#but they have crushes on each other anyways
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Backstabber:
Warning: (Smut)(Violence, death, blood)(sickness)
Word Count: 15k(i have nothing to say)
Pair:(Fem!xFrontman)
A/N: The length is a lot..idek. Anyway, this loosely follows season two and when I say loosely I mean LOOSELY.
I hope you all enjoy, happy reading!!
Summary: A young woman finds herself desperate when her family falls into crushing medical debt. Seeking a way out, she enters the deadly Squid Games. Unbeknownst to her, the enigmatic Frontman—her boyfriend of three years, disguising himself as Player 001 and in deep debt, enters the game to protect her, navigating the brutal competition while concealing his true identity from her.
Masterlist <-
________________
Aware of every breath and movement, you were pinned down as In-ho finally peeled away your warm sweater, a contrast to the frigid temperature in his bedroom, completely naked before him and he before you. However all you could feel was his soft lips against your chest, leaving you breathless as he pushed in and out of you with blinding pleasure and strength. His kisses were anything but gentle as you locked your legs around his muscled back, pulling him closer, and he groaned in delight at such a position, dragging his perfect teeth up your neck and eventually reconnecting with your mouth.
You'd been holding onto the weight of a conversation you needed to have with him, the one about your father's medical illness and the mounting medical debt that was dragging your parents under like a relentless tide. You've kept it from him for a while. Was it out of shame? You didn't quite know, but it didn't seem like the kind of conversation to strike up while his tongue worked between your legs, making a mess on the edge of the dining room table. He was on you the moment you got home and after the long day you had, you needed it.
Freeing him from your grip, you pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, aching for control, something you've had to fight for with him the moment you began seeing each other. A look of disapproval shined in his eyes, but you pressed your palms against his warm chest, earning a scowl of impatience. You innocently smile, beginning to rock your hips. He held you, his grip like iron, as he watched you use him to reach your peak. With your head thrown back, his hands explored every inch of your chest; squeezing and grabbing at everything he possibly could. His grip on you was as tight as he could make it without hurting you, something he worries so much about.
Mumbling sweet praises up at you, you whined, picking up the pace.
"Fuck you're so beautiful riding my cock." He praised, almost making you shatter, and you would have right then and there until your phone began to buzz on the wooden nightstand next to his head. Your movements came to a sudden stop, making In-ho groan, "ignore it," he pleaded, but it was your mother's icon.
With the weight of your father's illness in mind, you pulled off him.
"It'll just take a second." You promised, answering the phone, trying to ignore the slow touch of In-ho's hand caressing your back and his lips sucking the skin of your neck. You slapped him.
"Hi, everything okay? it's late."
Your mother's panicked voice crackled through the phone, her voice trembling with raw fear. "Y/n, you need to come to the hospital now. I-I don't-"
"Ma, I'll be there," you interrupted, your heart pounding in your chest.
"Just stay calm." You hung up without waiting for more, already throwing the blanket aside as you scrambled out of bed.
"What going on? What's wrong?" In-ho's voice cut through the chaos, his concern evident as he sat up, his brows furrowed.
Your mind raced, and the first excuse that came to you spilled out in a rush. "Something's wrong with the cat." You blurted, the lie feeling ridiculous even as you said it. Your shaky hands pulled on a sweater, jeans, and some boots, the urgency in your movements selling the story better than the words ever could.
"What? the fucking cat? What happened?" In-ho looked confused but didn't question further as you fumbled to explain. "Their car's in the shop, and they can't get to the emergency vet. I have to go."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sheets pooling around his waist. "I'll take you."
"No!" you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. The tension in the room palpable as his eyes searched your face for an explanation.
One thing about In-ho: he never questioned you, and right now, you were grateful for that. "Okay." He said. "Just be careful."
You nodded quickly, not trusting yourself to say more. Grabbing your keys and bag, you bolted for the door, your thoughts racing faster than your feet. The hallway felt suffocating as you sprinted to your car, your breath coming in shallow bursts.
Sliding into the driver's seat, your hands trembled as you turned the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life but didn't drown out the panic in your mind. What could have happened? Was it worse than you feared?
The rain from earlier had left the streets slick, and your headlights reflected off the wet pavement as you sped toward the hospital. You tried to steady your breathing, gripping the wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white. Every red light felt like a personal attack, each second dragging on like an eternity.
Finally, you pulled into the hospital parking lot, barely bothering to park straight as you threw the car into park and leaped out. The fluorescent lights of the emergency entrance cast an unnatural glow over the scene, and the antiseptic smell hit you as soon as you stepped inside.
Your eyes darted around the waiting room until they landed on your mother. She was sitting in one of the plastic chairs, her face pale, her hands squeezing a tissue.
"Mom!" you called out, rushing to her. She looked up, her eyes red and puffy, and the sight of her broke something inside.
"Y/n..." she began, her voice trembling as fresh tears spilled over. "Its your father. They-they said he's in critical condition. The doctors are with him now, but-" Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth, unable to finish.
You crouched down in front of her, taking in her hands in yours. : Ma, I'm here. I'm here, okay? We'll get through through this." Your voice was firm, but your stomach churned with dread.
As you comforted her, a nurse approached, asking if you were your father's family. You stood up, your thudding in your chest. "Yes, I'm his daughter. What's going on?" The nurse hesitated, her expression grave. "The doctor would like to speak with you. Please follow me."
Your mother let out a soft sob as you squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'll be right back, Ma," you whispered before following the nurse down the cold, sterile hallway. Each step felt heavier than the last as you approached the room where your father's fate would be revealed.
The nurse led you to a small consultation room, where a doctor in scrubs was waiting, his face lined with exhaustion. He stood as you entered, his expression grim but composed.
"It's good to meet you, I'm Dr. Patel," he said, gesturing for you to sit. You barely registered the gesture, standing frozen as your pulse thundered in your ears.
"What's wrong with my father?" you demanded, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep steady.
Dr. Patel exhaled softly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what he was about to say. "Your father's condition has taken a critical turn. His heart is failing rapidly, and the medications we've been using to manage his symptoms are no longer enough. He's in cardiogenic shock."
You blinked, the words slow to register. "What does that mean? Can you fix it?"
The doctor's lips pressed into a thin line. "The only long-term solution is a heart transplant. Without it, I'm afraid he doesn't have much time—maybe days, a week at most."
The air seemed to vanish from the room. You shook your head, trying to process. "A transplant? How... how soon could he get one?"
Dr. Patel hesitated, his gaze softening. "It's complicated. He'll need to be placed on the transplant list, and even then, matching him with a donor can take time. There's also the matter of cost. Even with insurance, the out-of-pocket expenses can be significant."
Your stomach twisted into knots. "How significant?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Typically, upwards of $150,000 for surgery, post-op care, and medications," he replied gently.
Your heart sank. You felt like the floor had dropped out from under you. "I can't… we can't afford that. Even with insurance, we're already drowning in medical debt. How am I supposed to…" Your voice cracked, and tears spilled over despite your effort to hold them back.
Dr. Patel leaned forward, his voice kind but firm. "I know it's overwhelming, but there are programs and organizations that can help. I can connect you with our financial counselor to explore options. Right now, focus on being here for your father."
You nodded numbly, standing on unsteady legs. "Can I see him?"
"Of course. He's sedated, but you can sit with him."
The walk to your father's room felt surreal, the hospital corridors stretching endlessly. When you stepped inside, the sight of him hit you like a punch to the chest. He lay still, pale and fragile, tubes and monitors surrounding him. The steady beeping of the machines was the only sound in the room.
You moved to his bedside, taking his hand in yours. His skin was cold, and the weight of his hand in yours felt too light, too fragile.
"Hey, Dad," you said softly, your voice breaking. "It's me."
Your thumb traced over the back of his hand as you blinked away fresh tears. "They said you need a new heart," you whispered, choking on the words. "And I know you probably don't want me worrying about it, but I'm going to fix this. I swear I'll find the money, no matter what. I'll get you what you need."
You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You just hang on, okay? Just hang on."
The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors, but your resolve solidified with every passing second. No matter how impossible it seemed, you would find a way to save him.
Whatever it took.
_______________________
Your hands were frigid, the cold from last night's visit at the hospital still clinging to you as you sat in the dimly lit coffee shop. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and winter rain, but none of it brought comfort. Across the small table, In-ho sat rigid, his shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring. His expression was a mask of unreadable calm, but his eyes—those lifeless, glassy eyes—made your stomach churn. There was no warmth in them, no spark of humanity like normal. Just emptiness. You swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to shiver under his gaze.
It happened every year around this time, right before his annual business trip. Yet somehow, it never got easier. That hollow, dead look in his eyes unsettled you more than you wanted to admit, leaving a weight on your chest like a stone sinking in water. He always returned, but the man who sat before you now was different—a stranger wearing the face of someone you loved.
Cupping your warm mug of coffee, you took a tentative sip, hoping the heat would chase away the chill that wasn't from the weather.
"How long will you be gone this time?" you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the unease bubbling under your skin.
"A week or so," he replied plainly, his tone deeper than usual and flat, devoid of emotion.
You nodded, forcing yourself not to press him further. He never shared much about these trips, and you'd learned to stop asking. But this—this lifeless version of him he always snaps into—terrified you in a way you could never quite explain.
He was scheduled to leave today after your coffee date, which explained the gel in his hair and the matching grey outfit he wore, fit for the cold weather. He looked good, but you adored his messy hair. You loved running your fingers through it during sex or washing it while in the shower. It was one of your favorite things about him, the second being his age. You were always into older guys. Despite being 25, men your age still had some maturing to do, so you decided never to dabble with them altogether. Time was precious.
You traced the edge of your coffee cup with your finger, trying to fill the silence. It stretched thin between you, like a thread about to snap.
"She's been calling me a lot lately." you said, attempting to steer the conversation toward something lighter. "Mina, I mean. She's gotten into some trouble again."
In-ho's gaze shifted slightly, though his expression remained impassive. "Drinking?"
"And gambling, she's been asking for money," you added with a faint, humorless chuckle.
"Apparently, she lost a week's rent at that underground poker game she swore she'd never go back to."
His jaw tightened, just for a second quick. You almost missed it. "The one near the station, right? The one run by that man who drives the black sedan."
Your brow furrowed as you stared at him. "How did you know that?" In-ho's expression didn't waver. "You said she was into underground games," he replied, shrugging. "I've seen people like that around. They're dangerous."
The explanation was reasonable, and you opened your mouth to change the subject, but he checked his watch and stood.
"I should get going," he said, his voice flat.
You stood as well, the knot in your stomach tightening. "Be safe," you said softly.
He nodded, leaning in to press a cool, detached kiss to your lips. It was brief, almost mechanical, and it left you feeling colder than before, but it was the same around this time every year. "I'll see you when I get back," he said, his hand briefly brushing your arm before he turned to leave.
As you watched him walk out into the gray morning, your thoughts lingered on his odd familiarity with Mina's troubles. Something didn't add up, but the question lingered unspoken on your tongue, lost in the wake of his retreating figure.
The bitter dregs of your now-cold coffee lingered on your tongue as you forced down the last bites of a stale croissant, its once-flaky layers now reduced to a dense, chewy mass.
The contrast between this hurried breakfast and the elegant comfort of In-ho's apartment wasn't lost on you—each step toward the train platform felt like moving further from a dream back into your harsh reality.
The morning crowd jostled around you as you weaved between commuters, scanning for an empty seat while waiting. The number "150,000" pulsed in your mind like a neon sign, growing larger and more oppressive with each passing moment. It was a sum so vast it seemed almost abstract—like counting stars in the sky—yet the weight of its importance pressed down on your chest with very real pressure.
Finding an empty bench away from the crowd, you hugged yourself tightly, your fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket. The fluorescent station lights cast shallow shadows under your eyes, and you barely recognized the exhausted person staring back.
Your father's time was running out like sand in an hourglass, and here you sat, drowning in the knowledge that your family's existing debts were already a noose around your neck. Each potential solution you considered crumbled before it could fully form—loan sharks were out of the question, banks would laugh at your application, and friends... well, who among them could even spare a fraction of such an amount? Mina sure as hell couldn't.
It's then a well-groomed man sits beside you. His hair gelled back, similar to In-ho's. You felt his gaze on you, but you tried to ignore it until it became extremely uncomfortable.
Snapping your chin in his direction, you broke.
"What?"
"Hello ma'am, can I talk to you?"
You sighed as he continued.
"Listen, I want to let you in on a great opportunity." You stared down at your hands, not saying a word, when he opened a suitcase beside you.
Looking down at it, you find the game Ddakji next to three stacks of neatly piled money. You perked up a bit at that. The money wasn't enough to pay for the transplant, but it was a cushioned start.
"I'm sure you've played Ddakji before, right?" You nodded.
In-ho appreciated the game.
He held up the two squares, one red and one blue. "Play a few rounds with me. And each time you win, I'll pay you a 1,000. Each time I win you, you pay me the same amount." You bit your lip, feeling how stupid this was. In-ho would tell you to turn and walk away, and you wondered if this man was from that underground poker place Mina indulged in. But, stupid or not, you needed that money for your father.
Exhaling sharply, you agreed but warned the man.
"I don't have any money to spare." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't true either. You had a decent income, but all of your money either went to paying off your parent's medical debt or to your father's treatments when you were able to pay out of pocket.
He held that same creepy grin, "How about you use your body to pay." You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as the words hit you like a slap. What did that entail? A chill ran down your spine, the blood draining from your face as you felt your breath catch in your throat. For a moment, you felt yourself sliding toward the edge of the bench, your limbs numb with terror.
The man, noticing your reaction, quickly shook his hands. "Not like that, no. I'll take 100 off per each slap to the face."
If a slap was the price to pay for losing, then you would endure it. For your father. You clenched your fists tightly, the memory of his quiet suffering and his desperate need for help fueling the burning determination inside you. You would do anything to protect him, even if it meant bearing humiliation, pain, or worse.
Anything.
You stood from the bench with a sense of purpose, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The salesman rose with you, his smile still wide, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor—something darker, more guarded—as you reached for your red ddakji. Without hesitation, you slammed it down onto the floor, the force of your movement sending it crashing against his, the paper flipping with a satisfying snap. You didn't just win; you dominated, the sound echoing in the still air.
A small wad of cash landed in your palm, the crisp bills a reminder of the stakes, the desperation that had brought you here. Your pulse quickened, the fear dissipating with each flip of the ddakji, each round stacking your winnings higher. The salesman's smile faltered, but you didn't care. You were in control now. The game was simple, but the stakes—your father's fate were anything but.
Round after round, you flipped his every time, effortlessly outplaying him, earning more money than you'd ever imagined in such a short span. The cash piled up between you like a small mountain, but you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. Each win felt like a victory but also like a countdown to something darker, something you weren't sure you were ready for.
Finally, you sat back down, your breathing steady as you finished the game. The salesman handed you a card, its front emblazoned with three distinct shapes, each one sharp and clean, almost menacing. You flipped it over, the number on the back staring up at you—simple, unremarkable, but somehow heavy.
"There are other games like this," he said, his voice dropping slightly as if the offer itself was something that shouldn't be spoken too loudly. "Where you can earn even more."
His gaze held yours for a beat too long. The words lingered, tempting and ominous in their simplicity.
"We don't have many spots left." He added, a subtle edge creeping into his voice as he picked up his briefcase, the leather creaking under his grip. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with the card, the money, and the quiet hum of uncertainty settling in your chest.
________________
POV: In-Ho
You sat at your desk, the glass of imported whiskey sloshing as you threw back the fifth pour, barely noticing as the amber liquid burned down your throat. The decanter was nearing empty, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. The quiet hum of the room was the only sound, and it settled you in a way nothing else could. Leaving y/n had always been difficult, but that was part of the game, wasn't it? Every year, it was the same—her muted resistance to your sudden change in demeanor, but every year, you also found yourself relieved to return to control, to snap back into that power you craved at your fingertips, to something that mattered all the same. Here, you were just mechanical; any genuine feeling of devotion dwindled until you returned home to her.
You leaned back in your chair, the leather creaking under your weight. The time you spent with y/n—it was never enough. And the more you tried to balance it with the games, the more you realized how impossible it truly was.
It was easy to pawn off the useless responsibilities to an underling, to let someone else handle the messes or orders that were beneath you. You had never cared about choosing the players. It was a waste of time. They were all the same to you: pathetic, greedy souls who saw the world through a selfish lens of self-interest.
Getting a phone call, you grabbed the receiver.
"This is The FrontMan speaking. Yes, we are ready to begin."
You set the receiver back down, the soft click of the phone's cradle cutting through the heavy silence of the room. Without a second glance, you reached for the mask resting on the edge of the desk, its cool surface like a familiar presence. Your fingers brushed against the contours, feeling its weight and its unspoken authority. With deliberate ease, you secured it in place, the cold, smooth material pressing against your skin as your identity vanished beneath its form and lifted your hood.
You stood and moved toward the door, your footsteps controlled and purposeful. The air seemed to thicken around you as you passed through the threshold, a shift in atmosphere marking the change. The elevator was waiting—silent, steel, and patient. With a practiced motion, you pressed the central control room button, the elevator's quiet hum responding to your command. The walls around you seemed to close in as you descended. You were going to the heart of it all now, where the control pulse beat steady and unyielding. And there, you would resume your place.
The elevator doors slid open with a quiet, effortless motion, revealing the sterile, dimly lit expanse of the control room. Your men, standing at attention, parted like the Red Sea, clearing your path. They were all towering figures, silhouettes in the shadiness of the room, their presence unwavering and mute. As you stepped out onto the cold, polished floor, you felt the shift—the room realigning as though the game had officially begun.
You glanced at each man in turn, your eyes sharp, and you calculated behind the mask, assessing every one of them with practiced ease. They stood frozen, their posture rigid, hands at their sides, waiting for your next command. You could almost feel the anticipation in the air, stout and expectant.
"Let's start," you said, your voice cold, clipped and filtered. The words carved through the silence. Without hesitation, the men moved to their stations, their bodies sliding into their chairs with precise, mechanical ease. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation.
"Wake them up."
The room came alive, the screens flickering to life one by one. The quiet hum of machinery filled the air, a low, steady rhythm as the monitors illuminated, casting a cold glow on the walls. The lights in the player's quarters were activated, brightening the room as a spokesperson illustrated it was time to wake up.
You stalked closer to the screens, trying to get a sense of the new herd. Your gaze exhausts each face as they adjust, blinking groggily, some still lost in the fog of sleep. You monitored the strongest as they rose quicker, as the weakest fought off the remaining effects of the sedative.
Abruptly, it felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs, your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach with a force that left you momentarily paralyzed. Your gaze locked onto the screen, catching something—someone—that sent a chill racing down your spine. At first, you thought it couldn't be real, that your mind was playing cruel tricks on you. But the unease clawed at you, refusing to be dismissed.
"Zoom in on player 150," you ordered sharply, your voice slicing through the tense silence in the room.
The screen obeyed, zooming in on the figure until every detail came into agonizing clarity. And then you saw her.
Your breath hitched. Her messy bedhead—the kind you used to tease her about—was unmistakable. She stretched her arms above her head, a familiar routine you'd witnessed countless mornings. Her flawless lips, her face, her eyes. Every inch of her was burned into your memory, and now, there she was.
Standing in the middle of your slaughterhouse.
The woman you've bared your soul to.
"Y/n," you whispered, your voice barely audible, strangled with disbelief and fear. Panic gnawed at your insides, twisting and tightening until it felt like your very core would shatter.
How had she ended up here?
What is she keeping from you?
Of all the people, of all the possibilities—why her?
___________________________
POV: Y/N
The first thing you noticed as you stirred was the faint hum of distant sounds. Your sense of hearing returned before anything else, pulling you from the haze of sleep. You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes as the world around you came into focus.
Fragments of memory surfaced, disjointed but vivid—the musty smell of the van, the creak of its rusted doors, the tattered upholstery that looked like it had seen far too many years. You had hesitated, your hand hovering over the handle, your instincts screaming at you to turn around and walk away. The vehicle was a wreck, the kind of thing you'd imagine a junkie—no offense—might live out of.
But then you thought of your father. His face, his struggle, the weight of it all. That single thought was enough to override your doubts. You had climbed into the van despite every instinct telling you to do otherwise.
Sitting up, you took in your unfamiliar surroundings, momentarily distracted by the nagging awareness of your terrible bedhead. In-ho always teased you about it, though deep down, you suspected he secretly liked it.
Swinging your legs over the edge of the cot, you paused as your fingers brushed against the fabric of what you were wearing. A pajama-like tracksuit, simple yet strange. Your gaze dropped to your chest, where a number—150—was neatly sewn over your left breast.
You frowned, your brows knitting together. "What the hell?" you whispered under your breath.
Looking around, the murmur of movement drew your attention. Other people—strangers—were stirring, dressed in identical tracksuits with different numbers stitched onto their chests. They began to gather hesitantly in the center of the vast room, their expressions mirroring your confusion and unease.
The room itself was massive, stark, and cold, resembling a warehouse stripped of purpose. Above you, suspended ominously from the ceiling, hung an enormous glass piggy bank—empty but somehow radiating a strange sense of suspicion.
Your muscles ached, a dull soreness settling into your body as you stretched your arms overhead, trying to shake off the lingering stiffness, and stood to join the pack of people. The air was heavy, thick with tension and the quiet rustle of fabric as the other players moved cautiously, their faces tight with uncertainty.
As you loosened up, your eyes flicked back to the piggy bank, unease pooling in your stomach. Whatever was happening here, it was far from ordinary—and the number stitched onto your chest felt like it was branding you into something you didn't yet understand.
“Y/n!”
The sound of your name rang out, cutting through the murmurs around you. Your head snapped up, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces until your eyes locked onto someone you knew—a lifeline in the chaos.
"Oh my God, Y/n!"
It was Mina. Your Mina. Her face lit up with that unmistakable grin, even as the bold 067 stitched across her chest seemed wildly out of place. Relief flooded you, and without thinking, you bolted toward your best friend, your heart leaping in your chest.
"Mina!" you shouted, skidding to a stop just before throwing your arms around her neck. She caught you with a squeal, pulling you into a tight hug as you both burst into a flurry of half-laughs, half-cries.
"What the hell are you doing here, you bitch?" she blurted, pulling back just enough to hold your shoulders, her grin a mix of disbelief and sheer joy.
You laughed, shaking your head. "I could ask you the same thing!"
For a moment, the strangeness of the situation melted away. The towering walls, the eerie piggy bank above, the sea of strangers—all of it faded into the background. Because right now, in this surreal hell, you weren't alone.
Mina shrugged nonchalantly, her lips twitching into a crooked grin. "What can I say? It seems like my hobbies have gotten me into trouble again. Only this time..." She gestured vaguely to the massive, ominous piggy bank hanging above, her tone dripping with mock cheerfulness. "...the stakes are just a little higher."
Your brows furrowed, a sinking feeling settling in your chest. "Oh god, Mina. What did you do?"
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, biting her lip in that telltale way that meant she was about to drop a bombshell. "Well," she started, drawing out the word like she was recounting a funny anecdote, "I kind of... might've signed my physical rights away."
Your stomach flipped. "Excuse me?"
"Yup." She nodded, her voice light, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "If I don't cough up what I owe by next month, I can kiss a kidney goodbye." She gave you a sly grin, trying to downplay the gravity of her words. "On the bright side, I've always wanted to know what it feels like to live with just one."
Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, your heart pounding in disbelief. "Mina...surely you're joking?"
She shook her head, the grin never entirely leaving her face. "Afraid not, babe. But hey, at least this mess has good storytelling potential, right?"
"Mina!" you exclaimed, punching her shoulder. She laughed, though it came out slightly strained. "What? It's not like I can do anything about it now. Besides, kidneys are overrated anyway."
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Mina, could you please stop giving me reasons to worry?"
She gave you a sheepish grin, her shoulder bumping yours playfully. "I'll try, but no promises." Then, her expression shifted, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "What about you?" she asked, folding her arms. "Why are you here? And where's that delicious boyfriend of yours?"
Your cheeks warmed slightly, and before you could stop yourself, you swatted her arm, a soft snicker escaping. "He's on a business trip," you said, trying to sound casual. "Probably miles away from this place."
You turned your head toward her, but the knowing look in her eyes stopped you short. She tilted her chin, her gaze sharpening. "Uh-huh. But you didn't answer my other question."
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the humor between you flickered, replaced by something heavier. Her gaze stayed steady, probing, as if she could see right through you.
A sharp, jarring buzz suddenly filled the air, slashing through the low murmurs in the room. You flinched at the sound, your heart skipping a beat as all heads turned toward the massive double doors at the far end of the room.
With a mechanical hiss, the doors slid open in perfect synchronization, revealing a line of figures that marched in with unnerving precision. They wore identical uniforms—a stark, unnatural shade of pink that contrasted sharply against the cold gray of the warehouse walls.
Their faces were entirely hidden behind black, featureless masks adorned with bold, white shapes: circles, triangles, and squares, just like the strange card you'd been handed by that man.
The sight sent a shiver racing down your spine. The guards moved with eerie coordination, their presence suffocating and cold, as if they were more machine than human. The room seemed to shrink under their gaze—or what you assumed was their gaze, though the masks gave away nothing.
"I'd like to extend my warmest welcome to you all."
"Everyone here will participate in six different games over the next six days. Those who win all six games will recieve a handsome cash prize." One of the guards stepped forward, his voice sharp and authoritative as it rang out, though it was muffled slightly by the mask. You strained to make out the words, but before you could process them, a man standing near the front of the group raised his voice, cutting through the tension.
"Why the hell should we trust you?" he shouted, his tone laced with anger and desperation. His words hit a chord, murmurs of agreement rippling through the players around you. It wasn't an unreasonable question—after all, you'd been drugged and dragged here against your will.
Your chest tightened as you remembered the van, the haze, the disorientation of waking up in this strange, sterile place. Beside you, Mina suddenly grabbed your hand, her fingers lacing tightly with yours. Her grip was firm, almost crushing, and when you glanced at her, her wide eyes told you she was just as terrified as you were.
The guard's reply came swift and clinical, delivered without an ounce of emotion. He mentioned something about a consent form, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease as though this wasn't the first time he'd said them. His tone made it clear there was no room for negotiation.
Your stomach churned as the players began to shuffle forward hesitantly, forming a disjointed line. Each person who stepped up was handed a pen and a sheet of paper, the details too far away to make out. The tension in the room was noticeable, every movement slow and deliberate, as if everyone knew they were crossing a threshold they could never return from.
When your turn came, you stepped forward on shaky legs, Mina's hand slipping from yours as she stayed rooted in place. You barely noticed her whispered "Y/n…" as you reached for the pen.
The words on the page blurred before your eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to read the fine print—it didn't matter. You already knew why you were here.
Your hand trembled slightly as you signed your name, the black ink cutting starkly against the crisp white paper. Whatever this was, whatever it demanded of you, your mind was made up. You'd get that money no matter what it took.
As you turned away, clutching the pen tightly, your heart felt like a drum pounding in your chest. Behind you, Mina's gaze burned into your back, her silence louder than any words she could've spoken.
As the last of the players signed their names, the guards gestured for everyone to move, their silent presence ushering the group out of the dorms and into a large, clean hall. The air was cool and clinical, the kind of atmosphere that sent a shiver up your spine despite the lack of overt threat.
One by one, each player stood in front of a sleek screen where their photo was taken. Mina, of course, couldn't resist making a ridiculous face, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her eyes as the camera clicked.
You doubled over, a genuine belly laugh escaping your lips, the sound echoing faintly in the vast hall. For a fleeting moment, it felt like old times, like the world wasn't crumbling around you.
As the line moved, you and Mina ended up side by side, trailing behind the group as you ascended a winding staircase. The metal stairs clanged beneath your feet, the sound rhythmic and oddly calming despite the tension in the air.
"So," Mina drawled, nudging your shoulder with hers, her grin mischievous. "Fill me in. How's it been going with In-ho?"
A warmth spread through you at the mention of his name, and you couldn't help the soft smile that tugged at your lips. "He's been… nothing short of extraordinary," you admitted, your voice almost wistful.
Mina hummed knowingly, her grin widening. "I see. And the sex?" she asked, her tone teasing as her brows waggled suggestively.
You groaned, rolling your eyes. "Ugh, Mina, quit being gross. Let's focus on the game ahead."
She threw her hands up in mock surrender, snickering. "Alright, alright. I'll save it for later," she said, her tone light but her eyes scanning the room ahead, where more guards waited in eerie silence.
As the two of you continued up the staircase, her humor lingered like a comforting presence, a small anchor in the chaos. You couldn't help but feel grateful for her, even if she drove you nuts.
Turning the final corner, you stepped into a vast, open space that made you stop in your tracks. The ground beneath your feet was soft sand, its golden grains warm as they shifted with each step. Overhead, artificial sunlight bore down with an intensity that made you squint, the air thick with the illusion of a desert afternoon.
“Wow,” Mina muttered, her tone a mix of awe and unease. She kicked at the sand lightly, watching it scatter. “This is… interesting.”
You nodded, your eyes scanning the expanse of the room. It felt surreal—like stepping into another world completely removed from the cold, metallic dorms. The space stretched endlessly in all directions, its vastness unsettling.
As you wandered further in, something across the way caught your eye. Narrowing your gaze, you nudged Mina in the arm, breaking her attention away from the boy she had been half-flirting with beside her.
“What?” she asked, frowning slightly.
“What’s that?” you said, pointing toward a shape in the distance.
Her eyes followed your arm, squinting against the glaring light. When she finally spotted it, her expression twisted into a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. “It looks like…” she hesitated, leaning in slightly, “a creepy doll.”
Your stomach churned as you took in the eerie figure. Even from a distance, something about it felt wrong.
Before you could respond, a sharp, mechanical crackle echoed through the air, making you flinch. A smooth, automated female voice spoke over the intercom, its tone disturbingly cheerful.
“Welcome to the game room. For your first game, you will be playing Red Light, Green Light.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Red Light, Green Light?” you muttered, glancing at Mina with an incredulous smile. “You’ve got to be kidding. A children’s game?”
Mina shrugged, her lips quirking into a half-smile. “What? Would you rather play chess?”
You snorted softly, shaking your head. “Definitely not.”
The voice on the intercom continued, reciting the rules with an unnerving precision that made the simplicity of the game feel sinister. “When the doll says, ‘Green Light,’ you may move forward. When the doll says, ‘Red Light,’ you must stop immediately. Any players caught moving during ‘Red Light’ will be eliminated.”
The word eliminated lingered in your mind, sending a cold chill down your spine.
When the announcement ended, a sudden, oppressive silence settled over the room. The guards lined the edges of the space, their presence a stark reminder that this was no ordinary game.
Mina reached for your hand, gripping it tightly. “We stick together, okay?”
“Okay,” you whispered, lacing your fingers with hers. Despite your nervousness, her touch grounded you, giving you a flicker of reassurance.
The two of you exchanged a nod, solidifying your pact, before turning your focus toward the looming doll in the distance. The game was about to begin, and there was no turning back now.
____________
POV: In-Ho
You could hardly bear to watch.
Your heart throbbed in your chest, a suffocating pressure building as your mind screamed with one agonizing question: What if she dies?
The thought hit you like a sucker punch, the weight of it crushing your ribs, stealing the air from your lungs. If she died—if she dies—you’d be left with nothing. Nothing but the hollow emptiness of a life that had lost its purpose, your balance between light and dark. There would be no going back. No reason to move forward. You'd be a shell, wandering through a world that suddenly felt unbearable.
The air in your quarters felt thick as if the very walls were closing in on you. You couldn’t stand still, couldn’t think clearly. You paced back and forth, each step fraying your nerves further. Your breath came in ragged gasps, shallow and fast, desperate for relief that never came.
You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t—
The glass in your hand was warm, the drink inside it burning your throat with its bitter sting. And without thinking, you hurled it across the room, the sharp crash of glass against the wall.
For a split second, you stood frozen, staring at the mess. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
Your chest tightened painfully, each breath harder to take than the last. You couldn’t control it anymore—the rage, the fear, the overwhelming helplessness. You wanted to roar and tear this facility to shreds, but it was all out of your hands now.
A player could only be removed from the game if they're eliminated.
The glass shards glittered on the floor like the pieces of your shattered resolve as you stared into it, and all you could do was stand there, trembling, fighting against the suffocating tide of emotions threatening to drown you.
"Green Light,"
Your eyes locked onto the screen, your gaze trained on her every move. You circled the couch, your steps restless, like you couldn’t stand still even if you wanted to. Every muscle in your body was tense beneath the grey jacket. Every fiber of your being was focused on her.
You could see Mina beside her, their hands tightly clasped together. It almost felt like an anchor, a momentary reassurance—but not enough.
Not nearly enough.
You silently begged Mina—pleaded with her—to hold it together. To not screw this up.
If Mina stuttered, if she moved a fraction too soon, if she hesitated for even a second—y/n would follow. And that thought made something tighten painfully in your chest.
You could feel your pulse roaring in your ears, a fierce rush of adrenaline as the seconds stretched on like hours. Your hand itched to pry her fingers away from Mina’s, to pull her closer, to shield her from the inescapable bloodbath.
"Red Light."
You exhaled sharply, your body going rigid as you watched her, your heart skipping a beat. Her number hadn’t been called, but the terror that played across her face as she witnessed the eliminations around her carved a hollow, painful hole in your chest.
She stood there, frozen, her eyes wide with raw fear as bodies dropped one by one, their lives snuffed out in an instant.
The sound of each shot rang out like a death knell, each one making her flinch, the horror of it all consuming her.
The games were necessary, but you never wanted y/n within a mile of them, and she didn't deserve a spot. She didn't deserve this.
You couldn’t bear it as guilt flooded your head, asking yourself how you could let this happen. How you could be so oblivious. How you could be so careless.
Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you rubbed your thumb over your lip, trying to steady your breath, but the panic was suffocating. She was scared, and you could see the paralyzing dread in her eyes as the remaining rounds went on.
Your torture had ended as she and Mina made it across safely, allowing your body to release tension.
Your mind raced, every thought swirling with desperation as you considered all the ways you could protect her. Every option seemed dangerous, every move a step closer to exposing yourself to her. Your fingers ran through your gelled hair, the tension in your shoulders mounting. You knew the truth—if she found out... It would destroy her.
And that was far worse than the lie you were living now.
Your gut clenched bitterly as the weight of the situation sank deeper into your chest. She’d never understand. She couldn’t. No matter how you tried to explain it, the truth would damage her. And you weren’t sure if either of you could survive the aftermath.
You sank into the loveseat, your eyes shifting to the mirror ahead of you. The reflection staring back was unrecognizable.
The image in the glass shattered every preconceived idea of who you were supposed to be in this place. The leader. The cold, calculating mastermind who pulled the strings from behind the scenes. The man who kept his emotions in check, who moved through the shadows without hesitation.
But now?
Now, you could feel the walls crumbling, the mask slipping off with each passing moment. The control you had so carefully cultivated was eroding, and it was because of her.
The realization hit you like a wrecking ball.
You were losing yourself to her—losing one of two things that had kept you alive this long. And the only reason you were willing to let it all slip was because of y/n. Because you didn’t want to watch her suffer, you didn’t want to see that terror in her eyes, knowing you're the cause.
A plan developed in your mind, sudden and dangerous. A twisted solution, but one that could save her.
You would have to enter the games.
For her.
And as the weight of that decision settled over you, you had an odd feeling that this was it.
__________________
POV: Y/N
Your heart was in your throat, pounding so hard you thought it might burst.
Your legs gave out beneath you, trembling so violently that Mina had to grip your arm just to keep you upright. Her voice cracked as she shouted your name, her panic etching through the fog of your stunned silence. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe. You'd never seen someone die like that— so sudden, so violent. A clean shot, some might call it merciful. But there was nothing merciful about the way bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless in an instant.
Now, back in the dorms, you leaned into Mina, your head heavy against her shoulder. Her breathing was ragged, her frame trembling beneath your touch, and for a moment, you felt like you were both about to shatter.
"So," Mina whispered, her voice raw and barely holding together. "If you lose the game..you die. The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around your neck. She tried to laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that made your stomach twist. "Quite the plot twist, huh?"
You jerked back, glaring at her through the blur of your tears. "Are you serious right now?"
"What else am I supposed to say?" She snapped, throwing up her hands. "We signed the damn contract, y/n. It's not like we didn't know there'd be consequences."
"Not like this," you muttered, your voice breaking as you clutched your knees.
Mina sighed, running a shaky hand through her hair. "What do you want me to say? Crying about it won't change anything. It won't bring those people back. It won't get us out of here."
Her words stung, sharp, and cruel, but you knew she was wrong. You bit down hard on your lip to keep from breaking apart completely. Crying wouldn't help. Begging wouldn't help. Whoever these people were, they weren't going to care about tears or fear. This wasn't just a game anymore—it was survival.
You sat silently next to Mina, absently picking at a loose thread on your shirt, your mind spinning in endless circles. The room felt suffocating with unspoken fear.
Then you hear it—a voice you hadn't heard in what felt like forever.
"Y/n?"
The whisper of your name cut through the haze. Your head snapped up, and your heart dropped into your stomach. Standing in front of you was In-ho.
For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing cruel tricks on you. He looked exactly as you remembered—same disheveled hair, same piercing eyes. But his expression...it was off. Shock, disbelief, maybe even a glint of betrayal flickered across his face.
Your body moved before you could think. You pulled away from Mina, stumbling to your feet. Your legs felt weak, your breaths shallow, and every nerve in your body screamed that this couldn't be real.
"In-ho?" you choked out, your voice trembling.
Without a word, he closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you. The hug was tight, almost desperate, as though he needed to hold you as much as you needed to be held. His scent hit you like a jolt—so familiar, so grounding. It shattered the doubts swirling in your mind.
You froze, your arms hanging limply at your sides as the weight of his embrace pressed into you. Was this real? Could it be him? Tears blurred your vision as you returned the hug, clutching him like he might disappear if you let go. A broken sob tore from your throat.
But even as relief coursed through you, a shadow of doubt lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind. What was he doing here? Why now? And why did it feel like something was wrong?
Pulling back, In-ho's hands gripped your face tightly, his fingers trembling with barely contained fury. His eyes burned into yours, raw and piercing.
"What the hell are you doing here, y/n?" he demanded, his voice low and rough.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. The tears you thought had subsided returned in full force, choking you. He guided you to sit, his movements sharp and forceful, like he was holding himself back from shaking you for answers.
You gulped for air, your chest heaving as you forced the words out. "My father… he's sick."
The admission felt small, fragile, and yet it hit him like a hammer. He exhaled sharply, the sound heavy with disbelief and frustration. His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw clenching so tightly you thought he might snap.
Behind you, Mina shifted uncomfortably, her presence a tense reminder of the world around you.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally said, his voice strained, the anger giving way to something else—hurt.
Before you could answer, he swiped a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the tears with surprising tenderness. The contrast was jarring, his touch soft against the intensity of his gaze.
"I didn't want you to worry," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.
In-ho scoffed, pulling back as he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You didn't want me to worry?" he repeated bitterly. "Do you even realize—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.
But your own questions burned too hot to stay buried. You leaned forward, your voice trembling but steady enough to challenge him. "Why are you here, In-ho? Why did you lie to me?"
His head snapped up at your words, his expression hardening into something unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might not answer, that he'd leave you to drown in your doubts. The silence was deafening, the weight of everything unsaid threatening to crush you both.
"I'm here because I didn't have a choice, y/n," he said, his voice low and strained. "The company…I put everything into it. I thought I could make it work. I thought I could save it."
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from yours. "But the debt...it swallowed me whole."
Your stomach twisted, the air suddenly too heavy to breathe. "Debt?" you repeated, your voice shaking.
He nodded, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It got bad—worse than I ever let on. Loans, investors, deadlines. I tried everything to fix it, but nothing worked."
Your eyes filled with sorrow as you reached for his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as they intertwined with his.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of everything.
He huffed softly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "For what? I got myself into this."
You shook your head, gripping his hand a little tighter. "For everything. For keeping secrets, for the company. For getting ourselves into this mess."
In-ho's eyes softened, his resolve cracking just enough to let you see the pain behind it. He scooted, his free hand lifting to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, steadying you in a way words couldn't.
"I swear to you," he said, his voice low but filled with determination, "I'll keep you safe during the games."
You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as a tear slipped free, wetting his palm. For a moment, the chaos and fear melted away, leaving only the connection between you.
"Everything I do," he continued, his voice softer now, almost reverent, "will be for you."
Your breath caught in your throat—until Mina's voice cut through the air.
"Okay, lovebirds, hate to interrupt your heartfelt moment," she said, leaning on her elbows, "but we're still stuck in a life-or-death situation. Maybe save the romantic monologues for after we survive?"
In-ho's eyes darted up to Mina, his expression instantly shifting from tender to thoroughly exasperated.
"Mina," he said flatly, his tone carrying the weight of someone barely holding onto their patience.
She flashed a wide, overly fake smile, tilting her head like she was posing for a sitcom. "Been a long time, hasn't it?"
In-ho's jaw tightened as he let out a sharp breath through his nose. "Not long enough," he muttered under his breath.
Mina, unfazed, grinned wider. "Oh, come on, don't act like you're not happy to see me. I bring joy wherever I go."
In-ho shot her a deadpan look. "Joy, or chaos?"
"Tomato, to-mah-to," she quipped, shrugging.
You tried to stifle a laugh, which only made In-ho shoot you a betrayed look. "You're laughing? Really?"
Mina threw her arm around your shoulder, grinning smugly.
"See? I'm a gift."
____________________________
Meal time passed in a blur as you scarfed down a hard-boiled egg and a small cup of water. It wasn't much, but enough to stave off the gnawing hunger. In-ho, without hesitation, handed you his share, sliding the egg and water toward you with a sweet look in his eyes.
"You need it more than I do," he said simply, ignoring your protests. Mina, never one to let a moment pass with commentary, let out an exaggerated scoff, teasing In-ho and making her remark.
You shot her a glare, "Mina," you said with a sharp edge in your tone.
"Relax," she retorted, smirking as she propped her chin on her hand. "I'm just saying it's cute. Like a scene from a bad rom-com."
You placed a hand on In-ho's arm, silently urging him to let it go. Mina was a professional instigator, and her relentless jabs were as much a part of her personality as her quick wit. He huffed but turned his focus back to you, muttering something under his breath about how she'd been insufferable since the moment he met her.
Later, you lay curled up under the thin blanket on your assigned bed, its scratchy fabric doing little to shield you from the cold. The tension in the room felt slightly less suffocating with In-ho nearby. He'd managed to switch beds, though "convince" wasn't exactly the right word. You'd watched in uneasy silence as he cornered another player—a scrawny man with wide, fearful eyes—and murmured something low and dangerous. Whatever he said had sent the man scurrying away without a second thought.
You weren't sure how to feel about it. Grateful, maybe. Uneasy, definitely. But with In-ho so close, his steady breathing just within reach, you felt a rare sense of safety in a place where none should exist.
The stifling silence of the dorm settled over you as you tried to relax, but sleep remained evasive. The thin mattress beneath you felt harder with every passing moment, and a nagging pressure in your bladder made it impossible to find peace.
You sighed, rubbing your sweaty palms over your face before throwing the blanket off and slipping out of bed as quietly as you could. The cold floor sent a shiver through you as you tiptoed toward the heavy steel door.
With a hesitant knock, you waited, and after a moment, the small window slid open, revealing a pair of eyes behind an ominous black mask.
"I need to use the restroom, please," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.
The guard's voice was mechanical and unyielding. "No one is permitted to leave during this hour."
You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting uncomfortably. "Please, it's an emergency."
The guard remained silent, and you opened your mouth to plead again when a voice from behind you called out.
"Let her out."
The command was sharp, cold, and filled with an authority that made the hairs on your neck stand on end. You froze, turning slightly to see In-ho standing a few steps away, his posture rigid and his eyes dark and unreadable.
The tone of his voice was unlike anything you'd ever heard from him before—calculated, commanding, almost chilling. It was the kind of voice that left no room for argument, and even the guard seemed to hesitate, the weight of the demand hanging in the air like a threat.
Your breath caught as the guard finally relented, sliding the door open with a reluctant nod towards In-ho. You glanced at him, his face shadowed by the dim light, and felt a strange mix of gratitude and unease settle in your chest.
The guard stepped aside, motioning for you to follow as the heavy steel door groaned open. You glanced back at In-ho, expecting him to stay behind, but he was already moving to fall into step beside you, his expression unreadable.
The cold air of the corridor hit you like a wall, sending a chill through your already tense frame. The guard's imposing presence loomed ahead, his boots echoing ominously against the concrete floor. You hesitated, then turned to In-ho, your voice low.
"You don't have to come with me, you know. I can take care of myself," you murmured your tone a mix of gratitude and concern.
His eyes flicked to yours briefly before scanning the dim hallway around you. The shadows seemed to shift and stretch with every step, making the atmosphere feel even heavier.
"I stay with you," he muttered, his voice quiet but firm, as though the walls themselves might be listening.
You noticed the way his shoulders remained taut, his movements calculated as if expecting danger at every corner. His eyes darted to the guard ahead, then back to you, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something deeper in his gaze.
He stayed close, his presence a shield against the unsettling stillness of the corridor.
Reaching the bathroom, you pushed the door open, feeling the cool air inside as it contrasted against the heat building in your chest. You stepped forward, but before you could make it inside, In-ho followed, his movements swift and deliberate. With a forceful push, he slammed the door shut behind him, trapping you between him and the wood.
You gasped, caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the situation. "What are you doing?" you started, but the words died in your throat.
In-ho didn't answer. Instead, he moved closer, his breath warm against your skin as he cupped your face with his hands. Before you could protest or fully understand what was happening, his lips crashed against yours, silencing everything around you.
For a moment, everything went still—your heartbeat, the weight of your breath, the tension in the air. Then, slowly, you let yourself sink into him, your body responding to his touch with a deep, aching need you hadn't even realized was there. You kissed him back with all the desperation and longing that had been building since the moment he left that coffee shop, your hands reaching up to pull him closer, craving the connection, the heat.
His lips were soft yet urgent, and the kiss deepened, a powerful force that seemed to push away everything else—the fear, the uncertainty, the danger. All that mattered in that moment was him and the way he made you feel safe. You hear the lock click, then feel the touch of In-ho's hand on your waist. You pull back, In-ho's lips working against your neck.
You chuckled, "We can't fuck in the bathroom," You choked as he bit your neck. "Says who?" he uttered against your skin. You smiled with a gasp, "The people that run this place." He only pulls you closer, scooping you into his arms. You look down at him, legs wrapped around his back, "don't worry about them."
Laying you gently on the nearest sink, you pulled him closer as he slid his hands under your shirt, cupping your breasts while sucking at your neck. You whined at the sensation, yanking his jacket and shirt off. You needed him.
Now.
"This is wrong," you arched into his touch as he squeezed. The thought of fucking in a place of death, a place of violence, chilled your spine.
"Tell me to stop, then." He orders.
You couldn't find the words, thoughts drowned out by need—by desire, and you felt him smirk against your skin.
Reaching for the edges of your shirt, he lifted the fabric over your head, laying it behind you on the cold granite.
You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging at the silken strands as he groaned at the ache. You smiled, tugging his head back, attaching your lips and dragging your tongue to his jaw, his neck, his chest—anything and everything you could reach.
With one quick motion, he pulled you off the sink, turning you around and pushing you face-first into the sink. His palm held your head to the cool granite, keeping you in place. Your breath hitched as he pulled your pants down, taking your underwear with. His hands squeezed and grabbed at your ass before administering a sharp slap. You cried out as he leaned into your ear.
"You want me to fuck you?" You whined, your eyes closed, taking in the moment with him. "Fuck you so the guard outside knows who you belong to you?"
He tugged at his pants, removed them completely, and aligned himself to you. He pushed into you with a force that knocked the air from your lungs.
Your neck was pulled at such an angle that you could see yourself in the mirror—cheeks red, lips puffy, and mouth agape as In-ho was mercilessly fucking you. Your hips ached from the force of hitting the counter, making you shriek. He groaned, "I missed you," he leaned forward again, and you grabbed at his neck behind you, pulling him closer.
You whined, "I-I think—" he grabbed at your jaw, "cum for me," he demanded, forcing your climax to shatter through you. Biting at your shoulder, he fucked you through it, reaching his peak a moment later.
As he slowed, he kept himself right where he was, wrapping his arms around your front and offering a sweet kiss to your cheek.
"That was fun, but I really need to pee." You whispered.
Sitting up slowly, you watched as In-ho moved around the small bathroom, his movements almost automated as he dressed. The sound of fabric rustling filled the silence, but inside, you felt anything but calm. A wave of guilt, heavy and suffocating, crashed over you, the weight of it pressing down on your chest.
What had you just done?
You both had fucked like everything was fine, like you were on some sort of carefree vacation, lost in the moment. But this wasn't a vacation. This wasn't a time for pleasure or escape. People were dying here—people you didn't know, people you'd likely never see again. And yet, you had let yourself indulge in something as fleeting and intimate as this as if nothing mattered. As if you were safe.
The realization hit you with sharp clarity. You were not safe.
You stood quickly, your hands shaking as you hurriedly slipped your shirt and pants back on. The fabric felt tight and foreign against your skin, as if you were suddenly aware of the gravity of every movement, every breath.
You glanced over at In-ho, who had stopped midway through shrugging into his jacket, his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the change in your demeanor. His gaze softened, but the concern in his eyes only made the guilt in your stomach churn harder.
_______________
The next game arrived faster than you had anticipated, and the tension in your chest only deepened as you prepared yourself for whatever twisted challenge awaited. You instinctively attached yourself to In-ho, walking shoulder to shoulder with him, Mina's hand securely in yours. The three of you were a united front, or at least you tried to be. In-ho, however, refused to acknowledge it, his disdain for Mina simmering just beneath the surface, his gaze sharp and focused as he kept a distance between them.
Entering the game room, your breath caught at the sight before you: a massive merry-go-round, the painted horses eerily still, surrounded by a strange sense of foreboding. You couldn't help but glance around, trying to make sense of it all.
"Any ideas yet?" you asked Mina, but before she could respond, In-ho cut in with an air of certainty.
"Mingle," he said simply.
You turned toward him, a flicker of surprise in your eyes. "How are you so sure?"
Mina's brow furrowed with suspicion, matching your confused look as she eyed him closely. In-ho gave you both a quick glance before answering with a confidence that made your skin crawl.
"The rooms, the platform. It's obvious."
Without another word, he walked ahead, leaving you and Mina in his wake. Mina leaned in closer, her voice low, filled with an edge of concern.
"Don't you think he's guessing a little...too well?"
You pushed her lightly, a knot forming in your stomach as you caught onto the insinuation.
"Don't be silly. We don't even know if he's right."
But Mina wasn't letting it go. She grabbed your shoulders firmly, her eyes crinkling with worry, her voice taking on a more urgent tone.
"I'm saying this as your bestest friend, y/n," she insisted, her gaze locking onto yours, "but something feels off." Her grip tightened, and you felt the weight of her words settle in your chest.
Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, as she leaned closer.
"I've been watching him. I've caught this look in his eye—this calculated look—and it's just giving me this god-awful feeling. The way he threatened that older man, how quickly he figured things out... doesn't it make you wonder why he just randomly appeared after the first game?"
You could feel your heartbeat quicken, the creeping unease crawling up your spine. Mina wasn't the type to stir the pot without reason, and her concern was palpable, making your own doubts resurface. You hadn't noticed it before, but now—he was different. His reactions, his confidence—it all seemed a little too... precise. Too perfect. Not to mention the guard shrinking from his demand.
You swallowed hard, trying to push the rising fear down. "Mina... you're overthinking it."
But the doubt gnawed at you, and the unease in your gut only grew heavier.
"Maybe I am," Mina said, her voice filled with uncertainty but still holding a note of conviction.
She paused, then added, "Just listen for the announcement. If he's wrong, you can spend the rest of our lives rubbing it in."
She gave a slight, teasing snicker, her smile a little more strained now, as if trying to lighten the growing tension.
"Just don't die on me and ruin the moment," she added, the last part almost playful, but there was an underlying concern in her voice.
You couldn't help but laugh, the sound coming out a little too nervous to be genuine, but you couldn't help it. "Oh, don't worry," you said, forcing a grin as you nudged her shoulder. "I'm definitely going to outlive you."
Mina's arm swung around your shoulders, pulling you in tight for a brief, tight hug. Her grip was almost protective, and you could feel her warmth seep through your clothes, an odd comfort in a place like this.
"If you do outlive me," she muttered into your ear, "just promise me you'll still remember who had your back when no one else did."
Her words were light, but you knew she meant them as the two of you stepped on the platform next to In-ho.
The familiar woman's voice echoed, but it felt distant like you were hearing it through a thick fog, muffled and hollow.
"Players, welcome to the second game."
A chill ran down your spine.
"For your next game, you will be playing Mingle.”
Your heart stopped.
No, it couldn't be. Not this. The ground beneath you seemed to tilt, and for a moment, everything went still. Your body felt weightless, detached from the reality around you. The world felt like it was spinning, but you were anchored somewhere far away, watching yourself as if from a distance.
You glanced at Mina, your hand trembling in hers as your gaze locked onto hers, the panic written all over your face mirrored in hers. The sound of the woman's voice faded into static, her words becoming unintelligible as your hearing seemed to dull, the world slipping further from your grasp.
You squeezed Mina's hand with a strength you didn't know you had, but the pressure in your chest only tightened. Her expression softened into something akin to sorrow, the pity in her eyes somehow making everything worse. It was as if she could feel what you were experiencing—the crushing weight of the game's announcement.
Too afraid to look at In-ho, you kept your eyes fixed on Mina, clinging to her as if she could pull you back from the edge as if she could stop everything from falling apart. But the feeling—the sense of drowning in your own mind—was overwhelming, suffocating. The fear clawed at you, and you couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the sense of losing yourself in the chaos of it all.
It was like the world was rushing forward, and you were stuck, frozen in place, unable to breathe.
It was as if everything fell into place in that moment, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together with a sickening clarity. The rush of realization hit you all at once, and it was like a weight was crushing your chest.
You thought back to the things he'd said, the things he'd done—each one a thread leading you to this horrifying truth. The way he'd spoken to you at the coffee shop, so calm and calculated, the same cold detachment in his voice now. That look in his eyes—it wasn't just about the game, wasn't just about survival. It was something darker.
He knew exactly where Mina was losing her money. He knew, and he didn't care. And that violent threat he made to that man—it wasn't a slip of anger, wasn't a moment of desperation. It was deliberate. Purposeful. The guard, too, obeying him without question—it wasn't just chance.
"Don't worry about them," he had said in the bathroom. And now, the words echoed in your mind, twisted with new meaning, the lie hanging heavy between you.
You turned to him slowly in that instant, your heart hammering in your chest. The betrayal was like a sharp knife, cutting deeper with every passing second. His cold countenance met your gaze, and in that moment, it all became painfully clear. His indifference to everything, to everyone around him—it wasn't survival for him.
It wasn't coincidence. It wasn't a fluke. It was him.
You looked down and off in the distance.
The games — It was him.
Mina's grip tightened around your hand, pulling you forward off the platform in a blur. You hadn't even realized the game had started—your mind was still reeling, the weight of the revelation suffocating your thoughts. The number 2 echoed in the air, and the pressure of the game became all too real.
Before you could even process what was happening, a sudden force yanked you back, your arm jerking as a strong hand latched onto you. You were pulled against a hard, familiar chest, and you barely had time to breathe before you recognized the feeling—the cold, unyielding presence of In-ho.
A jolt of panic shot through you, but Mina wasn't letting you go that easily. She struggled to break free, her hand reaching for yours, fighting with everything she had to drag you away from him. But it was no use, as a passerby knocked her down with a strong force.
In-ho was swift, dragging you toward the nearest room without hesitation, his grip firm on your arm. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, but before you could even register the danger, a man appeared from the shadows, lunging forward and knocking you to the ground.
Twenty seconds
The urgency of the countdown pulsed in the air. In-ho reacted in an instant, grabbing the man by the shoulders and slamming him back.
"Get in! Go!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
You didn't need to be told twice. Fear surged through your body, and you bolted for the room, throwing yourself inside. But as the door slammed behind you, your heart sank—there was already someone in the room. The man's partner, standing tall, blocking the way.
In-ho was hot on your heels, entering just a moment later. His eyes immediately locked onto the intruder.
"Out," he commanded coldly, his voice carrying authority. But the man stood his ground, refusing to move.
Ten Seconds
In-ho didn't hesitate. He circled around the man with lightning speed, his movements precise and calculated. Before the man could react, In-ho had him in a chokehold, his grip unyielding.
The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as your pulse raced in your throat. Terrified, you backed against the wall, eyes wide with panic. You could feel the countdown in your chest, each second more suffocating than the last.
5...4...3...2...1
A sharp, sickening crack split the silence, and the man's body went limp in In-ho's arms, his life snuffed out in an instant. The room seemed to freeze, and for a moment, all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.
You slid down the wall in a daze, your breath shallow as you pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the shock and nausea threatening to overwhelm you. You couldn’t look away from the lifeless form, the reality of what had just happened sinking in, making your head spin.
Mina.
You jumped to your feet, looking out the small window of the room.
You couldn't find her.
That was a good thing, right?
Remaining in the room, that same woman's voice spoke over the loudspeaker.
"The following players have been eliminated."
"Player 022, 120, 207..."
You tried to block out the sound of the numbers, each one echoing in your mind like a drumbeat, relentless and deafening. But then, the one number you’d been desperately praying would never come—the one you feared more than any other—was announced.
"Player 067, eliminated."
The words felt like a physical blow, crashing into you with an intensity that took your breath away. A cold, sinking feeling spread through your chest as reality shattered. The world blurred around you, the weight of the announcement pressing down on your entire being, suffocating you.
You screamed, the sound raw and desperate, a cry that seemed to tear from your very soul. You screamed until your throat burned, until the pain in your chest was too much to bear, until everything in your vision distorted in the haze of shock and grief.
And then, cold hands gripped your shoulders—too cold, too steady. In-ho pulled you, almost as if he were dragging you into the abyss with them. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think. All that remained was the sound of your own voice breaking, the empty, hollow realization that you’d lost someone you couldn’t afford to lose in this hellish place.
His hands guided you down to the floor, but your legs refused to hold you. You crumpled, your body trembling violently as the weight of the loss crushed you.
There was nothing but the scream in your throat and the terrible, empty silence that followed the words you could never unhear.
____________________________________
You didn’t remember slipping into unconsciousness, but in that moment, it felt like a mercy—an escape from the crushing weight of reality.
When you awoke, everything felt distant, foreign, like you had been transported to a place where nothing mattered anymore. The world around you was different, but you barely registered it, your mind too numb to care.
In-ho stood in front of you, his presence as suffocating as the silence that hung between you. His eyes bore into yours, but yours were hollow, glassy, stripped of the light they once had.
"Drink this," he murmured, extending an undersized glass of liquor. His voice was steady, yet cold, as if rehearsed. You took the glass with trembling hands but not to drink. With a sharp motion, you hurled it across the room. The glass shattered against the wall, fragments raining down like jagged tears.
"You're despicable," you spat, the words seething with venom. His face barely flinched, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something-pain? Regret? It didn't matter.
"You were never meant to be involved, y/n. If you would have just come to me about your troubles this wouldn't have happened."
You scoffed, your lip curling in contempt. "Oh, and everything would have been perfect, wouldn't it? You jetting off on your little 'business trips,' murdering people, while I stayed home like some clueless fool, keeping your bed warm and smiling like an idiot. Is that how you imagined it?"
Your voice wavered, thick with bitterness, as tears burned your cheeks.
"How..how could you do it?" He circled you, slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering prey. He sank into the loveseat behind you with an air of calculated calm, gesturing for you to sit. His hand barely moved, a silent command. You didn't budge.
He sighed, "I'm doing this for us, for you. Don't you see? The people chosen for the game are parasites—leeches consumed by greed and selfishness. They deserve to be eliminated from existence. Whether they're crushed in the process or crawl away with their filthy riches, it doesn't matter. Either way, they're removed from our world."
Your breath caught in your throat, the words slicing through you like a jagged blade. For a moment, you couldn't speak, couldn't even think. His voice, so calm, so calculating, made your skin crawl.
"For us?" you finally choked out, your voice trembling, caught between disbelief and anguish.
"How can you even say that?"
He didn't flinch, didn't waver, his eyes cold and distant. But you? You were unraveling. Your chest heaved as if trying to contain the storm brewing inside you.
"People? Parasites? Is that what you think they are? Is that what you thought Mina was? Is that why you had her killed?
"Is that what you think I am?" The words came out sharp, but your voice cracked under the weight of your emotions.
That seemed to get to him. He rose from his seat with slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving yours.
"You?" he said, his voice softer now but no less chilling. "You're not like them."
He began walking toward you, his steps measured, almost cautious, like he was approaching a cornered animal.
"You're not here for your own gain, not for greed or selfish desires. You're here for your father, fighting to save him. That’s why I-I” He started, but you scoffed cutting him off.
But as he drew closer, you instinctively stepped back, your feet moving before your mind could catch up. A cold rush of fear swept over you. You'd never been afraid of him before, but now? Now, you couldn't trust what he was capable of.
"In-ho... don't," you whispered, your voice shaking.
He froze mid-step, his hand half-raised toward you, his brows knitting together. "Don't do that," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Don't back away from me. Please, don't... don't be afraid of me."
Your heart clenched, but his words didn't bring comfort. They only deepened the chasm between you.
How could this be the same man who once made you laugh until your sides hurt? Who wiped your tears with such tenderness that you thought your heart might burst from the love you felt for him? Memories surged through you—the quiet mornings, the stolen smiles, the promises whispered in the dark. You thought of every moment you had shared, the man you believed in, the man you loved with everything you had.
And now, here he was—a stranger standing before you, cloaked in the shadow of someone you used to know.
"How can I not be afraid?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt the knife twist in your back. Your eyes dropped to the crimson spreading across your clothes, the sheer volume of people's blood making your stomach churn. You trembled uncontrollably, paralyzed by shock and disbelief. Through your haze of agony, you caught In-ho's gaze. His expression was a storm of guilt and regret, but it only deepened your devastation as you crumbled before him.
Finally, your voice cracked again. "I…I need space."
His expression faltered, pain flashing across his face. "Space?"
You nodded, wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands. "I can't… I need to think. Please."
He hesitated, then nodded slowly, though his posture screamed reluctance. "You can take the spare bedroom," he said softly. "Down the hall, second door on the left."
Without another word, you turned and walked away, your legs heavy and unsteady beneath you. When you reached the room, you stepped inside and slammed the door shut, locking it before leaning back against it. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your mind racing.
After a moment, you crossed the room, grabbing fresh towels from the small cabinet. You needed to wash it all away—the day, the deaths, the violence. Everything.
The bathroom was dimly lit, the only sound the steady rush of warm water from the shower. You stepped inside, sinking down onto the cold tile floor as the water poured over you, mixing with your tears.
Your mind raced, flashing back to the chaos of the day—the screams, the blood, the merciless decisions. And at the center of it all, the one pulling the strings was him. In-ho.
But then, as much as you wanted to hate him, memories of the past three years flooded your mind. His laughter that lit up even your darkest days. The way he'd hold you, whispering that everything would be okay. The small, thoughtful gestures that made you feel so loved. The way he'd make love.
You buried your face in your hands, the water soaking through your hair and down your bare skin. You still loved him. Even after everything, your heart ached for him.
But how could you reconcile the man who once made your world brighter with the man you'd seen today? The man who was capable of orchestrating so much death and pain?
Your shoulders shook as sobs wracked your body. You didn't know what to do. You didn't know if you could forgive him or if you could ever look at him the same way again.
And yet, even in the depths of your confusion and heartbreak, one thing was painfully clear—you still loved him, but you're not even sure he existed anymore.
__________________
It had been two weeks, two long weeks of isolation. You barely left your room, only emerging when absolutely necessary —for food or the fleeting desire for a change in scenery. In-ho had tried, time and time again, to draw you out of your silence, but every time he spoke, every time his eyes met yours, you couldn't even bring yourself to acknowledge him. The pain was still too raw.
Now, standing in front of the mirror, brushing your damp hair, you let the motions soothe you for a moment. The simple act of taking care of yourself felt almost comforting. But then a knock at the door broke through the quiet.
You approached cautiously, heart beating faster as you turned the knob, only to find In-ho standing there. He said nothing at first, just looked at you, his expression unreadable.
"I want to show you something," he said, his voice low.
You hesitated, shaking your head, instinctively wanting to retreat back into the safety of your room. But his next words made you pause, the sincerity in his eyes pulling at something deep inside of you.
"Please."
It was a simple plea, but it held something genuine—something that made you want to trust him, just for a moment. You sighed, giving in, and followed him down the hall to his office.
The space was quiet and orderly as always. In-ho circled around his desk and sat down, and you stood, hugging your arms tightly to yourself, feeling the chill of the room. He beckoned you over, and you approached, curiosity and apprehension warring in your chest.
He opened a file on his computer, and as the video began to play, your eyes scanned the screen. You recognized the area instantly—it was right outside the city hospital, a place so familiar to you.
And then, you saw him. Your father, sitting in a wheelchair. Beside him, your mother. And the woman next to them…
Mina.
Your heart leaped in your chest, the tears welling up in your eyes as the weight of the moment crashed down on you.
You blinked, trying to steady yourself as you turned to In-ho, your voice shaky. "How..."
He looked back at you, his tone softer than you expected. "Mina was removed from the games. Her death was faked." He turned the screen toward you, showing more of the footage. "As for your father, I made sure the necessary funds were sent and lined him up with a donor."
A sense of relief flooded through you like a tidal wave. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but one thing was clear—everything was going to be okay.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you could breathe again. The people you cared about were safe. Your father was getting the help he needed, and Mina—Mina was alive.
Tears streamed down your face, but they were no longer tears of grief. They were tears of release, of a weight finally lifted.
In-ho's gaze met yours, his eyes unwavering as he reached out to take your hands gently in his. His touch was warm, grounding, as if he was trying to reassure you, to remind you that you were no longer alone in this.
"I swore to you," he said, his voice low and steady, "that everything I did, every decision, every action—it would be for you."
You slid into his lap, your knees trembling as you took his face in your hands, wiping away the stray tear that escaped down his cheek. His skin felt warm against your palms, a comfort you had clung to so many times before, but now it only reminded you of how much had changed—how far apart the two of you had drifted.
"All these years," you began, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes, "all I've known is what you've allowed me to know. Half of who you are. And I loved that half—I loved it with everything in me." Your voice faltered, but you forced yourself to continue, your fingers trembling as they traced the curve of his jaw. "But this," you said, gesturing to the cold, sterile facility surrounding you, "this is something I can't forgive. These people… they're not parasites or leeches. They're human beings, In-ho. Human beings who were dealt a bad hand. And you've turned their suffering into a game."
His brows furrowed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he said nothing. You could see it—the war raging in his mind, the guilt and conflict he was too proud to admit. You leaned in closer, your forehead almost touching his as you whispered, your voice trembling, "I'm going to give you a choice."
His hands slid up your waist instinctively, as if trying to anchor himself to you, trying to hold on to the one thing he couldn't bear to lose. You felt his grip tighten, desperate, but you pressed on, your words cutting through the silence.
"Come home with me," you said, your voice cracking with emotion. "Leave this all behind and we can reset. Walk away from this nightmare, because if you don't…" Your breath caught as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. "If you don't, In-ho, you will never see me again."
His eyes widened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face as he processed your words. You saw the gears turning in his mind, the walls he had built around himself crumbling under the weight of your ultimatum. His grip on you faltered, his hands trembling as he clung to you like a lifeline.
"In-ho," you whispered, your voice barely audible, "please. I can't save you from this. You have to save yourself."
For a long, agonizing moment, he said nothing, his silence filling the room like a deafening roar. And as you stared into his eyes, searching for the man you had loved for so long, you realized this moment would either be the beginning of something new—or the end of everything.
#hwang in ho#hwang in ho x reader#front man x reader#front man#in ho squid game#fanfic#squid game season 2#the frontman#squid game fanfic#fan fiction#the front man x reader
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how dae-ho would act like if he had a crush on reader and how he’d ask them out
this is too cute! i desperately need to write for dae-ho more, he’s just such a sweetheart i fear :>
Crush Headcanons! (Player 388/Kang Dae-ho Headcanons)
warning: no smut! | lowercase intended | not proofread! | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my opinions on the character differ from your own :)
character: kang dae-ho (player 388)
A/N: this is a mix of headcanons + drabble but i hope thats alright it’s nice to take a break from smut every now and again :) i’ve got lots of dae-ho in my requests so i’ll try my best to feed you all .3. of course, i hope you enjoy!
──── ☽⃝ ────
⟢ the moment he first took notice of you as everyone was getting their photos taken for the games, he was completely starstruck. from that point forward, dae-ho found his eyes being drawn to you wherever you guys were
⟢ he felt a new sense of urgency to make sure you lived throughout these games, after red light green light he made a vow with himself to ensure you were protected at all costs. he was quick to introduce himself post the first game, and you guys were fast friends.
⟢ he’s not the type to be insecure or jealous when he sees you interacting with the other men inbetween games. there was few men you did talk to anyways, seeing as most of them either got on your nerves or intimidated you way too much. however, he did find himself a tiny bit jealous when he saw how easily you got along with the other guys in his group
⟢ you didn’t end up making it on dae-ho’s team for the six legged pentathlon, but he did his best to calm your nerves before the game started up. he promised he would cheer you on and that he definitely did. he definitely lit up when you ran up to him afterwards, going on about how worried you were about him after you left
⟢ he 100% would share his food with you, especially if he noticed you were particularly shaken up after a game
⟢ adding onto the last piece, dae-ho will also definitely try to cheer you up after the games
⟢ i think he would definitely hold off on asking you out, especially during such a high stakes situation as the squid games. at some point later on, when you guys are closer, you two will promise to see more of each other once the games are finished.
⟢ although dae-ho certainly isn’t one to start a fight, he will put himself between you and any unruly players who try to start something with you. he doesn’t have any trouble putting someone in their place if he feels you would be in any sort of danger
⟢ insisted that you slept with his group during lights out, so he could watch over you and be certain on your safety when you were sleeping
⟢ 100% hugs you tightly after the mingle game, especially if you two got separated. you could tell he didn’t want to let you go at this point, as he was definitely worried that you didn’t make it into a group before the time ran out
⟢ will for sure ask you all about your life before the games, and even about what you’ll do with the prize money when you guys get out
──── ☽⃝ ────
apologies for the less headcanons this time around! i saw more opportunities for small drabbles between the headcanons and i had to seize it! i had a lot of fun writing this out, and i hope you guys all had just as much fun reading it! as always any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested
have a splendid day lovelies 💋
tags: @gongyoosgf @agorsnotsworld @kvstjwonnie @marymustdie @pink-apples001 @wonestro @luvlyfandoms @putrescentpoet
#player 388#dae ho x reader#kang dae ho#squid game 2#squid game#fanfiction#squid game x reader#x reader fanfiction#imagines#sfw headcanons
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miss bug I have something to ask 🙋♀️
i don’t know if you do sickfics but! mayhaps steve and shy!reader where she doesn’t show up for school, steve goes to her house, and she’s utterly mortified because she feels like she’s nowhere near presentable
thank u for requesting!! — king steve pays his lab partner a visit when he hears you're sick, but definitely not because he has a crush on you (shy!reader, friends to lovers | 1.6k)
bug's two year celebration ♡
Steve waits for you that morning with half a bagel and his heart in his throat.
The desks in Ms. Click’s class grow slowly full with bustling bodies — some sluggish like zombies, others too chipper for an early morning. Steve cranes his head in search of your face in the crowd. Yours never shows, which is strange for Hawkins High’s future Valedictorian.
“Where is your partner, Mr. Harrington?” Ms. Click wonders beneath the grating morning bell. She ducks her head to peer across the classroom over her sparkly, cat-eye glasses.
Steve pauses, mid-bite of his sausage-egg-and-cheese. He shrugs wordlessly, with a wad of food jutting his cheek and crumbs sticking to his mouth.
The older woman sighs, too used to King Steve’s antics. She looks past him and asks, “What about you, Miss Buckley? Where’s Carol?”
“Probably under the bleachers with Tommy Hagan,” Robin mutters under her breath, though loud enough for everyone around her to hear, causing them to bite back their subsequent laughter. Steve, himself, nearly chokes on his bagel.
“Well, you’ll just have to pair up with Steven for the day,” Ms. Click tells her.
“Oh, god…” Robin groans in a whisper.
“Get to work.”
Steve spins his chair around to face the girl behind him, who he only really knew because of how highly you spoke of her. Despite your frequent praises, Robin doesn’t even look at him, nor does she bother to make mindless small talk. She just keeps her head down and scribbles notes on a worksheet.
Steve, in spite of their differing statuses, struggles to find the courage to talk to her.
He slouches and tilts back his chair. “Hey, do you, um—”
“We don’t have to make conversation, alright?” Robin interjects before he can even start. She keeps her head bowed but glares daggers from beneath her lashes. “Let’s just get this hour over with so we never speak to each other again.”
Steve’s eyes widen. “Well, I was— I was just gonna ask where your friend was. ‘Cause I don’t think she’s missed a day since, like, kindergarten.”
Robin’s freckled face flushes. She’d feel worse about being so short with him if he wasn’t such a douchebag. “Oh. Uh, she’s— She’s sick, I think.”
“Sick?”
His chest pinches with an immediate worry. Robin bites back a smirk at King Steve’s palpable concern for arguably the biggest nerd on this side of Hawkins. “Yeah,” she shrugs. “I figured she was just allergic to your hairspray.”
Steve laughs under his breath and turns away. Robin smiles only until he looks back at her, now with a brown paper bag in hand. It was meant to be for you — an even piece of his bagel, ‘cause he knows you don’t get breakfast yourself. He figures you’d rather not want it to go to waste.
“Want my other half?” he offers to the girl across from him, like some kinda olive branch.
Robin’s eyes dart from Steve to the paper sack and back again. It goes against every code in her personal handbook to take anything from Hawkins Royalty, but she shrugs in response anyway. “What the hell. Sure.”
—————
Finding your trailer isn’t hard. He visited there, once, for a project at the beginning of the school year. It’s the house directly across from the Freak’s. Eddie made it a point to play his guitar as loud as he possibly could, knowing The Hair was around to hear it. (Munson would never miss an opportunity to annoy King Steve, and honestly, you couldn’t blame him).
Steve decides to make his entrance through your bedroom window. Dead, unmanicured grass crunches under his sneakers as he rounds your trailer. He rises to the tips of his toes and knocks four times on the high-up window. The old glass feels strangely delicate under his fist.
He waits for an answer for several long moments. When he doesn’t get one, he lifts his hand to knock again. The window squeaks open before he can — and there he finds you, standing above him, holding a half-empty box of tissues in your hand like you plan to hit him with it.
“Whoa—” Steve flinches.
You look equally shocked to see him, fear swimming in your glassy eyes. “Oh, my god—”
“Sorry,” he grimaces with his palms splayed in surrender. “It’s just me.”
“I thought you were a burglar or something…”
“And what? You were gonna take me out with a box of tissues?” His laughter feels like warm honey compared to your splitting, icy migraine.
You take in a heaving breath and swallow hard through a stinging throat. “Sorry,” you sniffle. “Come— Come in.”
As Steve climbs through your window, trying hard not to get caught in the curtains, you become very hyperaware of your living space. It is your childhood bedroom, after all — every phase of your life is stored within these tiny four walls. Posters, trinkets, slightly dated decor. And on top of all that, you’ve been living like a total slob since you got sick over the weekend.
Your bed’s a mess, you’ve got bottled water and tissues piling in the bin, and you haven’t changed out of your pajamas in two days. It’s certainly no way to greet the king of Hawkins High, though he doesn’t quite seem to mind.
“You coulda just knocked on the door, you know?” you mumble, slightly nasally, as you swipe a balled-up tissue under your nose. “I would’ve let you in.”
Steve pants and stands to full height again, finally in your room with little to no struggle (though he’s pretty sure he’s stamped his footprint on your wall).
“Well, what can I say? I like to make an entrance,” he jokes with a lopsided smile. The rosy expression fades when your glassy eyes glaze over with a faraway look. “…You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry, I’m just…” you shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. “I’m just a little lightheaded. That’s all.”
Steve rushes to your swaying form without thinking. He grasps your arms in two wide, gentle hands. His honey eyes are wide and wild as they dart over your features, sufficiently bleary with whatever bug you’ve caught.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you insist despite the obvious. “Just can’t break this stupid fever.”
“Here. Lay back down.”
He guides you the short distance to your bed, foreignly patient with your sluggish movements. He keeps a hold of you with one hand and reaches for the mussed blankets with the other, pulling them back to ease you beneath them.
“Sorry for bailing on you today,” you apologize in nearly inaudible slurs as the boy props you against the pillows.
Steve shakes his head with a quiet smile. “You’re sick. It’s okay. Stop apologizing,” he insists and tucks the covers on top of you again. You can smell his aftershave when he leans over you, a striking minty scent that melts nicely with his deeper cologne.
“Sorry,” you repeat before you can help it.
Steve rises again and fights the urge to brush the hair sticking to your clammy cheek. “Have you had any medicine?”
“I had some… cough syrup earlier…” you slur, face half-buried in the pillows.
“What about food?” he asks with his hand on his cocked hip. “Had any of that?”
“‘M too sick for food.”
Steve laughs and fills the gloomy room with sunshine. “You have to eat, babe. So you can get your energy back. That’s, like, science or whatever—”
His eyes widen, only then realizing his use of the nickname. His heart drops to his ass. He hopes he said it so quickly that you missed it. You seem to have, as sick as you are, basically half-asleep before him.
You’d heard it, though. The word alone has your delicate heart beating with a newfound fervor. You can’t tell if it’s killing you or bringing you back to life.
Steve starts rambling before he realizes it. “I can whip you something up, if you want. I make a mean macaroni and cheese— In the microwave, obviously, ‘cause I’m less likely to burn it that way. Did you know that you can actually burn pasta in the microwave? Yeah, I had to learn that one the hard way—”
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you just sit with me?” you sniffle, eyes still shut. “Please?”
He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah. Yeah, of— Of course, yeah.”
The boy climbs into your bed with a lot less confidence than he’s used to. This is by no means the first time he’s been in another girl’s bed, but something about this one feels different. This time, he has to keep reminding himself to breathe. This time, his hands are all clammy and tingling with an anxiety he isn’t used to. This time, he feels so utterly unsure in his body that he doesn’t know how he became King Steve in the first place — let alone how he got here, next to you.
What’d an asshole like me do to deserve all this? his mind reels.
Your breath catches when the mattress dips under his weight. He sits over the covers, but still a lot closer than you thought he might, all things considered. You turn slowly onto your back to look at him without going dizzy again.
“You’re not scared you’ll get sick?” you croak, blinking up at him with sleep-swollen eyes.
Steve shrugs with his back propped against the headboard. “Not really. I mean, what’s the worst-case scenario— I get sick and have to be quarantined here with you? That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”
His lips curl into a lopsided smile that makes your chest feel sparkly. You turn away and hide your own grin in the pillow. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,” you quip, half-muffled in the cushion.
“Yeah, I know,” he hums, never once taking his eyes off you.
He can’t wait to kiss you when you’re better.
#published by bug#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#stranger things x reader#steve harrington imagine#stranger things imagine#steve harrington#stranger things#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x shy!reader#steve harrington fluff#st drabbles#stevie drabble#event: bug turns two
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I love Tommy's little subtle smile before he kisses Buck for the first time.
Imagine being in his shoes, you've made a new friend whose best friend is hot. You develop a crush after he touches your shoulder after the cruise ship rescue.
Days go by, and he finally calls and asks for a tour. During the tour, his eyes are mostly on you, and he's smiling so bright that you can't help but test the waters with some subtle flirting.
Then your new friend arrives, and your crush looks upset.
You see him next at a basketball game, which is weird because you've been told that he never comes to these games.
But damn, he does look good in his workout clothes. He checks you out, you check him out, you lose your breath when your gazes meet. You play it off by taunting and fist bumping him.
Both of your gazes are on each other before you start playing.
Then he attacks his best friend and you take the friend to the hospital. This was not how he expected things to go down. Maybe your crush is secretly into his best friend, maybe he's just platonically jealous. But you don't like that things have gone south so fast, so you show up at your crush's door to talk.
The more you talk, the closer you and he get. He's getting closer, being playful, complimenting you, telling you that he wants to get to know you. The butterflies are in full effect, and you can't help but glance down at his pretty reddish-pink plump lips.
He gets even closer, you joke around, but then he gets serious and tells you he's been trying to get your attention.
Then it all clicks into place. The staring, the nervous stutter, the tour where he could barely take his eyes off you, the basketball game where he also couldn't take his eyes off you.
He's standing so close, looking shy but so cute. So you go for it.
You take half a step, lift his chin, and kiss him. After a second he melts into the kiss and kisses you back. When you pull away, his eyes are wide yet soft. Oh.
Your face is stoic, but when he confirms that he wanted the kiss and how good it was, you soften for a few seconds. Then you ask him out, and he says yes. His eyes are dazed yet completely focused on you.
Oh. This man is going to ruin you.
He's going to break your heart.
You just know it.
But you smile and set the plans anyway.
It's probably a bad idea, he looks new to all of this, but you can't help yourself. Maybe it's worth the risk.
Plus, he has a great ass.
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I do agree with it being a genuine issue that people can't fathom relationships that aren't romantic or sexual but as equally devoted to each as those ones.
It's an issue in fandom and also in real life.
I'm very very close with my best friend and I have the same level of devotion towards them as one would a romantic partner. I'd buy a house with them or raise a kid, stuff like that. But we aren't romantically/sexually involved with each other and don't ever want to be.
Also because we are physically affectionate with each other people are always asking if we are having sex or if we are dating or when are we going to date.
It's aggravating because somehow our commitment for each other is viewed as lesser because we aren't doing all that.
I do think it's how we are socialized as we are growing up that makes this an issue.
(Excuse me while I stand on my soap box about platonic physical affection) People like to forget that we are a species that not only craves physical affection but we also Need it to some degree to be healthy, like human babies will straight up perish if they aren't held enough. We don't exactly grow out of that.
(This is, of course, excluding people who don't want to be touched and such. Works the same way as a healthy food, tho it's good for you not everyone is gonna like that food or eat it.)
OH ABSOLUTELY
Unfortunately, the social norm is that romance/sex is superior by default (which is absolute bullshit), all sorts of love are of the same importance, whether romantic or platonic
I think it also comes with the lack of understanding that we have different social needs, for example, I personally can’t even understand the concept of crushes at all, (like wait, people getting romantic feelings for someone they don’t know is real?????? Love at first sight isn’t a bullshit movie thing and people actually fall in love at first sight?????)
My understanding doesn’t matter as much as my behavior does, just because I don’t understand how someone can fall in love with another person who they don’t know doesn’t mean I’ll go and tell someone with a crush that their love is invalid just because I don’t understand it personally
People on the other hand, are very comfortable telling people who aren’t romantically involved to “get on with it” or to ask invasive questions such as “when are you going to date” cause they lack the understanding that people can be just as devoted platonically as people who are devoted romantically
The difference was never the devotion, it’s just the type of love you share, and how you share it
As for physical affection, you’re absolutely right, we are social species by default but with different social needs, some people need physical affection to function, others don’t, some only need it at certain times in certain circumstances and so on
These differences between us is what makes us human, but alas, the majority think that their norm must be the norm for everyone else
Anyway, it’s so sweet to know you have your best friend, hope you guys live long happy lives, take care of yourselves, your love is just as valid and true <333333
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I love your writing so much its always so engaging start to finish! If you're feeling inspired/have the time I'd love a Rhea x reader fic where they have crushes on each other as friends, but one day when they're at Rhea's home and Rhea is trying on gear options so reader to help her decide what to wear, it turns into smut!
Hey! Thanks for the request!! Hope you enjoy
What You Do To Me-Rhea Ripley
It was one of those rare, quiet days when neither of you had any commitments. You had both found a little pocket of time to hang out, just the two of you. Rhea’s house was always comfortable, but today, there was a lightness to the air that made everything seem a little more… electric.
You had been friends for a while now—training buddies, workout partners, and more often than not, partners in crime whenever there was a wrestling show or event you both got invited to. You’d both harbored feelings for each other for months, but neither of you had ever made a move. Things between you two were already perfect. Why risk it?
At least, that’s what you told yourself.
Rhea had invited you over to help her decide on some new gear options for her upcoming match. She was picking between a few outfits and needed a second opinion. You agreed without hesitation, more than happy to spend time with her in the comfort of her own home.
You both sat in her living room, flicking through the various gear pieces she had laid out on the floor. There were a few bold options, some edgy choices, and a couple of pieces that screamed “Rhea Ripley” all over them. You were absolutely mesmerized by her casual confidence, her sharp eyes taking in every detail as she pulled the various items out of the pile.
“Okay, what do you think of this one?” Rhea asked, holding up a black and red set of gear. She stepped into the room, wearing nothing but the bottom half of the gear so far—barefoot, her toned legs and strong arms on full display.
Your breath hitched for just a second. You had to admit, the sight of her in such a powerful pose made your heart race. And even though this was nothing new—after all, you’d both seen each other in far less clothing during training—today felt different.
You swallowed thickly. “That looks… amazing on you,” you said, your voice softer than you intended.
Rhea smirked, clearly noticing the slight shift in your tone. She was trying to keep her focus on the clothes, but her eyes darted to you once more, catching the way your gaze lingered on her.
“I thought so too,” she said, voice teasing. “But is it too much? I want something that stands out, but I don’t want to go too over the top.”
You nodded, trying to compose yourself. You were supposed to be here to help not drool. The way she spoke made it clear she was playing it cool, but the subtle glint in her eyes said otherwise. It was almost as if she was testing the waters, pushing the boundaries of your friendship. And you were more than willing to dive into that uncertainty as long as you weren’t the one making the waves.
“I think it’s perfect,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “But let me see what else you have.”
She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the calm exterior you were putting on, but she went along with it. She stepped back into the room, this time changing into a different set, a deep purple outfit with metallic accents. She moved with grace, the fabric hugging her body in a way that made your heart skip a beat.
Rhea turned to face you, letting you get a good look. “And this one?”
You nodded slowly, a small smile playing at your lips. “You look incredible in anything you wear, honestly.”
Rhea’s gaze softened just slightly, though the teasing smirk never quite left her lips. “Quit being so nice mate, you’re gonna make me blush,” she teased, though there was a lightness to her words as if she barely meant it anyway.
You chuckled, your eyes flickering down to your lap to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “I mean it,” you said, voice a little more quiet now. “You always look great. But that one… it’s perfect.”
You met her gaze, the air in the room thickening just slightly. You could see the way her eyes softened as she watched you—something that had always been there, a pull between the two of you that neither of you had ever fully addressed.
“You reckon?” she asked, her voice quieter now, softer, almost vulnerable.
You felt a little bold. You stepped toward her, standing just a few feet away. “You’re stunning, Rhea. You know that, right?” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
Rhea’s lips parted, her breath hitching just slightly. There was a long pause, and then she took a step closer, her gaze not leaving yours. She stood just inches away now, the scent of her perfume filling the air between you. “You have no idea,” she said, her voice low and intimate.
The tension between you two was palpable now. The flirtation, the crush, the shared glances over the months…all of it had built up to this moment. Neither of you could deny it anymore. The chemistry was undeniable, and you both felt it.
Rhea took another step closer, her hand reaching up to touch your cheek. “You’re the only one who gets me,” she said softly, her thumb brushing against your skin. “I’ve wanted to tell you that for so long.”
Your breath caught in your throat. “Rhea, I—”
But before you could finish your sentence, Rhea leaned in, closing the space between you two. The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters of a relationship that had always been there, lurking beneath the surface.
The kiss deepened, your hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer as you finally let go of all the uncertainty and just gave in to what had been building between you two for so long. Rhea held your face possessivly in her inked hand and she pulled your shorter frame up against her mouth, her other one pushing your body closer to her own against your lower back.
When you pulled away, breathless and hearts racing, Rhea rested her forehead against yours, a satisfied smile playing at her lips.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she admitted, her voice raspy and she strokes her thumb on your cheek.
“Same,” you whispered, your hands still resting on her body gripping the waist belt of her gear as a handle, not wanting to let go.
Rhea grinned, a mix of satisfaction and something deeper in her gaze. “Well, now that that’s out of the way…” she said, trailing a finger down your arm. “What do you think of the gear now?”
You laughed, completely overwhelmed by everything. “You know what? I think whatever you wear, you’ll be the most gorgeous person in the room.”
Rhea’s smirk widened as she leaned in for another kiss, this one even more passionate, filled with all the unspoken words and promises that neither of you could hold in any longer.
Rhea’s lips hovered over yours, her breath mingling with yours as she smirked. “You know,” she murmured, her voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine, “you’re dangerous for my self-control.”
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as her hands rested firmly on your hips, pulling you just a little closer. “I could say the same about you,” you whispered, your voice trembling but bold, the warmth of her skin against yours making it hard to think. Trying to take in the sensations of her body that you’d been craving and listening to her talk was starting to get harder.
Her smirk deepened, and she picked you up by the waist, effortlessly guiding you toward the couch. Your laugh escaped before you could stop it, a mix of nerves and exhilaration, but it quickly turned into a gasp when she put you down gently, staring from above you.
“You’ve been driving me bloody insane for months,” she admitted, her hands braced on either side of you
Rhea leaned down, her lips brushing against yours in a teasing whisper. “Every time you smile at me, every little laugh, every touch… you have no idea what you do to me.”
Your breath hitched as her words sank in, and you reached up, your fingers threading through her dark hair, pulling her closer. “You’re not the only one,” you murmured. “I’ve been trying so hard not to… want you as more then we’ve been,”
Her eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw and passionate flashing through them. “Why would you hold back?” she asked, her tone a mix of challenge and vulnerability.
“Because I didn’t think you felt the same,” you admitted, your cheeks heating under her intense gaze. “You’re a super star wrestling champion and I’m,” you gestured at yourself
Rhea let out a low growl, the sound vibrating through her chest as she leaned down, her lips brushing your ear. “You’ve got no idea how wrong you were,” she whispered before gently nibbling your earlobe, “and are,”
Before you could respond, her lips finally captured yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. Her hands slid down your sides, her touch firm yet gentle, as if she was savoring the moment. You melted into her, your body instinctively arching to meet hers. Months of fighting your natural instinct to lean into her every chance you got had melted away immediately.
The kiss deepened, her tongue ring brushing against your lips, seeking permission that you eagerly granted. Your hands roamed over her shoulders and down her back, marveling at the strength beneath your fingertips. She groaned softly into the kiss, her body pressing more firmly against yours, the weight of her sending a thrilling jolt through you as your reminded how quickly she physically dominate your body.
When she finally pulled back, both of you were panting, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. “You’re even more beautiful like this, panting and flushed,” she said, her voice husky and full of admiration. “It’s been a bitch at the gym,”
You smiled, your hands resting on her waist. “You’re not so bad yourself, Ripley.”
She chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’re intolerable, you know that?”
“And you love it,” you teased, feeling more confident now that her feelings were out in the open.
Her smirk returned as she traced a finger down your cheek. “You’re right. I do.”
Rhea leaned in again, her kiss even more passionate than before, as if sealing the promise of what was to come. The heat between you was undeniable, and the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in each other’s arms.
Is it smut? No. Is it close? Also no. Forgive me🙏🏻 part 2🤔
#mami rhea#rhea ripley#rhea ripley fanfic#rhea ripley fanfiction#wwe one shot#wwe raw#rhea ripley fluff#rhea ripley x reader#rhea ripley x you#wwe#rhea ripley angst#rhea ripley x fem reader#rhea ripley x oc#rhea ripley smut#wwe rhea ripley#wweraw#wwe monday night raw#mamirhea#monday night mami#monday night raw
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okayyy hi how you doing??? hope your taking care of yourself! Anyways, Pedro Pascal and gn reader doing like a buzz feed quiz or vogue magazine type interview and being rlly cute and they have a lot of banter. The rest is up to you and your creative liberties.
Love you, stay safe 🫶
Heyy I am so sorry it's late and not very good either but i do hope you like it lol
They checked their hair in the mirror before walking out into the room where they would be doing the interview, today they would be doing an interview with their costar and secret crush, they fixed their outfit before sitting down on the ground beside their costar, they've had a crush on him for a while now speaking back and forth every once in a while on Instagram but now they were actually in a movie with him and they would be doing an interview with him. The pair would be doing the classic Buzzfeed interview with puppies everyone had seen, they smiled looking over at the man who adjusted his glasses and gave them a hug "oh my god (y/n) I've missed you so much" Pedro said with a happy look on his face, the man was always a touchy kind of guy but everytime he touched them they always got butterflies they smiled warmly at the man hugging him back he was warm and smelt of vanilla and a type of wood they loved it, the pair sat down talking for a little while talking about their days and catching up since they had last seen each other on set a couple of weeks ago. The camera eventually started rolling and the pair played with the puppies they laughed "oh it's just some sappy romcom nothing big" Pedro explains and they laugh "it's a huge deal everyone on the internet has been begging for this romcom" they explained holding a tiny pug in their arms petting it and Pedro shrugs "they may or may not have been begging me too but I also begged them to give me New Yorks best actor" he gestures to them and they laugh "I'm not the best actor that would be Pedro he's the one that pulled that whole movie through" they smiled at the man and he waved them off "no way honestly i think it was a team effort" Perdo grabbed thier hand gently causing them to blush and smile widely, they hoped the camera wouldn't pick up on that. A while went by and the pair had a good time laughing and playing with the dogs. The pair had finished filming the shoot "heyy it's always nice to see you" he smiled hugging them and they hugged back "um kind of awkward but would you want to get coffee sometime?" Pedro asked and they smiled "I would love to"
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The Joy of Life - Teenage Things
Finn Wilder was in his senior year at high school now. He was a very good student but he also made sure to have fun and attend activities with his friends. Finn also played in the football team and had already progressed to level 2. Ever since he had met Bria, Briar's best friend (I didn't choose the name lol), as kids, he had had the biggest crush on her. After years of being friends and silently observing her flirt with others from afar, Finn decided it was time to show some courage and just ask her out. Bria was surprised as Finn presented his proposal sign to her, which he had spent all week preparing. To Finn's delight, she said YES.
Briar was 2 years younger than Finn but she already had her future planned out perfectly. She wanted to become the best chef ever to exist and own a prestigious restaurant in Del Sol Valley. So, most of the meals the Boyer family ate at home were prepared by her - with Rosalie's help of course. Briar Rose hadn't met anyone she was interested in romantically. She had asked her best friend Aden out to prom, not because she was in love with him but because she knew he had a crush on her and frankly, Briar didn't fancy anyone. The only sim she had found remotely attractive was a rather mean sim, Frankie L'amour Perdue. That didn't bother Briar too much though. Frankie was being his honest self. And he admired her, a lot. And Briar craved attention more than anything else.
Read more ⬇️
All in all, teen years were (seemingly) going perfectly for the teens.
Still, Finn was far from being happy. He had been a toddler when his parents had first split and he had been a child when they had decided to give their relationship another chance when Rosalie got pregnant with Briar Rose. Thus, his parents relationship problems, thought they were nothing new to him, frustrated him a lot. Maybe it was the reason he had waited so long to ask Bria out. His parents had always told them they were soulmates and "the one" for each other - so why weren't they able to work through their issues together? It left Finn feeling jaded sometimes.
Briar was coping the best with their parents struggles out of all of Rosalie’s children. Cooking was therapeutic to Briar. To her, it was like painting and she kept dreaming about new ways to combine flavours and make dishes look aesthetically pleasing. Whenever she felt sad or angry or any other unwanted emotions, she fled into the world of spices, flavors, recipes. Creating new recipes and perfecting her cooking skills had become her safe space.
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Note:
Briar Rose is going to be tough cookie because she literally finds everyone to be "Unattractive" or "Very Unattractive". Frankie (the sim she is embracing) is at least "Attractive" but ngl I had been shipping her with Aden (second picture)... Anyways Finn and Bria are being the cutest lovebirds ever though, I'm loving every second of playing with them!
#tjolc gen 1#tjolc#tjol challenge#ts4#simblr#sims 4 screenshots#sims 4 legacy#ts4 stories#sims 4 gameplay#sims4 stories#the sims gameplay#ts4 simblr#ts4 gameplay#ts4 legacy#the sims 4 screenshots#the sims 4 challenge#the sims 4 legacy
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I can't even pretend, but I really wanna see the kids walk-in on Silco and Vander. Can I prompt that please?
Pairing: Vander/Silco
Further context to this 2 year old prompt is that it was after some back and forth about the kids accidently walking into Vanco having sex.
General warning of this involves underage children walking in on their parents having sex but it is treated very much as that (nobody is having a fun time but also the trauma of it is very fleeting).
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“Fuck Vander – that's it. Don’t you dare fucking stop!”
Vander has no plans of stopping. Not with Silco writhing under him like he is. His husband’s legs locked around to prevent him from doing much more than thrusting deep into him. Nails digging into his shoulders in demand as he kisses and bites along the full length of Silco’s neck. A rare moment where they can forget about their responsibilities and just enjoy a good fuck.
“Janna Sil – what you do to me,” Vander groans as he thrusts. Grabbing hold of Silco’s thighs and hips to get a bit more leverage as Silco clenches gith around him. “That’s it love – so good for me.”
“Harder- Vander I need-”
“I know.” Vander digs his knees into the bed for any more leverage he can get to thrust that bit harder. Silco’s grip tightening with each one.
They both freeze when the door creaks open. Powder’s small frame filling the doorway.
“Forgot bunny,” she says as she shuffles into the room.
Silco meets Vander’s eyes with an equal level of panic in them. Oh, sure, the night had been cool enough and them caught up enough in their haste when they had realized they had the time and energy for something more than a quick handjob before sleep that the quilt was still over them. But there wasn’t really any way they can move without risking it sliding off.
Vander goes to pull out carefully only for Silco’s legs to tighten around him and a sharp expression pointed his way.
Powder doesn’t seem to notice or care that her parents are currently on top of each other. Walking around the bed to the stuffed toy on the bedside time. With it in hand she heads back out to leave.
“Oh!” she says, pausing at the door to look at them – and oh Janna is this the night they’re gonna’ be explaining sex to their youngest. “Night!”
“G’night Powder,” Vander manages.
“Goodnight,” Silco adds.
Powder gives a small nod at it before slipping out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Vander collapses once she’s gone. Sliding out of Silco and rolling to the side out of a well-trained habit after years of listening to how he’s crushing his mate if he doesn’t.
“Shit.” That was definitively one way to kill the mood.
He glances over at Silco who looks equally shocked where he stares up at the ceiling. Who runs his hand through his hair and takes a purposeful breath. Vander reaching over to grab hold of his leg in sympathy.
Silco pushes it off and surges from the bed. Grabbing one of Vander’s shirts to put on first and then a pair of boxers despite the shirt covering past his knees.
“I’m going to the bathroom. I trust you can finish yourself off,” he says as if it’s Vander’s fault Powder forgot her stuffed toy in the room and walked in on them. Vander knows there’s no point arguing it though.
“Yeah, ‘course.” Not like he’s all that hard anymore anyway.
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Silco really shouldn’t give in this easily it will only encourage the behavior.
But when he glanced at the clock after he finished reviewing the latest report it had been five minutes before the time Vander had told him he would be in the storeroom to review the stock levels. And it is not like Silco can leave him unsupervised for such a task.
Anyway, the report had been a particularly dry read and what better way for him to forget that his life now seemed to be a never-ending series of paperwork to read or complete than to be pinned between a storeroom’s walls and his husband’s strong sturdy frame. Pants and boxers hanging off one leg as broad calloused-covered fingers bury deep inside him. A taste of what is to come.
“Fuck I needed this,” Vander grunts against his neck as the fingers crook in just the way that makes Silco’s toes curl. “All night been thinking about it.”
“Then stop thinking and start doing!” He’s meant to be the man of action of the two of them.
“Impatient tonight,” Vander jokes as he shoves his pants down with plenty impatience of his own. And Silco would point it out if he wasn’t preoccupied with enjoying the feeling of his husband pushing into him. The satisfying familiar stretch.
Whatever sounds they made in the moment are drowned out by the horrified yell of a child.
“My eyes!” Mylo yells with enough distress in his tone that Silco feels compelled to look over at the doorway to the storeroom to make sure the boy hasn’t actually hurt himself.
But no. The dramatic gagging sound as Mylo covered his eyes with one hand, the other blindly gripping along the way was all an act. He was actually fine.
“I thought I told you to watch the bar,” Vander says pulling himself out of Silco and tucking himself back into his pants even as he leans his head into Silco’s shoulder. There no way they were going to continue after the teenager’s reaction.
“I was but then we ran out of vodka so I came to get more only to find you two doing-” Mylo makes more dramatic gagging noises instead of finishing the sentence.
Silco takes the opportunity to put his pants back on.
“Seriously though – tell me there’s some bleach in there. I can pour it into my eyes to get that image off them,” Mylo says, his hand still covering his eyes as he sways around pretending to be dazed.
“’fraid not,” Vander says, grabbing a bottle off the shelves and going over to knock his shoulder against the boy’s. “But I do have the vodka you came for, so it’s back to work for the both of us.”
That gets Mylo to move his hand from his eyes.
“What? I need time to recover from my shock first!”
“And what better way than to keep yourself busy with customers,” Vander says, grabbing hold of Mylo to drag him out towards the bar despite the boy’s continued protests.
Silco leans against the wall to regather himself before heading back to his office. Might as well get started on the next report on the pile.
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Vander still isn’t sure what got Silco so excited to drag him into his office and pushing him into the chair of it but fuck he isn’t complaining. Not when it has Silco sliding up and down on his cock with smooth steady motions, bracing himself with a hand against the backrest of the chair and the other resting on his study table. Vander’s hand holding onto his hips more to keep himself grounded than doing anything to help.
It’s a rare occurrence these days for the two of them to do something like this and Silco fucking stunning when he’s riding Vander’s dick. His normally slicked-back hair sticking to his forehead from his sweat and good eye closed in focus and pleasure, the other glossy and unfocused.
Vander bucks his hips because he knows it’ll make Silco gasp.
“Fuck you’re stunning Sil,” Vander tells him because he is.
“Ah, Vander!” Silco moans. “Shit! I’m close!”
“Yeah?” Vander gives another roll of his hips because honestly, he’s pretty damn close himself and seeing Silco cum from his cock alone gonna’ be more than enough to get him over too.
The door to the office swings open moments before either of them go over the edge.
“I just wanted to check something about those people we wanted me to- oh you’re busy.”
Vander can see Claggor standing in the doorway from around Silco’s shoulder. Their son’s face bright red where clearly he’s frozen in place.
Silco’s head hits Vander’s shoulder with a similar shade and Vander’s sure his ain’t far off it either.
“Do you want me to leave and come back later?” Claggor asks. HIs eyes looking everywhere in the room apart from them.
“Yes,” Silco hisses. His entire body tensing, including the bit still surrounding Vander’s cock.
“I- okay. I’ll be in the bar. Or I might go to my room actually,” Claggor stutters in his shock. “I’m actually just gonna’ leave.”
“Please do.” Silco doesn’t move as Claggor quickly backs out of the room, closing the door behind him.
“Sil?” Vander asks when Silco remains in his lap unmoving. He’s gone a bit soft from it but buried inside Silco still it won’t be long until he’s hard again whether he’d want to be or not.
Silco leans forward to press his head into Vander’s chest and screams in frustration.
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It’s well past closing when Silco makes it back to the Last Drop but that doesn’t matter. The shipment had gone off smoothly, it’s lucrative buyer happy and already talking about the next round of business. More money in their pockets to raise Zaun into the status it deserves.
“You look happy,” Vander says, drying up the last of the glasses from the night. Silco slips into the bar with him, wrapping his arms around his husband’s neck and backing him up until Vander’s back is against the bar.
“Drink to celebrate?” Vander asks and Silco hums in agreement, letting his hand trace down Vander’s chest and rest against the front of his pants.
“The one I have in mind is a little off the menu.”
“See I happen to be close with the owner and I don’t see that being a problem,” Vander says as Silco flicks open the button and undoes the fly with well-practiced ease.
“That’s good,” Silco says, with a kiss against Vander’s jaw. “I would hate to make the working situation hard for you.”
He drops to his knees. Nuzzling against the hard-on straining against Vander’s boxers.
“Shit- Sil-” Vander pants, his hands braced against the bar behind him as Silco frees his erection from its clothe confines. Letting his breathe warm the already heated skin before running his tongue along the underside and taking it in his mouth right down to the root.
Silco nearly chokes at the bang of the bar door being slammed shut, followed by the sound of knocking and yelling of children from the other side of it.
“Shit!” Vi yells, sounding more startled than scared. “I swear I didn’t start it!”
“What? Didn’t start what?” Vander asks, recovering from his own shock at the intrusion. “And why were you out late?”
Silco helpfully slides Vander’s cock back into his boxers and redoes his pants before standing up. Their night now not going to be one of celebration, but rather parenting.
“I-” Vi starts, before noticing Silco. “Why were you under the bar?”
A look at Vander then back to Silco and realization settles on her features. Her nose curling in her disgust.
“Gross!”
Silco rolls his eyes at her.
“Answer your father’s question.”
“I was out,” Vi says, suddenly sheepish, her head rolling back so she is looking up at the ceiling rather than them, “with someone.”
“And I suppose the children currently banging on our door didn’t want you out with this someone?” Silco asks. The pieces coming together into a very specific picture.
“They’re her brothers,” Vi says hurriedly but they both still heard it. “I wasn’t doing anything she didn’t want.”
Ah, the joys of teenaged dating. To think this is only the start of what is in store for them over the next decade between the lot.
“Go to bed Vi,” Vander says massaging the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get rid of our guests.”
Vi nods at it before slinking off to her room leaving them alone in the bar apart from the aggressive knocking at the door.
“Daughters,” is all Silco can offer when Vander looks at him for support.
#Arcane#Zaun Family#Vanco#Zaun Dads#Vander Arcane#Silco Arcane#Jinx Arcane#Claggor Arcane#Mylo Arcane#Violet Arcane#I accidently a ficlet#Prompt Fic#Prompt Fill#Anon Prompt#Ramblings of the Goddess
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Coming soon for the @destielaureversebb: “Sugar”
Author: coveryourheads Artist: @all6pistols
Rating: Mature Archive warnings: None Length: 19,000 words Tags: Teacher AU, Mutual Pining, Castiel Is Claire's Parent, Roommates, Insecure Dean Winchester Relationships: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess
Summary: Dean and Castiel have been roommates since first year of college, best friends, and now work at the same school. Dean has always had a crush on Castiel but could never tell him because he is his best friend. Oh, and he's straight. And he has a daughter.
Excerpt:
Claire, with a little bear face emoji next to her name, had sent, ‘Can you remind my dad that he has to pick me up today? He’s not answering me or mom.’
Dean answered her, ‘Got it.’
He swiveled around, almost knocking over a few innocent students. He hustled towards Castiel’s class. He forgot to knock (they never knocked on each other’s door at home) as he entered the room and came to face a full class of stunned students. Castiel looked flustered as well, paused mid-sentence of his probably intriguing lesson on the history of taxation or whatever it was he taught this one about.
“Dean!” Castiel scolded. “I’m in the middle of—”
The bell was well-timed and all of Castiel’s students shuffled out.
“Sorry, man,” Dean tried. He meant it, but his apologies never sounded sincere, which was a trait of his that Castiel disliked. He called it the Winchester Apology. Dean never meant his and Sam’s sounded like a wounded puppy. So, Dean added, “Seriously. Sorry. You gotta check your phone. Claire texted me because you weren’t answering her.”
Castiel sighed and retrieved his phone out of his bag. It took a long time to turn it back on because he refused to upgrade it. Dean watched his friend stab at the screen until he got to the text messages, reading his daughter’s message.
“I… Yes. Thank you, Dean. I have to pick up Claire today and am supposed to have dinner with her.”
Castiel grabbed one of his sticky notes, writing with a marker meant for the whiteboard, ‘Pick up Claire from club at 4:50’ in big blocky letters. The sticky note immediately curled on itself because the school decided to cut cost on supplies and got generic ones that never stuck to any surface. Dean tore off a piece of scotch tape to press the note down on the desk. Among all the mess of books and papers and teaching aide and stuff. In the simple act of helping his friend with the simpler task of writing down the reminder and making it stick, Dean had stepped into Castiel’s space. Close enough he could smell the aftershave (they had separate bathrooms so Dean had no idea what brand) and the fabric softener used on his clothes (unlike Dean, who used the affordable, non-softening brand). Stepping into Castiel’s space was done unconsciously, but Dean kind of liked it there. Castiel had the most amazing blue eyes (which Claire inherited) and fluffy hair that never wanted to stay in place. If he were brave enough, he would have made a move fifteen years ago.
He wasn’t, and Castiel wasn’t into dudes anyway.
Posting date: February 18, 2025
#destiel au reverse big bang#promo post#destiel fic#destiel art#author: coveryourheads#artist: all6pistols
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slytherin!quidditch player!leehan when you mocked him for losing the match against gryffindor
Slytherin!Leehan Oneshot🧙🏻♂️🌸
WC: 1142
TW: Kissing, Enemies to lovers, Didn't say readers house I don't think, but low-key implied to be Hufflepuff?. Not proof Read, let me know if I missed anything!
A/N: Ngl the ending got a little sloppy and rushed because I just didn't know how to end this.
You weren’t even a Gryffindor yourself, in fact you found most Gryffindors annoying with how they always howled out loud in the hallways and in the dinner hall. Always running around acting like their hot shit. So you cheering for Gryffindor during this quidditch match didn’t even really make sense. Honestly you being at the Quidditch match didn’t make sense in the first place considering this was a Slytherin vs Gryffindor match. Quite literally the only reason you’re here is because your best friend has a fat ass crush on the Gryffindor boy Jaehyun.
On the contrary though, no matter how much you didn’t like Gryffindor, it didn’t nearly match the burning hatred you had for a very certain Slytherin named Leehan. You typically didn’t have any issues with Slytherins, always kind of just co-existed with each other. But it seemed that the universe had other plans for you.
It all started in potions class, professor Slughorn had all of you form into groups of three to prepare the Draught of Peace potion. What Slughorn hadn’t taken into consideration was that two students would conveniently be left out. Both you and Leehan not having a group to join were forced to partner up together. Which you originally had no problem with, until Leehan decided to make you do all of the work while he napped and when it came to the show n’ tell part he took all of the credit.
Yes, you could’ve let this go, you really could’ve. But the stupid fucking look on his face pissed you off, he looked so calm and neutral during the whole thing. As if it was no big deal!?, the sheer audacity this man had.
But you held your tongue and decided to calmly confront Leehan about the situation, hell maybe it was just a misunderstanding?...It was not, when you approached Leehan in the dining hall and asked him about it, he just stared at you and asked why it mattered, you both got the credit anyways. He acted as if he didn’t care, and that’s what upset you the most about him. He never showed much emotion, always having a bored expression. Which was the complete opposite of you, you always felt every emotion to its fullest, you were practically built to have the inability to just not care unlike Leehan.
However, Leehan despite his cool exterior he had found an interest in you. He was intrigued with how much you expressed yourself, always showcasing what you felt. Leehan had grown up in a family where showing any sign of emotion was for the weak. His father told him at a young age “never let others know how you feel, they will use it to control you”. So he often found himself purposely doing things to you to invoke any kind of reaction; from making you do his homework, stealing your food, and even pulling harmless pranks on you was worth it. What made him even more enthralled was that you never really yelled at him, only lectured him. But even your lecturing was nothing compared to what he’s used to from his family. It was odd to say the least, but what got his blood really pumping was when he just so happened to stumble across you helping the bowtruckles cross over the lake without being washed away. The way the sun shined on you, causing a halo like effect surrounding you, the way your lips formed in the most beautiful enchanting smile he’s ever seen. Not to mention how gently you spoke and praised them, your voice sounding the way honey coated around sweet almonds with each “good job” and “you’re doing amazing”. He didn’t know what it was or even why, but he had to hear you speak to him like that, he needed you too.
When he overheard that you would be attending the quidditch match he was overjoyed. He beamed at the thought of you being there as it was an opportunity to hear you applaud him and tell him that he was amazing and did an excellent job. Leehan however failed to take into consideration the possibility of his team losing. He was embarrassed, it wasn’t even a close match, a ten-fifty score. What didn’t help was when he looked at you after the announcement that Gryffindor had won he saw you laughing. You were happy that he lost? You found joy through his failure. Leehan was pissed, not being able to take the image of you jumping up and down with your friend as you both smiled with such an elated expression.
Practically knocking over some of his own teammates as he didn’t even bother going to the locker rooms to get change. Instead making a B-line directly to you, his face unreadable as you looked up at him with confusion wondering what he wanted. Not even thinking he would grab your wrist and drag you away from your friends. Putting up a fight you would try to pry his hand off your wrist which to no avail did nothing. Eventually giving up you stopped your little antics, coming to the realization that he wasn’t going to let you go. Opting to just follow him in silence as he leads you to the astronomy tower. It was only then when you arrived that he let your wrist go, however not giving you much time he pushed you against the nearest wall. His face is only centimeters from you. “Enjoy your fun?” He'd ask in a low voice, send shivers throughout your body. “Wh-what do you mean?” Asking him nervously, your eyes looking anywhere but his face. Locking them on his collar bones thinking it was the safest option. His hand wrapped around your jaw, slightly squeezing as he made you look at him. “Don't act dumb, I saw you laughing with your stupid friend”, gulping at his actions but also the fact that he saw you. Not knowing how to respond, you just stood there. He won't let you go, his stare so intense but with something you never saw before. Next thing you knew his lips were in yours. They were cold from the nip air, and a little wet. Your eyes widened as you didn't expect him to kiss you. But something else is telling you to kiss him back. Your lips molding into his, resting your hands on his chest. Pulling ever so slightly, lips still grazing against your as he spoke. “Don't ever cheer for Gryffindor again” not giving you time to respond he'd pull you by the back of your neck into a kiss again. This time passionate, his tongue even slipping past your lips gliding against your wet muscle.
It was at this moment, this night, that you never cheered for Gryffindor or laughed at him ever again.
#auntiefaye🧚🏻♀️#boynextdoor imagines#boynextdoor x reader#boynextdoor hogwarts au#leehan x reader#boynextdoor leehan imagines#boynextdoor fanfic#boynextdoor scenarios#leehan fanfiic
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randall and henry are likened to brothers constantly in this game, which makes it kind of ridiculous that i never picked up on that as a kid. of course, it doesn't necessarily mean they do see each other as siblings, and certainly the way they were raised wouldn't automatically make them siblings regardless (they aren't biologically related and henry wasn't adopted, per se), but the idea that they have a brotherly relationship is certainly there.
to that end, there's nothing inherently incestuous about seeing henry and randall as a romantic pairing, as their status as brothers is entirely dependent on whether or not they see each other that way, something which isn't stated in the clearest of terms. i certainly would harbor no ill-will against the ship or those who ship it...
though having come this far in my miracle mask rewatch, and knowing that at the end of the day the most important things are randall's compassion for henry and henry's dedication to randall (and not any potential romance therein), i'm inclined to shift my personal view of them: to see them as brothers more than a couple. that's sort of awkward, considering how i've posted and reblogged ranhen stuff frequently up until now, but it's really no big deal. there's nothing wrong with it, as i had a different view of them then, but going forward i'd be posting about them in a different light!
and anyway, it's easy enough to reframe my thoughts on them... their relationship is still just as heartwarming and heartbreaking...
imagine you're henry, a small, sensitive little boy. you live in the household of the wealthy ascots, but they didn't adopt you: you're their servant, not their son... and because of that, you have to constantly see yourself as below them, even the ascot kid who's your age. naturally, your self-esteem starts incredibly low... except, for some reason, the ascot kid - a boy named randall - treats you not just as a regular child, someone on his level, but as your brother. it's inexplicable, but it's true, and as a token of this, he's given you his favorite toy robot: a symbol of his love for you. even if his parents will never treat you as their son, he continues to treat you as his brother.
randall takes you on adventures with his friends angela and dalston, the former of which he has a crush on. when with randall, you feel like you're more than just a servant: you feel on top of the world. despite being sensitive and timid otherwise, you're excited to go on adventures with him, picking up some of randall's fervent love for treasure-hunting. perhaps you feel like nothing without him, as he's the only person who has shown you love...
unfortunately, once you become a teenager, mr ascot pulls you away from your childhood, your education, and your friends to train to be a butler: he sees your diligence, your obedience, your thoughtfulness, and thinks you more valuable to the household as a servant than the flighty randall is as a son. now the only person your age you can ever interact with is randall, and then only when he's home... all you have is the boy who chose to be your brother... when he is around, he talks to you about archeology: he knows how important you are, how wise you are, and you help him uncover secrets relating to the mask of chaos, a relic massively important to him. you're more than willing to help randall with this. after all, he chose to be your brother. you'd do anything for him. one part the feeling of subservience instilled in you from your life as a servant, one part the feeling of loyalty towards someone who made you feel worth anything... you want to be his servant, if it means he'll treat you like you aren't one.
but every time randall leaves the house, he spends hours with angela and another boy, a new boy... a boy named hershel... a boy who, like you, balances out randall's energy and ambition. you feel he has taken your place in your absence. you spend every day working menial tasks for mr ascot: when randall is gone, you are nothing but a servant, waiting to be a brother again. and while you are a servant, hershel gets to be with randall. you don't like hershel very much... why, he doesn't even want to go on adventures with randall. absurd! why even be his friend?
randall wants to unearth the treasures of the azran, with the mask of chaos guiding him towards glory. he feels it is his destiny, and in fulfilling it, he would impress angela's parents enough to let her marry him. he needs this, so you need him to get it - and so you help randall prepare for his expedition. you wish to join him, instead of that hershel boy... you long to adventure with your dear randall again, but beyond that, you don't trust hershel to keep him safe. you could keep him safe. after all, if you're with randall, you feel on top of the world, and you'd do anything for him. but hershel? you don't trust hershel, and so you worry about randall. so long as you can't be there with him, perhaps he shouldn't even go... he promises to be safe, and that this will be his last expedition. you trust him, because he has chosen to be your brother, and he loves you, and he'd never lie. you trust him, unlike hershel. you help him sneak out of the house, even if it means seeing him leave with hershel into a wilderness you cannot help him through.
you think randall must come back, for he would never break a promise. and anyway, you cannot fathom life without him. for he chose to be your brother, in a house that used you as a machine. at least while he's away, while you're forced to be nothing but a servant again, you can await his return, and the return of your worth as a person with him... you couldn't bear to be a machine forever... a robot executing tasks until its power runs out...
hershel returns. randall is gone, he says. you don't believe him. you hate him. randall is alive. hershel gave up on him. but randall never gave up on you, so you cannot give up on him. randall is alive. he must come back, for he promised. life without him is impossible. thus, so long as you live, he must be alive as well. and so you dedicate your life - a life which you feel is only worth anything because of him - to randall's life. you are willing to make yourself into a machine, into a robot, to execute this task: loving randall so much, as he'd loved you, that you bring him back from the dead.
and so you spend half your life dedicated to him. you "marry" angela so she doesn't have to marry dalston, ready to be with randall again when he returns. you spend time and money searching the ruins he disappeared in yourself, then organizing search parties to do the same; all of the ruins' treasure is spent on looking for randall, or for building a beautiful city for him to live in when he returns. it is all for him. you work yourself to the bone, just as his parents had done to you. you are randall's servant, for he chose to be your brother. you live for him, for without him you have no life: without him, you are a broken toy robot.
someone has come to destroy monte d'or, the beautiful city you made for randall. and this someone, this "masked gentleman", keeps pinning the blame on you, as if you'd destroy any of this... no, you'd been saving it all for randall... and hershel, who has returned on angela's request to solve the mystery of the masked gentleman, has the gall to blame you for this all. how dare he? not only does he take your place at randall's side, he never even knew the place he was taking... you hate hershel. you only comply to his requests to save monte d'or.
and hark... the masked gentleman is randall himself. you were right, he wasn't dead, even though you were irrational and desperate for thinking so. and he hates you. he thinks you took his angela, and his fortune, and his family, and his glory. he was manipulated into seeing you this way, after almost two decades of amnesia. and he hates you. and he regrets ever choosing to be your brother. but you cannot be mad at him... you can barely even explain yourself... you're lucky hershel is able to do that for you. if not for him, you would never have gotten your brother back.
how lucky you are... giving up your personhood for so long really paid off, and now you just might let randall make you feel like a person again...
#melonposting#professor layton#their relationship is so horribly depressing. like genuinely#both are so mentally ill#and the worst thing is that henry's unhealthy reliance on randall paid off. it's been positively reinforced#it was utterly unreasonable to assume randall was alive - nevermind dedicate half his life to finding him#and yet despite all of that randall did return. so now henry knows okay! i should keep doing that!#i should keep giving myself up for anyone who makes me feel like i'm not totally worthless!#of course randall's also really screwed up but at least something happened to him to make him want to change some of that#but henry? noooo way#he still sees himself as randall's servant i think. which is incredibly depressing. that's the last thing randall wants...
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Mousephael
Wrote this at work the other day. Inspired by a discord conversation. Sfw, nothing bad happens, just Mousephael. (Unedited)
Raphael was used to having at least three forms, one more magnificent than the other. He could either charm people as a human, seduce them as a devil or frighten them as ascended fiend, but this?
He looked down on his little paws with four toes and just the tiniest of claws. Before he knew it he brushed them over his head and snout, cleaning his whiskers thoroughly. At least he had kept his horns. He couldn't see them, but he could feel that they were still there - just proportional to his new mouse body. Raphael also cleaned his tail - at least he was used to having one - and sniffed.
Where even was he? His nose said Baldur's Gate but he could barely see more than the cobblestones in front of his eyes, each one larger than him.
He had never been this small before and it offended him. Raphael scrunched his nose.
Now, he might look like a mouse but somewhere in this little round body was still a thousand year old devil. He was good at logic - if his nose didn't constantly try and distract him by picking up the scents of bread and … cheese.
No, focus, Raphael. Where do you find help - because even he had to agree that he desperately needed it.
Tav.
Tav must still be in Baldur’s Gate. There was a bakery and just a street further must be the Elfsong tavern.
Only a street was a long way for a tiny mouse. Raphael hopped along, trying to stay in the cobblestones at first, but scurrying into the shadows after a wheel had missed his tail for just a whisker.
Raphael squeaked at the offender, but retreated anyway. Keeping closer to the buildings it was then.
His nose smelled danger and the fur on his neck stood up - but the old rat he encountered luckily didn't care about him.
It shouldn't be allowed for these beasts to be seven times bigger than himself.
Raphael managed to squeeze through the door right after a lady with dirty shoes - her feet smelled rather delicious though. When she shrieked Raphael was already in the taproom.
Oh, there were so many crumbs… Surely it wouldn't hurt to indulge? His tiny stomach rumbled.
Raphael picked up a piece of corn with both hands and sunk his incisors into it. It tasted acceptable. He threw it away in favour of a crumb of cheese.
Now this was delectable. Suitable for his refined palate. He happily nimbled on the cheese when suddenly his ears twitched. The crumb fell out of his hands.
Before he even saw the monster chasing after him he ran, faster and faster, jumping up the stairs, falling, rolling over and getting up again.
There, a hole!
Raphael squished himself through, almost getting stuck with his horns and the evil cat stayed outside.
His little heart thrummed and instinctively he cleaned himself again.
“Aren't you a cutie? Where do you come from?”
Tav’s voice, bless the hells.
Giant boots came closer and Raphael twitched back in fear of getting crushed.
“Wait… You're not a normal mousie. You got horns.”
Against his instincts Raphael stepped closer and sniffed. Definitely Tav.
The giant hand was intimidating but he didn't get much time to think about it before Tav just *picked him up*!
He squeaked, offended.
Tav giggled and reached out to pet his head. Reluctantly Raphael allowed it. It actually felt rather nice.
“Oh, I know these horns! …Raphael?”
Raphael squeaked. And then he squeaked again in fury when the big hand just stuffed him in a pocket.
He squirmed for a while before he settled. At least he was safe from predators up here.
“Are you hungry? Do you want some peanut butter?”
Raphael couldn't help that his ears perked up at the word and even more at the delicious smell that filled the air.
Soon after, Raphael happily nibbled peanut butter off a finger.
The big animal that held him made noises. Raphael didn't understand, but he knew there was peanut butter and a cat downstairs.
And, after all, weren't those the only important things in the world?
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Oh. My. GOSH!!!! This looks amazing there my friend! Hehe sure it wasn't the initial thought but boy oh boy did you deliver as always! I am so sad that this doesn't have more attention because it deserves it! Honestly I fear I am not good for your posts here! Hahahahaha!
For starters I love it how the arm that holds the knife comes first to this since as you say it is a critical part for his story and the way he went by with his knife and all and how in a way even if he did build his own empire or kingdom he fell by the knife as well given the circumstances. I also love how the second focus here is the eye the way that it truly reflects the pain in him and all. I really adore it how he is the main focus in this image and how the blood seems to pass from his hand and over his eye like that! It almost feels indeed like blood is passing every aspect of his life! Even his mourning moment! I also love how we have the small cameo of Andromache and Helenus who stick together with each other and I actually love that even if we do not see details on their face, I can almost see the wonder and partial pity mixed with contempt in Andromache and the way Helenus pulls her aside like "Leave him alone have his moment".
Dunno indeed whether Helenus would be more compassionate to Pyrrhus or not given that he is a Trojan too not to mention how brutally Neoptolemus killed his father on the altar but the fact that Helenus was also rejected by his people or rather he felt so when he didn't win the hand of Helen somehow makes me wonder how deep would this man's bitterness go for his own people and how far for the Greeks? Could it be perhaps that this was the reason Neoptolemus entrusted him with the rule of that portion of his kingdom even giving him Andromache as his wife? Was Helenus closer to Neoptolemus? And if yes why? He would have no real reason to like the dude unless we say that his bitterness for his father's choice went THAT deep. Perhaps in a twisted psychological thing he saw Neoptolemus as the best of two evils given how potentially Odysseus didn't like persuade him to reveal the prophecy with sweet talking and sweet wine. Probably he physically and psychologically tormented Helenus to get the information out of him. Could it be that Helenus saw in a twisted psychology that leads almost to some sort of Stockholm Syndrome saw Neoptolemus almost like his "savior" in this case? Or at least a better choice than someone like Odysseus? Gosh too much to wonder about as an aftermath of that bloody war And of course Andromache who would have absolutely no reason to like Neoptolemus. I also wonder what her relationship with her own children by him would be? Would she love them as her own or would she hate them as his? Gosh that woman surely suffered enough! But I love how SOME part of Neoptolemus seems more "righteous" here, how both Helenus and Andromache seem to be free to walk, not tied with chains and all and they seem to accompany him so maybe just maybe Neoptolemus tried to do SOMETHING right here? Maybe not.
Anyways I got overly off topic here! But yeah I really like their designs and the way you designed their clothes even if they are so briefly shown. Last but not least I am IN LOVE with adult-like Neoptolemus here and the way he wears the lion skin over his shoulder! Dude are you pretending being Heracles?! Hahahahaha! Either way I love it as well as the way he stands over that tombstone they set with the few offerings! Man the fall of Phoenix truly must have crushed him inside even if he doesn't say so! And I absolutely LOVE the simple yet powerful effect of the shadows here! How Neoptolemous seems to be covered with a shadow that starts from the grave of Phoenix! As if he has just lost another piece of his out there; another person he looked up to! Whilst Andromache and Helenus are stepping out at the light as if they now are set for rebirth while Neoptolemus is set to sink more and more in his own shadow and sadness!
Dude I absolutely LOVE this!!! And as you can imagine I just HAD to write something about this given how few pieces centered on Neoptolemus we have out there!
*
The old man was dying. There was no doubt about that anymore and they didn't need the physician to tell them that. Years of warfare and sorrows and worries in combination to the long trips of the sea could break literally any person, both physically and mentally yet alone someone as old and frail as Phoenix. The old man was constantly covered in furs despite the fact that the weather was not particularly cold; shivering in his illness and fever. The rocking of the ship seemed more like torment than actual lullaby to him and not even when he was practically stuffed with chamomile teas and milk from white poppy to ease his pain did the old man stop moaning and complaining for the cold. His reason and sharp mind seemed lost now under the mist of illness and old age. There was not much one could do but expect the worst to come. Neoptolemus was silent looking at that frail body that had lost almost all meat and flesh in their trip shivering under the furs. His face was pale almost as much as the old man's and his soul was disturbed and foaming like the waves under the oars of his ship. They were heading north. They needed as much help as they could get! The old man was always there for him. Neoptolemus was not mentally prepared for a world without him. He had spent weeks and weeks practically DEMANDING from his physician to keep the man alive at ANY cost. They had tried warm spiced wine and broths and drinks and drugs only to keep the man afloat. Neoptolemus was never more desperate in his life.
"My lord...he is tired!" his physician had employed him, "Please, any more is just a torture for the old man! Not even Asclepius himself can save him! Just let him die in dignity"
"Listen here, you old fool!" Neoptolemus had growled at the poor man grabbing him by the shirt, "I ordered you to save him! He is Phoenix! He is the man that raised my father! There is no way in all hells of Tartarus that he can die like this! You shall save him or I'll have your head for this!"
Oh, how much had he yelled! He had screamed and threatened but now even Pyrrhus, Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles was silent and almost motionless. He could do nothing else but stare at the bed that was attended by one slave and that body he admired and respected be now eaten up like a corpse being eaten by a worm. He even felt disgusted. How was it possible for such a man end up like this! THIS is what death would do to people? He never realized that the disgust was deeply rooted to his self blame. He remembered the physician. Maybe he should have heeded his words and allow the old man die with dignity a long time ago. Was it his mistake that he wanted to hold out to the last moment?
"Water..." the old man begged, "Please...w-water..."
The slave brought a small sponge to his lips and drained some water in that dry mouth. Neoptolemus could not watch anymore! He felt like drowning! He almost screamed to the slave to leave the old man alone and let him die! But his heart once more wouldn't let him to.
"Neo...ptolemus..."
The voice made him stop in his track. It was Phoenix calling and despite the weakness in his voice he seemed bright as he was before this illness stroke him. Despite the weakness in his voice he was back at his old self.
"Old man..." Neoptolemus heard himself whispering and almost ran by his side but something inside him stopped him. Instead he slowly walked there and looked down at the man that had raised him before. He was sure his face was cold like stone and yet the old man didn't seem to care. Even more disturbingly he seemed to be able to read the uproar inside his soul. That old, wrinkled hand got out of the covers and held his. Neoptolemus felt the flame under his skin more intensely.
"It's okay...son...you are strong. It will be alright"
He was literally dying and he was trying to console him?! Neoptolemus didn't know if he had to scream or cry for it.
"I know you shall be a great king....people shall remember your name...your legacy shall live...my son... Pyrrhus..."
What a weird way to say it! He almost sounded lilke a prophet and Neoptoplemus had one of them with him already! Before he had time to respond, Phoenix pushed him away. He had no time to think or protest for he heard the old man breathe out and then he remained still. It was the same stillness that took over Neoptolemus; as if a cold wave had passed through his body. It was as if he was frozen solid.
"Old man..." he whispered, "Phoenix..."
The slave that was over him shook her head negatively. The others made a moaning sound and doubled over. Neoptolemus didn't need to have the intelligence he considered himself to have to understand the move. He didn't need to have the sharp eyes to see the scratches at the cheeks of the slaves they caused themselves or see their movements of beating their breasts or hear their moans to realize what had happened.
The old man had died.
It was as if finally he had reached the realm of the passing over; his soul leaving his body. The old man had protected him from yet another miasma at the last moment by pushing him away so that he wouldn't touch the dead! If the situation was any different then Neoptolemus might have laughed. He had killed so many people and yet the old man wanted to spare him from touching a dead body?! What an idea!
"O-Oi..." he whispered, "This is not true is it? Get up, old man! Get up! You can't be...this can't be true! Get up!" There was no response. That filled him with deadly fury! How DARED the old man play with him to check if he had a heart in his chest! How DARED he to do that! He made a step forward.
"Cut this out, old man! Get up! Get up! Damn you get up! You-..." The slave that grabbed him made him realize that he must have been ready to run at the bed. He could hardly feel yet alone understand what he was doing. It was the fury the only way he knew to show grief! It was the only way he ever learnt!
"Let me go! Damn you! Damn you! Old man! Get up! Get up! You can't be...you can't leave me too!! You can't! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!"
"My lord..."
The second pair of hands appeared. His slave, Helenus, the Trojan prince and prophet of Apollo. He was holding him firmly. Neoptolemus felt his old warrior muscles beneath his robes. His eyes were almost aflame in fury but Helenus didn't stop; he had seen plenty of death himself, plenty of misery, to be afraid of his new master's potential rage.
"It's over" Helenus said firmly, "Please! Stop this! He is with the gods now...he served his purpose on this life...don't make him have regrets...."
Was it this annoying calmness inside that man's eyes that set Neoptolemus aflame or was it his grief? He didn't know but for once Newoptolemus saw only red. He then felt the sound and feeling of flesh under his hand and before he knew it he saw Helenus stepping back, holding his cheek. His lip was bleeding however the man was standing firm.
"Please" he repeated in that annoying calmness, "Let Hermes claim his soul. You can kill me if you want, you can tear my flesh apart with your bare hands but please do no further here. This place is already contaminated with death. Do not contaminate it further!"
The son of Achilles saw his hand trembling. For one second he saw blood on his fist; the hand that held the sword and the knife. He gasped and stepped back. Wiping his hand to his robe.
"We make port!" he ordered loudly, "We shall bury him at dawn!"
"As you wish..." Helenus whispered bowing his head.
The young king stormed out of the room. He did not feel talking to anyone! On his way out he saw Andromache. His other slave and concubine. She was holding a baby in her arms; the child she had with him at Troy before they departed. Molossus would be his name, Neoptolemus had decided, "tall" "fierce" and "strong". For one second his mind ran back to her face as she held her other son back then; the one he violently yanked away from her arms. She was holding that baby like her life depended on it. This baby she had now she was holding it soullessly, almost out of pure obligation. His eyes shone warningly at her gaze.
"What are you looking at?" he snapped at her before running past her to the edge of the ship. He wanted to demand salt water to cleanse himself. How strange, he thought, so much death and he felt the need to cleanse himself now!
Andromache entered the chamber and her face turned to concern, running to Helenus.
"Are you okay?" she affectionately touched his cheek Helenus winced and flinched away.
"I'm fine. It's just a minor cut!" he affectionately touched her cheek,
"You must get out of here! Do not let yourself be contaminated by death..."
Andromache laughed soullessly.
"How can I be more contaminated than what I already am?" she whispered for his ears only, pointing at the baby in her arms, "How much more can this dead man contaminate me than that monster that sleeps with me and makes me carry his offspring with my king's blood still on his hands!"
"Sh!" Helenus silenced her softly, "Don't speak like that, my queen, he is our master now! If we want to survive we need to be smart."
"I don't care...." Andromache whispered
"But I do" Helenus whispered and blushed, "I care, my queen, I don't want to see you destroyed! This..." and he pointed at his cheeks, "Is nothing. He didn't mean it. I knew he would be unpredictable in his grief. But in his rage, my queen, make no mistake, he is kind to us while we are kind to him. He has a heart for justice deep down"
"He's a monster!"
"He might be..." Helenus agreed, "But even monsters have their reasons. We are here, away from the eyes of our conquerors. He trusts us. Let's not spoil everything..."
He kissed her forehead.
"Be strong and be brave, my queen"
"I no longer am a queen!" Andromache whispered sadly
"You are to me. You always were and always will be"
****
The funeral was small and yet Neoptolemus made sure nothing was missing out of it. He brought magnificent sacrifice at least as magnificent as he could. His slaves were using sulphous to cleanse the ships while the rest of them gathered around the pyre where Phoenix would be burnt with all his possessions and his armor, as he should be. Neoptolemus was standing still most of the time as the offerings were being made. As a prophet and an ex-priest of Troy, Helenus made the funeral prayers and offerings and cut the throats of the sacrificial animals. And then came the flame that was set upon the pyre. Neoptolemus's eyes reflecting the flames, feeling the warmth on his face.
"PHOENIX!"
the cry that was aimed for the dead to find his way to the underworld was heard. Neoptolemus didn't make a sound. He hardly moved any muscle.
"PHOENIX!"
He felt like ready to explode hearing the men speaking up the name that was not meant to be spoken the same way ever again. The man that raised him was gone. He died in the trip towards their destiny. Yet another father figure, the only one he truly had, was gone.
"PHOENIX!"
He gulped. He could do nothing else. He just remained there. He hardly moved as the slaves gathered the ashes and the bones and placed them at the urn or when that urn was placed on the ground and the monument was set over it. Some additional offerings were made. Neoptolemus remained unmoving; no different than a statue or a stone. He didn't move not even when most had long retired towards the funerary celebrations and games which Neoptolemus himself had dictated. Phoenix was dead, burnt and buried; away from their home, away from their homeland and away from the land he would aim to build his legacy. He could hardly feel his surroundings. Andromache slowly was taken away for last with Helenus and he was finally left alone.
Staring at the cold stone for one more time just like with his father...
"Atta..." he heard himself whispering
It had been years since the last time he did and yet now it came so easy to his lips...along with the pair of tears that came to his cheeks
"Atta!"
He knelt by the tomb, touching the cold stone with that blood-stained hand of his...
"Why...you too...why everyone leaves me! You were supposed to be with me! You were supposed to stay with me...!"
What a childish notion! What an idiotic idea! Phoenix was old. Many men before him had kicked the bucket earlier than that and yet the idea of a world without the old man seemed surreal almost fake. Neoptolemus couldn't remember a day in his life in this world where the old man was not there!
"I will do it, old man!" he whispered to the stone, "As you said; i will make it happen for you! You will be proud of me when my name will live for all eternity! You'll see! Wait and see! I'll make you proud!"
Neoptolemus allowed himself to be Pyrrhus one last time...for this man that raised him but when he stood back he was Neoptolemus again; his eyes cold and calculating. The flame inside them that was burning was indeed what Andromache had predicted; the thirst for conquest. That was the last stop of vulnerability, Neoptolemus thought! No more weakness, no more crying! He would make it happen! No matter what the cost!
He turned around...and left.
The only thing left behind was a white flower by the grave.
And even that seemed stained with blood...
*
Hehehehe sorry sorry couldn't help myself! Sorry this is messy I wrote it on the way and no planning was included here! I just thought that it would fit! Sorry if it is sloppy!
Now the "prophetic powers" before death seems to be a common factor for homeric characters who "predict the future" before they die for example Patroclus or Hector
The "prophecy" is inspired by history because not only does Alexander the Great keep the vision of Achilles alive because he descends by the mythical Molossians by Pyrrhus but also we have an actual historical king at the area named Pyrrhus thus in a way the name and the legacy continuing
The custom of calling one's name 3 times in the funeral is also mentioned in Homer's Odyssey when Odysseus offered funeral to his men after Ismarus (Also mentioned to my Ismarus retelling to Part 3)
"Atta" as spoken by Neoptolemus is a real word in ancient Greek that appears even in Homer: ἄττα literally means "old man" but is also a way for children to address a father figure like "uncle" or "dada" so in one way I wanted for the last moment Neoptolemus call Phoenix in a way "father" or "dada" but due to the complexity of the word I thought it would be more fitting to leave it untranslated.
Neoptolemus most likely will be from now on on his way for both his top and his rock bottom.
So yeah...random inspirations. Sorry again this is not like my other fic. Is more sloppy but I hope not terrible
Challenge Time!:
We know that Neoptolemus, according to some sources, started his trip to Epirus to start his own legacy and kingdom along with Phoenix and also his newly acquired slaves; his concubine Andromache and Helenus the prophet. However old Phoenix dies along the way and Neoptolemus has to stop and offer him a burial before continuing
So the challenge goes such:
Neoptolemus genuinely crying over dead or dying Phoenix showing there is still some emotion and emotional connection under the Visage of warrior and king and our psycho that we know.
For me Neoptolemus is kind of associated with blood and the color red (surprise haha), not in a sense of active battle, combat and injury resulted from it but “blood on your hands”, unnecessary violence and innocent casualties.
Just to justify why I have to add it all the time while drawing him.
Oh yes and cameo from Helenus and Andromache.
#the iliad#tagamemnon#homer iliad#greek mythology#neoptolemus#andromache of troy#helenus of troy#trojan war#digital art#digital illustration#artists on tumblr#iliad the manga#manga page#comic page#pyrrhus#doodle#katerinaaqu writing
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home visit 🏠 ft. shiketsu au dabihawks
#bnha#mha#dabihawks#i suppose this is more toukei than dabihawks but u guys get the idea!#keigo takami#touya todoroki#natsuo todoroki#fuyumi todoroki#shouto todoroki#in this world we need silly and ooc things to keep us happy 💆🏻♀️#dabi and hawks knowing each other in hs is really funny bc they would definitely have some weird little rivalry goin on to cover their crush#anyways natsuo is an instigator and shouto blabbers too much. fuyumi finds it all entertaining#eggsdrawings
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What do you think of Rook's savanaclaw card? <333
I didn't get him (and I need to save my keys for Silver's birthday, sob) so I looked up his groovy, and I'm not over how incredibly dramatic and epic and cool it looks in direct contrast to the absolutely ridiculous context. just look at that dynamic action and his majestic sparkling tears and keep in mind that this is pretty much right after a bunch of characters have been dance battling for his soul.
and then even the actual moment of the groovy is just like
this is NOT a negative in the slightest, I love it all, this truly was an incredible update in so many ways
#art#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 8 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 8 spoilers#to be fair it's not COMPLETELY wacky there is actual drama going on#but that's inbetween rook's dream-vil and neige being totally hilarious at each other#'i shan't let you hurt this beautiful child!' 'vil no! if they were to harm your beauty i would be crushed by sorrow!' <- actual dialogue#also neige seeing vil as a mother figure. it's WONDERFUL and i hope real-vil never finds out because this would kill him#just like he killed neige multiple times in his own dream! :)#there was so much wild stuff in this update and not in the least was that the second time vil realized he was in a dream#his reaction was to KILL EVERYONE and cackle maniacally about it#god forbid a queen do anything i guess#anyway i also love the contrast between what i assumed savanarook would be like and what he was actually like#'he looks so wild...what kind of dangerous dream will this mighty hunter have...'#oh no he's actually just an adorable movie geek who is SO EXCITED to share his hyperfixation with us#somehow less intimidating than regular rook#and yet still a delightful little freak. his BEDROOM#the background artist went SO ham on it. truly the magnum opus of twst backgrounds#there are a bunch of little details it is SO worth zooming in on#(including a tiny little picture of che'nya! which...actually i think that implies rook may have stolen an rsa yearbook or something)#(that's our rook! /sitcom laugh track)
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