He wasn’t sure if that terrified him or if, for the first time in a long while, it made him feel something close to hope.

***

[Back to present…]

“It appears a player is giving birth.”

Your breath caught. Your fingers froze over the console. Your eyes widened.

Jun-hee is giving birth.

A sharp, instinctual panic shot through you, locking your body in place as the reality of the words hit. Out of all the possible situations, this was something you hadn’t prepared for.

Your hands trembled as you hastily shifted your attention back to the live feed. The X zone was in a state of a growing chaos, players moving frantically. Your heart pounded as you scanned for Jun-hee, hoping that this was some kind of misunderstanding.

But it wasn’t.

Amidst the disorder, you spotted her. Jun-hee was lying on one of the bunk beds, her body curled inward, arms cradling her swollen belly protectively. Her face was twisted in agony, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead. The players surrounding her were panicked. Beneath her, a darkened wet patch stained the mattress. Her water had broken.

Dread coiled in your stomach. This wasn’t just dangerous. It was life-threatening. She needed medical attention. Proper care. But there were no doctors here, no sterile rooms or trained professionals. Just frightened, helpless players who had no idea what to do. But there is Yong-sik's mother.

But would the guards step in? Would they allow an emergency intervention? Or would they simply force Jun-hee to get up and continue with the game?

Then, as if sensing your internal turmoil, he spoke in his deep, distorted voice. “Manager 007 and 009.”

Your breath hitched. Slowly, you turned your head, meeting the dark gaze of the Front Man’s mask staring back at you.

“Handle this.”

His words were simple. Clear. And they sent a wave of cold understanding through you. In-ho was giving you permission to intervene. Whatever you wanted to do, he gave you a green light.

Yet, he assigned another manager to accompany you. Was this his way of ensuring you followed 009’s lead? A silent instruction to observe rather than act? Or to be careful? You couldn’t be sure, but questioning it wouldn’t change the fact that you had a chance to intervene.

You nodded stiffly and pushed yourself up from the seat, forcing steady steps away from the monitor. Manager 009 followed suit. Without a word, the two of you made your way to the door.

As you rushed alongside 009 toward the dormitory, your mind raced. How would you approach this without drawing too much attention? In-ho had warned you not to act rashly. He couldn’t always cover for you. And he was right. If you did something impulsive, it wouldn’t just be you facing the consequences. Your friends would suffer too. You had to be careful.

When you arrived, you immediately noticed the pink guards stationed at the entrance. Most were soldiers, standing rigidly, while a single manager, presumably in charge of player supervision, stood in the center. Their posture was indifferent as if they were merely overseeing another routine occurrence.

Your eyes darted toward the X zone. A frantic cluster of players surrounded a single bed. Your heart pounded harder. Even from where you stood, you could make out Gi-hun and the others standing protectively around the bed, their faces grim with worry.

“Everyone, please make space!” Yong-sik’s mother’s voice rang out. Though her tone was firm, there was an undeniable panic beneath it. “Give her space!”

Dae-ho, Jung-bae, Hyun-ju, Yong-sik, and Gi-hun worked to push back the other players, creating a small perimeter around Jun-hee’s bed. Meanwhile, Myung-gi knelt beside her, gripping her hand tightly, his expression stricken with worry and helplessness.

Your gaze shifted toward the O players, who remained seated in their designated area, watching the commotion with detached amusement. None of them moved to help. It was clear they didn’t see this as their problem.

Manager 009 strode forward toward the supervising manager, and you followed closely behind. Despite your measured pace, your eyes kept darting towards your friends. Every part of you wanted to run to Jun-hee’s side, to help in any way you could. But you had to keep your composure. If you slipped up now, it wouldn’t just be you who paid the price.

009 stopped before the supervising manager and addressed them. “Manager 003, what’s the situation?”

Manager 003 barely glanced at the chaos unfolding behind them as they responded blandly as if discussing the weather, “Breakfast distribution will begin shortly. The situation does not affect the schedule.”

You felt something in your chest tighten. A player was in labor, and they still intended to carry on as if nothing was happening?

But you bit your tongue. Now wasn’t the time to react. Now was the time to think carefully about your next move.

Circle guards – known as workers – filed into the dormitory, swiftly setting up two tables at the front of the center. The sight made your stomach sink. That meant players would have to queue in two lines to get their breakfast as if nothing extraordinary was happening. It’s as if Jun-hee wasn’t in labor right now.

Then, manager 003’s voice rang out in the dormitory, monotonous and devoid of emotion. “Players, queue up for your breakfast before the next game begins.”

The players shifted their attention onto him. A stunned silence spread through the dormitory. Some exchanged hesitant glances while others openly gawked at the manager in shock. The sheer detachment in the announcement was like a slap to the face.

Yong-sik’s mother was the first to react. She bolted from Jun-hee’s side and rushed to the center, placing herself in front of the guards. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her face contorted with disbelief and horror.

“Are you serious?” she demanded, her voice shaking. “Are you really going to continue with the game right now? Someone is in labor! She needs medical attention, she needs rest! Could you at least delay the game for her?!”

Manager 003 remained still, unaffected by the raw emotion in her voice. He simply stated, “The next game will begin as usual.”

Silence. Then, anger flared in the mother’s eyes. Her lips trembled, fists clenched by her sides as her fury erupted.

“How could you?” she screamed. “Are you even human?! She cannot play the games right after giving birth! She’s in pain! She’s suffering!”

Yong-sik rushed to his mother’s side, attempting to calm her down, when a voice boomed across the dormitory.

“And who are you to demand that?!”

All eyes snapped to player 100, who had shot up from his seat and was now striding toward the center of the room. His finger jabbed aggressively at the mother as he sneered. “Who do you think you are, demanding special treatment? You think she deserves more time than the rest of us? That’s unfair! We’re all fighting for our lives here, not waiting around for some sob story to play out!”

He scoffed, spreading his arms out. “What next? Should we all get pillows and blankets for her? Maybe some tea and biscuits? Grow up! This is a competition! If she’s too weak to continue, then tough luck!”

The mother’s expression twisted in fury. “How can you say that? She’s having a baby! She could die!”

Player 100 let out a mocking laugh. “So what? People die every day here! And if she’s not strong enough, then that’s her problem, not ours!”

The argument grew heated as more players joined in. Player 226 stepped forward, backing player 100. “He’s right! Why should we wait around just because she decided to bring a kid into this mess? That’s not our problem. The game goes on.”

Dae-ho stepped in. “What the hell is wrong with you people? She’s a human being! A baby is about to be born, and all you care about is the game?”

Jung-bae added, his voice carrying through the dormitory, “This isn’t about fairness anymore. It’s about decency. Are you seriously suggesting we just let her suffer without any help?”

Player 100 rolled his eyes. “Decency? In this place? You’re more naive than I thought.”

Just then, Myung-gi rose to his feet from Jun-hee’s side, his face dark with fury. He stormed toward player 100, standing toe-to-toe with him. “You keep running your mouth like that, and I’ll shut it for you.”

Before player 100 could respond, a familiar chuckle rang through the room. Player 124 – the late Thanos’ friend – stepped forward, his grin wide and unsettling. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he swayed slightly as if high on something.

“Now, now,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “Why so worked up for a girl you just met, MG Coin?”

He tilted his head exaggeratedly, eyes narrowing. “Could it be that you’re not just her boyfriend? Could it be… you’re the father of the baby?”

Silence fell upon the dormitory like a heavy weight. Myung-gi stiffened, his jaw clenching. All eyes locked onto him, even the mother looked at him with wide, stunned eyes. You stood frozen, unable to process the sudden turn of events.

Player 124 let out a high-pitched cackle. “Oh, man, this is rich! I was just guessing, but that face says it all! Look at him! Speechless! Guilty as charged!”

He shook his head in exaggerated disbelief, then sneered, “So, what’s the plan, MG Coin? You going to win the games and take care of your baby? Or will you ask your baby to invest in bitcoin too?”

The words dripped with venom, laced with a cruel taunt meant to push Myung-gi over the edge. And from the look in Myung-gi’s eyes, it was working.

Myung-gi hissed at him through gritted teeth, “Shut your mouth, you punk!”

Player 124 smirked, tilting his head mockingly. “Or what?”

Before Myung-gi could respond, a piercing cry cut through the tension. Jun-hee’s whimpers turned into full sobs, her body writhing on the mattress. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into the sheets. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for breath.

The mother snapped out of her anger and rushed back to Jun-hee’s side, her hands immediately moving to soothe her.

“Shh, shh, I’m here, sweetheart. Just breathe. Just like that,” she murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from Jun-hee’s forehead.

Myung-gi, who had been frozen in place just moments before, followed suit. He ran and dropped to his knees beside the bed, gripping Jun-hee’s trembling hand tightly in both of his. His face was stricken with worry, but he did not hesitate to hold her through the pain, whispering quiet reassurances.

The tension that had crackled moments ago slowly fizzled as most of the X players shifted their focus back to Jun-hee. The argument, the accusations – all of it faded to the background.

Manager 003, unaffected by the emotional shift, repeated his command in the same robotic tone, “Players, queue up for your breakfast before the next game begins.”

A few moments passed in eerie silence before some of the O players began moving, forming two orderly lines in front of the tables that had been set up. They grabbed their boiled eggs and cartons of milk, exchanging smug glances amongst themselves as they returned to their beds. Their indifference to Jun-hee’s struggle was infuriating, but unsurprising.

The X players, however, hesitated. Many lingered by Jun-hee’s side, reluctant to leave her while she was in such distress. Some, like Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and Dae-ho, stood still, glaring at the guards as if silently pleading for them to allow Jun-hee some reprieve. But even as hesitation thickened the air, the reality of hunger eventually overpowered their hesitation. Some X players reluctantly stepped forward, collecting their meager meals.

Despite their own needs, a few of them didn’t take a single bite of their breakfast. Instead, one by one, they quietly placed their eggs and milk beside Jun-hee’s makeshift bed. It was a small, silent act of solidarity.

From where you stood, your eyes followed Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, and Yong-sik as they hurriedly grabbed extra mattresses, setting them up around Jun-hee’s bed. They built a makeshift privacy barrier, shielding her from any prying eyes. Inside that small fort, only Jun-hee, the mother, and Myung-gi remained.

You stood at a distance, hidden behind your mask, watching the scene unfold. You longed to be there. To kneel beside Jun-hee, to hold her hand, to help the mother in any way you could. But you weren’t just another player anymore. You were disguised as a manager, an enforcer of the system that was forcing her to give birth in these cruel conditions.

A lump formed in your throat as you clenched your fists. What could you possibly do now?

The control room was surely watching. The masked officer. The Front Man. All of them. Any wrong move could put you – and worse, your friends – at risk.

And yet, the sight of Jun-hee’s suffering made your chest ache with helplessness.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to remain still. You had to be careful. You had to be smart. But deep down, you knew one thing for certain:

You would help her in any way possible.

You turned to manager 003 and manager 009, carefully measuring your words. “To ensure the game proceeds smoothly without unnecessary interruptions, I will gather a kit and the necessary medical equipment for player 222. This way, the game can proceed without delay.”

Both managers turned to face you. A tense silence hung in the air between the three of you as the other players minded their own business. Manager 003’s mask tilted slightly, an indication that they were processing your words before responding.

“That is unnecessary,” manager 003 said finally, their voice void of any emotion.

You kept your posture composed. “This matter must be handled efficiently.”

Manager 009 shifted slightly. “Our assistance is unnecessary. Players who cannot continue will be eliminated. That is the way the game works.”

Manager 003 added, “Our role is to ensure the game runs as instructed, not to interfere with the process.”

You straightened your shoulders. “If she doesn’t get at least some medical attention, she may not be able to participate in the next game at all. Then what? Another revolt will occur by the Xs? Do we simply let the situation fester until it becomes a much bigger issue? The longer we delay, the more likely it is that players will begin resisting.”

Another pause. Manager 009 exhaled audibly, almost as if irritated by the conversation. “We will handle it if that happens.”

You pressed on. “The VIPs are expecting an entertaining experience, are they not?”

You saw the subtle shift in manager 003’s posture. “They will not want unnecessary delays. The longer this goes unresolved, the longer they have to wait for the next game. And we all know they do not like to wait.”

The air between you three grew heavier. You knew you had struck the right nerve. Anything concerning the VIPs was taken seriously. Manager 003 turned slightly, as if reconsidering.

“I am simply proposing an efficient way to ensure that everything proceeds as planned,” you let the words settle before adding, “After all, we wouldn’t want them to grow impatient.”

Another long silence. Finally, manager 003 gave a slow nod. “Fine.”

Without waiting for further objections, you turned swiftly and began making your way out of the dormitory.

You returned to the dormitory carrying clean towels, a scissor, medical gloves, a few bottles of water, and some antiseptic wipes. These were the best supplies you could gather under the circumstances. You strode toward the X zone, heading straight for Jun-hee’s bed where the makeshift fort had been built to provide her with privacy.

Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, and Yong-sik immediately rose to their feet as you approached. Their eyes flickered with alarm, but that concern quickly shifted to the bundle of supplies in your arms. Suspicion lingered in their gazes as they took in the sight of the materials.

You stopped in front of Gi-hun and met his cautious stare through the black mesh of your manager’s mask. Your voice, distorted by the built-in modifier, came out. “Use these. For the delivery. Afterward, give them back to any guards.”

Gi-hun hesitated, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were locked on your mask. Meanwhile, Dae-ho swallowed hard, visibly torn between skepticism and the urgent need to help Jun-hee. Hyun-ju took a step forward, her gaze locked onto you as she assessed the situation.

Jung-bae finally broke the silence. “Why are you helping us?”

You remained silent, simply extending the supplies toward him. You made it clear that they were meant for Jun-hee without the need for further explanation.

For a moment, no one moved. Then, the mother – who had remained by Jun-hee’s side, tending to her as best as she could – peeked out from the fort. Her face was lined with exhaustion and concern, but when she saw the items in your hands, relief flickered across her features.

“Give them here,” she said urgently. “Now. Jun-hee is already two fingers wide.”

Gi-hun finally reached out and took the supplies from you. His fingers curled tightly around the bundle, and his expression softened just a fraction. He stared at you for a moment as if appreciative, though he still seemed wary towards you.

Without another word, the group turned back toward Jun-hee, who let out a strained cry from behind the barricade of mattresses. The mother immediately got to work and the others hurried to assist them as best as they could.

You stepped back, watching as they disappeared into the fort. You wanted to do more, to be there and ensure that Jun-hee was okay. But you had done what you could – at least for now. All you could do was wait and hope that the birth would be as smooth as possible given the dire circumstances.

An hour had passed, the air in the dormitory thick with tension. Jun-hee’s cries of pain filled the space, muffled by the makeshift fort Gi-hun and others had built around her. Every now and then, a sharp intake of breath, a whispered encouragement, or the mother’s firm instructions broke through the nervous silence. The players, particularly the Xs, had kept their distance, watching with apprehension.

Then, the moment everyone had dreaded arrived.

Manager 003’s distorted voice rang through the dormitory. “Players, queue up for the next game.”

The command hung in the air like a death sentence. Heads snapped toward the guards standing by the main doors. The workers had already begun dismantling the tables and clearing away the remnants of breakfast. Your friends stiffened in their places, their expressions a mix of disbelief and outrage.

Yong-sik’s mother was the first to react. She stood from Jun-hee’s side, stepping towards the center and pleaded with a trembling voice, “Please, she’s in the middle of labor! First pregnancies take hours. Can you give her more time? She can’t even stand, let alone play!”

Manager 003, completely unphased, simply repeated, “Players, queue up for the next game.”

Gi-hun and the rest of his friends bristled, gaping at the manager in disbelief. The mother clenched her fists, her lips trembling in fury. “Are you even human? How can you stand there and act like this isn’t happening? This girl is giving birth! You can’t even find it in yourselves to have a shred of decency?”

The guards did not react. They stood still. It didn’t matter how much reasoning or pleading was thrown their way. The game had to continue, no exceptions.

You stood beside manager 009 and 003, watching everything unfold, but inside, your mind was racing. There had to be a way to delay the game longer. More time, just a little more time.

You turned your gaze upward, scanning the walls until you found what you were looking for – a CCTV camera mounted in the far corner of the dormitory.

You exhaled sharply. If anyone could halt this, it was In-ho.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you kept your eyes locked on the camera, hoping – praying – that the Front Man was watching. That he would see the reality of the situation. That he would step in.

That he would grant Jun-hee mercy.

Manager 003 repeated his command in the same flat tone. “Players, queue up for the next game.”

The O players obeyed this time, moving into their lines without hesitation. Meanwhile, the X players hesitated. They glanced between Jun-hee and the guards, unsure whether to follow orders or stand their ground.

The mother rushed back to Jun-hee upon hearing her frightened cries. Gi-hun stood tensely nearby, scanning the room. His sharp gaze moved from guard to guard as if searching for a way out of this situation.

Then, manager 003’s voice echoed again. “Rule number two of the player consent form: A player who refuses to play will be eliminated.”

A wave of unease spread through the X players. Their hesitation turned to fear. Some exchanged anxious glances before stepping forward to join the queue. Slowly, more and more of them followed, unwilling to test the rule.

Twenty minutes crawled by. The lines grew, but a small group remained in place. Jun-hee, lying on the bed in the fort of mattresses, was surrounded by the mother, Yong-sik, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Myung-gi, Hyun-ju, and Se-mi. None of them moved to join the queue.

You watched in realization. This wasn’t just hesitation. They were refusing. They were resisting.

From the line, player 100 sneered. His voice rang through the dormitory as he yelled at the guards, “Hey! That’s against the rules! What are you waiting for? Shoot them!”

Murmurs spread through the players. Some shifted uncomfortably, others nodded in agreement, eager to see the rules enforced.

The guards remained still, waiting for orders. Your pulse quickened as you glanced at the CCTV in the corner. The Front Man was watching. Would he allow this? Would he show mercy for Jun-hee?

A heavy silence filled the dormitory until manager 003’s distorted voice rang out again. “All players must queue up immediately. Failure to comply will violate the second rule of the player consent form. Any refusal to participate will result in elimination.”

Despite the warning, Gi-hun and the others refused to move from Jun-hee's bedside. The mother stood outside the makeshift fort, staring at manager 003 with desperation and disbelief. The tension in the air was unbearable. Players who had already lined up glanced over – some with pity, others with fear, and a few with complete indifference, while the rest held their breath, waiting for what would happen next.

Your pulse quickened. This wasn’t just defiance; it was a desperate plea for basic humanity in a place devoid of it. You clenched your fists, struggling to steady your breathing behind your mask. Was this really how it would end? Would they execute them right here and now?

And what could you do without exposing yourself? Damn it, you needed 011 now more than ever.

A full minute passed, yet Gi-hun’s group remained unmoving. Manager 003 didn’t hesitate. “As per the rules, refusal to participate in the game will result in immediate elimination.”

They turned to the triangle guards. Five soldiers stepped forward, MP5s in hand. Their boots thudded against the floor as they marched toward Jun-hee’s bed.

Your heart pounded. You saw it in Gi-hun’s face – the clenched jaw, the tensed muscles – ready to fight. The others mirrored his stance. Dae-ho was already trembling very obviously, but he still positioned himself in front of the fort. Jung-bae stood firm beside Gi-hun, and Hyun-ju moved to stand in front of the mother and Yong-sik, also prepared to fight back. Myung-gi pressed his back against the fort, watching the approaching guards with a glower. Se-mi, meanwhile, remained motionless with her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, her stance unreadable as she stood beside Myung-gi.

You couldn't just stand by. They were about to be executed for doing what was right – for protecting someone in the most vulnerable moment of her life. A searing anger clawed at your chest, hotter than fear, stronger than reason. If it meant standing beside them, if it meant dying alongside them for something pure in this hellish place, then so be it. You refused to let their kindness be repaid with bullets. Not while you still drew breath.

Determined, you stepped forward, falling into stride behind the triangle guards. Your boots echoed against the cold floor. Then, before the soldiers could reach the fort, your radio crackled to life. Not just yours – manager 003, 009, and the soldiers' radios came alive as well.

“All guards, stand down.”

The voice was deep, firm, and unmistakable. The Front Man.

The room froze. The guards halted mid-step, their weapons still raised but unmoving. Your breath caught as you stopped on the spot. You stared at your radio in disbelief. This was it. The intervention you had been praying for.

The silence stretched, thick with tension. You heard a shuffle of fabric behind you and looked over. It was manager 003. They hesitated for a brief moment before lifting their radio to their mouth, likely to confirm the Front Man’s command.

Before they could utter a word, the Front Man’s voice rang again but this time through the managers' radios only. “The game will be delayed until the baby is delivered.”

Silence followed.

The triangle guards in the X zone turned and faced manager 003, waiting for further instructions. With a slow, almost mechanical motion, manager 003 lowered their radio, then addressed the players in an even tone. “All players, the next game will begin after the child is delivered. Please wait until then.”

The collective sigh of relief from the X players was audible. The mother clasped her hands together, murmuring words of gratitude. Myung-gi visibly relaxed, his hands no longer clenched into fists, and Gi-hun, though still tense, exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging slightly. He then stared at the CCTV, probably feeling too astonished that the management allowed this. Jung-bae and Dae-ho exchanged subtle glances, their hands trembling just a little less than before.

But the relief was short-lived.

A loud, infuriated scoff echoed across the room.

“This is bullshit!” player 100’s voice cut through the brief moment of peace like a blade. “Why is it delayed?! What makes her so damn special?! Why does she get to hold up the entire game for herself?!”

Murmurs rippled through the O players and you could see a few of them nodding in agreement. Player 226 stepped forward, a sneer tugging at his lips. “Yeah. The hell’s with this special treatment! If she can’t play, then she should be eliminated like anyone else who refuses.”

Player 100 jabbed a finger toward the X zone, his fury directed at Jun-hee’s fort. “This is favoritism! The second rule is clear! Any player who refuses to play is eliminated! So what, we’re just throwing out the rules now? What’s next, giving out comfy beds and hot meals for anyone who whines enough?!”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. You wanted nothing more than to shut him up but you had to maintain your role. You turned your gaze to manager 003, who merely stood in place, their face unreadable behind their mask.

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again,” player 100 continued, his voice rising. “You guards always say the rules are absolute, so why the sudden change? Why does she get special treatment?”

Player 124, the late Thanos’ friend, chuckled darkly, shaking his head as he muttered, “Man, I’d kill to have that kind of privilege.”

Jung-bae had had enough.

“She’s literally giving birth, you sick fuck!” he snapped. “What do you want her to do? Push the baby out and run straight into the next game?!”

Player 226 scoffed. “Hey. Rules are rules.”

Dae-ho, shaking in anger, finally stepped up. “You keep running your mouth like you know everything, but have you ever even seen someone in labor?! It takes more than ten hours!”

“You think that matters?!” player 100 fired back. “The moment she signed that consent form, she knew what she was getting into!”

Manager 003 suddenly spoke up. “Enough.”

Their tone was firm, commanding. “The order is absolute. The next game will begin once the baby is delivered. Please wait until then. Any further objections will be considered an act of defiance against the game’s authority.”

The room fell into silence once more. Player 100 bit his tongue, clearly seething, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he stomped back to his place in the queue, muttering curses under his breath. The other O players exchanged glances but followed his lead, keeping their thoughts to themselves.

You kept your head high, ensuring your mask remained as impassive as ever. But inside, your chest burned with fury. The audacity of these players, acting as though Jun-hee’s suffering was an inconvenience to their greed. It made you sick.

Jun-hee’s cries suddenly pierced the silence again, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. The tension in the air remained thick, but the focus had shifted. The mother and Myung-gi rushed back into the fort, while Gi-hun and the rest of the O players reluctantly settled down, their frustration simmering beneath the surface.

The game was delayed, for now. It may be temporary, but it was very much needed for Jun-hee. You glanced up at the CCTV. Beneath your mask, your eyes locked onto it, hoping to convey something unspoken to the Front Man – to In-ho.

Gratitude. A silent thank you.

He had told you he upheld fairness and equality in this place. Yet, for Jun-hee, he had bent his own rules. With the VIPs watching, that was no small act. Maybe he felt conflicted about it, maybe he was already calculating the consequences. But no matter his reasons, he had done this. He had given Jun-hee a chance.

And for that, you were grateful. Because it meant that deep inside him, he was barely any different to Oh Young-il. He still have a heart.

NEXT : Chapter 20

PREV : Chapter 18.1

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! What do you think about In-ho's very long, long P.O.V? I took a lot of care writing those parts because they finally revealed bits of why he was attracted to you. So what's your feedback about it? He cared but he was still very skeptical about your kindness and morality and how far you would go. Well, he will find out soon enough. You all know what scene I'm referring to, right? Then, Jun-hee's labor scene. What do you think about all of the characters who were involved in that scene? Did I write them right? Are they OOC? Does it feel realistic? Nam-gyu and Myung-gi are arguing again in that scene. And what do you think about In-ho suddenly issuing an order to delay the game? Why did he do that? Was it because of you? Or was it because of something else? I really want to know your reaction on this! Anyway, thank you very much for giving my story a chance. I love reading and re-reading all of your comments!

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

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

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

the hospital: miss wayne one of your relatives is injured can you come

Black weird reader: oh my god it's alfred!?

doctor: no it's...

reader: oh you scared me for nothing, have a good day*sorry for my english*

That is such a great question; I was thinking about it at school, and it just makes me think!

The reader doesn't really care when the Batfam gets hurt. Jason got stabbed; he'll walk it off. Tim lost his spell; he'll walk it off. Dick missed a flip and fell; HE'LL WALK IT OFF. But things start to feel different when the Batfam has near-death experiences. The reader doesn't know how to cope with death well. After their mother's passing, the reader still has their mom's number saved in their phone, even though the number is being used by somebody else or is nonfunctional. With that being said, since the Batfam usually get right back up, even after being stumbled and pummeled, the reader starts to see them as immortal—not like gods but able to heal after every fight. When Barbara got shot by the Joker, she got right back up and kept on working, helping the Bat. They thought she was immortal. The same thing with Jason and the Pit! The reader thinks the batfam can’t die, so when they hear about Damian's death, they think he’ll just come back, walking through the mansion doors like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. But he doesn’t come back until Bruce returns to the cave with your younger brother’s cold body in that colorful costume. You thought he was immortal; you thought he would always come back just to torment you. But this time, he doesn’t, and the reader is heartbroken, crying while holding Titus. Sure, you hated the little weasel, but he was your brother nonetheless, and the both of you spent so much time hating each other, just to barely have a relationship. While everyone recalls fun times they had with him, his older sibling has nothing. You couldn’t say anything, not to his tomb, not to anyone. Sometimes you’d barge into his room just to see if he was sneaking through the window, only to find nothing but a made bed, with sketches and doodles on a messy desk—not him screaming for you to get out, throwing things at you, calling you a bastard—nothing. This leaves you feeling empty. This is the same with Bruce's death; you think you can come back from anything, that he can survive anything. He is Batman. After all; he defeated superhumans with his bare fists. But when you see that empty cowl, all you can do is cry like a baby. Your father isn't immortal; he's human, like every single fucking person on the planet, and he's not coming back. The cowl is proof of that. But how come you sit in the office and pretend he's there scolding you, or you end up in the Batcave talking to a mannequin of his Batman suit? He's not coming back; you know it. He's not going to talk back, so why bother? These moments are when the reader realizes that, one, he'll never come back, leaving the reader all alone. It's a pitiful thing, really. So when you can't be indifferent to their injuries, the wound might just be the last straw that broke the camel's back.

[rhyrhy]

“Hold me, console me and then I'll leave without a trace”

. ݁Unkissed Bruises- A.A . ݁

⤷ Pitfighter Abby! Forbidden Love x High Society

. ݁₊ . ݁⚠︎ cw: Angst, Caitvi inspired, sexual content, death/grief, based off this draft! . ݁₊

9k words- mlist

݁₊ . ݁ Once upon a time, Whitehaven and the Rookery were one. two halves of a thriving whole, a city of beautiful contrasts where differences coexisted rather than divided. The grand halls of Whitehaven stood proudly beside the winding streets of the Rookery, their people mingling, trading, sharing stories beneath the same sky.

But with time came greed, and the growing sense of hierarchy that came with seclusion. and seclusion greed came walls, not the kind built with stone, but with power and privilege. The wealthy of Whitehaven withdrew behind gilded gates, drawing an invisible line between themselves and the Rookery below. The divide deepened, fed by whispered justifications and the belief that separation was natural. That it was better.

Now, they were no longer one.

The Rookery became a place of struggle, of resilience, of those left behind to fend for themselves. It was a city of flickering lanterns and hurried footsteps, of shadowed alleyways humming with secrets. The air smelled of spice and smoke, of meals stretched to feed too many mouths, of rain-soaked stone and burning ambition. Lifestyle shaped by survival.

Whitehaven, in contrast, remained untouched, pristine, a city of towering buildings , and shimmering glass. Its streets were wide, its air perfumed with florals from large gardens. Voices carried in refined tones, syllables drawn out as if even words themselves had the luxury of time. Its people dined on delicacies, oblivious to the hunger just beyond their borders. Oil and water. Two cities, once bound together, now separated by more than just wealth. By history. By resentment. By the quiet understanding that though they still existed side by side, they had long since become worlds apart.

But When the sickness hit, most folk called it the “bug”, a constant infectious shadow that never leaves, leaving you a hollow version of the person you once were. It’s been contained for the most part, but its remnants linger, and those who fell to it never stray too far, no matter how high the walls around Whitehaven rise.

Your father, a respected scientist, kept you safe inside those walls. As a girl, you ran through his office, spilling coffee on important papers and giving him wide eyed apologies when he threw his hands up in frustration. Your mother, a talented caterer, made food that could heal you from the inside out. comfort in every bite. Growing up, you often found yourself perched on the window sill, watching the distant figures on the bridge, wondering about the people outside. The Rookery was rarely spoken of, but you knew why. The guilt and pride of those inside Whitehaven kept it at a distance, as did the stories of struggle that slipped through the faint cracks when the walls opened for supply runs.

You’d ventured outside the walls a few times, as a young woman, but you always returned to the duties and comforts inside. Letting that curiosity slip away in favor of the life you had. After all, those people had their own way of living. They weren’t helpless.

But little did you know, three-four years ago on Celestial Day; the city’s grandest holiday, marking the “enlightenment” of Whitehaven’s founders, would bring a taste of the Rookery right to your feet.

And she was just on the other side of those said walls. Staring right back. A younger Abby sat on the rooftop of the abandoned store, half listening to her friends beside her.

Abby knew ‘wallflowers,’ aka those who lived within WhiteHaven who turned their nose up at people who had lint on their clothes, ripped not by accident but by fashion, and looked down on those who didn’t. It was bullshit, honestly. Everyone would have the same fate if a cure wasn't found in the next 10 years for the bug. No gold or shiny shoes would save you when you were on your deathbed, lips cracked, eyes glossed over.

It was terrifying. The kind of thing that made you want to pray even if you didn’t believe. For some kind of hope.

Abby’s father, Jerry was a respected figure here, someone who people looked to for guidance. A man of science himself, just with the resources he could scrape together. She’d warn him to be careful; the last thing she needed was to lose her rock. The same man she had to beg to call her Abby; now, she was too old for ‘Abigail’. Made her feel like she was still in pigtails. 

But there’s always sun after the storm, and for her? That’s Sidekick, Manny. And the definition of loyalty, Nora, is also from The Rookery; those down here were like family.

The kind of friends you could raid a junkyard and turn it into a mini shooting range. jumping off the large bridge into the blue waters below. Or—watching them do that as she’s terrified of heights. But it looked fun. Just…from a distance. That was her life.

. ݁₊ . ݁ in Whitehaven, on celestial day. It was ice sculptures, crystal glasses filled with drinks Abby couldn’t even pronounce, and so much food that even she knew she wouldn’t be able to try it all. Everything smelled like money. Everything from the banners to accents was navy blue, white, and gold, as polished as the people in attendance. Outside the walls, in the Rookery, people had their own ways of celebrating.

Officials claimed the walls of Whitehaven were meant to protect against crime and disease, but Abby knew better. They weren’t meant to keep anything out. They were meant to keep people like her from getting in. The suffrage these people would only hear about in passing.

The Rookery was her home. Over that broken bridge between the city’s. cracked sidewalks, flickering streetlights, and a kind of toughness where dirty looks were as good as compliments. But here? But here? In prissy Whitehaven, it was nothing like it. Everything was quiet, pristine, and expensive. And her borrowed dress shirt felt like a straitjacket. Suffocating even.

Noses pointed in the air. Ironed shirts, pleated skirts, and laughs that screamed financial stability. That was the first thing Abby noticed. That, and how fucking uncomfortable she felt standing in the middle of it all. She shifted against the stiff fabric, resisting the urge to roll her shoulders. “Remind me why I’m here again?” she muttered, just loud enough for Nora to hear. Nora, having family in Whitehaven despite the tension, would drag her friends to explore the city of bright and white across the bridge. 

“Because I refuse to suffer alone,” Nora answered smoothly, scanning the crowd with the ease of someone who belonged somewhat. “And because my parents think dragging me to these things will make me ‘appreciate fine company.’ I think.” 

Abby groaned, shifting her plate of food to her other hand. It was an unsorted mess of expensive appetizers and tiny, overly decorated portions that tasted too fancy for their own good. Nora glanced down at Abby’s plate and wrinkled her nose. “Are you seriously eating caviar with… a breadstick?”

Abby shrugged, chewing the piece in her mouth. “What? I’m hungry.” She trailed off. Before Nora could get another jab in, Abby’s attention flickered across the room. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped mid-bite until Nora followed her gaze. A girl around their age, working the room. Now she belonged here.

Nora turned back to her curiously. “So that’s what’s got you all quiet.”

Abby snapped out of it, rolling her shoulder. “What?” “The one with the stick up her ass?”  Abby turned back to look at you. Standing near the center of the venue, posture straight, wearing something white and elegant. Talking to the right people, nodding at the right times. Everything about you looked polished. put together in a way that made Abby’s hands twitch at her sides, suddenly way too aware of the bandages she’d wrapped around them earlier that day out of habit.

She scoffed, tearing her eyes away. “She’s… okay, I guess.”

“Okay?” Nora snorted. “Try again.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Fine. She’s hot. Are you happy?”

“Absolutely,” Nora grinned. She swore she was some kind of matchmaker. But the last time her friend set her up, she vowed to never let her meddle in her love life again.

Abby shook her head, as she decided it was best to step away before Nora found more ways to get under her skin. She needed an escape, just for a moment. Under the guise of grabbing another drink, she turned on her heel and strolled toward the kitchen, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. The air was thick with laughter and the faint hum of conversation, the warmth of bodies packed into the space making it easy to disappear. As she moved, she brushed shoulders with strangers, their faces blurring into the background. A murmur of apology here, a fleeting glance there. But she barely registered any of it. She just needed a second. A breath. A chance to shake off whatever it was that had settled in her chest.

And then there you were again. You weren’t out in the crowd anymore. Instead, you were standing by the catering setup, arms crossed, giving one of the kitchen staff a very unimpressed look. 

“No, seriously,” you said, exasperated. “What’s the point of me making a list of allergens if you’re not going to follow it?”

The staff member stammered an apology, but you barely heard it, too busy scanning the trays of hors d’oeuvres for any more potential disasters. This day was important. not just for the city, but for you and your mother. Celestial Day was more than just an extravagant celebration. it was a chance to prove your worth, to show the officials that you belonged inside these walls, that your family’s place here wasn’t just a courtesy. At all. One wrong dish, one guest sent into an allergy attack, and it would be a catastrophe. A stain on your mother’s reputation, on yours. Your grip tightened on the notepad in your hand as you exhaled sharply. There was no room for mistakes today. You earned your keep in these walls.

Abby leaned against the doorway, amusement tugging at her lips. Yeah, she was right about the stick-up-your-ass comment.  But she wasn’t expecting to find it this entertaining. The way you talked with your hands. Politely ripping them a new one. She let out a small laugh at something you said louder than intended. You turned at the sound, eyes landing on her. And for the first time that night, or ever, Abby actually felt like she was being looked at.

Taking in the slightly wrinkled button-up, the way she wasn’t quite standing like she belonged here, the sharpness of her jaw, the broadness of her shoulders. her hair not neatly tucked out of her face. Your expression shifted just slightly, curiosity and…something else. You cleared your throat and spoke. 

“Are you lost?” you asked, tilting your head.

She shrugged, glancing over your outfit. “Should I be?” Abby countered, pushing off the doorway and stepping closer.

You returned her once-over. “You just don’t seem like the type to frequent places with, hm… ice sculptures.” That sounded worse than instead, mentally kicking yourself.

“Mhm. And you don’t seem like the type to chew out waitstaff at over-the-top events.” She glanced behind you at the staff, remaking something she wouldn’t eat.

You exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “Well, they had one job.”

Abby held back a laugh. “Aw, Tragic.”

That earned her a slow, assessing look that made her fingers twitch again. She could see it now, past the perfectly curated exterior. The way your eyes gleamed when challenged. The way you weren’t as prim and proper as she expected you to be. Watching your face as you continued on the conversation. She couldn’t help but like it. And maybe she really liked the way your breath caught just slightly when she leaned in a little closer. Holding her eye contact like you were trying to communicate something, whether it was intentional or not. It was there. 

“Are you always this uptight?” Abby asked, voice lowering into something that made your heart race. You weren’t sure if she was testing you or teasing you. Maybe both.

You opened your mouth to respond, not sure how to. But before you could, a microphone crackled into the background. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we could have your attention for a moment—” your father’s voice pulling you back. Your head snapped toward the sound. your parents. About to give some speech to the crowd. You let out a small sigh of disappointment, before glancing back at the other girl.

“You should get back,” Abby said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you ran off with the hired help.”

“Good idea, really wouldn’t want that.” Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you back into the sea of white and gold, but your head felt lighter, buzzing with something unfamiliar. You weren’t sure why it took more effort than usual to turn away. Why you had to smacking yourself not to glance back.

Abby, on the other had, didn’t look away. She stood there, arms crossed, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. Her brow furrowed slightly, lips pressed together as if she were trying to make sense of something. You weren’t what she expected. Not even close. She replayed the conversation in her head, the way you had looked at her, the slight hitch in your breath when she stepped closer. The way her own stomach had twisted in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

With a slow exhale, she rolled her shoulders, forcing the thoughts away before they took root. Whatever that was, it didn’t matter. At least, that’s what she told herself as she finally turned back toward Nora. But even as she walked away, that faint flutter in her chest refused to settle.

Nora took one look at her and groaned dramatically. “Oh, no. You’re making that face.”

“What face?” She huffed, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

“The ‘I suddenly don’t mind the stick’ face.”

Abby rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Maybe,” she said, biting back a smirk. “…Maybe I don’t.”

. ݁₊ . ݁ She never got your name that night, but she wouldn’t forget a face like that. those eyes full of curiosity, watching her, trying so hard to keep composure. There was something in the way you looked at her, like you were trying to figure her out, Abby almost admired the effort. Almost. She hated that she was so focused on you even with that sudden spike of the bug in the background.

She’d learned your name later, after prying it out of Nora, who had way too much fun making her suffer for it. Abby endured every teasing remark, every knowing grin, all for that small detail about you. God, did that make her desperate or just determined?

She liked you. A girl she barely knew. A wallflower, of all people. But she saw something beneath the polish, the grace the way you bit back at her, that sass behind your words. That familiar defiance. She wasn’t wrong about you. That much was clear when she caught sight of you near the bridge with Nora. Abby had no reason to stop. But she did anyway. That was only confirmed when she caught sight of you near the bridge with Nora. Abby had no reason to stop, but she did anyway. She knew you two knew each other, but something about the way you spoke, the way you glanced around like you didn’t want to be seen, made her think, no, know the conversation was about her. What did you want with her.

The next meeting wasn’t an accident. You made sure of that.

Late-night meetups just beyond the Whitehaven gates became routine, standing in the quiet where the city’s golden glow didn’t quite reach. It was easier in the dark—less pressure, fewer eyes. But the push and pull between you never let up. Abby kept her distance, stubborn in her refusal to be someone’s reckless experiment. And you? You stood your ground just as fiercely, unwilling to let her push you away. You were trying. Why couldn’t she see that?

This was new for you too. sneaking out, breaking rules that had never been yours to bend, just for the chance to see her. To talk. To exist in a space that wasn’t preordained by duty or expectation. It wasn’t about proving a point, or defying the invisible lines drawn between your worlds. It was about her. About this thing between you that neither of you could quite name.

And sure enough, it all came to a head one night. too much tension, too many words left unsaid, both of you too frustrated, with each other, with yourselves, to keep pretending there wasn’t something more. Abby huffed, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was holding herself together. “What—what is this? The wall’s not enough for you?” She was fighting herself more than she was fighting you. But that didn’t make it any easier.

You had come to see her, and things had been fine.until it got a little too close, a little too handsy. Until she suddenly pulled away, realizing what she was doing and who she was doing it with. “It’s not about that,” you sighed.

“Then what. Is. It,” she challenged, voice sharp, daring you to say something that would justify all of this. That would clear up what hadn’t been said outright.

But you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you stepped closer. Close enough that Abby could see the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way your fingers twitched at your sides like you were fighting yourself. She could feel your breath, shallow and unsteady, and for once, she didn’t know if she wanted you to pull away or get even closer. Abby’s jaw tensed, a muscle feathering beneath her skin as she forced herself to stay still, waiting. Seeing if you’d do it for her. Your gaze flickered down—to her lips, to the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides—before snapping back up. Like you were making a decision you couldn’t take back.

Then, without another word, you kissed her. It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t careful. It was a decision. A line crossed. Abby barely had time to react before instinct took over. Before her hands found your waist, pulling you in like she’d been waiting for this longer than she’d ever admit. The tension between you-the late nights, the teasing, the push and pull, the distance she kept forcing-it all crumbled in an instant.

It was game over. Her fingers dug into your sides, desperate, like she was anchoring herself to this-to you. Your hand slipped into her hair, tugging slightly, and she groaned against your lips, her resolve snapping. She pressed harder, kissed you deeper, as if trying to make up for every second she'd spent pretending this wasn't exactly what she wanted.

By the time you pulled back, your breath was shallow, your forehead resting against hers. "That clear it up?" you asked, voice still breathless, a grin tugging at your lips.

Abby's hands stayed firm on your waist, thumbs tracing absentminded circles against your skin. She let out a short, breathless laugh, her lips still hovering over yours. "Might have to do it again," she murmured, tilting her head slightly, her lips barely brushing against yours. "Just to be sure."

. ݁₊ . ݁ That hesitation melted away after that. Late-night meetings turned into something more. something neither of you named but both understood. It was unspoken but ever-present, settling into the quiet moments between teasing and stolen touches. You fixing her posture when she slouched, Abby shoving some Rookery dish at you, practically spoon-feeding it while you tried not to gag. It was different, the good kind of different. The kind that made Abby actually do something with her hair in the mornings, especially if she knew she’d be seeing you.

And then one night, caught up in the warmth of her touch, your heart hammering against your ribs, you blurted it out before you could think better of it.

“I—want… mm, to be together. officially.” The words tumbled out, breathless, as Abby kissed her way down to your shoulder.

She froze for a beat before grinning against your skin. “Yeah? Not too scrappy for you, Miss Perfect?” She was always testing, always pushing, her lips traveling lower, her hands steady on your hips. That teasing smirk, the one that made your knees weak, stayed in place even as her eyes flicked up to meet yours.

You rolled your eyes, a breathy laugh slipping out, even as your fingers curled into the sheets. “Hah—mm. No. I like… ‘scrappy.’ Your version of it, I mean.”

Abby grinned. “I’ll take it.” Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours.

. ݁₊ . ݁ As much as Abby wanted to focus on you, your smile, the way you smelled when you hugged her. there was something else looming. The bug wasn’t highly contagious, but when you were a scientist, trying to find some kind of cure, exposure was inevitable. And for Jerry, it had finally caught up to him. Despite her pleas for him to be careful. All her years and love.

Abby felt her heart plummet.

It was a sensation she wasn’t prepared for. the kind that stole the air from her lungs, that made her chest feel like it was caving in. One moment, she was standing. The next, she was falling, even though her feet never left the ground. Memories rushed in like a flood she couldn’t hold back. The sound of his laugh warm, familiar, something she had taken for granted. The way his hand would ruffle her hair, even when she grumbled about it, pretending to be annoyed. The way he’d look at her, eyes full of certainty, and tell her she’d be okay, even when the world around them wasn’t.

She blinked rapidly, but it didn’t stop the sting behind her eyes, the blur creeping into her vision. Her breath came faster, shorter, and suddenly, standing still wasn’t an option. She had to move.

Her feet carried her before she even decided where she was going, but she already knew. You. You were the only face she wanted to see right now. The only solid thing in a world that suddenly felt too vulnerable, too uncertain. You were okay. Alive. Real.

And you wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t. She wouldn’t let you.

The sound of rapid knocking on your window near the dresser jolted you awake. Your heart jumped , but the second the haze of sleep lifted, you knew who it was. Groaning, you swung your legs over the bed, already preparing to scold her for coming unannounced. Someone could’ve seen her. or worse, thought she was breaking in. Sneaking her into town was only a good idea in the daylight, when there were too many people to notice someone who didn’t belong.

Still, when you reached the window and found her standing there, cheeks stained, breath trembling, all the irritation drained from you.

You didn’t ask any questions. You just pulled her inside, wrapping your arms around her. She melted into you, gripping the back of your shirt like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. You felt her shudder, her breaths uneven against your shoulder. You wanted to ask, but you already knew. The spike in deaths recently, it had to be that. Another loss. Another name added to the ever-growing list of people Abby had loved and lost. And you? You were still here. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding her tighter. There was something you weren’t telling her. A possibility. A thread of hope so thin it barely held its shape, but it was something.

Your father’s research had been extensive, more than most people knew. The world had given up on finding a solution, but he hadn’t. While officials praised his work publicly, behind closed doors, they questioned his methods, his choices—the ethical lines he had nearly crossed. You weren’t supposed to see most of it. But you had.

Late nights spent skimming through his notes, his private journals, his failed trials, looking for anything. And buried beneath the endless calculations, molecular breakdowns, and abandoned compounds, there was Potential. Not a cure. Not yet. But the closest thing to progress anyone had made in years. A formula that had almost worked before it collapsed under its own instability. Abby didn’t know. And you weren’t sure if you’d ever tell her. What good would it do? Hope was dangerous in a world like this. It could lift you up, make you believe, and then drop you from heights so cruelly high you’d never land on your feet again.

She had already lost so much. You’d seen the way she carried her grief. like a wound that refused to heal, an ache she never spoke about but always felt. You wanted to tell her, to give her something to hold on to, but what if you were wrong? What if it led to nothing?

You couldn’t do that to her. So you stayed quiet. Held her like you weren’t keeping something from her. Like you weren’t already pulling away, one unspoken truth at a time. And when she finally whispered, “I don’t want to lose you, too,” you just pressed your lips to her golden brown hair, forcing a smile she couldn’t see.

“Never,” you murmured. “I’m here. I’m right here,” you whispered, one hand cradling the back of her head, holding her as if you could carry her grief with her.

. ݁₊ . ݁ That was the first time of many she’d sneak in. It started small—meeting in hidden spots, then slipping past Whitehaven’s walls under cover of darkness. She learned more about your world—how effortless everything seemed, how trapped you felt in it. And in return, you got glimpses of hers. Stories of the Rookery, of scraped knees and hunger, of nights spent listening to her father’s voice, now just an echo. The seasons passed, watching the summer fun beat down, the fall leaves orange snd red, the flowers blooming, to the snow falling. You were right there, by her side through one of the in toughest times in her life.

“Shh, you’ll get us caught,” you giggled, pulling her hand as one of the maids nearly spotted you both sneaking out of the kitchen.

Abby only grinned, unfazed. “Please. I’ve been doing this for what—a year? We would’ve been caught by now.”

And later that night; Abby curled beside you, watching as you slept, her heart swelling with quiet adoration. She loved you. She loved this. even if it was little more than a secret. Privacy was good. Not everything needed to be known. People had a way of ruining things once curiosity got the better of them.

And Abby, unfortunately, wasn’t exempt from it.

She pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed, stretching as she padded toward the bathroom. But instead of returning to you, she let herself wander. The house was too big, warm in a way the Rookery never was. The towering windows, the gilded edges of every frame, the polished floors that barely made a sound beneath her socked feet.

Her fingers brushed over a portrait on the wall you and your family, untouched by the world beyond the walls. The navy of your dress reminded her of the night she met you. So prim and proper, the way you crossed your legs, the soft, pardon? instead of a blunt what?. the smallest details about you, the ones she once teased, were the ones she had grown to love the most. A wallflower she’d met grow its vines over her own.

But as she moved past your father’s office, that warmth inside her chest twisted into something else entirely.

A stack of papers lay scattered across the polished desk, your families last name stamped in the corner. And there, written in stark black and red ink, were the words that stopped her cold:

“Hypothesis for a Potential Cure.”

Her stomach fell. A cure?

Her fingers twitched at her sides before she stepped forward, pushing the heavy oak door open just enough to let the golden glow of the fireplace illuminate the papers. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she reached out, flipping through the documents, her movements hesitant at first, then completely desperate. This had been here. All this time. This research, this possibility. Did you know?

Abby’s pulse filled her ears. She didn’t think, she just grabbed as many pages as she could and turned, her feet carrying her back to your room, to you. She shook you awake with little patience. You weren’t sure what she was rambling about.

“I mean this—this is something, right? I just—” Her words stumbled out in a rush as you blinked up at her, groggy and confused.

Then you saw the papers in her hands. Your stomach twisted into a million knots. “Abby, it’s..that’s not what you think.” Your voice was quiet, but it didn’t soothe anything.

“Wait. You knew?” Abby snapped her head toward you, her voice sharp, almost disbelieving. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Her breath hitched, her grip tightening on the papers as if she needed to steady herself.

“You… you held me that night,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “And you knew.” She held the papers up, blue eyes burning into you. “About this?”

Now, The room felt smaller, suffocating even. You sat up, pulling the sheets around you, trying to keep your voice even. “Listen to me. it’s just a thesis. A theory. My father isn’t even close to a cure.”But Abby wasn’t listening. She couldn’t.

“A theory is better than nothing,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Do you know what we’d give for even a sliver of hope? My dad—he died for nothing while you’ve been sitting on this?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm. “It’s not that simple, Abby. A cure isn’t just something you throw into the world. It could backfire, mutate, make things worse—”

Abby let out a small laugh. “Worse than what? Watching everyone rot outside your perfect fucking walls?”

The words hit like a slap. Your jaw clenched, fingers digging into the sheets as you forced yourself to breathe. “We have to be careful.” Abby was still standing there, fists clenched, jaw tight, like she was forcing herself not to shake. The papers lay scattered on the floor between you, proof of what had been hidden, proof of everything that now stood between you. But you weren’t ready to let her go.

“Abby, please,” you stepped forward, reaching for her, but she flinched. just barely, but enough that you froze. Her hand raised up near her shoulder like she couldn’t bare you touching her.

“No.” Abby stepped back. “You have to be careful. Because you live up here. Because it’s not your people dying.” The silence that followed was deafening. Abby wanted you to fight her on this. She wanted you to say, fuck the risks, to agree that something anything. was worth trying. To prove you were different. But you didn’t. You stayed silent. And that silence was what destroyed her.

“You.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going. “You are my people, Abby.”

Abby sucked in a sharp breath. You watched her throat bob, her fingers twitch, like she wanted to believe you, like she wanted to hold onto it, onto you. Onto us. But the moment passed. She exhaled, slow and steady, pressing her lips together like she was biting back words she couldn’t afford to say. Then, finally, she shook her head.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered. “Not anymore. Not when you are making me choose between you and them,” she said, voice hoarse, like the fight had already drained her. “Because I can’t do that. I won’t.”

The night had started like any other. And ended in the worst way possible. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe you were the one person she let herself trust. had known. Had held her. Had whispered reassurances while keeping something this big from her. Your voice barely registered as she grabbed her shoes, her movements sharp and hurried. She turned toward the door without another word, slipping into the dim hallway, the only light guiding her the pale silver glow of the moon.

You sat there, frozen, the strap of your nightgown slipping off your shoulder, sheets pooling around you, growing colder by the second. And then she was gone.

. ݁₊ . ݁ Weeks had passed since you last saw Abby, and the ache in your chest wouldn’t let you be. You had to see her again. You had to fix this. The rain fell in sheets, cold and relentless, as if the world itself was telling you to turn back. But you couldn’t. Not when there was so much left unsaid.

The city’s glow felt miles away as you approached the edge of Whitehaven’s borders. The place where the city’s light couldn’t quite reach, the place where it all began, and now, where it would end. The gap between you two had stretched farther than you could have imagined, and with every step closer, you could feel that distance growing. She saw you coming, but Abby didn’t turn to face you. No acknowledgment. No greeting. Just the sound of the rain, the rhythm of her breaths as she stared out at the empty space before her.

“Abby,” you said, your voice shaking with desperation. “Please, you have to stop this.” You could feel your hands trembling, the rain mingling with the sweat on your palms. “This hope you’re clinging to…it’s dangerous. People are dying. My father’s work wasn’t some miracle cure. It was just a theory, one that never even had the chance to be tested.” You stepped forward, reaching out, but she didn’t budge. You gripped her arms, trying to make her see reason, trying to stop the madness before it consumed her. “You can’t give people false hope. Not after everything we’ve already lost.”

Her eyes remained forward, a steel edge to her gaze. It was like your words couldn’t reach her, like you weren’t even speaking the same language anymore. She didn’t even flinch, her jaw set tight with defiance. “I’m not giving them false hope,” she said, her voice strained but firm, as if she was holding on to every word just to stay grounded. “I’m giving them something to hold on to.” She motioned toward the far-off horizon, the rain blurring everything. “Hope is all we have left. You can’t take that away from them.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as the weight of her words crashed over you. This wasn’t what you wanted. You just wanted her to understand. your voice cracking, pleading with her, “you don’t get it. I can’t be the one to bring that hope. Not when it’s not real.” You could feel your frustration spilling out, every ounce of anger and sorrow mixing. “You’re fighting a battle you can’t win. It’ll tear you apart.”

She shook her head, the rain soaking her hair, her face hardening in a way you hadn’t seen before. But beneath her anger, there was fear. fear of losing everything. Fear of facing the truth. “You think I don’t know that?” she spat, taking a breath as if the words themselves were choking her. “You think I haven’t been trying to make sense of all this?” She looked up, gesturing to the city behind her, where once there had been dreams. “You’ve got all this. All the answers. And I’ve got nothing. Nothing but a fight.” Her voice faltered, and her gaze dropped to the ground, her shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. “And you want me to just give that up?”

There was silence between you, thick and suffocating, as the rain continued to pour. You could feel the pressure of her words crushing you. “I’m not just doing this for me,” she whispered, barely audible over the rain. But you could hear the steel in her tone. “I’m fighting for the people I’ve lost. Your people. I’m fighting for the ones who died thinking they were forgotten.” Her voice cracked on the last words, raw with emotion.

Your heart was in pieces, but the cold reality of it all stung. You wanted to fight back, to tell her that there was nothing more to fight for, that this war was over, but all you could do was look at her. Really look at her.

“I’m sorry, Abby,” you whispered, the words tasting like butter of defeat. “But you’re not going to win this. Not like this.”

Her face humed with disappointment, the kind that came when something that once seemed so sure had already fallen apart.“Then I guess this is where you— we, say goodbye,” she said quietly, almost as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her words were a finality, a door slamming shut with no chance of being opened again. You stood frozen as she turned away, her silhouette swallowed by the night, the rain still falling relentlessly between you. The space between you had never been wider. The ache in your chest felt like it would never end.

And just like that, she was gone. Again.

. ݁₊ . ݁ Over the course of those years, time seemed to move in an endless blur. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, until the seasons cycled in their usual pattern, but nothing felt the same. The vibrant world, once bursting with color and life, now seemed washed out, as if the sun itself had pulled away its warmth. It was as though some part of her, some crucial spark, had been drained, leaving behind a muted echo of what once was.

The holidays came and went, each one marked by the absence of someone she had once held close, the absence of something that had given her life meaning. Friends and family would smile, laugh, and carry on as if the world hadn’t shifted, but Abby couldn’t shake the hollowness that settled deep in her chest. It wasn’t just the space left by her father’s death—it was the space left by you, too. Your absence had carved a hole in her heart, one that no amount of distraction or pit fighting could fill.

The people she’d once called her own were still there, still around, but everything had changed. Manny, Nora, and Leah stayed by her side, watching with worried eyes as she slipped further away, the woman they knew turning into someone they didn’t quite recognize anymore. They tried to pull her back, to remind her of the life she had before, but she had already started losing herself in the fight, in the chaos.

The nights were the hardest. Alone, in the silence, memories of your time together would rise to the surface. Laughing over dinner, the quiet moments shared, the way her heart had raced when she was with you. Those memories were bittersweet now, tainted by the unresolved tension between them, the words left unsaid. Abby couldn’t bring herself to visit your home, to see the space where she’d once felt safe. She couldn’t bear the thought of the ghost of what they had, and yet, the thought of you lingered in the edges of her every waking moment. It wasn’t just the time that had passed; it was everything that had changed. What once felt like a solid, comforting bond had turned into something fragile, a thread she was afraid to pull on in case it unraveled everything she’d become since. The love she once felt for you wasn’t gone, but it had hollowed out, turned into a quiet, aching weight that never fully left.

For you She was missing. The curtain by the large window, the one that once overlooked her home. stayed drawn. Closed, like it could somehow keep her absence from creeping in. And for the most part, it did. Rumors of a potential cure began to swirl through the city, whispers slipping through cracks in the walls. You heard them in passing, read them in coded messages, felt them like a knife to the ribs. You never spoke about that night.

How could you?

And for that figure burnt into your memory, her father died, and there was a chance everything didn’t have to fall apart. The Rookery, once her anchor, now felt like a prison. The streets she had memorized since childhood. The ones he had walked beside her, teaching her, protecting her, felt foreign. Empty. The home they shared, the one filled with his voice and his warmth, was nothing more than walls and silence.

And you. The one person she might have turned to was nothing more than an abandoned, open string. A thread she couldn’t follow, not without unraveling completely. What happened was nothing more than an act of betrayal from the woman she loved—wanted to love.

So, she stopped trying.

With no direction, she let herself drift. And the drifting led her to the underground fights. The first time she went, it was just to blow off steam. But she found herself too immersed to stay away long. Pain made sense there. It had rules. A punch landed, and a bruise formed. A hit taken, a price paid. The fights weren’t about winning, not really. They were about feeling something: anger, exhaustion, clarity. Anything but the ache in her chest that refused to fade.

The view of Whitehaven above fueling each blow.

Manny, Nora—they tried. They watched from the sidelines and made excuses for her when she came home battered and bloody. They pulled her out of back rooms, patched her up, and told her she was better than this. But they didn’t understand.

She needed this.

She needed the weight of a fist against her ribs, the sting of split knuckles, the satisfaction of someone else’s blood on the floor. It was easier to be this. A fighter, a brute, a body in the ring. than the girl who had lost everything. More than she could bare.

. ݁₊ . ݁ And now, years later.

Her knuckles wrapped, a second skin of bandages soaked with the memory of harsh punches. The jet black hair, new and darker than before, fell messily around her face. Her back tattoo was hidden under the faded tank top, but she could feel it, the weight of the meaning of the ink on her skin. A portrait of what she’d lost. She carried it with her, always.

The pit always reeked of sweat, blood, and alcohol, or desperation. The heat pressed in from every side, a suffocating feeling. Bodies packed together, their faces lit by the lights hanging above, the heat causing a bead of sweat. It was the usual crowd, rowdy, ready for a show, but none of that mattered to Abby. She didn’t care about the noise, the smell, or the grimy underbelly of this place. She just needed the fight. To hit something, someone. Whatever idiot would be brave enough.

But she wasn’t thinking about any of that when she felt her eyes land on her.

You. Fuck

For a second, Abby froze. The noise around her blurred. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to be caught looking. Didn’t want to meet your gaze, but before she could stop them, they were snapping toward you. You were standing across the pit, just at the edge of the crowd. There was no mistaking the way her chest tightened when their gaze locked. She hadn’t expected to see you again, not here. Not like this.

What are you doing here, in the rookery?

Her jaw clenched. She almost turned away and walked out before you noticed her, but her feet stayed planted to the spot. Abby couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this exposed. The past few months had been a blur of anger, distraction, and fights, anything to numb the hurt. But seeing you again, in a pit of all places… It felt like someone had just torn open a new wound.

Your lips moved, and for a second, Abby didn’t even hear the words. She was too busy staring, too busy wondering if this was real or if it was just some fucking dream

“New look …suits you.” You said, scanning over her. “Bit intense, though.”

Her lips twitched. Intense. Yeah, that was the word for it. She could feel the weight of her own body, every bruise, every broken piece of her, and it all felt like it was on display now.

“Yeah?” She shifted her weight, rolling a shoulder, trying to shrug off the growing pit in her stomach. “What can I say? You always said I had a thing for dramatic.”

The words crawled their way out. Like she wasn’t standing there in front of the person who had seen her at her weakest. This was fine; she doesn’t care. It doesn't matter anymore. But if she was being honest with herself… it still did. All this time later.

She crossed her arms over her chest, just to make sure her hands stayed put. Keep it together. For her. For everyone else. She couldn’t let you see how much this hurt, even after everything. Watching your eyes scan over her “bloodhound” tattoo on her forearm.

“Don’t like it?” she added, tilting her head, trying to keep the cool distance.

“Just…different is all” you said.

She rolled her eyes, a habit she knew you’d always found irritating. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To keep you at arm’s length

“Different’s good. Keeps things interesting.” Her eyes flicked to the crowd, trying to focus on anything other than you. She should walk away. Get out of here. But she found herself glued to the spot, stuck between wanting you to leave and wanting you to stay. Wanting things she couldn’t have.

"You’re staring."

“Well sorry, it’s just not everyday you see an angry oil slick walking around” You huffed at her.

She snorted, trying her best to keep her demeanor nonchalant. "Angry oil slick? Jesus, I’m gone, and that’s how you talk to me? Nice to see you again, too.” She rolled her shoulders, ignoring the pang in her chest. She could almost forget how much she missed you when you were standing right in front of her.

She hated this . The familiar sting. She hated it, and she loved it. She didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to let herself care. But the truth was, she still did. Even after all the fighting, all the distance, she was standing here, willing to be hurt again. Her gaze softened for a second. She wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between you. To make you understand. But the words got stuck, caught between her teeth like glass. The pit was suddenly too small. Too close. She needed to get away, needed to fight, but the weight of your presence was suffocating her. You were everything she was trying to forget, and everything she couldn’t let go of.

She glanced over at the entrance, where the next fight was about to start. The lights flickered above her, the sound of the crowd growing louder, but all Abby could think about was the tension between you, the hurt that never seemed to go away.

“Just leave,” she muttered, barely audible. She didn’t know if she was talking to you or to herself. “You’re not supposed to be here.”But you didn’t leave. You stayed, and she couldn’t stop the rush of emotions that flooded her chest. Maybe it was time to stop running. Maybe it was time to face what she’d been avoiding for so long. Maybe.

“Abby,” you started, but your throat tight. “I didn’t come here to fight. I—“

“You came all the way here… just to check if I’m alright?” she interrupted, her voice cutting through the tension. There was something in her eyes, a flicker of softness she wouldn’t allow herself to fully acknowledge. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t soften something deep inside. The fact that you still cared enough to show up. Damn you for that. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what she wanted, not anymore.

“Yes. I came here to see you. And now you’re telling me to just…go? Normally people would be appreciative, but sorry for trying!”

“Appreciative?” Abby scoffed, taking a step back, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “When did I ask you to show up here?” Her fists clenched involuntarily, the anger boiling inside her. Frustration. Resentment. It was all-consuming, and she didn’t know who she was more angry at. You for showing up, or herself for still caring. “Jesus, I don’t need someone breathing down my damn neck,” she spat, her chest heaving with each sharp breath. “I’m fine.”

“Breathing down your neck? No one held you here to talk to me.” “And you don’t need to ask. That’s what you do when you care. Still.” You could feel the words sting, but the truth cut deeper. You were tired of standing by, waiting for her to come back to you.

“Well, I don’t need your care, not anymore,” she muttered, the words harsh, even to her own ears. She hated how much she still wanted it. How much she missed you. But she couldn’t admit that, not now. “You lost that privilege a long time ago,” she finished, her voice cracking as the weight of it hit her.

You were quiet for a long time, the silence between you two oppressive. But it didn’t stay silent for long. The air was thick with the unspoken truths, both of you standing there, unwilling to be the first to break.

“And trying?” Abby’s voice shook with the force of her emotions. “You’re trying now? What, all this time later? Too little, too late.” The words wrenched from her chest like a physical blow. She couldn’t even look at you. “Where were you, huh? When I needed you the most? When I couldn’t breathe without it feeling like sandpaper in my lungs?” She clenched her fists, biting down on the tears that threatened to spill. “Where. Were. You?”

The words hung in the air like a shroud, and it was your turn to feel the weight of them. Your stomach twisted with guilt and regret, but you couldn’t let her destroy you with them. You couldn’t. Not when it felt like she was shutting you out for good.

You couldn’t keep the frustration out of your voice. “Abby, you gave me no choice! You barely looked at me that night.” Your heart was pounding. “And you’re the one who turned your back on me. I deserved more than that. I understand you’re hurting, but that doesn’t mean push me to the fucking side.”A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “So, you don’t want to talk to me after all this time? Fine. Be like that, Abbigail.” You shook your head, staring at her with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You know what, you’re right. This, you, and your constant pushing me away isn’t my problem anymore. This was stupid to think that maybe, just maybe, you’d open your mouth and talk to me.”

You looked her up and down, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. The girl you loved, the one you thought you knew… it wasn’t her anymore. “The girl I dated surely would have. But this, whoever this is?” You gestured to her. The next words ringing out into the space like a gunshot, a wake up call.

“This is definitely not her.”

The words hit Abby like a slap. She flinched, but her gaze never wavered. She wanted to respond. To tell you how much it hurt to hear you say that, to make you understand the kind of fight she was in. But the words caught in her throat. For a long moment, the tension between you could have shattered the walls around you. Abby’s breath came in shallow gasps, her chest tight, her mind racing for the right thing to say. But before she could, she heard it.

A loud crack. The unmistakable sound of something, someone, slamming into the cage nearby, the crowd roaring in excitement. Her heart hammered in her chest. The fight was starting. And for the first time in long time, Abby wasn’t sure if she wanted to fight. or run.

. ݁₊ .To stay for you, or go for herself?

Taglist babies: @grey-jedi12

[sgtslut69]

Cut Me Open and Leave Me for Death

Prologue

In the three years that you had been dating all four members of Task Force 141, there had been some rules established. There had to be when all five people in the relationship worked for the government, conducting top secret missions and working on classified information.

Within the first month of the relationship being made official, Price had made you promise to never, ever look into what they were doing, no matter what.

He wasn't dumb, he knew that, technically, if you really wanted to get into their mission briefs and assignments and mission reports, you were nothing more than a few keystrokes away at any time. You had very high security clearance, being a high-ranking cyber security officer.

And for three years, you kept that promise, accepting the long stretches of silence from the boys, accepting that you could loose one or all of them at any moment.

But it was moments like these, where you stood watching the helicopter carrying Price and Johnny take off, where you wanted nothing more than to break your promise to the boys, to be able to know what they were doing and where they were going.

To get into their comms systems and hear their voices and know that, even if they weren't necessarily safe, they were alive.

Instead, you pushed yourself further into Simons arms, turning to Gaz.

"We can make it four days right?"

He smiled at you, eyes warm as he took you in.

"Four days is nothing love." And you believed him. The five of you had been together for three years, and had survived much longer than four days.

So you pushed the feeling that this mission was going to be different down, following your boys inside, grabbing Gaz's hand to clutch in your own while you still could.

Two days later, you stood on the tarmac once again, kissing Gaz goodbye as he shipped off to wherever Price and Johnny were.

The feeling in your stomach was back, digging it's claws deeper into your stomach, tearing the lining as you once again pushed it down.

Turning in Ghosts arms, your grabbed his chin through the mask, forcing his eyes away from the helicopter carrying Gaz away and onto you.

"It's gonna be okay right?" And you tried your best to believe him as he squeezed your waist, and cut his eyes back towards the sky.

When Ghost got the call the next morning, you weren't surprised.

Your stomach ached as you stepped onto the tarmac, a bone deep feeling of dread spreading over you as you approached the helicopter, only to find Laswell talking to the pilot, waiting for Simon.

Her eyes were apologetic, but she didn't hesitate in whisking Simon away from you, shoving files into his hands and practically pulling him out of your arms when he returned to say his goodbyes.

The two of you stood in silence as the helicopter took off, neither of you willing to look away until it disappeared into the horizon.

You weren't waiting for placations or empty reassurances. You knew Laswell cared about your boys, and that she would do everything in her power to keep them safe.

You also knew, that once they left base, nothing short of their own skills and intervention from a higher power was keeping them safe.

You could feel her gaze on you, waiting for some type of reaction. But you were a soldier to, you would give her nothing.

Now, there was nothing for you to do but wait, and you had never been very good at that.

So you would distract yourself, throw all of your attention away from the fact that there was nothing waiting for you at the house and towards your work.

It was only when you didn't hear the familiar tread of Laswells boots behind you did you turn, finding Laswell staring in the direction Simon had disappeared into.

You wanted to ask what was different about this mission. Why did it kind of feel like you had just sent all of your boys off to die.

But you knew she wouldn't give you any answers that you would like.

"You bring them home Laswell. Or so help me god!"

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

One aspect of death in narratives that I feel like is worth discussing in light of Campaign 3's finale is that when characters can die and their deaths are felt, it makes the times when they DON'T (or the deaths are reversed) more meaningful.

As an example, Midst as a full work is not shy about killing characters, even important ones (of the three protagonists one explicitly dies and another permanently joins the Fold in a way that makes it clear she's no longer what she was). And so during the finale, Phineas being saved by Lark from a death that was previously shown to be messy and horrific has meaning because the stakes were such that as an audience member watching at the time it very much felt like he could have died there. The fact Lark had previously killed a man just for having information that potentially endangered her also lends weight to her decision now to save one who came within a hair's breadth of actively handing her over to the cult she was running from. If Lark hadn't actively pursued and killed Fuze, her choice to save Phineas wouldn't have reflected her character growth. If Midst has previously shown a reticence to kill important characters (for example, if Saskia had survived her sacrifice to allow the Breach's escape rather than ultimately succumbing), Phineas surviving would have felt like plot armour.

To bring this back to Campaign 3, one of the reasons Vax's return sits so poorly (though to be clear this is not the only reason, others have written excellent pieces on other aspects like this feeling incidental to Vox Machina's AND Bells Hells' actions and how this feels anti-character development for Keyleth) is that it comes at the end of an 8h finale where the world-ending threat is released unto the cosmos without issue and the gods who were in mortal peril all campaign all survive thanks to a plan that emerged at the literal eleventh hour. Ashton's death after sacrificing themself to allow this plan to work was also quickly reversed without the mechanical and roleplaying effort CR has classically required, at the end of a campaign that already had the fewest PC deaths (despite being billed to the players as deadlier). Death in C3's finale has very little meaning (and actions barely have consequences) so Vax returning feels less like an earned win or one bright spot in a changing world and more a symptom of storytelling that seems extremely averse to death as a concept.

[mj-iza-writer]

Request: Whumpee who was held captive by whumper finally escapes. However, they return to whumper as they realize they'd rather suffer at the hands of someone who sees them as important/sees potential in them rather than return to a place where nobody cares if they live or die

It's okay if you can't do this one!

Whumpee shivered from behind the dumpster.

They had not noticed the big puddle on the street in front of them. A big truck found it though.

Whumpee was soaked. The sun was going down now. They were in for a long night.

"This is not what I had planned", Whumpee mumbled, "escape.... get to your family, they'll help you. You will heal. Everything will be better. It may not have been the same as before, but better."

Whumpee sighed as their teeth began to chatter, "maybe Whumper will... no, I'm not.. I can't. They have hurt me so much... why would I go back to them?"

Whumpee heard someone whistling just then. It sounded familiar.

"Whumper?", Whumpee whispered as someone walked past. It was Whumper, in the flesh. Whistling the same tune they did while punishing Whumpee for their short comings.

Whumpee quietly thought. They took in everything that had happened since they escaped.

Whumpee sighed and crawled out from behind the dumpster. They stared down the street and saw Whumper was still in view.

"Whumper?", Whumpee called weakly.

Whumper turned just in time to see another large truck drive through the puddle and splash Whumpee.

Whumpee looked up in the direction of Whumper, then fell to their knees in defeat.

Whumper covered their mouth to muffle a laugh.

Whumpee already knew. One thing about Whumper is they were easily amused by misery. Especially Whumpee's misery.

Whumper smirked as they walked back to where Whumpee knelt.

"Did you have something to say?", Whumper smuggly leaned down.

"I-I'm sorry... please have mercy", Whumpee shook, "I-I'll do whatever you say. Please", Whumpee pleaded.

"Please what?", Whumper patted Whumpee's damp hair, "I don't understand what you want from me."

Whumpee made a side eyed glance, "please not out here", they mumbled.

"I simply want to know what my slave wants from me. Money for food, dry clothes... What amazes me is my slave had all of those things at home a while ago", Whumper sighed, "I didn't know my slave was treated so poorly. I suppose I learned that you can give everything needed to someone and they still won't appreciate your kindness."

Whumpee sighed in frustration.

"Maybe I'll leave you here. Kind of fitting for a rat to live on the streets. Maybe a few more weeks will do you good", Whumper turned.

"No, please don't leave me here", Whumpee fell forward and grabbed at Whumper's feet, "I-I want to come back with you... please... let me come back."

"What makes you think I want you back?", Whumper scolded.

Whumpee paused, "I-I don't know", they looked at the cement, "I promise I'll be good. I'll do all that you ask of me. Please allow me to come back to your home."

"I know what your plan was. Escape, find your family. If only you had asked, I would have happily told you that your family moved away about a year ago after your trail went cold. I would have enjoyed that reaction you just gave me even better sitting in my chair at home. If you were smart, you should have run for the police station."

Whumpee kept their eyes lowered.

"But you're stupid. An absolute fool", Whumper turned, "come along if you are still willing to come home with me."

Whumper took a few steps forward and turned.

"Or crawl back into your hole... you good for nothing rat", Whumper hissed.

If Whumpee were smart they would have crawled back behind the dumpster. They would have either survived the night and searched for the police like Whumper had said. If they had been luckier, maybe they would have died there.

Whumpee followed Whumper inside.

"Strip off those old clothes and shower", Whumper sighed, "you smell like the streets. After that throw your old clothes away. You've lost clothing privileges. Maybe that will keep your butt inside."

"N-no clothes... Master?", Whumpee frowned.

"Did I stutter?", Whumper turned, "why would my slave need clothes anyway? You're not supposed to go outside. I've already seen your unsightly body plenty of times. Maybe I'll add some more marks on your backside tonight to make you look better."

Whumpee shuddered.

"Shower.... now. Leave your clothes outside the door. I'll take the pleasure of throwing them away."

Whumpee weakly nodded.

Whumpee knelt in front of Whumper once their shower was done.

Whumper sighed at the sight of their slave.

"I suppose you're hungry too", Whumper hissed.

"A little master.... I'm okay... honest", Whumpee whispered.

Whumper looked them over, "when did you last eat?"

"Y-yesterday", Whumpee looked down shamefully, "I had watched someone throw a partially eaten sandwich away. I uhm.... I ate... uhm that."

Whumper turned their nose up at them.

"I-I was desperate", Whumpee whispered as they shrunk back even more.

"Go make yourself some dinner. I hope you still know your way around my kitchen. Your duties start tomorrow. Am I clear", Whumper  leaned back, "if one thing is left incorrect... you will be punished if you do not perform satisfactorily. I will not forget your trespass of running away unless you prove your worth to me. Any punishment you receive will include that. So you had better, for your sake, be on your best behavior."

Whumpee quickly nodded.

"Dismissed", Whumper frowned.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of list. It's not a problem at all.

@weirdthingweee @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

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@whatwhumpcomments @galatic-worm

@starmoon-constellation @bacillusinfection

[tanadrin]

how I think different Star Trek: Voyager characters would fare in the Farscape universe

I've been watching a little of both Farscape and Voyager recently, two shows that while superficially conceptually similar (90s science fiction about lost travelers trying to get back to Earth), could not be more tonally different, and both of which I happen to enjoy quite a lot. Let's say that, instead of the spacetime anomaly that deposits protagonist John Crichton on the far side of the universe, it snatches up a random crew member from the good starship Voyager, throwing them back in time four hundred years, and dropping them in the kinky, moist, weirdly biological, slightly disreputable, and extremely Australian corner of the Milky Way where Farscape takes place. Who fares the best?

Neelix: no stranger to a hardscrabble existence and using his wits to survive, Neelix manages both to get along well with Moya's crew, and also to be of considerable use in various negotiations. His cooking remains immensely unpopular. Sadly his lack genre-savviness and his poor combat skills get him killed in season 1 episode 5, when the undercover Scorvian spy breaks his neck

Harry Kim: while a competent and well-trained Starfleet officer, Kim's lack of experience leads the crew to greatly underrate him at first. His competence in chaotic situations and his technical knowledge eventually come to impress the crew; sadly, his trusting nature and inability to bluff convincingly get him into trouble, and he's probably dead by season 1 episode 11, killed by the Vorcarian blood trackers.

Captain Janeway: her scientific and tactical knowledge is supremely useful to Moya's crew, but she clashes personally with many of its members. She is too bossy with Aeryn, deals badly with D'Argo's impulsiveness, and can't control Rygel; about the only crew members she does get along with are Zhaan, whose spirituality she respects, and Pilot, who shares her explorer's spirit. She sacrifices herself to destroy the Gammak base in season 1 episode 22, which is a pity, because she might've had the good sense to shoot Crais as soon as he came aboard (or at least keep him locked up).

Tuvok: Tuvok impresses D'Argo and Aeryn with his combat skills, is able to deal with Rygel (even if he privately despises him), and gets along very well with Zhaan, whose Delvian spirituality meshes well with his own Vulcan philosophy. His cautious look-before-you-leap nature is helpful to the crew, though D'Argo and Rygel fail to appreciate it properly. Brokers a deal with the breakaway Sebacean civilization encountered in season 2 episode 11, allowing the rest of Moya's crew to settle there; eventually manages to use their resources to reverse-engineer the anomaly that brought him there and returns home.

Kes: although she fares badly at first, her willingness to understand the other members of Moya's crew on their own terms helps her to get along with them. Cultivates her psychic abilities with Zhaan's help, but lacking Tuvok's more disciplined influence, her abilities are harder to control. She perishes along with everyone else when they cause her to accidentally blow a hole in the side of Moya.

B'Elanna: clashes outrageously with every single member of Moya's crew except Pilot. Nonetheless, her engineering skills prove extremely useful (though she complains bitterly about feeling more like a doctor than an engineer when it comes to working on Moya). Manages not only to retrofit the Zelbinian's defense screen to Moya, but to get it fully working, and to mount a working photon torpedo launcher to Aeryn's prowler. Tragically killed while fighting the Peacekeeper retrieval squad in season 3 episode 10.

Seven of Nine: Lacking Janeway's positive influence, she and Aeryn reinforce each other's worst instincts. Her arrogance wins her no friends, either; eventually, when Scorpius offers her a job with the Peacekeepers, she accepts, and with her Borg technology enhancing the Peacekeepers' ships and weapons, she becomes one of the most fearsome tyrants the Uncharted Territories has ever seen.

Tom Paris: Gets along surprisingly well with everyone. Has enough of the rogue in him to understand Rygel, befriends D'Argo, impresses Aeryn with his piloting skills, and respects Pilot as, well, a fellow pilot. Lacking the positive influence of Starfleet discipline, however, he indulges his rogue side a little too much, and eventually he and Chiana get killed trying to run a scam on a commerce planet, probably sometime in late season 2.

Chakotay: his flexible leadership style and down-to-earth nature are assets, but he doesn't get along with D'Argo (a pure hothead, without B'Elanna's technical skill) or Rygel. He fails to convincingly impersonate a Peacekeeper officer in season 1 episode 18 and is killed in the ensuing firefight.

The Doctor (with mobile emitter): Accidentally deactivated shortly after arrival; Rygel steals his mobile emitter and sells it for food shortly after; emitter is stripped for parts by a junk dealer who doesn't know what he has.

Seska: Betrays Moya to the Peacekeepers before the end of the pilot, manipulates her way into joining them, rises quickly through the ranks until she is killed in the inevitable Peacekeeper-Scarran confrontation some years later.

bonus round 1: other Star Trek characters

Captain Kirk: has a surprisingly Crichton-like career in the Farscape setting, being also a clever man of action, and very good at bluffing. Eventually leaves Moya, finding gainful employment in the space navy of the breakaway Sebacean civilization in the Uncharted Territories

Lieutenant Commander Data: reverse-engineers the anomaly that deposited him on Moya in about six weeks, files an extremely interesting report with Captain Picard.

Benjamin Sisko: develops an epic grudge against Bialar Crais; eventually takes command of Talyn and leads him in a one-man war against the Peacekeeper forces in the Uncharted Territories

Gul Dukat: gets into an intense, terrifyingly fucked-up relationship with Scorpius. Like, it's not even clear that they're fucking--it's just this rat's nest of codependent, narcissistic toxicity that seems to involve committing gratuitous war crimes as a kind of foreplay

bonus round 2: John Crichton

dropped by his wormhole into space next to the Caretaker's array not long after Voyager itself, John Crichton is quickly rescued by the Starfleet ship. though a man out of time, he does well among its crew: his scientific and technical disposition is very well-suited to assisting B'Elanna Torres in engineering, his fun-loving nature meshes well with the crew, and he is delighted that Tom Paris gets his pop culture references. With the help of advanced 24th century physics, he is eventually able to recreate the wormhole that deposited him in the future, and returns home in a matter of months.

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

Embers Touch

Azriel x Eris fluff

word count: ~900

Summary: Azriel finds a little shadow on his way home from a mission. He surprises Eris with his new friend.

The wind whispered through the trees, the deep shadows of the night curling around Azriel as he made his way through the dense forest. He’d been tracking a Naga in the Autumn Court for days now, and though his mission was complete, something strange stirred in the air tonight.

A new scent—faint but unmistakable—tickled his senses. It wasn’t the usual forest musk or the scent of his enemies. It was something smaller, something softer.

Azriel's shadows twitched, sensing something ahead, and without a second thought, he followed their silent guidance.

As he moved deeper into the woods, he found it:

a tiny, black kitten huddled under a large, moss-covered rock.

Her fur was matted and her ribs visible through her thin coat. Her amber eyes blinked up at him, wary but curious, her small frame trembling from both the cold and fear.

Azriel’s heart softened. He could feel the kitten's pain in his chest—an echo of his own loneliness that had grown over the years. She was alone, like he had been. And like he had learned to do, she was surviving.

Without hesitation, Azriel crouched down to the kitten’s level, his shadows creeping gently around her.

The little creature, at first, recoiled, but soon her instinct to play overcame her caution.

She batted at the shadows, her tiny paws swiping with a soft mewl of delight. Azriel smiled for the first time in days, his heart lightened by the kitten’s innocence and energy.

“Come here, little one,” Azriel whispered, holding out his hand.

The kitten sniffed his rough fingers cautiously before nuzzling into his palm.

He scooped her up gently, feeling the warmth of her small body. Her fur was soft, though she smelled faintly of the wild and earth.

The shadows wrapped around her protectively, ensuring she felt safe, and he began to walk back towards the manor.

As he made his way home, the kitten curled up against his chest, purring softly, her small body vibrating with contentment.

Azriel’s mind was already turning, wondering how Eris would react to this new, unexpected companion.

The manor was quiet when Azriel arrived.

The air inside felt warmer, filled with the scent of hearth and home.

Eris was seated by the fire, his sharp eyes burning as he observed Azriel. But there was something in his posture, a slight tension in his shoulders.

He had sensed Azriel’s return, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“What is it?” Eris’s voice was low, cautious.

Azriel walked into the room, the kitten still nestled in his arms, her eyes wide and alert as she took in the new surroundings.

“She’s hurt,” Azriel explained softly. “But she’s resilient. I found her in the woods.”

He lowered his arms to let the kitten down onto the plush carpet. The moment her paws touched the ground, she darted forward, her tail flicking excitedly as she sniffed around.

Eris’s gaze flickered from the kitten to Azriel, his expression unreadable. He sat up straighter, the usual hardness in his eyes sharpening as he looked at the tiny black creature.

“A cat?” he asked, his tone almost skeptical.

Azriel moved closer, his voice almost pleading. “She’s small, Eris. She needs us.”

Eris crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “And you think we need a cat? What if the hounds—”

“I’ll keep her safe,” Azriel interrupted, meeting Eris’s eyes with a steady, unspoken promise.

The shadows around them fluttered at the silent exchange.

The kitten, oblivious to the tension, pounced on one of Azriel’s shadows as it slinked across the floor, her tiny claws swiping playfully at the dark tendrils. Eris’s lips twitched, just slightly, as he watched the kitten’s antics.

“I don’t know about this, Azriel…” Eris murmured, but his voice softened, just enough to betray the crack in his armor.

Azriel took a step closer, lowering his voice to a gentle whisper.

“You’re the one who taught me how to embrace what I never expected to need.”

His gaze flickered down to the kitten, now happily purring as she bounded toward Eris, her small body weaving between his legs in a show of innocence and joy.

“She doesn’t belong to anyone, Eris. But she’s here now.”

The tiny cat looked up at Eris with wide, pleading eyes, her gaze melting any remaining reservations. She took a hesitant step forward, her tail twitching. Then, as if to seal the deal, she let out the tiniest, most adorable mew—a sound so pure and soft it tugged at Eris’s heart.

Eris let out a quiet, resigned sigh.

“What’s her name, then?”

Azriel smiled, kneeling down to scoop the kitten into his arms once more.

“Ember,” he said, the name soft on his tongue.

Eris hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on the tiny creature that was now curled up in Azriel’s arms. He glanced at Azriel, meeting his mate’s eyes with a silent understanding, and finally, something shifted.

“Ember,” Eris repeated, the faintest trace of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Well, I suppose we can keep her... for now.”

Azriel’s heart swelled, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Ember’s tiny head before looking back at Eris with gratitude and affection.

Ember gave a soft meow in acknowledgment.

And in that moment, the small, unexpected addition to their lives filled the space between them with warmth.

That night, after the healer had visited, the fire crackled outside. Azriel and Eris sat side by side, watching Ember chase shadows across the grass.

"We should introduce her to the hounds at some point." Eris wispered against Azriel's neck.

"We'll worry about that tomorrow, my love. She's happy." Smiling against his mates hair, Azriel felt something he hadn’t in centuries:

peace.

I've been deadful at posting my drafts these past couple months. I hope you enjoy this light fluffy Azris story! 🖤

@chunkypossum @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ysmtttty @nessiandefenseattorney @nocasdatsgay @secret-third-thing @azysmate @yennas-stuff @a-courtof-azriel @batboyrhyrhy @lilah-asteria @velarisnightsky444 @christeareads @thestarlightexpress @viktoriaashleyyx @invaderdreyar

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"REPEAT IT"

Sooo here's the fic based on your idea @marchsfreakshow

I hope you like it!

You had been dating Sergei for a month, and in all this time he hadn't been able to keep his hands off of you.

You were so small compared to him that it drove him crazy, the way you writhed beneath him every time you fucked, how small your hips felt in his big, rough hands, made him slowly lose his mind.

You had just returned from a small expedition through the forest, checking that there were no poachers, nor anyone to threaten your survival and that of the animals there, when he threw you on his back as if you were a sack of potatoes, and put you on the couch.

His eyes shone in their natural color, making you swallow hard. His amber gaze fell on the green camouflage t-shirt and pants you were wearing.

You were sweaty and a mess, but he didn't seem to care as he slowly began to remove your clothes.

-Sergei… -you moaned- I should shower first –you murmured feeling his lips leaving wet kisses on your neck-

-That can wait –he growled against your skin, a sound that sounded more animal than human- I need to be inside you

That statement was enough for you to feel your center throbbing painfully.

He got rid of your clothes and you did the same with his, his strong body was exposed to you.

You never got tired of observing how wonderful he was, the curves of his pectorals, the way his underwear slowly rested on his hips revealing the V you were dying to kiss.

He stood in front of you, watching you intently, like a predator watching its prey.

And that's what you were

He was the lion, and you were the fawn he had hunted.

You had to throw your head back to look at him.

He was so big…

You moaned as he covered his lips with yours, pushing you back onto the couch. His lips flooded your mouth, biting, sucking and sliding along them masterfully, making you gasp.

His blue eyes locked onto yours for a moment.

-You're going to make me lose my fucking mind, dorogoy –he growled, his voice was huskier when he spoke in his native language, and fuck you loved it- you're so small… so delicate… -he whispered, running the tips of his fingers over your cheek with a delicacy that stole your breath- I'm afraid of breaking you in two –he confessed-

-Don't be –you said, holding his gaze- I want you to –you murmured, he tilted his head as a half-smile appeared on his lips-

-Repeat it –he ordered, placing his strong arms on either side of your body-

-Break me, Sergei please –you begged, making his amber eyes come to the surface- please –you repeated- I need you…

You couldn't continue with the sentence, as he moved his hips against you, sinking completely inside you.

You dug your nails into his back as he began to move back and forth quickly. You felt like you were going to cum.

It was too much. His presence, his wavy, sweaty hair falling on either side of his face, his bright, amber eyes staring into yours.

You felt his rough hands and long fingers holding your hips, squeezing lightly, as if he wanted to make sure you didn't move.

You weren't going anywhere.

You were sure there would be marks on your body the next day because of it. You didn't care. You loved that he brought out his most animal side with you.

-Sergei… I'm going to… -you moaned- I don't think I can hold on much longer…

-Hold on a little longer, prekrasnyy -he growled- you're taking my big cock like the good girl you are -he murmured making you gasp- your tight little pussy is squeezing me so good… -he panted pushing his hips against your clit making you cry out-

-Sergei… -you moaned- oh fuck, I'm going to cum -you gasped- please… let me… Sergei! -you screamed when he pulled out all the way to sink back into you again-

-Do it, dorogoy -he ordered- cum on my cock

You did. You unloaded against him, and his gaze focused on the expressions that crossed your face as you fell apart in his arms.

-That's it - he cooed as he kneaded your hair and pulled you against his chest - good girl - he purred in your ear -

[hailturinturambar]

Sauron's trajectory in The Rings of Power

Well, this analysis took a little longer. But better late than never, right? Just like Elrond and Míriel, this analysis is not about dynamics or relationships.

But an analysis of who Sauron is, or rather, who he once was and what led to him becoming The Lord of the Rings.

Long before Sauron lived in Middle-earth and sowed chaos and violence against all peoples, he lived in Valinor. In the Beginning of Time, when Arda was young and the Valar lived in Valinor, Sauron was an apprentice.

Mairon, he was called, was one of the Maiar of Aulë. And he was one of the most powerful. A great smith in mind and power was Sauron, and he learned much in his time as an apprentice.

Mairon, then, always sought perfection and judged everything that did not achieve his greatest goals. This would prove to be his greatest flaw, which would lead him to betray all who once trusted him.

For in Melkor, the most powerful of the Valar, Sauron found his match. The one who would lead him to achieve his goals. When Melkor departed from Valinor and ruled in Middle-earth once more, Sauron departed, declaring his support for the Dark Vala.

In the First Age of Arda, Sauron was known by many names. Gorthaur he was also, to the Elves of Beleriand. And all his names, like his deeds, were accursed. For Sauron was Morgoth's greatest and most trusted lieutenant, and his deeds were as wicked as his master's.

Sauron also took many forms to deceive his enemies. Many facets of a being who sees nothing but power and victory. And he was present at many of Middle-earth's tragedies. And when Morgoth was defeated one last time by the Valar, Sauron was alone.

He might be able to find forgiveness, but was that enough? Sauron, like Lucifer, had brought about his own downfall because his pride was too great. And he was determined to continue Morgoth's deeds, to succeed where he had failed. To heal Middle-earth.

Morgoth Reborn, he aspired to be. Gaining control of the Orcs created by Morgoth and all evil creatures in Middle-earth, Sauron would now assume his new position, the new Dark Lord.

In the Second Age of Arda, Sauron was ready to rule and heal Middle-earth, as far as healing was possible according to his standards. However, Morgoth was a Valar, a god according to the beliefs. Sauron, while powerful, did not inspire the same level of power and devotion as his former master.

It is in Adar that Sauron will seek to gain sufficient strength. For Adar is like a Father to the Orcs, his Uruks. If Adar is loyal to Sauron, his sons will follow him into battle. Before Morgoth's destruction, Sauron was there when Adar was remade, and reached out to him.

Probably, on some twisted level in Sauron's mind, Adar was like a friend, an ally. Someone who should return his favor. To my mind, at the moment when Sauron is being crowned, he seems visibly insecure.

An insecurity, understandable, even. Once an apprentice, and now master of all things. A very heavy burden, but Sauron's ambition is greater. And with Adar, I suspect he sought some kind of support, of companionship.

However, Sauron knows only his wants and desires and nothing more. To heal Middle-earth, yes, some Orcs must die, but for Sauron, it is a small price. But not for Adar. And this is the point of no return between former allies. Adar, behind Sauron's back, I bet fearing that he would be as wicked to his Uruks as Morgoth had been, plots his downfall.

Vulnerable, yet powerful, Sauron succumbs to the attacks of the Orcs. Sauron, however, as a Maia, does not live confined to his form, to his body. His power is much more than flesh. His former flesh may have been destroyed, but Sauron survives.

For ages, for centuries, Sauron is a virtually non-existent life form, a disembodied consciousness, dragging itself along for centuries. I quite appreciated the analogy of Sauron needing to feed on other creatures to survive. In a way, Sauron is like a parasite, always consuming his host until there is nothing left.

Sauron spent many centuries almost asleep, powerless. Now, he has returned and he must choose which path to follow. His form has been restored and he can either pick up where he left off, or accept this second chance and start over.

Honestly, it is not something Sauron is capable of understanding. He was given a second chance before, he just had to ask the Valar for forgiveness. But he never tried.

Sauron, alone once again, sets out. Wandering for a long time, anger and hatred taint his desires. Adar betrayed him, destroyed his body, and made him an undefined and inferior being for countless centuries. Sauron needs to recover what is rightfully his and destroy the man who destroyed him first.

By intervention of the Valar or mere chance of fate, Sauron comes across wanderers who had their homes and lands destroyed by the Orcs. They are setting out in search of a new beginning, far from the destruction of Middle-earth.

I really like the theories about Diarmid being a mysterious representative of the Valar. Because in this way, we can believe that Sauron was presented with a new chance, a new beginning.

Because in Beyond the Sea, there are lands where a man can choose to start over and be better. Sauron, still lost, still without a defined purpose, sets out with Men.

Setting sail for what we believe to be Númenor, the ship is attacked. Come on, I have a few different theories about this event. Perhaps the Valar attacked the ship, and Ulmo tried to stop Sauron from finding Númenor and poisoning the last Men still connected to the heritage of the Valar's allies.

Or, perhaps, fate simply happened, and the Serpent attacked the ship. I've said it many times and I'll say it again, it may mean nothing, but loose ends, or holes, are great for creating new assessments. The Serpent destroyed the ship, but it moved away from Sauron.

An acknowledgement, perhaps? Of the evil and profane being that was in the waters. Because if this is the same Serpent (which I believe it is) present at Míriel's trial, it is loyal to the Valar. Or, perhaps, as a master of all creatures, Sauron was able to keep the Serpent away and survive, while Men were attacked.

What matters is that Sauron survived. Along with him, a few mortals accompany him on a raft, lost and adrift. The fate of everyone in Arda is linked and whether they are responsible for the encounter, Galadriel reaches Sauron.

And when Galadriel finds the raft, she does not know that she is falling into the clutches of her greatest enemy. Sauron is as old as Arda, and I have no doubt that he recognized Galadriel. When he looks at her, he could not (if he were a mortal man) realize that she is an Elf.

Yet he looks at her intently and his words are enigmatic. Did he recognize her? I believe he did, and it was then that Sauron found his purpose again.

As with Adar, Sauron sees a purpose in Galadriel, someone who can lead him to achieve his goals. He was obviously aware of Galadriel's hatred for him, as were all the Elves. However, this form is not Sauron, but Halbrand.

A man without lands, without a past, a blank canvas for his future goals. To gain Galadriel's help, Sauron needs to remove the obstacles in his path. And for me, the obstacles were the humans on the raft.

Why did the Serpent strike again? In my opinion, Sauron wanted this, so everyone perished, leaving only him and Galadriel, of all the survivors. No one else could unmask Sauron's past, because no one alive knows Halbrand.

Sauron tells Galadriel about his land, destroyed and taken by the Orcs, nothing but ashes now. And, strange as it may seem, Sauron was being truthful. Yes, his lands were taken, he lost everything, and he was forced to wander the world. However, this is not the truth Galadriel expected to know.

But it is the truth that Sauron can offer. Sauron did not become known as the Great Deceiver for nothing. With Adar, Sauron recognized what he most desired, and now he is doing the same with Galadriel.

He sees her desire, her revenge, her anger, and he exploits it. Telling the truth covered by lies from his past, acting as if nothing else matters.

And the new obstacle arises, a great storm. An event of chance or intervention? Because it seems that storms always follow Sauron at sea. Much is thought about why Sauron saved Galadriel. In my opinion, Sauron saved Galadriel because he needed her.

Sauron is always looking for people who will be useful. Like Melkor, Adar, Orcs and now Galadriel. She is his chance to start over and conquer all that he has lost. But, unbeknownst to Galadriel, when Halbrand saves her, she has found an ally.

Not even Sauron can see all the paths, but he is indeed always favored by fate. Galadriel and Halbrand are found by Elendil of Númenor. In the books, it is said that Sauron feared Númenor. Númenor represents a threat to Sauron, a risk to his control over Middle-earth, and now he is leaving for it.

Halbrand does not matter to the people of Númenor, they are too blinded by the presence of Galadriel, an Elf, in their lands. At this point, Sauron may simply disappear. If we are to be faithful to the books, I cannot believe the idea that Sauron wanted to start over in Númenor.

Start over in Númenor with the Scepter in his hand? Yes. But as a mortal? Never. After all, this is Sauron, greatest and most terrible lieutenant of Morgoth, great smith, master of beasts, the Great Deceiver. If he refused the Valar's forgiveness, he would never live as a common mortal in Númenor.

Sauron is very good at letting others fight on his behalf, and I think this will become even more evident in season two. While Galadriel is fighting in Númenor, demanding answers and help, Sauron is just enjoying the moment. A vacation, right? After all those centuries of crawling around in a damp cave.

In Númenor, he is an unknown, Galadriel may scream that he is the Lost King, but Sauron is not worried, he just lets things happen. He pretends not to care, to be determined to start over and live a free life.

I believe that, without Sauron realizing it, Galadriel's trust in him encourages him. It is always good to have faithful servants around you. Galadriel believes that fate acted on their behalf, crossing their paths. Probably not, not in the way she expects, but still, it is enough for him.

Halbrand is walking through Númenor, being pleasant and winning over everyone. His disguise is always carefully calculated. He also acts as a friend to Galadriel, helping her discover what Míriel is hiding. At this moment, Sauron shows his true face. By betraying Galadriel, Sauron earns his place among the smiths.

It must have been intoxicating for Sauron to be with the smiths once more, doing what he is most experienced and powerful at. I imagine that over time, Sauron hoped to gain the esteem and trust of the people of Númenor, and eventually conquer the island.

Yet his life takes a different turn, because Galadriel tells Míriel who she believes he is. Halbrand says he has no desire to return to Middle-earth, to the place where he lost everything. An act? Perhaps. Sauron is good at deception, and perhaps he just wanted Galadriel to believe he was being forced by her.

He emphasizes that Galadriel wants to crown him, but that this is not something he wants. Lies? I bet so. Everything with Sauron, even the truths, are distorted by his lies. Sauron is playing his role very well, his facade of a defeated Halbrand.

His refusal only intensifies Galadriel's attempts, only increases her desperation. I believe that it was at this moment that Galadriel lowered her barriers against Halbrand, to convince him to leave with her.

Because by being honest with him, she showed all her pain, all her suffering. And he shares his. For Galadriel, they are creating a bond, understanding each other. But I will never completely believe Sauron's actions.

Sauron then, after all his reluctance and denial, sets off for Middle-earth. He must be present in the fight against Adar; it is his moment to get his revenge, to destroy the traitor who destroyed him. I doubt he would stay in Númenor while everyone pursues his enemy.

And in Middle-earth, Halbrand is revered. There he is, fighting alongside the Sea People, an Elf, saving those people from the hands of Adar and the Orcs.

He protects them, as mortals see it, from their enemies, without knowing that Sauron is their greatest enemy. Galadriel is essential to Halbrand's role as a hero; the prestige of an Elf is the ideal mask for him.

It must have been almost impossible for Sauron to control himself, having to face Adar, without Adar knowing who he was, what he took from him, without being able to kill his enemy.

But Sauron holds himself back; he is great at maintaining his facade. The lost king, the man who lost everything, the man who has a feud with Adar.

Adar has been captured and Halbrand shares his grief with Galadriel. Once again Galadriel is letting her barriers down, believing in Halbrand, believing that she is being seen by him, and that she is no longer alone.

Did Sauron feel a connection with Galadriel? Perhaps, for me, this connection was born from the thought that he had found a kindred spirit, someone seeking power like him, the same as he had with Melkor. And thanks to Galadriel, everyone believes that Sauron is truly their king.

However, even with all his deceptions, I do not think Sauron expected Adar to awaken the volcano. Sauron is quick to adapt and he uses everything to his advantage, to his own benefit. Galadriel and Sauron were separated by Adar's surprise attack, but that doesn't faze him, not when Galadriel finds her friend injured and in need of help.

Galadriel, no doubt, trusted Halbrand enough to take him to an elven city. As in Númenor, once again Galadriel is leading Sauron to his goals. He doesn't have to do anything. In her solitude, in her search for understanding and companionship, Galadriel served Sauron's purposes perfectly.

The end of all things happens in Eregion. Sauron, unlike in the books, arrives accompanied by Galadriel, just a wounded mortal, trusted by King Gil-galad's Commander, who could not be better for him.

Sauron is now where he needs to be, and his deception leaves Galadriel, he now needs someone else. Celebrimbor, the greatest of the elven smiths, the one who can help Sauron. His deception begins, disguised as friendship, always friendship.

And Halbrand is always very convincing. He has deceived Galadriel, Miriel, Númenor, and now even Celebrimbor. The Rings are being forged, but Galadriel no longer trusts Halbrand as much.

Galadriel has become a threat, a risk to Sauron. She can choose two paths, ally with Sauron and take part in the reconstruction of Middle-earth, or be destroyed.

Sauron is clever and tries to convince Galadriel, to prove his point, to make her believe that his way is the only way. As always, right? She can now see the deception and refuses to be with him, in his dirty plan for control and domination.

He needs to destroy her, then. Sauron is driven by his rage, if he loses an ally, he will not rest before destroying that person. He leaves Galadriel to drown, to die for having rejected his offer. Sauron's path takes a new direction. His new victim is Adar, and he sets out from Eregion.

Far from the Elves of Eregion, Sauron walks towards Mordor. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? To me, Sauron went to Mordor for many reasons.

His cover was blown, yes. But he could also have wanted to see the kingdom that Adar was creating, how the Orcs responded to him, how everything worked. Field research, you might say.

He maintains his role as the king who only wants the best for his people, who accept being put behind bars by them. Sauron knows how to create allies even in the most unlikely moments.

Who knows, maybe he just wanted to prove to Adar that he had returned, that he could not be killed. I doubt that Adar still believed Halbrand's facade. At first? Yes, but no, not now.

They both play a long game, pretending not to know the truth about each other, and Sauron tells lies, claims to know where Sauron is (how ironic!) and leaves Adar's camp as a free man. Sauron is the master of his fate, and he is more convincing than the others thought.

Halbrand is free to go, and mortals still know him as their king, the king who continued to fight for them. But his goals now are different; he must reach Eregion before Galadriel destroys everything.

In her shame, Galadriel hid Halbrand's true identity, which greatly favored Sauron. He must have imagined that she would continue to lie, too ashamed.

That was all it took for him to reach Eregion unstopped, unfeared. Because Galadriel may have told others not to trust him, but they never knew what they were truly up against. The Elves are fighting their own battles, it is the perfect time for Sauron to act.

In Eregion, Sauron faces a new obstacle, because Galadriel warned Celebrimbor before he left. At this point, Sauron must have decided that he needed a new disguise.

But his deception is gradually taking hold. He shows Mirdania a different face. A wounded mortal man who has been through much and simply needs help. Mirdania, unaware of Halbrand's true nature, feels sorry for him.

Like Galadriel before her, Mirdania is a means to his ends, someone who speaks for him, who defends him, who makes others believe that he is who he says he is. She plays a great role in her innocence.

Celebrimbor, however, is harder to convince, because he truly trusts Galadriel. Celebrimbor may have appreciated Halbrand's knowledge, but he will not be convinced by that alone.

To buy time, Sauron needs to isolate Eregion, delaying the arrival of the other Elves, and of Adar's army. Celebrimbor, through the influence of Mirdania, also takes pity on Halbrand.

This is his greatest mistake, believing Sauron's delicate and persuasive words, his great talk. And Sauron knows how to deceive Celebrimbor, appealing to his pride.

It is a great honor to receive an emissary of the Valar, someone who recognizes Celebrimbor's art. As said above, Sauron always recognizes the weak points of his victims, what they most yearn for, what they most desire.

Having gained Celebrimbor's trust, Sauron cannot help but put his plan into action. If Sauron is to heal Middle-earth, he must control the wills and minds of all beings.

His work as an emissary then begins. He tells of how the Rings helped the Elves and how they can help the Dwarves, who have been affected by Adar's actions.

But unlike the Three Elven Rings, Sauron has his part in creating and corrupting them. The Dwarves are not easy to convince, not like the Elves, who have been desperate for help for much longer.

Sauron, however, always achieves his goals and Celebrimbor invites the Dwarves and speaks on behalf of Annatar, on behalf of the Elves, about how the Rings will change everything for them. In their desperation, they agree and Sauron once again seizes more victims.

The Rings for the Dwarves have been made, but it is not enough for Sauron. He is insatiable, he always wants more. More servants, more subjects, more power.

And time is not entirely on his side, Adar may arrive in Eregion before all the Rings are ready and Sauron cannot take that risk.

So he uses his mask once again, of the defeated emissary, who only wants the good of Middle-earth, but he is so insistent that he ends up making mistakes. Celebrimbor is no longer so confident in his friend's intentions.

However, Sauron will not lose Celebrimbor's help and trust, as he lost Galadriel's. He appeals to the Ancient Times, to the great heroes.

In his greed, Sauron no longer needs only the Rings of the Dwarves, he wants Rings for Men. Celebrimbor, of course, does not agree, is too dangerous.

The Rings for Men will be forged, even if Celebrimbor does not help them. Whether it is part of Sauron's plan to convince Celebrimbor, or simply a lack of actual success, the Rings do not work.

Time is running out, and Sauron is wasting time. Mirdania, by chance, sees Sauron's true evil. I don't think he expected this. Perhaps he does not thought someone could see through the deception.

He cannot risk her discovering the truth, not when he is so close to achieving his goal. So, as with all who have crossed his path, Sauron persuades Mirdania.

Convincing her that Celebrimbor is the true evil, that the Rings have cost him dearly. Thus, once again, Sauron is gaining more allies, convincing more people to speak for him.

Celebrimbor is forced to participate in the creation of the Rings, he does not even realize how he is being influenced by Sauron until it is too late.

Eregion is under attack, and as a good leader, Annatar decides that it is time for Celebrimbor to be alone, in peace, forging the Rings. Let Annatar take care of the city, of the attacks, he can solve everything.

As long as Celebrimbor finishes the Rings, before Adar arrives. Annatar is a figure of importance, of power. Everyone ends up believing his word, his truth.

Sauron is convincing wherever he goes, be it Númenor, Middle-earth, or Eregion, he never fails to achieve his goals. However, Celebrimbor is not his only problem.

The Dwarves are a risk to his success, after they begin to distrust Annatar's Rings. Is that why he decided to let them meet their own destruction? Probably. If they are not his allies, Sauron does not need them.

For Sauron, things are getting worse in Eregion. Celebrimbor is trapped in an illusion, unable to go against Sauron's orders, but Adar's army is getting closer and closer. It's no wonder Sauron's temper is getting worse.

He needs the Rings, and he needs them soon, but despite all the illusions, Celebrimbor continues to thwart his plans until the army arrives. The Siege of Eregion begins, and Celebrimbor needs to be distracted.

But Sauron is in the middle of a siege, keeping Celebrimbor in his illusion, while protecting Eregion, it's clear that he's been careless. Celebrimbor can now finally see the deception. Sauron is no longer Annatar, he can show who he really is, how damaged his true nature is.

Everything can be done quietly, or by force. Was Sauron honest about Morgoth? Well, I would say yes and no. I don't believe the relationship was captor and victim.

But if we think about the books, where Tevildo fears Morgoth, I imagine that Sauron feared Morgoth in some way. Perhaps in Celebrimbor he would see the apprentice he once was.

Celebrimbor continues to slip through his grasp. Like a cornered animal, Sauron begins to destroy his loose ends, his possible threats. Like Mirdania.

Is it a shame to truly get rid of Celebrimbor, his last equal? ​​Perhaps.

But it is the sacrifice he chooses to make. Eregion has fallen, but the Rings must be saved. Galadriel once again thwarts Sauron's plans by departing with the Rings.

Like in the first season, when Galadriel discovered Sauron's identity, we come to the end of everything between Celebrimbor and Sauron. The masks have fallen, everything comes to an end, right?

Destroying Celebrimbor must have bothered Sauron. In some twisted way, he was alone again, his last equal erased from Middle-earth. Sauron is always alone, isn’t he? Morgoth has been defeated, Adar has betrayed him, Galadriel has abandoned him, and now Celebrimbor is dead.

Sauron is Morgoth’s Shadow, indeed. A shadow, but never complete, never enough. Always doomed to end alone, to long for solitude. Now the Orcs are on your side, but is it enough?

Sauron then sets off in search of the Rings. It is the first time he and Galadriel have met in so long. His last enemy, Adar, has been defeated and Galadriel is the last obstacle. Did Sauron see in Galadriel someone who could be as he was to Morgoth?

Who knows, that's why he says so much that the door is still open. That if she hands over the Rings, heals Middle-earth by his side, she can gain power. But, unlike Morgoth, Sauron will not find a semblance of himself in Galadriel.

Galadriel accepts Sauron's blows, illusions, and tricks, but she never gives in. Sauron uses his tricks on Galadriel, all the tricks he hopes will destroy her, as he has destroyed so many others.

He fails, once again. Galadriel may have lost the Nine, but he still doesn't have Nenya. And Galadriel must have affected his pride, no doubt. Sauron may have his body, but he is at the same point where Adar destroyed him.

Alone, living in a kingdom of ashes with untrustworthy servants. To start over on his own and fix what is broken, but cannot be fixed. It's common for Sauron, isn't it? He always ends up alone, without allies, defeated.

And this will always be his journey, no matter how much time passes, how many ages have passed. His journey begins and ends alone.