#everyone leaves and I should be used to this by now

[kira-sucks-lawlipops]

I used to work the front reception desk at a hospital that charged exorbitantly for patient and visitor parking. This was an undercover parking lot with a boomgate at the exit, not street parking as in the video above. It cost $13 an hour, for everyone at all times of the day with no exceptions.

Want to wait for a loved one who will be in surgery all day? That'll be a hundred bucks. Come here twice a week for dialysis? Another hundred, but every week for the rest of your life. The real kicker was that it never reset or expired. We had people who came into the emergency room, ended up getting admitted into a ward, and didn't think to do anything about their car sitting in the parking lot for days on end, racking up hour after hour of fees. Then when they finally got discharged, they'd call us from the garage in tears because the ticket machine was telling them they needed to pay thousands of dollars just to go home.

There was one loophole to this. If a ticket malfunctioned at the boomgate, we could press an override button to open it manually. This was for "emergencies only", so we couldn't do anything from the ticket machine, and we couldn't trigger it without receiving a call from the boomgate.

For five years, anytime anyone asked me any sort of question about parking, I would tell them to ignore the ticket machine entirely, go directly to the boomgate and press the 'assisance' button. And then I would let them out of the parking lot.

I probably cost the hospital more than my salary in parking fees.

Why did I do this? Was it out of selfless love for my fellow human beings? A deeply-seated belief that charging people for being sick is evil? A desire to fight the man in whatever small way I could?

Not really.

Don't get me wrong, those things did apply. I think parking fees at hospitals are evil and should be abolished. But my strongest motivator for always letting people out of the parking lot was because that was the easiest way to solve the problem.

Basically the entire time I worked at that hospital I was always 1) too busy 2) too exhausted and 3) not paid enough to care about dealing with the parking lot. The tickets were buggy, the machine was always malfunctioning and the system was exploitative. Why would I ever make that my priority when I had access to a magic button that instantly made the problem go away?

Now pay attention class. Why have I told you this story?

Because it applies to 90% of people whose job it is to monitor parking lots.

I cannot count how many times I've been in some shopping mall or convention centre or whatever, stuck a ticket into a machine and decided that actually I don't want to pay that much for parking here today. So I just drove to the boomgate and pressed the button to call for help and then was allowed to leave for free. All you have to do is say that you already paid at the machine but now the gate isn't reading your ticket correctly. The person who has to resolve that problem for you will almost always choose to hand you a 'get out of parking jail free' card rather than actually try to deal with it.

The only time I've ever gotten challenged was one guy who told me to reverse and come into the parking office (lol no), but I couldn't recerse because there were other cars behind me so he had to let me go. If you are not one for lying just crumple the ticket up a bit or scratch out part of the barcode. Don't say you lost it (some places charge at the boomgate for lost tickets), say the machine can't read it and then say hello to free parking for life.

May 31 2016 - Collin Kennedy, who is a cancer patient, used expanding spray foam to disable a parking meter at the Health Sciences Centre in Winnipeg where he gets his treatment. He says the fees are a tax on the sick. [video]

[chuulyssa]

there’s glitter on the floor after the party !

teaser it’s your birthday tonight, but do they remember, or care? pair gojo, nanami, geto, toji, sukuna x reader cw angst, just pure torture™, not proofread !

a/n it’s my birthday on 28th wooohoooo ! i wanted to be a sad girl tho *lana intensifies* let’s hope my parents take some notes and NOT do this

GOJO

for someone who liked cakes, sweets and celebrations so much, you didn’t think it would take this long for satoru to realize what day it was. you didn’t want to remind him either; he should remember it on his own, shouldn’t he? moreover, you had hated the look on his face when you reminded him of the anniversary date the two of you had planned together. he had panicked so hard and begun checking his notes and calendars, it was a pathetic sight, honestly.

“what?” his face had fallen immediately.

“don’t you remember?”

“uh, sweets, what exactly am i supposed to remember?” he had said.

he was just busy. but you had agreed upon this when you began dating him. not everyone was the strongest sorcerer in the world, not everyone had the number of things to do that he did.

“no, it’s fine.”

“you sure?” he had asked.

“yeah, it’s nothing, really.”

but you were quite sure he hadn’t forgotten. not this time. because you had checked in on his calendar a week before this, and today was marked rightly “her birthday” with a shit ton of emojis. so what was taking so long? maybe he was planning a surprise party? whatever it was, you didn’t think the prank needed to be dragged on for so long. since he remembered it, he ought to come out and celebrate already. and if he didn’t, well, whatever. you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when you saw that the party he kept was for someone else, some other girl, no

NANAMI

you’d been waiting for hours at this point. and it was nanami, the kento nanami. kento was never late, how could he be? if there was something he always relied on it was his ability to tell the time, whether it was his refusal to work overtime or his arrival on your dates before you.

so where was he now? he had hurried off in the morning before you had gotten a word out.

“i’m terribly sorry, sweetheart, i have to leave early today,” he had planted a quick kiss on your forehead.

“okay, okay,” you had blinked in confusion at his hurry. “where are you going though?”

“i have decided something.”

“decided what?”

he’d sighed cryptically. what was he hiding?

“it’s best if you didn’t know.”

“excuse me?”

he’d shaken his head and just… left? he hadn’t even wished you, not the night before, not the morning after. and just what had he decided? you were hurt, of course you were. where was he going in such a hurry? you had felt he had been growing distant from you for long now. but it did not make the pain of being left alone on your fucking birthday any better. but what could you do either way now? you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when you saw that he had returned to his sorcerer status, and completely abandoned all the plans the two of you had made for your future, no

GETO

he was too in love with his cult to notice, of course he was. suguru dumbass geto. of course it was his cult’s birthday today, who were you even? when he had first told you, to prevent yourself from crashing the fuck out, you had tried to shut up.

“oh.”

“yeah, so are you joining us tonight?” he had asked, as if he was bestowing an honour upon you by inviting you to his stupid party.

“i didn’t know you kept birthdays for your cult, haha,” please get the hint, you had prayed.

“we do, yes. you will join us tonight, hm? i want to take you there as my date.”

“oh, no, no i don’t think i will, actually.”

“huh, why not? you had been looking forward to this day for a long time, hadn’t you?”

yeah, you had. obviously you had. but when you were jumping around two weeks ago talking excitedly about a ‘birthday’, you did not mean it to be his cult’s day. was that too hard to notice? but all was okay, of course. ‘how could you ruin such a long relationship over a forgotten birthday?’ you were sure that’s what the older women of the cult would talk about if they knew. and besides, you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when he had decided to take another woman as his date for the event, showing that you were completely replaceable to him, no

TOJI

he had a mission planned out conveniently at midnight, just when the clock would strike 12 and you’d be a year older. but what could you say? it wasn’t as if it was in his control when someone wanted a person to die or not, he was just the man doing the job.

so you had let it go. one hour, two hours, twelve hours, eighteen hours, where the fuck was he?

“hey, sorry ma,” there was loud cheering from his side of the phone.

“where are you?”

“got this race i wanted to bet on actually—”

“shut up, no seriously, shut the fuck up, toji—”

“what? are you okay?”

“no i’m not, what the fuck—”

there was another cheer of celebration from his side. then silence.

“calm d—”

you hung up. 6pm and he was nowhere. you were sure even if he didn’t pick your call up that time. after this, he would go out drinking with shiu all night long, then come back home drunk and wobbling around, mumbling the tune to ‘happy birthday’ if he realized what day it was, and even then, you thought, you were being too optimistic with that last part. but he was an assassin, and you knew that. didn’t he deserve some happiness in life too? and you, you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when everyone tried to remind him of the day but he was too far gone to know, no

SUKUNA

what did you expect? your chamber to be full of decorations? the dining room to be laid with the most beautiful gifts ever? the corridors to be filled with balloons? though none of that was here, the mere mental image of sukuna blowing up balloons and trying not to pop them with his nails was funny.

funny. everything that could make your mind get off right now was funny. blowing the fire of your candelabrum out, leaving behind just smoke and discomfort. funny. pretending the dinner you had been served for the night was your highly expensive banquet designed just for tonight. funny. acting as if sukuna was right by your side, giggling, as if he didn’t always behave like human traditions meant nothing to him. funny.

“it’s my birthday, you know.”

“birthday? alright. what of it?”

“uh, birthday birthday? shouldn’t you be celebrating it?”

“what is there to celebrate? it is merely a day, no?” he had said it so simply that it made you backtrack.

“yes but—”

“and besides, you are only growing older. it would’ve been remarkable and truly something to celebrate if you had been growing younger by the days,” he chuckled, turning away from you to make his way to the council.

you laughed. funny. he was right though, wasn’t he? you had many other birthdays to celebrate.

not when he knew, he knew and he could not care less, showing his disdain for it too, no

of course, of course you had many other birthdays, many other years yet to come.

but not when it came at the expense of your self-respect, and you had to make a choice between loving and loving yourself, no

[agustdakasuga]

Every Moment With You

Genre: Romance, Fluff

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, IdolBoyfriend!Yoongi, Idol!Namjoon, Idol!Seokjin, Idol!Hoseok, Idol!Jimin, Idol!Taehyung, Idol!Jungkook

Summary: Finally, the boys are able to take a break without any cameras and fans. And since they will be a private compound on their own, of course Yoongi invited you. And now that you're able to comfortably spend time with him, you want to make full use of it before he goes back to work.

Word count: 7,395

When Yoongi unlocked the door to the apartment, he was greeted to by the sight of you blasting 'Haegeum' and throwing hand signs around, jumping on the spot like you were at one of his AGUST D D-Day concerts.

"이 노래는 해금" You tried your best to rap, still not noticing your boyfriend leaning against the wall, watching you with an amused smile on his face.

"Ayy!" You couldn't catch up with all the lyrics of his rap so you kept throwing 'ayy's around.

"어쩌면 이 또한 또 다른 해금, yeah" You finished and Yoongi pushed himself off the wall, clapping to finally make his presence known.

"What the-" You jumped and let out a yelp.

"H-How long have you been there?" You screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Yoongi continued clapping and laughing at how surprised you looked to see him.

"Halfway through the chorus. Although I wish I was here to see the entire performance." He chuckled.

"Damn right, you know I'm way better than Agust D. But sorry, there are no encores around here." You scoffed.

"Yeah, we don't know who Agust D thinks he is." Yoongi smiled and shuffled over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. You threw your arms over his neck, tip toeing slightly to hug him properly. You tightened your hold around him as he turned his head just enough to press a kiss to your cheek.

"How was the studio session?" You asked.

"It went better than I expected. I should be able to record guide vocals with Jungkook soon." He replied, one hand moving to stroke your lower back affectionately.

"That's great." You giggled, pulling back to give him a peck. You helped him remove his jacket and hung it up on the coat rack.

"Oh, right. I wanted to tell you, the boys wanna head up to the Soop estate to stay for a few days." He informed.

"Ah, I see. Go ahead, I think it's a great idea. You all should take the chance to get away for a bit before promotions really kick off again." You said, going to the kitchen.

"You should come too." He followed you into the kitchen, grabbing a cold coffee from the fridge.

"Yoongi, I would love to but... you remember the last time... it was hard for everyone to hide me from the cameras..." You sighed.

"I know, aegi. But the management said there will be no cameras, no content filming, no fans, nothing. We'll have the whole place to ourselves with security in case of trespassers. So if you would like to go, I would love to have you there." He held your hand.

"Oh, sure. If the boys are okay with it." You smiled, rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb.

"Please, of course they are okay with it. They didn't even care about whether I was going, all they wanted to know was if you were going." He rolled his eyes.

"Alright. I have some vacation days my boss has been asking me to take anyway so the timing is perfect." You said.

"It's settled then. Go get packed, we're leaving tomorrow morning at 5 am." Yoongi patted your hip.

"We'll have our own room, bathroom and small seating area. And of course, the camper van is ours too. You've seen it on the show, it's like the one Jungkook stayed in with Bam." Yoongi informed.

"I mean, if the other members need more privacy, I don't mind sharing a bathroom or living room space." You shrugged.

"No, no, no. Don't say that. For me, we need our own space." Yoongi was quick to interject, shaking his head.

"Sure~" You laughed.

During In The Soop 1, Yoongi spoke to management about you tagging along with them and they agreed since Yoongi would be using the camper on his own. But even so, it was hard for you to stay hidden. You would have to duck out of the way, wake up earlier to leave the bed and make sure your stuff was hidden.

On top of that, the editing team had to do multiple rounds of checks to make sure that any footage of you or your belongings being captured was removed.

"Go shower, I'll start packing." You waved him off. He hummed and came over to kiss your temple before going to the bathroom.

"Shirts, pants, underwear..." You took out a few sets and laid them on the bed.

"Hoodies... Dresses..." Leaving Yoongi's clothes on the bed for him to check first, you packed your stuff into the suitcase. Then you packed make up and some travel toiletries.

"They have toiletries there, aegi. Unless you need something specific." Yoongi said, re-entering the room.

"Oh, okay. Saves me the space then. Can you check if that's enough clothes for you?" You asked.

"I think I'll take a few more shirts. Last time, I ended up being pushed into the pool by a drunk Namjoon. It was edited out since most of them were drunk and removing their clothes." He let out a sigh.

"I'm sure the fans would have liked to watch that." You raised your eyebrows. Yoongi helped you with the packing, stuffing his things into his own suitcase. He put your skincare along with his own in his travel pouch and packed that.

"I can finish up here if you want to nap." You told him, knowing he was working in the studio the whole of last night.

"It's alright, we're almost done." Yoongi patted your head. He took the clothes that you both decided not to bring and put them back into the drawers or hung them back up in the closet.

"Aegi, should I add your skirt to this hanger with the rest or would you prefer me to use a new one?" He asked.

"A new one would be great. The other one looks too full." You said.

"Good idea." He went to the laundry area to get a spare hanger and came back, neatly hanging your skirts before putting it back into your side of the closet.

"Okay, we're done! Time for us to sleep." He declared.

"Yoongi, it's 1pm. I'm not sleepy! You go to sleep." You said between your giggles.

"No, you know I can't sleep without you." He grumbled in a low voice, not sure if it was meant for you to hear of not. But without another word, Yoongi laid on his side of the bed, scrolling on his phone.

"Aren't you tired?" You tilted your head.

"I am... I'm just waiting for you." He let out a big yawn, stretching his arms and legs like a cat. You let out a sigh of defeat and moved the packed bags aside, crawling into bed with him. Yoongi used to sleep on the left but after his surgery, he changed to the right so he wouldn't sleep on his left.

"That's better." He cleared his throat, pulling you close and letting you sleep on his right arm, his left casually slung over your hip. You felt him kiss the top of your head.

"Ugh." You tried to sleep but you had just woken up not too long ago. On the other hand, Yoongi fell asleep so quickly.

"You always work so hard." You whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek as he slept.

"I love you." You were glad he was done with military. Yes, as a social service officer, you saw Yoongi everyday but he always looked so tired and frustrated that he didn't have time to work on music.

You slipped out of Yoongi's hold and left the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

"Clean up, do laundry, make snacks, pack drinks." You made a list.

Since you and Yoongi were not going to be around, you wanted to clean the house and do as many chores as you could so you wouldn't have to do them when you get back.

"Aegi?" Yoongi lifted his head to find himself along in bed. His hand touched your side of the bed, feeling how cold the sheets were. He groaned as he sat up and yawned. Slipping on his house slippers, Yoongi left the bedroom.

"Aegiiii..." His sleep riddled voice called out for you.

"In the kitchen!" You replied. Yoongi blinked in confusion and went over to the kitchen. He watched with a small frown as you were wrapping the rice ball in cling wrap.

"W-What are you doing?" Yoongi came closer, leaning closer and squinting to figure out what you were doing.

"Make snacks for us and the others to eat on the bus ride." You laughed, pulling him back.

"It's just snacks, babe. We might get hungry or the others might get hungry too." You said, putting all the rice balls aside, next to the wrapped sandwiches.

"Thank you for doing this." He smiled.

"I'm always happy to feed you and the boys." You put all the items into the fridge, intending to bring them in a cooler bag later.

"You made Japanese potato salad?" His eyes widened when he saw you put two containers in too.

"Mhmm. I know you like it. Plus, I ran out of bread and since I was boiling eggs anyway, I took some for potato salad. This second one container has no cucumbers, its for Taehyung." You explained, going to grab some disposable cutlery that you and Yoongi collect from all your food deliveries.

"You spoil them too much." He clicked his tongue, stealing a boiled egg to eat. Yoongi always says you give in too much to the younger ones but it's always hard to tell them no.

"You spoil them too! Jungkook's whole 'Yoongi hyung never scolds me' thing." You put your hands on your hips.

"T-That's different." He looked away, his ears turning red.

"Sure, it is. You keep telling yourself that. And I don't just spoil them, I spoil you too, Yoonie~" You cooed at him, pinching his cheek. He scoffed and slapped your hands away.

"You know I hate all your nicknames... And you're meant to spoil me, you're dating me, not them." He glared.

"Don't worry, I didn't forget that." You hugged his waist, leaning your head on his chest.

"You better not." His clean hand came to stroke the back of your head. As you cleaned up the kitchen counter, Yoongi heated up the leftovers for you have dinner.

"Aegi, dinner time. Stop working." Yoongi called you like a mother calls her child, putting the plates of food on the dining table. You closed your laptop and went over to help him, grabbing the side dishes from the fridge and the cutlery.

"I managed to file for my leave. I shot my boss a text and he told me to go ahead, he'll approve it tomorrow morning." You informed.

"That's great, aegi. So, you can take the time to just relax and immerse yourself in nature with me." He smiled. You nodded with a hum and sat down.

"Thank you for the food, Yoongi." You picked up your chopsticks.

"You're very welcome. Eat up, aegi." He removed the bone from the galbi and placed the meat on your rice.

After dinner, you did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen while Yoongi did his own packing. He never went anywhere without his music and sound recording equipment.

"You know, usually partners would get nagged at for bringing work things on vacation." Yoongi joked.

"Why would I nag you on something that brings you happiness? If by chance, that's work. So be it." You shrugged.

"You're something else, aegi." He chuckled and shook his head, carefully packing his expensive equipment into their foam cases and zipping up his guitar. Then he grabbed his computer bag to pack his laptop and all the wires. It was satisfying to watch him pack, he was so neat and meticulous.

"Would you prefer me to nag...?" You teased. He shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. Once he was done, you placed all your things by the door.

"Okay, we have a few hours to sleep then we have to go." He reached out to hold your hand.

"I'm excited! I haven't seen this new estate." You clapped your hands happily.

"Oh, that's right! I forgot you haven't seen the estate before... And I event went again for song camp when producing D-Day." Yoongi slapped his forehead in realisation and you nodded.

"Of course I wouldn't go for song camp." You said. You knew you wouldn't value add and just be a distraction if you went."

"I think you'll like it, there's a lot more space than the first Soop location they rented." He squeezed toothpaste onto your toothbrush.

"But the company actually owns this place, right? Like the whole area. The first estate was a rental." You asked. He hummed and began to brush his teeth, so did you.

"I'll set an alarm. Goodnight, aegi." Yoongi mumbled, eyes on his phone, playing his basketball game.

"Goodnight, Yoon." You wished back, tucking yourself against his side. As he used his phone, his other hand absentmindedly stroked your head, which lulled you to sleep really quickly. Left with only 3 hours to sleep, he put his phone away to join you in dreamland.

--

"Everything is packed." You zipped up the cooler bag with all the food that you prepared last night. Yoongi insisted on handling most of the bags, loading them into the car.

"So I'll leave the car at HYBE while we're at the estate. The others should be making their way there, the bus leaves at 6." He said.

"Mmm..." You hummed, still tired.

"Aigoo, my precious girl. You can sleep on the bus." Yoongi leaned over to cup your cheeks. You pouted at him, making him chuckle as he started the car to drive.

"(y/n)!" Your name was yelled across the carpark as you and Yoongi unloaded the bags.

"Shhh! Taehyung ah, you're too loud." Jimin chided.

"Hi." You waved, trying to hide your yawn as you helped Yoongi with the bags. Of course, the boys took over the bags, sharing the load especially with Yoongi's music and recording equipment. You all took the lift up to the back of HYBE, where the bus was waiting and the other boys were boarding.

"Good morning." You bowed to the others and Yoongi sent them a lazy wave, passing the bags to the bus captain who was loading them into storage.

"Glad you could join us." Namjoon smiled.

"Thank you for having me." You giggled, adjusting the scarf Yoongi bundled around your neck.

"Oh my, Jungkook's bringing Bam? Hello, Bamie~" You cooed as Jungkookg walked over with the doberman. Bam jumped excitedly, standing on his hind legs to sniff you and lick you.

"I've missed you too, big baby. Yes, good boy." You rubbed your ears. When Yoongi was done, he grabbed your hand.

"Let's get out of the cold." He said softly and led you to the bus, helping you up the steps.

"(y/n) packed food for everyone." Yoongi announced to the other boys who were settling in their seats, and Jungkook was trying to settle Bam down.

"Thank you, (y/n)! You're a life saver." The boys all threw thanks their way. Jin volunteered to have the cooler bag of food beside him since he had a spare seat beside him and he could help hand it out to the boys for you.

"Yes, she is." Yoongi mumbled under his breath with a chuckle but you heard him.

"You don't have to stay awake, aegi. Go to sleep." He put his arm around you. With such a big bus, everyone took alternate rows to be able to recline their seats comfortably.

"The rice balls are good, (y/n)!" Jungkook said, his words muffled by the food he stuffed in his mouth.

"Yah. You're getting rice everywhere." Hoseok chided.

"Thank you." You replied with a giggle before leaning back in your seat. You didn't know when you fell asleep but Yoongi opened the small lap blanket he brought and draped it over you.

"Can we dim the lights a little?" Yoongi requested. The manager asked the bus driver to lower the lights.

"So hyung, how happy are you to have her here?" Jimin asked from across the aisle, watching Yoongi draw the curtains and adjust the overhead airconditioning vent so it wasn't blowing in your face. Yoongi turned around to glare at the younger before checking on you, making sure you didn't hear Jimin.

"Thankfully she had enough vacation days to come with us. She deserves a nice break too." Yoongi replied, not answering Jimin's question directly.

"You're always afraid to gush about her, around her. You do it silently, behind her back." Taehyung pointed out with a laugh.

"I don't gush about her. I just appreciate her and what she does for me." Yoongi rolled his eyes.

"Sure, hyung. You don't gush... keep telling yourself that." Namjoon chuckled, eyes still trained on his kindle. Luckily the bus was dark that they couldn't see the light blush on Yoongi's cheeks.

"I don't gush." Yoongi looked back at your sleeping face, not sure who he was trying to convince at this point.

When you woke up, you felt Yoongi's head on your shoulder and tried your best not to move.

"Jimin, can you hand me my phone there?" You whispered to the male who was playing his nintendo switch. He nodded and reached over to get your phone from the seat pocket.

"Thank you." You smiled softly. Like all younger brothers do, Jimin retrieved his own phone and snapped a picture of sleeping Yoongi on your shoulder before retreating back to his seat to continue his game. You chuckled and shook your head.

"He's going to kill you if he knows." You told him.

"Then don't tell him." Jimin snickered. You spent the remainder of hte bus ride on your phone, not wanting to move to disturb Yoongi.

"We're here, everyone. Wake up!" Namjoon stood up. You gently patted Yoongi's thigh to wake him. His eyes fluttered open and he looked around.

"Good morning, Yoongi." You giggled.

"Good morning, aegi." He yawned and stretched his arms. As everyone was busy gathering their stuff, you gave him a peck.

"Come on, let's get off this bus." He helped you pack and held your hand as you got off the bus. Standing in the mansion estate, it was so much bigger than what the television showed.

"Let's go, Bam!' Jungkook let Bam off his leash and started running towards his room with his bags in tow.

"He has so much energy." Jin clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"All he did was sleep and eat on the bus." Hoseok laughed. You were unsure of where to go so you just followed Yoongi. He slid open one of the sliding doors to a room in one of the villas. Like Yoongi said, it was exactly like Jungkook and Bam's room in the show, practically like a studio apartment without a kitchen.

"Wow, I can't believe this is just one section of the villa." You said, pushing the suitcases to the corner.

"Yeah, each room has a small living space and bathroom. Then the kitchen and big living room is in the main mansion." Yoongi said, closing the door behind him.

"I do watch In The Soop, you know?" You teased. He scoffed and went into the room.

"Ah. This is comfy." He laid on the bed.

"It's so nice and tranquil here." You said, moving to lay on him, resting your head on his chest. Yoongi lazily threw an arm over your shoulders to hold you.

"As much as I would like to continue sleeping in an actual bed, we need lunch. Everyone ate your food but you." Yoongi said.

"But I'm not hungry." You yawned, burying your face into his chest. Yoongi kissed the top of your head.

"Lovebirds! Are we doing lunch or what?" You heard Jin's voice from your door. You yelled out an acknowledgement to the oldest and immediately got up, making Yoongi let out an annoyed groan from behind you.

"We'll wash up and be right there!" You smiled to Jin. He nodded, giving you a thumbs up before leaving to head to the mansion. You went to wash your face.

"Aegiiii..." Yoongi drowned out and leaned his body against yours, his hands holding your waist from behind.

"I'm trying to wash my face!" You squealed, feeling his fringe tickle the back of your neck.

After you and Yoongi washed up, you convinced him to at least have lunch. Hand in hand, you strolled to the mansion. Yoongi looked around the place, ruffling his hair with his free hand.

"What are you craving for?" Yoongi asked, the both of you removing your shoes before entering the mansion.

"I'll have what the others are having. You know I'm not picky." You shrugged.

"I know but I'd much rather cook something you want to eat and not something the younger ones want." He chuckled. The two of you saw the others playing games in the living room.

"Woah, be careful, aegi." He grasped your waist to move you out of the way before Taehyung could accidentally hit you while challenging Jin and Jungkook.. You followed him to the kitchen to help him cook. Yoongi opened the fridge to look at what the managers had stocked up for your stay here.

"What about cheesy dakgalbi?" He turned to you, smiling when he saw your eyes light up with excitement and happiness. You nodded your head.

"I'll cut the vegetables, you can handle the meat." You told him.

"You should rest. Let me cook." Yoongi crossed his arms as you took out the cabbage, carrots, onions and potatoes.

"I am resting. Doing this with you is rest." You said, retrieving a cutting board and knife. Yoongi shot you a flat look but didn't argue, preparing the chicken and marinade.

"What are we cooking?" Hoseok came into the house with Jimin. The shorter male joined the others in the living room, playing games.

"Dakgalbi." Yoongi replied.

"Anything I can help with? Make some coffee?" Hoseok suggested. You and Yoongi immediately nodded.

"Coffee would be amazing, Seok. Thank you." You giggled, chopping the cabbage and putting all the vegetables into a bowl for Yoongi to cook with later.

"Oooh, this smart stove is really cool." You watched Yoongi put two big pans over the stove. With 8 people, he probably thought it would be easier to eat out of two pans rather than everyone trying to get into one pan.

"I'll make some gyeranmari and dumplings to eat on the side." You said, cooking on the stove at the back. After giving you both your coffees, Hoseok helped you with cooking the sides.

"Lunch! Call whoever is not here!" Yoongi yelled.

"Coming!" Those in the living room came out. Taehyung called Namjoon over while Jungkook grabbed cutlery.

You all sat together to eat, some of the boys sharing the microwave rice packs, knowing they will probably use the leftovers to make fried rice to share later.

"Thank you for cooking!" The boys chimed before digging in.

"Mmm." You nodded happily. Yoongi placed some chicken on your plate, his free arm resting on the back of your chair the entire time.

"This is just what I needed! We should bring you on vacations more often, (y/n)." Taehyung exclaimed happily, making a wrap with the chicken and eating it in one mouthful.

"She's not your personal chef." Yoongi sent Taehyung a look but you knew they were just joking.

After lunch was done, those that didn't cook were on clean up duty. Yoongi took the opportunity to get you out of there. He grasped your wrist and practically dragged you back your shared room at the villa, making it clear he didn't really want to stay and socialise with the other members anymore.

"You're being anti social. Maybe the boys want to spend more time with you." You slapped his arm.

"We can do that another time. Now is me and you time." He huffed, removing his hoodie so he was just in his undershirt.

"I need to use the bathroom." You went to the bathroom, also getting out of your uncomfortable clothes. You changed into something comfier, aka Yoongi's shirt.

"We're going to stay in bed until we are called for dinner." Yoongi said when you entered the room.

"I like that plan." You giggled and fell on top of him. He wrapped his arms around you to turn you around so you were on your sides.

"I'm just happy to spend time with you." You reached out to cup his cheeks, caressing the skin with your thumbs. Yoongi gave you a gummy smile and lifted your hands to kiss your fingertips.

"Are you sleepy?" He asked.

"No, I think I slept enough in the bus." You said, betrayed by your yawn.

"Yeah, we'll see about that." He stroked the back of your head. You scoffed and pulled away, sitting up to lean against the headboard with an intention to read. Yoongi shifted himself so his head could rest in your lap.

"You should sleep more." You patted his head, knowing that he probably didn't sleep well on the bus.

It felt so peaceful and normal to spend time with Yoongi like this. With you, he wasn't an idol, he was just your boyfriend and the two of you were spending some time off together.

"Feeling sleepy yet?" He murmured sleepily, hugging your legs like a bolster.

"No, I'm not. Now, stop interrupting my reading." You said. It didn't take long for Yoongi to fall asleep.

"(y/n)? Are you here?" You looked up from your book to find Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook at your doorway. Luckily Yoongi pulled the blanket to hide your bare legs.

"Shh..." You hushed them, pointing to the sleeping Yoongi who was hugging your legs.

"Come play." They waved you over.

"But..." You gestured to the sleeping Yoongi. No one ever dares to wake Yoongi up, maybe except Taehyung with kindergarten music playing in the background. The 3 couldn't help you now since you were pantless and you were pretty sure Yoongi might have an aneurysm if he knew that they saw you.

"Go, I'll come out in a bit." You told them. They gave you thumbs ups and closed the bedroom door. Looking down at Yoongi, you carefully shifted away, replacing your legs with a pillow quickly.

"Sorry." You stroked his head in case he woke up. It was hard when he had almost all his weight on your legs.

"I'll be back." You leaned down to kiss his cheek. Yoongi didn't seem bothered by you moving him.

Looking around, you grabbed a pair of sweats and put it on before going out, where the 3 boys were waiting for you in the tiny living room area.

"Let's go!" Taehyung held your hand and pulled you out.

"Where did she gooooo?" Yoongi groaned, feeling the pillow against his cheek instead of you. He sat up, seeing the sun starting to set.

"Aegi?" He called out from bed but there was no reply. Ruffling his hair and yawning, he got out of bed and noticed that his sweats were missing from the floor.

"Nooooo!" Yoongi heard your squeal and grabbed a new pair of pants, going out to see where you were.

There you were, playing in the rain with Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. Jungkook was chasing after you and Jimin with an evil smile. Yoongi grabbed an umbrella and exited the room, he stood there quietly, watching all of you play.

"Oh! Yoongi!" You spotted your cat-like boyfriend, standing there with his black umbrella, and waved at him. Yoongi smiled back at you. Since you were distracted, Jungkook suddenly grabbed you.

"Ah!" You yelped in shock as he lifted you up.

"Yah! Be careful with her!" Yoongi barked, coming over to where you all were playing.

"I'm fine, Yoongi. Don't worry." You grinned, drenched from head to toe. Yoongi sighed and reached out to move gently your wet hair away from your face.

"I'm going to get started on dinner. You guys should go dry up so we can eat." Yoongi said.

"Aww!" Everyone jeered but Yoongi was not budging, he was really worried about you catching a cold.

Despite you already being damp, Yoongi still sheltered you with his umbrella all the way back to your share room. He entered first to put a towel on the flower so you wouldn't slip coming in.

"Leave your clothes in that bathroom when you're done. I'll put them in the dryer later." Yoongi told you. You nodded and leaned forward to give him a grateful peck on the cheek but you were careful not to let your wet hair drip onto his clothes. After that, he left you to shower and warm yourself up.

"(y/n), are you heading to the main house?" You caught Namjoon coming down from the room upstairs.

"Yeah. But I think the spare umbrellas are there and Yoongi took the only one that was here." You said, holding your wet clothes in your hands after you wrung out all the water.

"Come, I'll take you." He smiled.

"Thank you!" You ducked under the umbrella with him and walked towards the main house.

"So, I saw you guys playing out in the rain from my window earlier. Can't believe the younger ones managed to rope you into their antics." Namjoon chuckled.

"It was all fun, you should have joined us. We're just kids at heart, playing in the rain and puddle stomping." You giggled.

"Maybe next time." He slid open the door for you to enter.

"Definitely. Hey, Yoon. Don't worry, I got my clothes." You greeted your boyfriend, who was cooking in the kitchen with Jin. He nodded in acknowledgement and you brought your damp clothes to the laundry area, throwing your clothes into the wash.

"Thanks for walking her over, Namjoon ah." Yoongi nodded over to the leader. Namjoon smiled and headed to the living room.

"I could have brought it in for you to be washed, aegi." Yoongi came into the laundry room.

"It's fine, it's just a few pieces of laundry. You're already busy with dinner." You laughed, starting the machine. The two of you walked out, hand in hand.

"Look at you two being inseparable." Jin teased, clicking the tongs in his hands. Yoongi rolled his eyes but didn't let you go.

When you first started dating and being more open around the other members, you and Yoongi would have separated if one of the members teased you. But now, Yoongi wouldn't part from you.

"I'll cook the rice and ramyeon." You tied your hair up.

"You should sit. You already cooked lunch." Yoongi said to you, patting your hip.

"You cooked lunch too. Plus you and Jin already did most of the work. It's just rice and ramyeon." You smiled. Yoongi nodded and helped you tuck your stray hairs behind your ears so they wouldn't bother you. You washed your hands and went to scoop the rice into the rice cooker.

"Wow, it's smelling good!" Jimin said as he came in, running his hands over his damp hair.

"Can you get the side dishes out from the fridge?" Jin requested. Jimin saluted and went to do that. While waiting for the rice to cook, you got the cutlery and plates to set the table.

"What are you doing now?" Taehyung shuffled over to you. You pointed to the ramyeon stack.

"Can I help?" He asked.

"Sure. I just need to open all these before the water boils." You giggled. Jungkook might be the youngest but Taehyung was everyone's baby brother.

"Once that's all done, we can eat. Get your drinks and rice." Yoongi announced to everyone.

"Yes, hyung!" Everyone went to line up with their rice bowls while you continued to cook the ramyeon.

"I got your rice, aegi." Yoongi told you.

"Thanks, Yoon. It's almost done." You said to everyone. Once the noodles were done, Jungkook came to help you carry the pot to the table. You took your seat beside Yoongi and he cracked open your can of soda for you.

"Thank you for cooking~" Everyone dug into the food hungrily. As always, the dinner conversation was spent chatting and laughing, as well as reminiscing old memories.

And as the others cleared up after dinner, you sat with Yoongi in the living room. He nestled a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"Come." He called you to him. You leaned your head on his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around you.

"Are you sleepy? I bet you didn't nap earlier since the younger ones dragged you out to play." He asked. You shook your head but was betrayed by your yawn.

"You're such a liar." Yoongi snorted.

"Am not." You scoffed, pinching his side. When clean up was done, the others invited you to play some games.

"Refill?" Namjoon asked Yoongi, refilling his own whiskey glass after coming down from the mini reading corner upstairs. The two of them always enjoyed reading with a glass of whiskey.

"I'm good. Thanks." Yoongi placed his empty glass down.

"Yoongi! I won! Did you see that?! I am the champion!" You turned to your boyfriend and pointed to the screen, squealing in excitement. Yoongi leaned his head on his hand with an endearing smile and nodded his head, giving you a thumbs up, he was like a parent watching his child play and win for the first time.

"Rematch!" The boys protested.

"No way! I'm going to bed." You stuck your tongue out at them, causing them to jeer at you. Hearing what you said, Yoongi put his glass down on the table and stood up.

"You don't have to go with me, you know? You can stay with them if you're not tired." You giggled.

"No, I'm tired too." Yoongi said.

"Goodnight. See you tomorrow." You all wished each other. After he placed his whiskey glass in the sink, Yoongi and you walked hand in hand back to your shared room.

"I'm not going with you because I have to, it's because I want to. So don't feel like you're making me do anything." Yoongi suddenly said.

"I know. But it's your vacation too. I don't want you to feel like you have to stick with me constantly." You shrugged.

"I'll gladly stick with you 24/7, that's my ideal vacation." He smiled softly. You lightly punched his arm for being so cheesy. Yoongi would only act this way around you privately and you liked that.

"You can set up your music stuff here if you prefer the space here over the camper. I don't mind it, really." You told him as you squeezed toothpaste onto both your toothbrushes. Honestly, you were so used to Yoongi and his music equipment, it didn't bother you.

"This is our space and since I'm working with some of the members, I don't want them coming in and out." He explained.

"I don't mind it if it makes things more convenient for you." You smiled.

"I mind. I prefer our privacy. The camper's just there so it's not a far walk but thank you for offering, aegi." He rubbed your back. The two of you brushed your teeth and washed your faces.

"Alright, you can change your mind any time." You said as you wiped your face with a clean towel.

"Thank you." He kissed your temple and left you to do your skincare.

"Surprisingly, there are still people sending me messages, congratulating me on finishing my military service." Yoongi noted, sitting at the table with his iPad.

"Maybe they didn't know you finished and saw a news article so they congratulated you now." You giggled.

"Yeah, Halsey asked when we are going back to America to visit her and her family." He said.

"Sure, if your schedule allows it. I can't wait to see Ender again. Children change a lot in 2 years." You said. Yoongi nodded in agreement with a small hum. Of course, you followed him to America on holiday and Yoongi insisted he meet the celebrities that he was close with.

What fans didn't know was that your home wallpaper on your phone was the full, actual picture of Yoongi snuggling up to Ender when you both visited him as a baby.

"Maybe this time he won't give me stares when I say hi to him." Yoongi scoffed.

"Please, he loved you! You were just an awkward uncle at the start." You giggled, walking over to him.

"I still am an awkward uncle. I was never one that was great with children. Taehyung and Jimin are great with kids, even clumsy Namjoon is." He said, hands resting on your waist.

"You're great at a lot of other things, so what if you're not comfotable with children." You ran your fingers through his hair.

"Thanks, aegi." He laughed, pressing his forehead against your middle.

After Yoongi finished replying to some emails, the two of you changed and headed to bed but you both didn't sleep just yet. One thing you and Yoongi liked to do was just lay on your bed and use your phones, scrolling on social media.

"Look, it's you." You showed him a video of a white kitten that was sleeping on the couch like a human. Yoongi rolled his eyes and turned back to look at his own phone.

"How was your first day here?" Yoongi asked you.

"Good. It's nice to get away and spend some time with the others." You giggled and Yoongi hummed.

"Besides, isn't this technically the first holiday you guys are taking as 7? It's nice to just have a break for yourselves." You said. Yoongi nodded his head.

"Yeah, no cameras before the next comeback." Yoongi put his phone to charge and turned back to look at you.

"I can't wait for the new Run BTS episodes." You teased, charging your own phone.

"The fans will realise that military didn't change us. We're still the same competitive people that will fight over a cup of ramyeon." Yoongi chuckled as you scooted closer to him.

"And I love that about all of you. You never let anything change you." You reached up to cup his cheek.

"I love you." He held your hand and kissed your fingertips. You smiled softly and leaned in to give him a peck before burying your face against his chest. You felt Yoongi move slightly so he could pull the blanket up to cover the both of you, making sure you were well tucked in and warm.

"Goodnight." You wished. Yoongi grunted and threw his leg over you to hold you even clsoer to him. Even if you usually started cuddling, you and Yoongi would usually break apart at night.

"Are you cold? I can adjust the aircon." Yoongi asked, his hand stroking the exposed skin of your hip.

"I'm okay. The blanket is warm enough." You snuggled against him.

"Shall I wake you up for breakfast tomorrow or do you want to wait until you wake up on your own?" He checked. You hummed, knowing Yoongi was quite an early riser.

"I'll wake up a little later. Maybe 10? In case you wake up at like... 7 am." You groaned.

"I don't wake up THAT early. With you around, I tend to wake up late and stay in bed longer." Yoongi chuckled, pinching your cheek.

You slept comfortably with Yoongi, feeling relaxed and tranquil. Usually Yoongi didn't sleep well in a bed that wasn't his own but with you, he could sleep anywhere.

"Yoongi hyung?" Yoongi woke up when he heard someone call him. Even if it was another member, he sat up and instinctively moved to shield your body with his own, since you didn't wear pants to sleep. Taehyung stood at your doorway.

"I completely forgot (y/n) was here. I'm sorry!" Taehyung's eyes widened when he realised.

"Go out. I'll come out." Yoongi said, voice riddled with sleep. Taehyung obediently went to the living room area. With a soft sigh, Yoongi turned to check on you.

"Who was it...?" You mumbled.

"Taehyung. I'll be back, go back to sleep." He kissed your temple and went out.

"Sorry! I really forgot (y/n) was here, we usually just go to each other's rooms to wake each other up..." Taehyung looked so distraught Yoongi didn't have to heart to say anything.

"It's fine, Taehyung. Just tell me, what do you need?" Yoongi yawned, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jin hyung's making noodles for breakfast and he wanted to ask if you and (y/n) want some." He relayed. Yoongi looked at the clock.

"Oh, it's 9 already... No, it's okay, thanks for coming to ask. I think we'll just wait for lunch." Yoongi said. Taehyung nodded with a salute and left. Yoongi went back to the room, making sure to close and lock the door this time. He fell back into bed with a long exhale and got under the blanket with you.

"Who was it..." You breathed out, turning to face Yoongi.

"Boys asking if we want breakfast. But I told them we'll stay in bed and just have lunch later." He said, his arm going around your shoulders to hold you to his chest.

"Good idea. I'm not ready to leave the bed." You yawned and buried your face against him.

"Mmm, sleep more." He patted your head. Although Yoongi didn't want to sleep more, he didn't want to move from the bed too.

"We came all the way here just to sleep." You chuckled, voice slightly muffled but of course, Yoongi understood you. Under your cheek, his chest shook as he laughed.

"Isn't that the best holiday?" He asked, stroking your back. This was the ideal holiday to him.

"I guess... We won't have time to sleep in and spend time like this once you guys start having comebacks again." You said.

"That's true." He hummed.

"What time do you have to get up to record?" You asked, obviously you were not going back to sleep too. But it felt nice to be as close to Yoongi as possible.

"Not sure, don't worry about it. We'll always find time. Anyway, we're here to relax, not work. I'll just find Jungkook later to do the guide vocals, I'm sure he is also going to sleep in." He snorted. You nodded in agreement.

"But working on music is a form of relaxation to you." You teased. Yoongi rolled his eyes.

"There you go again, spreading those sort of rumours like Jin hyung. I'm not a workaholic, you know? I'm not always working on music, I have a life outside of work." He scoffed.

"Mmm, sure."

"My life outside of work is you. If I didn't have a life outside of music, I wouldn't have you." He stated.

"You're so cheesy, stop it." You reached up to cover his mouth with your hand. Yoongi chuckled and took your hand, planting a light kiss against your palm.

"Soon, I'll be back to watching you backstage or from the wings. And more late night visits to your studio." You sighed.

"Do you miss it?" He asked.

"I thought I wouldn't when you were in the military but I think I do miss it, just a little. But I realised that I'll always miss you when I'm not with you. It's going to take me a while to adjust." You said.

"Now who is being the cheesy one?" Yoongi poked your side, making you squirm. You lifted your head, moving your body up slightly to hug Yoongi properly, winding your arms around his neck. You could feel him plant a kiss to the top of your head, resting his cheek there as his hands rubbed your back lovingly.

"I love you." He said.

"I love you too." You replied without any hesitation. You knew you were going to miss having Yoongi around so much.

Even without saying it, you both shared the same thought, you wanted to spend as much time together as possible before Yoongi's schedules kept him busy.

--

Main masterlist

[shysuccubusstuff]

l&ds nsfw links! pt. 2

Content: Zayne + Xavier + Rafayel in various NSFW imagines!

Note: It's so hard to find actual good content for these kind of imagine... How is everyone doing? I miss holidays so much... I did four instead of five cause I keep trying to find more accounts. Let me know if you liked it! Also, if anyone has any kind of request, my requests are always open tbh!!

Zayne:

Starved Zayne arriving after several days on a trip, he looks so exhausted but even if he has eyebags the only thing he can think of is grabbing you and letting you know just how much he actually missed you.

Zayne knows he should reject the idea, but how could he reject you when you keep begging him to fuck your throat, with your sweet eyes looking at him in such a way... He accepts, even if he still feels slightly guilty about it, but deep down, he may be enjoying the bulge that appears in your throat each time he shoves it deep inside you...

You sent him as a joke a supposedly true research about how sucking on your nipples could avoid you getting breast cancer... Despite Zayne looked almost ammused at first, you soon noticed how he had started to suck on them much more than often... Was this a mere coincidence?

Enforcer! Zayne taking all his anger out on you... He tried so hard do maintain his frenzy, biting his lips and leaving them all bruised just to stop himself from doing anything to you... But as soon as you use that damn enhancer on him, it's a matter of seconds before he has you lifted in the hair, your eyes rolling back as you keep pleading him to at least slow down for a second.

Xavier:

Jealous Xavier making sure to leave a lasting mark in your body. He knows it's dumb to feel that way because of some dumb barista clinging a bit too much on you, but he can't just help clenching his fist and forcing a kind smile towards you.

Just some warm-up between the two of you. You keep asking him to help you improve your stamina, what's better for that than riding him for some time? Don't worry! He will help you a bit, just make sure to get down all the way, ok?

Contrary to what many people believe, Xavier is one of the fittest LI, even if he doesn't look as strong. Just let him show you just how much he can last holding you up in the air, legs dangling as he keeps hitting your cervix with his tip.

Aftermath of that one card in which Xavier keeps getting teased while he wears his working out outfit... It is oly fair that he is able to tease you, right? He keeps taunting you, telling you to quiet down as he keeps rubbing his hardened cock against the crook of your ass. As soon as he releases, just now that this is far from over.

Rafayel:

After leaving due to work for a couple weeks, you end up receiving this video late at night... Who would imagine such a re-known artist would dare to do this kind of thing? The video has a small comment written by him: "I miss my cutie so much... the wait is becoming unbearable".

Just Rafayel giving a taste to that sweet nectar that is dripping down your legs. What do you mean that is unclean? Just relax and let him show just how much he adores you.

After acting as a butler for you, it is only fair for him to see you in those short and cute maid outfits! Just... don't blame him when his eyes begin to drift, ears starting to heat up as he keeps trying to stop his mind from imagining the many ways he would just take you right then and there. All he needs is you pulling him towards you to lose himself, one of his hands playing with your tits as the other circles around your clit.

You keep teasing him during the whole art exhibition, with you constantly wrapped around his arm, your chest pressing against his arm even as some of those supposedly art experts ask about the inspiration behind his latest paintings. Oh, you just knew he wouldn't let it slide the moment his eyes glistened with a dangerous look. As soon as you arrive to his studio... Well, let's just say that he made sure to give just as much as you had given to him...

[lesfayettes]

I was a scientist; I am no longer a scientist.

I had two NIH grants in my name just before what was, and is still now, an unfathomably hard time for scientists.

Some people are devoted to their kids, their looks, to their lover. Some to all of these. I was this way to cells and viruses.

It is with shame that I account for how things fell apart; I was not just close, for a time I was successful. Undeniably so. Being awarded a peer-reviewed grants for my research directives remains my career highlight. My old self is now a packed away memory of a voracious woman. I am no longer what she could have been. What I, in my quiet moments, still wish I could have been.

Forgiving myself has been between two truths. One, the truth that everyone loves a good underdog (i.e., I should have been able to rise above) and two, (i.e., the perhaps reality of it) that sometimes we need a hand different than the one we were delt.

I neither had ultimate control nor should any of us ever need that to achieve our successes.

However, I tell you: the weight of my unlived life feels considerably lighter, given how disparaging world has been to science.

To put it plainly, there is a cruel irony that I am perhaps "lucky" to no longer be a career scientist as I watch with incresing dispair that our institutes, our bastions for research, are being choked. As early-career researchers struggle to stay afloat.

This career has many, many pitfalls and asks for signifiant personal sacrifice and that difficulty is compounded by the nature of perpetually abyssmal funding rates. Now add this freeze. This is not a career you can easily return to after a pause in your research. The full effect of the funding freezes and cuts will be tremendously tough to measure.

We do a terrible job of not keeping up with those that fall through the cracks.

Time keeps churning, and we lose out on the most productive years people have in their lives.

I've sat on this draft for weeks. Forgive me, the poignancy is long-winded.

I'll leave it at this: we ought to pity such a world in which eager minds are unable to flourish during the brief window that we all have to do so.

I am still trying to apologize to the voracious woman I put on the shelf.

When Jonathan Safran said “Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.” and when Doc Luben said “How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?"

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 20

This one is a bit shorter than the last 🫠

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 20 >>next(TBC)

The interaction between you and Nolan was still awkward. It was weird to see him this soft and you still felt on edge like you couldn’t quite believe all it took for him to try and do better was some talking to- Bruce didn’t even let you say more than a sentence in his presence, let alone get emotional about things and try to have a conversation about it.

Overall, the past week you’ve been kind of disassociating while working on rebuilding, occupying your time with that and helping Andressa take care of the baby, occasionally texting Debbie anything from updates to “I miss you”, to “I miss your food”, to cute pictures of the little menace being funny, kept you somewhat present-minded.

Your eyes drifted to Andressa, who has been aging more and more. Her movements were slowing down, she was getting more tired, and she was having more problems with her joints. You noticed that with everyone. The kids who helped you sometimes were now teens, the babies were slowly becoming toddlers, and yet your little brother was still in the baby range.

Andressa calling your name brought you back to reality. Your eyes meet as she sighs, sitting on an armchair while you keep playing with her baby’s hair, twirling it into spikes and horns. “I… I need to ask a big favor out of you and your family.” She starts softly, her finger tapping nervously. You stop and give her all the attention as she continues speaking.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Debbie’s day has been… better. It’s all getting better. Slowly, but she’s getting there. She wanted to be petty and give Nolan’s things away, but she had a feeling he’d be coming back with you and Mark, so she did the next best thing and moved his stuff into the smallest bedroom. Well, it was more of an office with a beat-up couch; he didn’t deserve an actual bedroom.

And in hindsight, she was glad she did. “Well… he is cute.” She concedes while smiling softly as the toddler cooed up at her, all coddled up in her lap. Her hand gently ran across his small back. Andressa just smiles. “Thank you. And thank you for wanting to hear me out and for letting me into your home. I know I’m asking for a lot, for way too much even considering everything- but Nolan isn’t exactly the best at being present enough for a kid.”

Debbie laughed at that. “Yeah, I know. Can’t count the times I had to step in for things he promised Mark.” You smiled softly as the two women got along, laughing at Nolan’s actions and awkwardness towards raising the babies. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ve gotta go back and make sure the men don’t find us plotting against them.” You joked while opening a portal.

“Bye, sweetheart, make sure your brother eats lunch! Oh, was Nolan scared of holding him? Because he was terrified of holding Mark as a baby- you should have seen him- I think I have some photos-“ You snickered, finally leaving the two to their gossiping.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mark and Nolan were too busy helping rebuild buildings to notice you and Andressa being missing. Granted, some men are the biggest gossipers known to mankind. “Yeah, so your dear daughter took a plate of these mini cakes and just smashed it across Bruce’s face- mushing it around. Lex was having a field day. It was so weird to see him so genuinely happy.”

“Is there video footage of it? I would love to see that.” Nolan laughs along. “Dude, there’s so much footage- Lex has like fifteen to thirty cameras in a room, he made compilations of it!” Mark looks at the smiling man. “He even had a camera in the buttons of his suit. He gave that first-row view of the cake smash to the highest bidder.”

“And he still shares the memes on his social media.” Your voice cut through their laughter, making the young man snort. “No! He still does? Is he set on never making Bruce forget that?” Nolan looks at his cackling son. “Would you let the man forget that?” His smirk only gets wider as his son beams with a no.

Nolan gently nudged you away as he told Mark to take a break. “We need to talk.” You pouted at his words while landing on a rooftop. “We talked.” Your grumble was met with a raised eyebrow. “No. We fought, and then you interrogated me about the Justice League.” He chides. “We need to have a serious talk.”

The old Viltrumite could see the nervousness and doubt in you. So, he wanted to make sure you knew where you stood. “I know my actions hurt you in ways I don’t think will be fully salvageable. I won’t try to justify myself, I won’t try to tell you that you’re wrong for feeling any negative sentiments towards me. You have every right to because you are correct in your points. I was a coward, I should have gone to the guardians and faced their ire. I should have trusted that you and Mark had my back.”

“No matter what, if you hate me, if you don’t want to see me again, you’ll always be my daughter, my baby.” The hand he put on your shoulder was warm and slightly shaky, betraying how nervous he actually felt. “I’ll always be in your corner, no matter what, no matter how hard you try to push me away. I’ll make sure to repent for my mistakes towards you, Mark, and Debbie for the rest of my life.”

“Stop it.” You sniff. “You’ll make me cry again. And damn right you’ll repent for what you did. I’ll make sure of it.” He smiles as you gently slap his arm. “I’ll hold you to it.” His eyebrows furrowed, asking if you had seen Andressa since she hadn’t come to check up on them in a while. “She’s taking a nap. Don’t disturb your baby mama, ass.” You roll your eyes while lifting off the ground, flying away as the man pouts.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Harvey Dent raised an eyebrow at the message he received, a shit-eating grin overtaking his mug. “Looks like our little magic girl is coming back to the planet in a few days. With a few stowaways.” Two-Face shows the message to Jason. “How mad do you think Bruce will be?”

Jason just gives the man an evil smile. “Very.” The young man almost purrs as he begins giggling, laughing as if he was snorting Joker Gas. Roy Harper just looks at the scene with a shaky smile. “Ok… I think I need someone to spill some tea about what’s happening.” Harvey just scoffs. “Take a seat if you really want to know. It’s a long story.”

Roy just shrugs, pulling the chair out and dropping into it. "I think you're just exaggerating there, law man." That seems to only make Jason laugh harder, creating doubt into the young father. "Oh- you'll regret saying that by the time we're done." Our favorite crime lord counters, snickering as he pours his friend a glass of whiskey.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676 @of-poetry-and-dreams @djpuppy-kittens @wizzerreblogs @galaxypurplerose @burningkittenprince

[gf2bellamy]

Hi!! I love your writings! I was wondering if you can write one where Reid and Hotch are both interested in the new BAU agent and kind of compete for her attention or something like that, you can take full control I just like the idea. Thank you<3

competition — spencer reid and aaron hotchner

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader x aaron hotchner ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader is tired , mention of low blood sugar and processed snacks a/n: hii i gave it my best shot i hope you like it <3

You smiled as you took the coffee from Hotch’s hands, your fingers briefly brushing against his. “Thanks, Hotch,” you murmured, grateful for the caffeine boost.

It was late—ridiculously late. The kind of late where time didn’t feel real anymore. You hadn’t looked at the clock in ages, but judging by the near-empty bullpen and the way your body screamed for sleep, it had to be at least 2 AM.

Spencer, seated next to you at the conference table, glanced up from his files, his gaze flicking between you and Hotch. His grip on his pen tightened ever so slightly.

“You should take a break,” Hotch said, his voice softer than usual. He didn’t tell you to—he suggested it, which was rare for him.

You let out a quiet laugh, blowing lightly on your coffee. “I’ll take a break when the case is solved.”

Hotch huffed a quiet, almost amused breath before giving you a pointed look. “Try not to fall asleep at the table then.”

“I make no promises,” you teased before turning your attention back to the case files spread out in front of you.

Spencer’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer before he spoke. “Caffeine actually doesn’t prevent sleep deprivation. At best, it temporarily blocks adenosine receptors in your brain, but the fatigue will still catch up with you.”

You turned your head, smirking at him. “So what you’re saying is… I should drink more coffee?”

Spencer blinked, then sighed, shaking his head as he muttered, “That’s not what I—”

“You know,” Hotch interrupted. “if you really want to stay awake, stepping outside for some fresh air might help.”

Spencer straightened slightly. “Actually, studies show that cold air exposure can temporarily increase alertness, but it’s not nearly as effective as a twenty-minute nap.”

You arched an eyebrow. “You want me to nap right now?”

“I want you to function,” Spencer corrected, giving you a pointed look.

“I am functioning.” You shot him a grin before taking a slow sip of your coffee, enjoying the warmth.

Spencer frowned, but before he could retort, Hotch spoke again. “I’m heading outside for a moment. If you want to clear your head, you’re welcome to join me.”

Spencer sat up straighter, looking between you and Hotch as if calculating something in his head.

You, meanwhile, barely thought twice about it. “Maybe in a bit,” you said, waving your hand. “I want to finish this profile first.”

Hotch gave a small nod before stepping out, leaving you alone with Spencer in the dimly lit conference room.

A beat of silence passed. Then—

“You know he doesn’t bring coffee for everyone, right?”

You looked at Spencer, amused. “Are you implying that I’m special?”

Spencer’s lips parted slightly before he caught himself, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “I’m just saying… Hotch doesn’t usually do that.”

You shrugged. “Maybe he’s just being nice.”

Spencer didn’t respond immediately. He just studied you for a moment before returning his gaze to his paperwork.

You didn’t notice the way his jaw tightened slightly.

And you certainly didn’t notice the way Hotch, standing just outside the room, glanced back through the glass walls—watching as Spencer subtly shifted closer to you.

Because you had no idea.

No idea that two of the smartest men you knew were engaged in a silent competition.

The conference room was quiet except for the occasional shuffle of papers and the soft scratching of Spencer’s pen against his notepad. You were too focused on the profile in front of you to notice the way he kept stealing glances at you, or the way his foot bounced slightly beneath the table—a telltale sign of his nerves.

Hotch returned a few minutes later, his expression as unreadable as ever, though his eyes flicked to you almost immediately. “You sure you don’t need that break?” he asked, his voice measured.

“I’m good,” you replied, resting your chin in your hand. “But if you’re offering to finish this profile for me, I would reconsider.”

Spencer snorted quietly, shaking his head. Hotch, on the other hand, simply gave you a knowing look. “Nice try.”

You sighed dramatically and leaned back in your chair. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Hotch smirked ever so slightly, but before he could respond, Spencer spoke.

“You should at least eat something,” he said, not looking up from his notes. “Your blood sugar’s probably low, and working while fatigued makes you more prone to cognitive errors.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is that your way of saying I'm doing terrible work?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly. “No! I just meant—”

“I think what Reid is trying to say,” Hotch cut in smoothly, “is that it wouldn’t hurt to take care of yourself.”

Spencer shut his mouth, giving Hotch a sideways glance. You, meanwhile, huffed a small laugh. “Noted. I’ll get something from the vending machine in a bit.”

“Not the vending machine,” Spencer muttered, shaking his head. “The processed snacks won’t do much for your energy levels.”

Hotch, who had already anticipated your response, set something down in front of you. An apple.

You blinked. “Oh. Thanks, Hotch.”

Spencer frowned, glancing between you and the apple like it had personally offended him. “I—” He suddenly got up from his seat, digging through his bag before placing a granola bar in front of you. “This would be a better option.”

You stared at the apple. Then at the granola bar. Then back at the two men sitting in front of you.

Hotch simply took a sip of his coffee, remaining unreadable. Spencer, however, looked suspiciously focused on the file in front of him.

Smirking, you took the apple and the granola bar. “Well, since I clearly have two very concerned babysitters, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Spencer finally looked up, opening his mouth to say something, but Hotch beat him to it.

“Good,” he said simply.

Spencer shut his mouth again, pressing his lips together as he glanced at Hotch.

The tension between them was subtle, but if you weren’t so sleep-deprived, you might have noticed the way they seemed just a little too invested in your well-being.

Might have noticed the way Spencer had started to lean closer, or the way Hotch’s gaze lingered on you longer than necessary.

But you didn’t.

Because, to you, they were just being their usual selves.

And to them?

This was far from over.

[finelinevogue]

Heyyy! I adore your writing, it's so soft and ahhh just obsessed, I can never get enough! Could I request something with shy!reader (maybe non-bau) and Emily where they had a meet cute and are maybe on their first date? xx

meet cute

OMG AN EMILY REQUEST YEASSS!! hopefully this is sort of what you wanted…?!? 💛💛

pairing - emily prentiss x reader

word count - 2.1k

Why did no one talk about the horrendous anxiety that came with first dates?

Your heart felt like it was beating so hard that it might as well be trying to escape your chest and the rest of your body was so shaky.

Normally when you were anxious you could never really pinpoint why, but this was different. The root of your anxiety was so easy to pinpoint and it was because you were going on a date with the prettiest girl you had ever seen.

Emily Prentiss had come into your life like a page out of a meet-cute novel.

She had mistakenly taken your coffee order for hers, even though it said your name on the side of the cup not hers. As shy as you were, you had not been ready to give up your morning coffee. Turns out confronting someone for taking your coffee can lead to exchanging phone numbers. Then phone numbers can lead to arranging a date.

And that date was today.

<.><.><.>

“Why are you in such a rush?” Morgan asked as he watched Emily clear her desk and pack her bag.

Normally Emily was here well past everyone else. Well… Maybe not Hotch, but definitely later than anyone else on the team.

Tonight was different though.

It was already 5PM and she was stressing that she hadn’t left herself enough time to get ready.

“There’s somewhere I need to be.” Emily answered.

Morgan chuckled because he should have anticipated a cryptic answer from his partner.

“Oh yeah? Where?” Morgan crossed his arms.

Spencer popped up from his desk, “I think I know.”

“Go on then pretty boy.” Morgan said.

“Emily rarely leaves work before 7PM, except today she’s been watching the clock countdown the seconds until she can legally leave work at 5PM. That tells us she has somewhere really important to be. Considering there’s no immediate family involved and we haven’t been invited I would suggest that Emily has a date.”

Emily scoffed, both annoyed and impressed that Spencer had managed to deduce all of that.

“Combine that current look she’s giving us with your theory Reid, I’d say you were right.” Morgan smiled and leaned forwards in his chair. “So…?”

Emily raised her eyebrows at Morgan, silently challenging him.

She didn’t deny anything though. Mainly because she knew she had been caught and there was absolutely no point in lying to a duo of profilers. However, that didn’t mean she needed to divulge in the details of her night.

“You two need to get a life and stop spying in on mine.” Emily said.

“You know that’s not gonna happen.” Morgan argued back, Spencer giving an understanding nod of agreement.

“Worth a shot.” Emily shrugged and left it at that. Not only was she eager to get away from this conversation, but she was also really determined to not screw this date up and so that meant leaving now.

“Details tomorrow, Prentiss.” Morgan shouted as Emily left the room.

<.><.><.>

The nerves had gotten ten times worse.

You had felt confident leaving the house, but now you felt somehow both underdressed and overdressed. You felt like you weren’t really meant to be meeting up with Emily this evening, like this wasn’t something that happened to you.

Maybe you’d made a mistake? Maybe this had all been a dream? Or maybe she thought she had been messaging someone else this whole time?

At least you were meeting in a neutral location, so if anything did go wrong then you could both leave and return to your own homes.

You let your shaky hands reach for your phone to check your messages again.

1 hour ago - From Emily Prentiss:

Looking forward to seeing you tonight : )

30 minutes ago - To Emily Prentiss:

Me too xx

25 minutes ago - To Emily Prentiss:

I am at the restaurant now xx

10 minutes ago - To Emily Prentiss:

It was ‘The Olive Bistro’ that we were meeting at right? x

2 minutes ago - To Emily Prentiss:

Just checking you’re okay?

Then your phone started vibrating and you could see that Emily was calling you.

You took a deep breath before answering.

“It’s okay!” You blurted out before she could say anything.

“Y/N?” Emily answered, her breathing sounding laboured.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Sorry, it just sounded like you said ‘It’s okay’.”

“No - I-I mean yes. Yes, sorry, it is okay.”

“What’s okay?”

“I’m assuming you’re calling to cancel?” You questioned.

“Not at all. Why would— Will you please stop walking so slow!”

Who was she yelling at?

“Sorry?”

“Y/N, I swear… Wait, have you been standing outside the restaurant this entire time?”

Emily’s question made you stand alert. Surely the only way she would know that is if she could see you right now.

“How do you…” You said, before being cut off by watching Emily walk really fast paced down the street towards you.

Emily must have hung up the phone so you did too, putting it into your coat pocket. Your attention was solely on her now and you didn’t want any distractions.

And gosh was she beautiful.

Emily was wearing dark boot-cut jeans, a high-neck black jumper and black boots. Her hair was styled perfectly around her face and her makeup looked the same as it had the other day.

You suddenly felt very okay about what you’d chosen to wear; similar jeans, also boots but a white shirt instead.

Your hands got more and more shaky as she approached.

“I’m so sorry.” She said as she stood a few feet in front of you. “You must be freezing.”

“I’m okay.” You gave her a nervous smile.

“I swear I’m not normally like this. I even left work early to avoid being late, but Sergio would not let me leave and then the car park… What?” Emily smiled when she saw the look you were giving her.

You shrugged your shoulders, “You still came here, even after a long day at work plus cat troubles?”

“Yes. Of course.” Emily looked wounded that you’d ever consider anything else.

“That’s kind of… romantic.”

Emily stepped closer to you and held out her hand for you to take. Your hand stopped shaking as soon as you held hers. She grounded you and reminded you that you were completely safe with her.

“No, it’s just basic human etiquette.”

“Not to me.” There was a hint of sadness to your tone, which Emily quickly picked up on and wiped away with the softest kiss to your cheek.

“Shall we?”

<.><.><.>

You hadn’t laughed like this in ages. The kind of laughing that left your belly stitch and your jaw ache. The kind of laughing that came from getting along with someone really well, which was interesting considering you’d only known Emily for a couple of weeks.

Dinner had gone really well.

You remembered to go for something that wouldn’t slop everywhere and drink something you knew was safe. Pesto pasta and a limoncello spritz. You had unintentionally impressed Emily with your choices too, which you were counting as a small win.

“Well I’m glad he’s okay.” You laughed.

“Him? Honey, it was me who was under attack.” Emily feigned shock.

“Yes, but he’s a cat. He doesn’t know any better.”

“Wow. Cannot believe you’re taking Sergio’s side over mine.”

You would have fallen for her pouty lips and her sad face if it wasn’t for her hand that held yours across the table. She had reached for your hand after dinner and hadn’t let go since.

It was really nice.

That sounds silly to say that holding a pretty woman’s hand was ‘nice’, but that was the truth. This was new to you and so you were taking everything in moment by moment.

“I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?” You asked.

“Oh I don’t know.”

“How about…”

“A kiss? You’re so right.” Emily jumped in before you could.

You blushed. She made you so nervous it was ridiculous. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Emily squeezed your hand.

“Okay.” You said, unsure.

You looked around the busy restaurant and thought about how uncomfortable this room would make you as you tried to have your first kiss.

Emily must have noticed though, because she squeezed your hand again to direct your attention back to her.

“I’m not kissing you here.”

“No?”

“No. It’s not the end of the night yet.” She smiled and your whole body relaxed. You actually felt your body return to the moment with Emily, knowing you could peacefully admire her under the warm restaurant glow for a little longer.

<.><.><.>

The end of the night came quickly.

You stood at your front door and Emily was there with you. She insisted that she came home with you, knowing exactly what kind of creeps are out there late at night.

The night had been so perfect and you could feel yourself becoming slowlh more comfortable with her. She laughed at your jokes, which told you you weren’t making a fool of yourself, and she listened to everything you had to say, which made you feel important. Emily had made you feel special all night.

“I had a good time tonight.” You said, picking out your keys from your coat pocket.

“Me too.” Emily smiled.

“Are we going to see each other again?”

“I hope so. If it wasn’t clear from sharing a lemon dessert with you when I actually hate lemons, then I really like you and I’d love to go on a date with you again.”

“Emily…” You pouted sadly.

“What? Are you upset about the dessert?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed.

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not, because now when I kiss you all I’m going to think about is how I probably still taste of lemons and you’re going to hate every moment of it.” You frowned.

If you didn’t get your kiss off Emily then it wasn’t literally the end of the world, but it sure would feel like it.

“I don’t mind.”

“But…”

“Y/N, love, I don’t mind.” Emily cut you off firmly. “Okay?”

She took a step towards you, closing the distance, and cupped a hand over your cheek. She hesitantly guided your lips towards hers, ghosting over them to give you the chance to pull away if you wanted.

You closed your eyes as she got close and allowed your other senses to take over.

When Emily kissed you it felt weird.

You’d heard so often you would feel butterflies or fireworks, but in reality it wasn’t anything like that. It just felt natural, like you’d been doing this forever.

You felt right together.

She tasted of lemons so no doubt you did too, but that didn’t stop either of you from kissing each other. She felt so warm against you and you moaned a little in delight at the feeling.

When she pulled away you whined - like, actually whined - from the loss of contact. You watched Emily laugh as you opened your eyes again.

“We have time.” She said softly.

“Yeah, but… we have time now.” You said, trying to initiate another kiss.

“Where’s Little Miss Shy gone from earlier, huh?” She teased.

“You’re mean.”

“And you’re impatient.”

“This is unfair.”

“But it’s the end of the night.”

“Does it have to be?” You whined, probably sounding a lot more desperate than you were hearing.

“Yes,” Emily laughed, pinching your cheek, “C’mon.”

Emily walked you right in front of your door and motioned for you to open it with your key.

You had this intrusive thought that you could just kidnap her and keep her inside your house all night, just to spend more time with her but even that seemed a bit far-fetched.

Right?

You opened the door and stepped inside, leaving Emily standing on your doorstep.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me.” You said.

The way you were acting all clingy would no doubt cause you to have an anxiety attack as soon as you shut the door, because you had only been on one date and were already acting like you loved her.

No doubt it wouldn’t be hard or long before you did love her, but after one date seemed a little unreasonable.

Emily might even be thinking that you were coming on a bit too strong and this could be it…

“For today.”

“So unfair.” You muttered to yourself.

“Y/N.” Emily said, causing you to look at her seriously.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, for tonight.”

“Of course. I enjoyed spending time with you. Just don’t make me wait too long before the next one.”

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (21)

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

Chapter 21 - Surrender

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 22

PREV : Chapter 20.1

[Hwang In-ho’s Flashback…]

“Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us,” informed Gi-hun.

Finally, In-ho thought. This was the moment he’d been waiting for – when the masks of caring and kindness would drop and desperation would drag out the raw, selfish instincts buried within every human.

He glanced at you, watching your face pale as you gaped at Gi-hun. The wide-eyed shock, the flicker of fear – it was all too telling. You didn’t expect this.

Yong-sik’s voice quivered as he asked, “Really?”

Gi-hun nodded solemnly. “Because if they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the prize.”

Yong-sik’s next words practically trembled with panic. “So what do we do?”

In-ho spoke up without hesitation, “Let’s attack them first.”

He didn’t miss the sharp look Gi-hun shot him, surprise flickering behind the man’s usual stoicism. It was as if Gi-hun didn’t expect someone like In-ho, calm, wise, seemingly rational, to propose something so brutal.

But In-ho met his gaze steadily and continued, “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use that to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

Player 047 quickly voiced his support. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

Player 145 nodded, his voice grim. “I agree.”

In-ho swept his gaze over the circle of players. No one objected. Of course not. When survival was on the line, no one ever wanted to be the one left defenseless. Even the quiet ones and those who hesitated would follow when the alternative was death.

Plus, if everyone gets to leave, Gi-hun’s entire plan to sabotage this game would end in failure too. In-ho wouldn’t have to play this double role anymore. The games would continue next year, this time without Gi-hun’s interference standing in the way.

But then Gi-hun’s voice cut through the agreement like a knife. “We can’t do that.”

The silence was immediate. In-ho locked eyes with him again, widening his eyes ever so slightly, as if trying to get him to realize something.

“But we have to get out of here,” In-ho said, injecting confusion and hidden frustration into his voice. “You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

Gi-hun remained undeterred. “That doesn’t mean we should kill each other. That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

Jung-bae asked questioningly. “They?”

Gi-hun’s eyes scanned the group before he replied, “The ones who created this game. The ones who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Bold. Stupid. But bold, In-ho mused.

Dae-ho frowned. “Where are they?”

Gi-hun’s gaze lifted upward. Instinctively, everyone followed his line of sight, heads tilting toward the unreachable heights above. In-ho did the same but only for appearance's sake. He already knew exactly what was up there. He’d spent enough time behind those very walls.

His gaze dropped back to Gi-hun, his face the perfect mask of dark realization and tension. Is this his plan?

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from,” Gi-hun continued confidently. “The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

The irony of the moment wasn’t lost on In-ho. Gi-hun was talking about the masked leader, the mastermind behind it all – without realizing that the very man he wanted to overthrow was sitting right in front of him. In-ho, the one in disguise, the one pulling the strings, was right there, hidden in plain sight.

Nevertheless, In-ho stayed quiet, his gaze locked onto Gi-hun with an almost calculating patience. This was exactly what he had been waiting for – the moment when Gi-hun would finally reveal his plan to dismantle the entire game management. And now, Gi-hun had spilled it, right to the man he was aiming to destroy.

Still, In-ho could easily spot the problems in Gi-hun’s plan. It felt rushed and made out of pure emotion instead of careful thinking. It was like a last-minute attempt to go after something huge, without really understanding how risky it was.

That's when you spoke up, “Are you saying you plan to overthrow this whole management?”

There was something in your tone – a mix of disbelief and curiosity – that made him glance at you a beat longer than necessary.

Gi-hun’s determined, grave eyes locked onto yours. “Yes.”

The room plunged into a heavy silence. In-ho could sense the weight of his words sinking into everyone. The enormity of the plan hung in the air like a storm cloud.

In-ho broke the silence, speaking calmly yet there was an edge in his tone and face. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae chimed in.

Gi-hun turned to him, unflinching. “We’ll take their guns.”

Jung-bae stared, caught between shock and exasperation. Gyeong-seok hesitated, then asked for certainty. “From those masked men?”

Gi-hun gave a single, firm nod.

“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho interjected, letting just enough caution seep into his tone. He needed to play this carefully to convince Gi-hun to rethink this. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

Gi-hun didn’t back down. “What then? Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?”

In-ho froze.

Gi-hun pressed further. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

In-ho didn’t answer. He kept his dark, contemplative gaze fixed on Gi-hun. It was at that moment In-ho noticed something else - Gi-hun had changed. Whether for the better, the worse, or exactly as In-ho had expected, he wasn’t sure. But the shift was undeniable.

“Do we…” Hyun-ju’s voice broke the tension, “...stand a chance?”

Gi-hun’s gaze shifted to her. His determination never wavered. “We do if we catch them off guard. Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

In-ho kept the act intact as he asked, “How are you going to take their guns?”

Gi-hun scowled, his mind clearly racing. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, everyone waiting for him to elaborate.

“When the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends.”

In-ho's gaze turned dark. Hide? That’s your plan? And let the rest of the X players not in this group get ambushed?

“Don’t get caught up in the fight,” Gi-hun added firmly.

“What?” you interjected out of the blue, your voice sharp with frustration.

In-ho looked at you right away. He was intrigued by your reaction, knowing how consistently kind you had been towards other players. Would you challenge this plan? Or would you, like so many others, choose self-preservation and let others fend for themselves?

In-ho knew this would be the moment when your true nature revealed itself. Was your kindness genuine or merely a fragile façade, easily cracked under pressure?

Jung-bae then echoed the unspoken concern. “But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage. Without us in the fight, they’ll be outnumbered.”

In-ho watched Gi-hun carefully, waiting for the hero's justification.

“I know,” Gi-hun said, his eyes flicking between you and Jung-bae before shifting to the rest of the group. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

In-ho's gaze darkened as he realized something. “Are you suggesting that... we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes locked with In-ho’s, reading the weight behind the question. Yet, he still nodded.

“If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater,” Gi-hun replied, voice thick with resolve. “Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.”

In-ho’s gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw clenching. He felt the bitter irony sting at the back of his throat. How poetic, he mused. The so-called hero willing to let others bleed for his vision of the greater good.

In-ho recognized Gi-hun’s desperation – not just to defy the management, but to prove something deeper, something personal. Gi-hun was fighting back to show that he wouldn’t become what the game wanted him to be. Yet, the irony wasn’t lost on In-ho. In trying so hard to resist the system, Gi-hun was playing right into its hands.

In-ho's lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a disbelieving smile, before he forced it down. He realized in this moment, that all this time, before this, he was silently rooting for Gi-hun. Not because he believed in him, but because there was a part of him that wanted to be proven wrong. Just like Gi-hun had once proven Oh Il-nam wrong, In-ho wondered if he could do the same for him. To prove that humanity still had something worth fighting for. That someone could stop this entire game and still walk away with their soul intact. But now, he knew the answer.

Gi-hun, the so-called hero, was willing to let others die for his plan – a sacrifice for what he called the greater good. Isn’t this exactly what the game is about? In-ho mused darkly. Sacrificing the ‘trashes’, letting only one stand victorious. The world out there no longer have to deal with those 455 trashes who got eliminated. Gi-hun hadn’t broken the cycle; he had fallen into its trap.

If Gi-hun continued with this kind of view, he could become the very role he despised, becoming the next Front Man. It was ironic, almost poetic. In his fight to dismantle the system, Gi-hun was unknowingly positioning himself to inherit it, repeating the same cycle he swore to end.

Gi-hun pressed on. “Once the lights come on, the soldiers will come to settle the situation. They’ll try to break up the fight first. They won’t pay attention to the dead. They will scan our trackers to identify us. That’ll be our window.”

In-ho barely heard the next words over the building tension, until your voice broke through, sharp and angry. “Are you really going to leave our allies like that?”

Every head turned to you. In-ho's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. His dark gaze brightened, an unexpected spark of curiosity igniting as he studied you.

“You’re telling me you’d hide under the bed and let the O players attack everyone in this zone? All for your plan?” you countered in a heated tone.

For the first time, Gi-hun faltered, the iron in his expression cracking just for a moment. But then the walls slammed back into place, and his face stiffened into resolve.

“This is the only chance we have. Once this game is stopped, this game will no longer use us as pawns,” he said.

In-ho’s gaze flicked to you again, studying the frustration burning behind your eyes.

“If I weren’t close to your group or involved with any of you, would I even know about this attack? Would you warn me?” your voice rose, the emotion cracking through your words. “Would I be left to fend for myself against an ambush while you and the others hide?”

A flicker of intrigue deepened in In-ho’s gaze. He noticed how fiercely determined you were to challenge Gi-hun’s plan, driven not by self-preservation but by a rare, precious sense of kindness. You really care about them all, In-ho thought, unlike the others here who remained quiet and agreed with Gi-hun's reckless plan.

Gi-hun’s jaw clenched, the pressure mounting. “It’s not about leaving anyone behind. It’s about ending this game once and for all.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t help our people now,” you shot back. “We have to fight back, not just accept them as inevitable.”

In-ho felt a sharp tug of interest. You weren’t playing the same game as Gi-hun, weren’t blinded by some self-righteous end goal. You saw the people around you as it is – people with family and lives.

But will that kindness survive when the lights go out? he wondered.

Gi-hun’s brows furrowed, his voice rising in frustration. “Do you think it’s better to retaliate and play into their hands? Attacking back is exactly what they want. They want us to kill each other. To entertain them.”

Undeterred, you spoke up, “We’re not going to kill them. We will defend ourselves. We can alert our people about the attack. Get them prepared. Get them to a safe spot where capable men can protect them. If needed, we can subdue the O players without bloodshed.”

Gi-hun faltered, your words cutting through his confidence. But, as always, he clung to his plan. “If we join the fight and lose even a few, it will ruin our chances of overthrowing this game. We must preserve all the best men we have right now.”

You didn’t back down. “Then we have to join the fight. Defend without bloodshed. Defend as a team. If we join the fight, more capable men will survive the ambush. They will join you willingly.”

In-ho studied you carefully, a flicker of something deeper sparking within him. There it was again. That unwavering kindness, that relentless fairness, that loyalty that refused to bend, even here. In this brutal place, where humanity was stripped bare, your kindness still burned bright.

While Gi-hun had crumbled, you stood firm. It was you – not Gi-hun – who defied his cynical belief in humanity’s rot. And in that moment, as he watched you push back against Gi-hun’s cold logic, In-ho felt it again – a spark of admiration. He should feel bitter at being proven wrong, but he liked it.

Still, he must wait until the lights go out.

Gi-hun stared at you, and for once, he had no response. His jaw tensed, his mouth opened slightly as if to argue but nothing came out. The group sat in thick, uncomfortable silence.

You rose to a crouching position, your focus never leaving Gi-hun. “Go ahead with your plan. I’m not stopping you. If you don’t want to join the fight, that’s fine. But the others deserve to know about the attack.”

The weight of your words lingered in the air as you stood fully, turned on your heel, and walked toward the other X players, ready to warn them, to prepare them.

In-ho’s gaze followed you, a sharp curiosity burning behind his eyes. You’re willing to risk everything. Not for some grand victory, but just to protect the people around you.

For a moment, In-ho felt the strong urge to follow you. To watch you closely, to see if your kindness was truly as genuine as it appeared. But he stopped himself. He turned his focus to Gi-hun. The latter was staring in the direction where you had left. He looked conflicted. He looked like he wanted to say more, to justify his plan, but the words caught in his throat.

In-ho’s gaze shifted, catching the subtle ripple through the group. Your words had landed deeper than he expected. The others seemed to have snapped out of whatever spell Gi-hun’s logic had placed them under. Yong-sik’s mother and Jun-hee watched you from a distance, their worry etched deep in their expressions. Gyeong-seok and Hyun-ju were on the verge of standing up. Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged uncertain glances.

You, your thoughtfulness and your kindness managed to sway them more than Gi-hun ever did.

In-ho seized the moment, staring darkly at the speechless Gi-hun. “Rethink your plan, Gi-hun. I know you’re angry at the game makers and that you’re still grieving your friends from the last game, but don’t lose sight of the people here too. They’re counting on you.”

Gi-hun didn’t respond right away. His jaw tensed, the inner turmoil clear but there was something in In-ho’s words that anchored him, pulling him back from his tunnel vision.

With that, In-ho stood up. Without another word, he left the circle, his eyes locked on where you had disappeared. Player 047 and 145 followed him immediately. Gyeong-seok and Hyun-ju exchanged a look before standing too, clearly choosing to follow where you had gone. In-ho didn’t look back but he could feel the balance tipping away from Gi-hun’s plan and toward something else entirely.

In-ho watched you as you moved between the beds, warning other X players about the danger. He noticed how determined you looked, how focused you were. But you were alone and that was enough for him to step in.

He walked over quietly and placed a hand on your shoulder.

You jumped a little, spinning around fast. But when you saw it was him, you relaxed, though you were still catching your breath.

“How many people have you warned?” In-ho asked gently.

“A couple,” you answered.

Before he could say anything else, more footsteps approached. Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, player 047, and player 145 came over, gathering around you. Their eyes shifted between you and In-ho, waiting to hear what to do next.

“What else can we do?” Gyeong-seok asked, his voice serious.

You answered quickly, “Warn all the X players if you can. Tell them we’re only defending ourselves, not attacking. Make sure they hold onto their forks and water bottles to use as protection. Get the women and older people to safer spots, under the stairs, or near the walls. And before the Os attack, have them hide under the beds for more safety.”

In-ho raised an eyebrow, impressed by your quick thinking. It made him want to help you more. “We should also have some people guarding those spots. We need to make sure someone’s watching over them during the attack.”

“Got it. I’ll take the left side of the zone,” Hyun-ju said right away.

Player 047 pointed to the right. “We’ll cover this side. Let’s keep it quiet so the Os don’t figure out what we’re doing.”

They split up, leaving you and In-ho standing there. His hand stayed on your shoulder for a moment longer, steady but gentle.

“You’ve done enough,” he said softly. “Now go find two beds next to each other. One for you, one for me.”

He saw it in your eyes. You understood exactly what he was doing. He wanted to stay close, to watch over you when the chaos started, to guide you, maybe even protect you.

***

“Lights out in ten seconds.”

In-ho lay flat on his back, the thin blanket pulled casually over his chest. His gaze traced the high ceiling, his mind already calculating the next moves. You were on the bed right beside him. He could sense the tension in the way you lay still. Alert and waiting.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.”

Darkness swallowed the dormitory, leaving only the faint glow of the O and X lights on the floor. The piggy bank light was dark tonight. A small twist for effect done intentionally, In-ho mused.

He didn’t move yet. But from the corner of his eye, he saw you slip quietly out of bed. You weren’t the only one. Other figures – women, elderly – moved through the shadows, hurrying to hide beneath beds or shuffle toward safer spots.

You crawled under your bed, positioning yourself carefully. In-ho stayed where he was, eyes closed now, feigning sleep. It was the perfect bait.

In a few seconds, loud and fast footsteps echoed through the dormitory, growing closer as the ill-intent O players approached the X zone. In-ho could almost feel the adrenaline spike before the chaos erupted.

The silence shattered by heavy footsteps, metal scraping, and the first shrieks of panic. In-ho didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that it had begun. Then, he felt it. Someone was lunging for him.

In-ho snapped into motion, grabbing his blanket and yanking it around the attacker’s neck. The O player barely had time to react before he was pulled hard, the blanket tightening like a noose, his body jerked against the bed’s metal frame. A clean, swift maneuver. The attacker struggled as In-ho tied him to the railing.

Screams erupted across the dormitory – raw, human, desperate.

In-ho sat up, his calm broken only by the sharp flicker of the dormitory lights as they began to pulse erratically. Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark. With each flash, he caught snapshots of the chaos. X players grappling with O attackers, beds flipping, shadows lunging with glinting forks.

A loud thud yanked his attention back.

A body hit the floor right beside your hiding spot. In-ho’s gaze dropped to it. It was a fallen O player, groaning, clutching his arm where a shard of glass was lodged deep into his flesh.

He cast a glance under your bed, watching as you tensed, but stayed hidden. Smart. But there was fire in your eyes. He could see it even now. You wouldn’t sit still for long.

And he was right. You didn’t stay under the bed for long.

The moment you noticed X women being cornered by O players, you bolted out from your hiding spot. No hesitation. No second-guessing. You sprinted toward them, leaving the safety of the shadows behind. You didn’t even glance back to see if In-ho was following. You didn’t care about the odds or the danger. You cared about saving them.

Reckless, In-ho thought, rising from his position and following close behind. But kind. Genuinely kind.

It was that rare kind of kindness that burned too bright in a place like this. Selfless, dangerous, but undeniably real. He found himself watching you more than the enemies, waiting for the moment when that kindness would finally crack under pressure. But it didn’t.

And he didn’t let you fall.

Every time an O player lunged your way, In-ho was there, intercepting the attack. Every time a broken glass bottle or a fork came close, he blocked it.

Then, chaos brought you both face-to-face with six O players, their forks raised, teeth gritted. In-ho didn’t think. He grabbed you and pulled you behind him, shielding you with his entire body as he backed you against a wall.

No one’s getting through me to her, he thought grimly.

In-ho swiftly subdued five of the six attackers without any bloodshed, just like you wanted. The last one staggered to strike, but before In-ho could finish him off, Gi-hun intervened, his blow knocking the man unconscious. It was timely, but entirely unnecessary.

His dark eyes flicked to Gi-hun, studying him. Something had shifted. This wasn’t the Gi-hun who’d planned to hide while the Os attack the other X players. No, this was the Seong Gi-hun in 2020 who couldn’t stop himself from interfering, from saving everyone he could.

You changed him, In-ho realized. You reverted him to the man who tried to save everyone no matter how doomed the effort.

It was ironic. Gi-hun was supposed to be the one proving In-ho wrong. Instead, it was you – your stubborn, your naivety, your relentless kindness – that was doing it.

***

The brief but intense shootout between In-ho, Gi-hun, Hyun-ju, and the remaining capable players against the pink guards ended in their victory.

In-ho remembered during the shootout that the pink guards were caught off guard by him fighting alongside the players. Their hesitation was thick with disbelief. They expected him to drop the act right then, to step forward as the Front Man and end this charade.

Not yet, In-ho thought. I still have work to do.

He needed to stay embedded within Gi-hun’s plan, to sabotage it from the inside. But more than that, his gaze drifted briefly to you. We’re not finished. Not yet.

A furious yell snapped him out of his thoughts. “You goddamn bastards!”

In-ho’s head jerked toward the sound. Player 047 stood with his MP5 raised, his face twisted in rage. Five O players stood before him, their hands thrown high in surrender, eyes wide with fear.

But before a shot could be fired, Gi-hun sprinted into the scene. He grabbed the barrel of 047’s gun and shoved it downward. “No!”

“Move!” 047 barked, struggling against Gi-hun’s grip. “Do you not see this?!”

In-ho followed his gaze. Blood smeared across the floor, bodies crumpled like discarded toys. The dormitory had become a graveyard of greed and desperation.

“They are not human,” 047 spat, voice trembling. “They’re vermin, blinded by money!”

He raised his weapon again, fury crackling off him in waves.

But Gi-hun didn’t flinch. He gripped the gun tighter, locking eyes with 047. “This is not why we took these guns. If we do this, we’re no better than the masked men.”

In-ho watched intently, his gun resting against his abdomen, though his focus was far from idle. From the corner of his eye, he noticed you approaching, your eyes darting between Gi-hun and player 047. In-ho’s dark, contemplative gaze didn’t waver from the two men locked in their standoff.

047’s grip on the MP5 finally slackened. His teeth clenched, his face a twisted mask of rage and grief, but he lowered the weapon. His shoulders sagged with defeat, the fight draining out of him.

Gi-hun gave him a solid pat on the shoulder before he turned and walked toward the center of the dormitory, raising his voice above the low hum of scattered whispers.

“Everyone! Don’t be scared. Gather round, please!”

The command echoed through the space, pulling X and O players out from hiding.

In-ho didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on Gi-hun, his face an unreadable mask hiding a storm of irritation. The hypocrisy was hard to ignore. Gi-hun now stood there, posturing as the leader, the savior of the players, when not long ago, he had been perfectly willing to sacrifice others for the so-called greater good.

How convenient, In-ho thought bitterly. First, he's okay with hiding under beds and letting others take the hit, and now he acts like a brave leader? It annoyed him. Gi-hun's idea of being a hero was full of contradictions, and In-ho wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Young-il, you okay?”

Your voice cut through the lingering tension, soft but laced with concern. In-ho shifted his gaze toward you, his cold, calculated mask softening like ice melting under the sun. His sharp eyes scanned you, checking for injuries or anything out of place.

Once he ensured you were unharmed, a smile stretch across his face, warm and disarming. “I’m okay. How about you?”

Before you could answer, he lifted his left hand and placed it gently on your head. He felt the way you stiffened – surprised – before your cheeks flushed. You nodded, voice soft, almost shy. “I’m fine.”

The reaction tugged at something unexpected inside him. His smile widened as he brushed his hand through your messy hair, smoothing it down before tucking a stray strand behind your ear. It was a simple act, but the way you smiled back, soft and genuine, sent a ripple through him.

Withdrawing his hand, he returned both to his gun, resting it easily but alert. But he couldn’t shake the pull of curiosity.

“Where did you learn to use a pistol?” he asked, his tone light but intrigued.

“Oh,” you said, patting your pocket where the weapon was tucked. “I bought one after… the loan sharks attacked my parents.”

In-ho’s smile faded instantly. He locked eyes with you, something heavier slipping into his gaze. “Have you ever used it before?”

Your gaze dropped to the floor, hesitation thick between the words. “I have. I was scared.”

There was a rawness to your voice, enough to pull his focus deeper.

“They stalked me at my part-time job,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of the memory. “They threatened me, said they’d… hurt me if I didn’t pay up. I didn’t think they’d wait for my shift to end, but they did. They followed me home.”

Something dark stirred within In-ho. Anger, sharp and biting, clawing its way to the surface. It wasn’t anger at you, but at the world that forced you into that situation.

“They chased me through alleyways,” you continued, “but I got lucky. Before they could grab me, I managed to pull the pistol and I… I shot them.”

You were kind, too kind. And bastards like those loan sharks took advantage of that. But they didn't know you were prepared for self-defense.

You didn’t look at him as you spoke. You didn’t need to. In-ho could feel the weight of your words. The fear, the survival instinct, the guilt tangled in it all.

He stayed silent, not out of judgment, but because he wasn’t sure what the right words would even be. You did what you had to do, he thought. But saying it aloud? It didn’t feel right.

“Then I ran to the subway,” you added quietly, your voice thinner now. “That’s where I met a man in a suit. He asked me to play Ddakji with him.”

The recruiter, In-ho realized. Of course.

The memory lingered, thick in the air between you. He could see how deeply it still clawed at you, but you tried to mask it, chuckling weakly.

“Now, I’m here. I didn’t think I’d be fighting for my life here too. But at least… well, I hope I’ll survive and go home with a share of the prize money.”

In-ho studied you for a beat longer. There was no mask here. No act from him. Just raw hope, frayed around the edges but still burning.

“You will,” he said softly.

For the first time since he stepped into this place, In-ho felt something felt it. A hope for a player to survive. He wanted you to walk out of here unscathed, prize money in hand, free from the cruelty that had swallowed so many before. You deserved that much. In a world rotten at its core, you were like a rare bloom pushing through concrete. Fragile, yet stubbornly alive.

This realization stirred something deeper, darker within him. His admiration for your kindness had evolved into something more potent, more dangerous. Seeing your raw, selfless nature untouched by the corruption around you made it harder for him to fight the growing infatuation. And for once, it felt less like a crime to let himself feel it. It felt safe to love you because he knew you cared for him too and that you would never disappoint him.

“You will survive,” In-ho said again, nodding slightly, the words almost foreign on his tongue. “Those loan sharks won’t trouble you anymore once you leave this place.”

He watched as you offered a small, warm smile, your shoulders easing for the first time in what felt like forever. His words had actually soothed you.

But then, you lifted your gaze back to him, and your next words hit him harder than he expected.

“You will survive too,” you said, your tone filled with quiet conviction. “You must survive this place too. You must win this game again and… maybe we can meet up outside...?”

Your voice faltered slightly at the end, uncertainty bleeding through, but the sincerity was unmistakable. In-ho blinked, momentarily caught off guard. For a split second, his mind short-circuited.

You want to see me again? he thought. He wasn’t used to this. To someone caring, without an ulterior motive.

But the pause lasted only a breath before he pulled himself together. He smiled – a small but genuine one – and let out a quiet chuckle, glancing at the floor to hide the flicker of something warmer in his eyes. Then, stepping closer, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you forward.

“Of course,” he said, voice softer than he intended. Then, as if the thought had just struck him, he added, “Why don’t we set up a meeting place now?”

You froze for a beat, your wide eyes locking onto his, before your expression broke into something lighter – almost hopeful.

“Now?” you asked, half-laughing in disbelief.

He nodded, his grip still gentle but firm around your shoulders. “Yeah. Time and place.”

You hesitated, clearly caught off guard, but after a few moments, you glanced up at him, determination creeping into your features.

“How about Seonyudo Park?” you suggested.

A soft chuckle escaped In-ho before he could stop it. “Oh, that one park with the bridge where you can look out over the Han River?”

You nodded, visibly nervous, but he could see the hope shining behind your eyes. He tilted his head, pretending to think it over, although in truth, he’d already decided.

“Sure,” he finally agreed, locking eyes with you again. “When do you want to meet?”

You hesitated before blurting out, “One month after we leave?”

In-ho blinked, your suggestion catching him off guard again. One month? What's with that big time period?

You rushed to explain, “It’ll give us time to heal and sort things out. But if one month is too long, I’m fine with sooner – maybe one or two weeks?”

But In-ho shook his head, a real smile creeping onto his face. “One month it is. Seonyudo Park, a month after we’re out. Around sunset? The view’s amazing at that time.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, smiling now too. “That sounds perfect.”

Perfect, In-ho echoed in his mind, though the word tasted strange. Hopeful. It was a dangerous emotion. And yet, he didn’t hate it.

As you smiled at him, something heavy and unfamiliar twisted in In-ho’s chest. It wasn’t just admiration anymore – this was deeper. Every soft glance you gave him, every hesitant yet hopeful word, was tightening the hold you unknowingly had on him.

He’d spent years building walls so high nothing could get through. But you? You’d somehow slipped past every defense without even trying. Your kindness, your resilience, the way you still held onto hope in a place designed to crush it. It pulled at something he thought had died long ago.

A small smile lingered on his lips as he watched you look away, clearly flustered. He found himself wanting more of that – to see you smile like that again, to be the reason for it.

Not only that. He found himself anticipating your upcoming meeting. He felt normal – like a man anxiously overthinking about his upcoming date with someone he’s been looking for for years. He no longer felt like a husk of man. He had a purpose now – to pursue a life with you outside this island.

***

[Back to present…]

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, watching the live feeds of the current game. The players had finished selecting their gumballs, and it wasn’t until they grouped into their assigned teams that you noticed it – player 100, the greedy old man, was on the same red team as Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Yong-sik’s mother.

Your stomach twisted. That's not good.

Even worse, Thanos’ deranged old friend, player 124, had also landed on the red team.

But then your gaze flicked to the blue team. Player 226 – player 100’s most loyal lapdog – stood stiffly with them. You could sense the frustration simmering beneath the surface of his face. The separation between him and player 100 wasn’t sitting well with him.

You noticed your fellow friends were already on edge, and Jun-hee’s frown deepened as her gaze locked onto player 100. You could practically read her thoughts. She hadn’t forgotten how vocal he’d been during her labor.

The tension didn’t last long. Triangle-masked guards then motioned for the players to move. The players were led out of the room and into the next game’s location.

You watched as the cameras shifted into another massive room. The floor stretched out in a massive expanse, either painted or pasted over with a giant image of white and orange flowers arranged in circular patterns, each ring drawing closer to the center. This room looked more like a surreal park playground. Scattered around the corners were pieces of park equipments: a colourful swing set, a metal slide, and colorful merry-go-rounds.

Suddenly, the announcer’s voice echoed through the massive space. “Welcome to your fifth game. The game you will be playing is Why Did You Come to My House.”

The players exchanged tense glances, some frowning deeply as they recognized the title right away. Gi-hun’s jaw tensed. Jun-hee glanced at Yong-sik’s mother with concern, while Dae-ho visibly swallowed hard, his face pale.

The announcer continued. “All players have been split into two teams. At the start, one player from each team will compete in rock-paper-scissors to determine which team attacks first.

“The two teams will form parallel lines, standing hand-in-hand. The game begins with the defending team moving forward, singing the first line of the song. The attacking team will step back. Then, the attackers will step forward, singing the next line. This continues until the defenders ask, ‘Which flower?’ Each player in the attacking team will then point at a player from the defending side. The targeted player will be determined based on the majority votes.

“The mentioned player and an attacker will face off in rock-paper-scissors. The loser will be immediately eliminated. The rounds will continue until one team loses all its players.”

The announcement ended, leaving only a chilling silence.

Gi-hun’s friends exchanged glances. You realized then that Jun-hee must have told them about the game. None of them looked surprised but it still pressed down heavily on them. Knowing what was coming hadn’t eased the fear. If anything, it made the hopelessness clearer.

They were separated by half into opposite teams. They would be forced to play against each other.

Gi-hun stood quietly, his brows furrowed deeply as he stared at the ground, lost in thought. You could see it in his eyes – he was already trying to figure out a plan. A loophole. Something. Anything that could get them all out of this alive.

Seeing that the game hadn’t started yet, your friends on the blue team moved toward Gi-hun and the others. Dae-ho looked the worst of them all. His face was pale, his hands shaking as he wrung them nervously. His eyes darted between his friends, searching for answers.

“There’s gotta be a trick, right?” Dae-ho stammered, his voice thin with panic. “Some kind of loophole that’ll let us all make it through? We can’t j-just play this straight!”

Gi-hun didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched tightly as he stared down at the floor, lost in thought or maybe just lost in the hopelessness of it all. The silence dragged on, heavy and suffocating.

Dae-ho’s panic grew. He turned toward Jung-bae, calling him along with his ‘hyungnim’ honorifics. “Right, Jung-bae? There’s gotta be a way, right?”

Jung-bae hesitated. His eyes locked onto Dae-ho’s trembling figure, and for a moment, he looked as lost as the rest of them. Then he forced a wide, playful smile. It seemed clearly exaggerated, but laced with forced optimism. He even chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension.

“Of course,” Jung-bae replied, nodding. “There must be a way. We just have to look for it. It’s not gonna hurt to try something, right?”

Dae-ho let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly in relief at the small sliver of hope.

Hyun-ju, ever the calm one, stepped forward, her arms crossed as she looked over both teams. “What if we just… avoid targeting each other?”

She paused as her friends turned their gaze onto her. She glanced at each of them as she continued, “Like, you guys in red team avoids targeting us from the blue team. And us from the blue team does the same.”

Jung-bae perked up at that. “Oh, that’s possible! That way, we can at least hold off eliminating each other.”

But Myung-gi quickly shook his head. “That won’t last. The other players will do the same for their friends.”

“Then it’s not just the other team we have to worry about,” Se-mi spoke up, forcing a wry smile. “We’ll be fighting our own teammates too. That’s where things get ugly.”

Jung-bae shifted his gaze between Myung-gi and Se-mi, looking hopeless again, as he said, “Wah, you two really know how to kill the mood, huh?”

The mechanical hum of the loudspeaker kicked in, followed by the cold, distorted voice of the announcer.

“All players, the game is about to begin. Please form a line with your team. Position yourselves parallel to the opposing team. Select one representative from each side to play rock-paper-scissors to determine the attacking and defending teams.”

Slowly, the players began to shift, their feet dragging across the floor, but one thing was clear. Everyone was hesitant to part ways with their friends.

Gi-hun hesitated, exchanging glances with his friends. There was an unspoken reluctance, a deep-rooted fear in parting ways. The reality was sinking in. This was the first game that separated them to compete against each other.

Jun-hee’s gaze lingered on Myung-gi, her eyes filled with unspoken thoughts. Myung-gi was quick to notice and gazed back at her.

“Don’t worry,” he said calmly with a tight smile. “We’ll figure things out later.”

Jun-hee didn’t speak for the first few seconds. Then, she gave a small nod. They then parted to join their respective teams.

Dae-ho's entire body was visibly trembling now. He looked like he didn’t want to part with his friends in the red team at all, his wide eyes darting desperately between Gi-hun and Jung-bae, silently pleading for someone to stop this. Just then, Hyun-ju stepped closer. She placed a firm hand on Dae-ho’s shoulder.

Startled, Dae-ho turned his head to her, noticing the grim yet forced smile on Hyun-ju’s face.

With that, Dae-ho took a shaky breath and, though still trembling, followed Hyun-ju as they made their way back to the blue team, Myung-gi walking alongside them in heavy silence.

Yong-sik, gripping his mother’s hand, hesitated before finally releasing it. “Be careful, Mom.”

Yong-sik’s mother refused to let go of his hand, her grip tightening. She pulled him closer, her voice trembling as she spoke, “Yong-sik, I know this is hard, but we’ll figure something out. I promise. Just... stay out of trouble, okay? Don’t do anything reckless.”

Yong-sik looked at her with wide, fearful eyes, his hand shaking slightly in hers. He didn’t want to let go either, but he knew he had to. They had to play the game. Finally, with a shaky breath, he nodded. She managed a strained smile, swallowing her tears as she slowly released his hand.

With heavy hearts, they slowly moved into position. The red and blue teams now faced each other, a straight line of anxious faces and clenched fists. The space between them felt massive, like there was a line they shouldn't cross.

“Pick your representative,” the announcer’s voice echoed again.

Player 100, the greedy old man, stepped forward with a wide, smug grin.

“I’ll volunteer for the red team,” he announced, his voice loud and filled with cocky confidence.

Gi-hun and his friends stayed perfectly still, exchanging tense glances but saying nothing. They all knew better. Staying in the shadows seemed like the safest bet. Volunteering would only make them a bigger target.

As soon as player 100 made his move, player 226 – his ever-loyal lackey – stepped forward from the blue team.

“Then it's me for blue,” he said, his voice carrying a similar arrogance.

They faced each other across the divide.

“So, we’re not brothers anymore, huh?” Player 226 smirked, his jaw tight.

Player 100 chuckled darkly. “Tch. Brothers? In this place? I was only ever looking out for myself.”

Player 226’s face twisted with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “I followed your lead this whole time, and now you’re just throwing that away? Like a coward? Shows how pathetic you really are, old rot.”

Player 100 sneered, his grin widening. “Pathetic? Boy, you were the fool who followed me around like a lost puppy. And now you expect loyalty? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. You just have no brains.”

Player 226’s jaw tightened, fury rising. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one out, old fucker.”

“That is, if you get the chance,” player 100 snapped back. “If I win as the attacking team, you better believe I’m coming for you first, son of a bitch.”

The other players couldn’t help but react to the heated exchange. Gi-hun glowered. Jung-bae and Jun-hee exchanged glances. The mother stayed quiet. Dae-ho and Yong-sik's gaze flitted between the two. Hyun-ju, Semi, and Myung-gi simply watched on impassively.

Player 100 and 226 then raised their fists, preparing for the most important form of decision-making in their entire life.

“On my mark,” a manager spoke up as he stood to their side. “Rock. Paper. Scissors.”

Player 100 threw out a rock. Player 226 put out a scissor. The result was instant.

The room filled with tense silence before the loudspeaker blared, “The red team will be the attacking team.”

Player 226 paled while player 100 immediately threw his fists into the air, cheering loudly and with wild exaggeration.

“Hah! I told you! You scummy bastard!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the vast room. He spun around with his arms stretched wide, pumping his fists into the air as if he’d won the entire game already. His laughter was sharp, echoing mockingly as he shot a smug glance at player 226.

Player 100 then spun around to face his fellow red teammates, his grin wide and malicious. “Alright, listen up! For the first round, we vote for player 226. No mercy!”

The red team stood silent for a tense beat, most of Gi-hun’s friends exchanging uneasy glances but staying quiet. However, the O players on the same team quickly nodded in agreement. Their movements were stiff and forced. It was clear they were just trying to appease him, hoping to stay off his radar for as long as possible.

Player 100 sneered, clearly pleased with their response. “Good. Stick with me, and maybe you’ll last longer.”

Player 226 clicked his tongue in annoyance, his face twisted in frustration as he muttered under his breath, “Rotten old bastard.”

He shot a final glare at player 100 before storming off to stand in line with the blue team.

Player 100, still riding the high of his victory, threw an agitating smirk at him before casually strolling back to join the red team.

Before the tension could stretch any further, the loudspeaker blared to life again. The announcer stated, “All players, the game will begin shortly. Teams, form your lines and hold hands with your teammates.”

The players hesitated only for a moment before moving into position. The red and blue teams formed two parallel lines as instructed.

The announcer added, “A song will play to guide your movements. Teams will step forward or backward in turn. Follow the lyrics accordingly. Once the song sings ‘rock, paper, scissors’, players of the attacking team will point at a player from the defending team. The targeted player will be based on the majority of votes.”

The players braced themselves as a children's song began to fill the massive room, its playful melody clashing cruelly with the deadly game. Everyone was tense as they held their teammates’ hand.

Meanwhile, player 100 grinned wildly. He swayed mockingly to the beat of the song, his over-the-top movements making it clear he was savoring every moment. Across the field, player 226 glared daggers at him.

The song’s melody echoed through the vast room, its cheerful tone a cruel contrast to the tension crackling in the air.

As the first line rang out—

“Why did you come, why did you come, why did you come to our house?”

—the blue team, acting as the defenders, stepped forward in unison as if they were the ones asking the attacking team with the lyrics. The red team, as the attackers, stepped backward.

The second line followed:

“He said he came, came, came to look for flowers.”

Now it was the red team’s turn to advance, delivering the answer to the defending team through the lyrics. Player 100 led the charge, taking exaggerated, wide strides, his grin stretched from ear to ear. He locked eyes with player 226, his manic glee on full display. The blue team retreated, their steps cautious and calculated.

When the third line echoed—

“What kind of flowers did he come, come to find?”

—the blue team moved forward again. Player 226 pushed himself to the front, his chest puffed out as if trying to mask the nerves twisting in his gut. He fixed player 100 with a hard glare, attempting to show bravado.

The fourth line dropped.

“He said he came, came to look for rose flowers.”

The red team advanced again, but this time player 100 didn’t just walk. He lunged ahead of his teammates, rushing forward with his malicious grin stretching wider. His eyes locked on player 226, the sheer venom in his stare unmistakable. The blue team hastily stepped back.

Then came the fifth and final line.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

It was the moment of decision.

Almost immediately, most of the red team thrust out their dominant arms, fingers aimed squarely at player 226. The aggressive, near-unison movement felt like a death sentence, their fingers all pointing at the same target.

But not everyone joined in.

Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Yong-sik’s mother pointed toward other blue team members, deliberately avoiding their own friends in the opposing team: Yong-sik, Myung-gi, Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, and Se-mi.

The majority had spoken. Eight out of 12 red team members picked player 226. He stood under the crosshairs of almost every outstretched arm, his face paling. Across from him, player 100’s grin widened even more as he muttered, “Don’t run away now, boy.”

The manager overseeing the game stepped forward, his voice booming even behind that square mask of theirs.

“Eight people have voted for player 226. Now, player 226 will get to choose one out of the eight to compete in a rock, paper, scissors match. The one who loses the match will be eliminated.”

Player 226 scoffed loudly, his frustration boiling over. Without a moment’s hesitation, he jabbed a finger straight at player 100. “You. I’m not going down without dragging you with me, you self-righteous gramps.”

Player 100 blinked, clearly not expecting to be singled out so directly. His smug grin faltered for a second before he quickly masked it with bravado, though there was a nervous twitch in his eye.

“Hah! You really think I’m wasting my time on you?” player 100 sneered. “You should be picking someone weaker. Someone you actually stand a chance against.”

Player 226’s eyes darkened with pure loathing. “What’s wrong? Scared?”

He turned to the manager, raising his voice. “It’s the rules, right? I get to choose?”

The manager, calm and unbothered, nodded once. “Correct.”

Player 100’s jaw tensed. His cocky mask wavered again before he threw his shoulders back, forcing a wide, arrogant grin. “Fine! Let’s play your stupid game. But don’t cry when you lose, kid.”

Player 226 clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. The supervising manager then stated, “Player 226 and player 100, please step forward.”

Both of them stepped forward from their respective teams. They then stood face-to-face. The manager stood silently at their side. The air between them crackled with palpable tension. Every eye was locked on them. Player 226’s jaw was clenched tight, while player 100's forced bravado was starting to crack, beads of sweat glistening at his temple despite his wide grin.

“On my mark,” the manager’s voice cut in, monotone and cold.

Both players raised their fists, ready for the throw.

The manager began, “Rock. Paper. Scissors.”

Their hands shot out in unison.

Player 100 threw out rock. Player 226 put out scissors.

The manager announced with finality, “Player 100 wins. Player 226 is eliminated.”

Player 100 hollered triumphantly, his voice echoing off the high walls as he pumped both fists into the air. “Ha! I told you I’d crush you! Look at you now!”

His laughter rang out, loud and mocking, as he exaggerated every move, basking in his victory. But player 226 wasn’t hearing any of it.

His face went pale, eyes wide with disbelief as the realization hit him. He’d lost. Completely and utterly. His chest rose and fell in sharp, panicked breaths as he staggered back a step.

The other players stood frozen. Gi-hun’s jaw clenched as he watched player 100 revel in the moment, disgust flickering in his eyes.

“Over-the-top prick,” Jung-bae muttered, glaring at player 100’s dramatic celebration.

Jun-hee and Yong-sik's mother frowned deeply.

You, watching from the Front Man’s quarters, frowned in distaste. Player 100’s smugness was unbearable, the pure glee in his face making your stomach turn. But your focus quickly shifted to player 226, who stood frozen, panic now flooding his expression.

The heavy stomp of boots echoed as triangle-masked guards began advancing toward him.

Player 226 snapped out of his shock, his survival instincts kicking in. He threw his hands up, waving frantically. “Wait! Just-just one more round! I can do better! I-I wasn’t ready!”

But the guards didn’t slow. They raised their MP5s in perfect unison.

“No, wait—!”

The gunfire was deafening.

Player 226’s body jerked violently in each shot hitting his body before crumpling to the ground, a growing pool of red staining the white floor beneath him. His outstretched hand twitched once before going limp.

The massive room fell into an eerie silence, the echoes of the gunfire lingering in the heavy air.

Player 100 let out one last victorious laugh, though it was quieter now, almost uneasy as the reality of what had just happened set in. The other players stood rigid, their faces pale, the brutality of it all sinking deeper than before.

You inhaled sharply from where you sat. The guards then stepped back towards the wall, their weapons lowered, as the manager announced, “The next round will begin with the attacking and defending teams switching positions. The blue team will now be the attacking team, and the red team will be the defending team.”

As the rounds progressed, you noticed the plan in action. Gi-hun, Jun-hee, Jung-bae, Yong-sik’s mother, and the others subtly avoided voting for their friends on the opposing team. They were careful, trying to be subtle, ensuring no majority votes landed on their allies. By staying in the shadows and never drawing attention, they reduced their chances of being singled out for the deadly rock, paper, scissors match.

The strategy worked for a while. One by one, the O players on the blue team, were picked off. Each elimination was met with the same cold routine – play the which flower procedure, votes, a quick game, and then gunshots. The pool of players shrank in each round.

You noticed player 100’s smug demeanor slowly fade as he observed the pattern. His eyes darted between the remaining players, realization creeping over him. Being an O player himself, he couldn’t ignore the fact that the blue team’s O players were being taken out systematically. His cocky grin faltered.

Player 100’s frustration boiled over, his voice rising above the murmurs of the room. “They’re taking out all the O players! We’re next if we don’t do something!”

He jabbed a finger toward the blue team, his face twisted with indignation. “Switch it up! Start voting out the X players on their side!”

His voice echoed through the vast space, making heads turn.

You felt a sinking feeling in your chest as you watched from the Front Man’s quarters. Your eyes scanned the blue team, picking out the X players. They were:

Dae-ho, Hyun-ju, Yong-sik, Se-mi, and Myung-gi. All of them were your friends or acquaintances. There was one more X player, a quiet man who had kept to himself.

Only one O player remained on their side, standing nervously at the far end, clearly aware that his time was running out.

Shifting your focus to the red team, you tallied the survivors. The X players there were Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, Yong-sik’s mother, and a short boy labeled player 125.

But what truly caught your attention were the remaining O players. It was player 100 himself, the malicious player 124, and another nondescript man who hadn’t spoken a word the entire game.

The room fell into a heavy silence as the red team prepared for their turn. The manager’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Red team, you will be the attacking team this round. Make your selection once the song reaches–”

“Rock, paper, scissors, I know!” player 100 barked. He then pivoted to face his fellow red teammates. “Everyone! Next, we vote for the X!”

Before anyone could react, player 124 stepped forward, his finger jabbing out toward the blue team. “Let’s vote for him!”

All eyes shifted to Myung-gi, who froze as the accusing finger landed squarely on him. His expression twisted into surprise before he quickly masked it, his jaw tightening as he glowered at player 124. The two locked eyes, past grudges crackling between them.

From where you sat in the Front Man’s quarters, you couldn’t help but glance over at Jun-hee. Her face had gone pale. Her worry was written all over her.

Myung-gi, however, chose to stay silent. He didn’t protest, didn’t argue. Instead, he squared his shoulders and stood still, his fists clenched at his sides.

That’s when you noticed player 124 sidling closer to another red team member. It was the nervous boy labeled player 125. He told him, “Min-su, don’t make me mad now. Let’s win this again. One more game.”

Min-su flinched at the tone, his head dropping as he refused to make eye contact. He nodded once, his shoulders shaking slightly in fear.

The next round began. The melody played again, leading into the inevitable moment.

“Rock, paper, scissors.”

Hands from the red team shot forward.

You held your breath, leaning forward in your seat while carefully supporting the baby sleeping in your arms.

Player 100, player 124, another O player, and Min-su all pointed at Myung-gi, their votes locking him into the spotlight. Meanwhile, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Yong-sik’s mother each pointed at the last O player left on the blue team.

The female announcer’s voice rang out. “Player 333 and player 104 received four votes each. In this case, player 333 and player 104 are required to break the tie by competing in a rock, paper, scissors game.”

All eyes turned to the supervising manager. Myung-gi and player 104 stood frozen. The former’s face was unreadable, but player 104 looked as though he might faint.

“Wait,” Myung-gi called out. “If one of us loses… does that mean we’re eliminated?”

The manager shook his head. “No. The loser of this rock, paper, scissors will be the chosen player and will get to pick their competitor from the red team for another match.”

A beat of silence passed before Myung-gi and player 104 raised their hands.

The manager began, “On my mark. Rock, paper, scissors.”

Both players threw their choices forward.

Myung-gi’s hand came down as scissors.

Player 104 laid out rock.

The result was immediate.

“Player 333 loses. You will be the targeted player. You will now select your opponent.”

Myung-gi exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the ground.

Jun-hee’s eyes shimmered with pure desperation. Her hands trembled at her sides, her lips parting in terrifying dread. Her wide, glassy eyes locked onto Myung-gi, The fear, the worry. They were all there, visible on her face, but she forced herself to stay silent.

Myung-gi finally lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Jun-hee for a long while. Something unspoken passed between them – regret, apologies, and fear. He swallowed hard before shifting his stare to player 124. He glowered resentfully.

“Fine,” Myung-gi said suddenly, his voice sharp and cold.

It was as if something inside him had snapped into place, as if resigned to fate. But there was a part of him that still burned to fight back. He straightened his shoulders, exhaling slowly before lifting his arm, his finger pointing straight at player 124.

“I’m dragging you with me,” he growled.

Player 124 scoffed, the sound dripping with derision and loathing. “Tch. Brave talk for a scammer.”

The manager’s voice echoed through the room. “Player 333 and player 124, please step forward.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Myung-gi stepped out from the blue team’s line, his face a hardened mask of resolve. There was no fear in his eyes – only sheer defiance – as he strode forward, positioning himself before the manager. He glared at player 124.

Player 124, meanwhile, was livid. His jaw worked as he struggled to suppress his rage and another emotion, but he forced a chuckle, then broke into a mocking laugh.

“Oh, MG Coin, you really think you have outplayed me?” he sneered. “You’ve been a walking failure since the start. This’ll just be another loss for your record.”

The insult hit like a slap, but Myung-gi didn’t flinch. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared but he kept his focus locked.

Suddenly, player 124 turned around and reached beneath his white shirt, pulling out a necklace shaped like a small ‘t’. His hands trembled as he unclasped it, revealing a hidden compartment inside. Nestled within were two small, circular pills. You frowned in confusion. Is that his meds?

With a sharp flick of his shaky wrist, he popped both pills into his mouth, his head tilting back as he forced them down. His hands trembled violently, but he clenched his jaw. For a moment, the shaking intensified. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, his body stilled. The trembling faded completely, leaving him standing eerily calm.

Everyone watched him quietly. Some players exchanged tense glances, clearly understanding what he had taken, while others remained baffled. The silence thickened until the hot pink-clad manager broke it. “Player 124, step forward.”

Player 124's demeanor shifted entirely. Gone was the twitchy, agitated man from before. Now, he carried himself with an unsettling calm and confidence. His eyes gleamed with a kind of clarity, though a faint, manic edge still lingered.

He waved the manager off with a casual flick of his wrist.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he drawled, striding toward Myung-gi with an easy swagger. His smirk widened as he closed the distance, his voice lowering into a taunting sneer. “Still think you can beat me, MG Coin? You’re about to fold faster than your worthless crypto.”

You narrowed your eyes from the Front Man’s quarters, suspicion prickling at the back of your mind. He’s high. It explained the sudden calmness and confidence.

“On my mark,” the manager declared.

The two players squared up, their hands raised in preparation. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Even you, watching from the Front Man’s quarters, leaned forward, feeling the pounding of your own heart echoing in your ears. The baby in your arms shifted slightly, but you barely noticed.

Everyone was silent – so silent it was suffocating.

The manager said, “Rock.”

Both Myung-gi and player 124 tensed, their fingers twitching.

“Paper.”

Myung-gi’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving player 124’s.

“Scissors.”

Their hands shot out. Your breath hitched.

Myung-gi chose paper. Player 124 threw rock.

“Player 333 wins. Player 124 is eliminated,” the manager’s voice echoed.

Gasps of relief rippled through both the red and blue teams. You quickly scanned the players, recognizing the source of the reactions to be Myung-gi's acquaintances and even his ex-girlfriend. Jun-hee stood among them, her hands pressed firmly against her chest. Her expression, a mix of exhaustion and quiet joy, made it clear just how much she had been holding her breath.

Meanwhile, player 124 didn’t flinch. Instead, he stood perfectly still, his head tilted slightly to the side, a lazy smile curling at the edge of his lips. His wide eyes glistened, glassy and calm, almost... serene.

“Ha,” player 124 chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Well, would you look at that?”

His voice was light, easy, devoid of any tension. He turned his head toward Myung-gi, his grin stretching wider. “You are a really lucky bastard, MG Coin. Real lucky shot.”

Myung-gi stared at him, stunned by the reaction. There was no rage, no screaming, no accusations. It’s just that eerie calmness.

Player 124 walked closer to Myung-gi and daringly inched his face closer to his menacingly. “What kind of person are you, really? You scammed hundreds or thousands of people. You already got a girlfriend and a baby. And now you got really lucky in this game too. Meanwhile, I'm one of your victims. I used up all my money on your coin scam. My whole family disowned me. And I got unlucky? This is really, really unfair.”

Myung-gi stayed silent, locking eyes with the manic yet eerily calm gaze of player 124. The words cut deeper than he expected, hitting something raw inside him. In that moment, it all sank in about how lucky he really was and how many lives he’d left in ruin. The people who had fallen for his scam weren’t just faceless victims; they were desperate and broken too. Deep down, he knew he should be the one standing in player 124’s place. Maybe then, he could finally begin to atone for everything he’d done.

Two triangle guards advanced toward player 124 and Myung-gi, their shoes thudding against the floor. The sound echoed, drawing both players’ attention. Player 124 remained eerily calm. He straightened his back, lifting his chin with a strange serenity, his glassy eyes still glinting with that unsettling, drug-fueled calmness.

With a soft sigh, he exhaled through his nose, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So, this is it, huh?”

The guards arrived to stand before player 124. Still, he didn’t flinch. He let out another chuckle, almost giddy now. “Man, you guys are so serious all the time. Relax! It’s just a game, right?”

Even as the guards raised their weapons, player 124 remained eerily calm, as if the weight of reality hadn’t hit him… or more likely, the pills numbed him beyond fear.

“Later, losers,” player 124 murmured, flashing one last grin.

Multiple gunshots cracked through the massive room. Player 124’s body collapsed to the floor, still wearing that unsettling smile.

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. Myung-gi exhaled shakily, his heart still pounding as he processed what had just happened. Even in victory, the unease lingered.

Player 100 muttered curses under his breath. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he glared at Myung-gi’s retreating figure. “Damn cockroach… can’t believe he pulled that off.”

But the victory wasn’t what gnawed at him. It was the numbers. There were only three O players left.

In the red team, it was just him and another unknown male player. In the blue team, it was the last O player who had won against Myung-gi and narrowly escaped being the targeted player.

Player 100 could feel the walls closing in. His eyes darted toward Gi-hun, who stood quietly, hands at his sides, gaze calm. Too calm.

“This is your doing, isn’t it?” player 100 yelled, pointing a shaking finger at him. “You planned this from the start! You’ve been whittling us down!”

Gi-hun turned his attention to him.

“Don’t act like you’re innocent,” player 100 spat, taking a step closer, his voice rising with each word. “You’ve been playing the long game, getting rid of every O one by one. Keeping your little friends safe while the rest of us drop like flies. You slimy little rat!”

Jung-bae couldn’t stay quiet anymore. He stepped forward, placing himself between Gi-hun and player 100.

“Hey, back off,” he snapped, his eyes wide. “You’re the one who’s been throwing people under the bus since the start. You act like you’re a top dog when all you’ve been doing is stabbing people in the back.”

Player 100 sneered. “Oh, look, Gi-hun’s little lapdog has something to say.”

Jung-bae didn’t miss a beat. “Hey! At least I’ve got loyalty. something you wouldn’t recognize if it bit you.”

Before the tension could escalate further, Yong-sik’s mother stepped forward, her hands raised slightly in a calming gesture. “Enough, enough. This isn’t the time for bickering. We’re all barely holding on here. Fighting each other won’t change that.”

For a moment, there was silence. But player 100 wasn’t having it.

He whipped around to face her, his face contorted with frustration. “Oh, great! The fragile mother wants to play peacemaker now? You think you’re innocent in all this? You helped take out my fellow O players too! Don’t act like you’re some kind-hearted saint.”

His words cut through the tension like a knife, and the sheer force of his accusation made several players shift uncomfortably. He continued, “Spare me your pity act, grandma!”

Yong-sik’s mother flinched but quickly squared her shoulders, refusing to back down despite the sting of his words. Her hands trembled, but her chin lifted in quiet defiance.

“How dare you speak to me that way?” she snapped, her voice cracking with emotion, though she tried to hold her ground.

“Back off, you greedy old scum!” Yong-sik shouted from the blue team's line. “You don’t talk to my mother like that!”

Player 100's face twisted in rage, veins bulging at his temple as he jabbed a finger at Yong-sik. “You little brat! Always hiding behind your mommy! You think that’s gonna save you in here? You will sacrifice your mother sooner or later!”

Yong-sik’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, but he said nothing. It's as if player 100 hit a nerve that stunned him.

Player 100 then swung his gaze toward Gi-hun and Jung-bae. “And you two, and your friends? Don’t think for a second I don’t see what you’re doing. You’re nothing but cowards, hiding behind everyone else’s sacrifices.”

Gi-hun stayed silent, his face solemn, while Jung-bae rolled his eyes. “Fine, old man. Whatever. Are you done yet?”

Player 100 snorted but didn’t push it. He turned sharply on his heel and stormed back toward the red team’s line. He made sure to position himself as far from Gi-hun and the others as possible, sidling up next to the only remaining O player on his team – a man who flinched slightly as player 100 stood beside him.

Player 100 crossed his arms and threw one last glare at Gi-hun’s group before muttering under his breath, “Bunch of backstabbing rats. We have to do something fast.”

However, player 100 didn’t have time to form a plan. The next round began swiftly, with the blue team taking on the role of attackers while the red team stood defensively. As the song reached its final line of lyrics, the blue team reacted in near-perfect unison. Hands snapped forward, every finger – except one – pointing directly at player 100. The lone exception, the solo O player, hesitated for a fraction of a second before shifting his aim toward Jung-bae.

“Player 100 has been chosen as the targeted player,” the manager’s voice echoed coldly through the room.

For a split second, player 100 stood frozen, his mind racing to catch up with reality. Then, his face contorted in disbelief and pure rage.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he roared, his voice bouncing off the walls. “You all voted for me? ME?”

His eyes darted wildly between the blue team members, searching for anyone who looked even remotely guilty but they all stood firm and determined. His gaze finally locked onto Gi-hun as if instinctively blaming him.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?!” player 100 snarled. “You wanted me out from the start!”

Gi-hun didn’t flinch. He simply stared back, his face unreadable.

Jung-bae responded instead. “No plan, old man. You just made yourself the biggest target in here.”

“Cowards!” player 100 spat, though the edge of desperation in his voice was impossible to miss. “You all ganged up on me because you’re too scared to face me one-on-one!”

The manager’s voice cut through the noise again. “Player 100, step forward and choose your opponent from the blue team.”

Player 100’s chest heaved as he clenched his fists. His bravado was clearly cracking, but he still barked, “Fine!”

He jabbed his finger straight at someone in the blue team. All eyes followed. Your heart sank as your eyes widened in shock, dread tightening in your chest. It was Dae-ho.

Dae-ho, naturally pale, now looked as if all color had drained completely from his face. His skin was ghostly white, his wide eyes shimmering with panic. His arms trembled uncontrollably. It's like his body couldn’t decide whether to fight or flee.

Player 100 grinned wickedly, the sadistic pleasure unmistakable on his face. “You, ex-marine. Let’s see if all that training makes a difference here.”

Dae-ho didn’t respond. He could barely breathe, his throat dry, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out the noise around him. His legs felt like they might give out at any second.

Gi-hun’s mouth went ajar. He was obviously worried. Jung-bae, however, wasn’t one to stay quiet.

“Pick on someone your own size, you pathetic old man!” he shouted across the room, his voice sharp with anger.

Player 100 threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, please. I’m giving him a chance to prove himself. Ex-marine, right? Big, tough guy? C’mon!”

Jun-hee stood rigid, her face once again displaying immense concern towards another friend of hers – a man who had taken good care of her since they met here. Yong-sik’s mother pressed a hand to her chest, her face pale with concern. “Oh no...”

Meanwhile, Dae-ho stood there, frozen. His mind replayed the worst-case scenarios over and over. He knew the rules. He knew what would happen if he lost. He knew what would happen if he refused to play.

Player 100 then stepped out of the red team's line, standing before the awaiting manager. “Move it, ex-marine!”

The manager glanced at Dae-ho and finally stated, “Player 100 and player 388, please step forward.”

Swallowing hard, Dae-ho finally stepped forward, his legs shaky beneath him. His shoulders hunched slightly, as though he was carrying the weight of his past along with him.

Watching from the Front Man’s quarters, you felt a pang of concern cut deep. You knew Dae-ho carried some heavy burden from his past. You remembered the way he ran and hid during the gunfight in the revolt. His fear was palpable. His instinct to flee overpowered his marine training. It wasn’t cowardice; it was trauma.

Seeing him now, trembling and vulnerable, stirred something in you. He wasn’t just another player in this nightmare. He was your friend. He was someone you’d laughed with, and someone who encouraged you when things got rough. Now, he stood alone, facing off against player 100’s cruelty with barely a thread of composure holding him together. It hurt to see him like this, knowing there was nothing you could do but watch, hope, and silently will him to survive.

Once the two of them stood before each other next to the supervising manager, player 100, smug as ever, derided, “Don’t pass out before we start. Wouldn’t want this to be too easy.”

Dae-ho swallowed visibly. Everyone could tell drops of sweat began to roll down his temple and neck. His trembling hands betrayed him as he tried to pretend to be brave in front of the smug player 100, but failed spectacularly. You frowned deeply for him. You wished you could be there for him.

“On my mark,” the manager announced without hesitation.

Dae-ho jolted violently, his wide-eyed gaze snapping between the guard and player 100. His entire body trembled so intensely that it looked as though his knees might buckle beneath him at any moment. His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths as fear clawed at every part of him. The weight of the moment crushed down on him, leaving him paralyzed for a beat too long.

The manager began, “Rock.”

Player 100 grinned maniacally as he prepared one fist.

“Paper.”

Dae-ho hastily braced himself as his entire body still trembled immensely.

“Scissors.”

Both hands shot out. You and the entire room held its breath as the outcome was revealed.

Dae-ho’s hand shot out, the movement rushed and desperate. He laid out scissors. Across from him, Player 100 threw down paper.

For a heartbeat, the room was silent. Then the manager’s distorted voice echoed through the space. “Player 388 wins. Player 100 is eliminated.”

The words hit Dae-ho like a delayed shockwave. He blinked, his mind taking an agonizing moment to catch up to the reality of what had just happened. He’d won. Against all odds, he’d actually won.

The realization slammed into him, and with it came an uncontrollable surge of emotion. He let out a shriek, his voice cracking into a high-pitched yell that echoed through the room. His whole body trembled, this time not from fear, but from the sheer overwhelming relief flooding through him.

Cheers erupted almost immediately. From the blue team, his friends shouted loudest. Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, Myung-gi, and Se-mi sprinted toward him. Without hesitation, they crashed into him in a messy, joy-filled group hug, their arms wrapping tightly around each other as they bounced in place, laughing and crying at the same time. Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and the mother joined in afterward.

You sat forward in your seat, heart racing, hands tightening around the baby sleeping in your arms. Relief surged through you so hard it nearly made you dizzy. Dae-ho had done it. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, but it was bittersweet. Seeing him so close to breaking hit you in the chest. You wished you could be there, to tell him how proud you were.

But this moment? This victory? It was his. And you felt every ounce of his triumph, your heart full of hope… and fear for what came next.

“You did it!” Yong-sik hollered, gripping Dae-ho’s shoulder.

“You did great, Kang Dae-ho!” cheered Jung-bae.

Dae-ho couldn’t stop smiling, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The fear that had almost consumed him moments ago was gone, replaced with the comforting weight of his friends surrounding him.

But not everyone was celebrating.

Player 100 stood frozen, his face twisted in disbelief. “No! No! That’s not possible! You cheated! That was rigged! I had him beat!���

His protests grew more frantic as triangle-masked guards began to advance, their weapons raised and ready.

“Wait! Listen to me! He didn’t win fair!” player 100 shrieked, backing away as the guards closed in. “He was hesitating and saw I was about to throw a paper! You all saw it!”

But the guards didn’t falter. In a final act of desperation, player 100 tried to run. But it was too late.

Gunfire echoed through the room. The cheers stopped instantly. Everyone turned in time to see player 100’s body jerk violently before collapsing to the ground, a dark pool spreading beneath him.

Dae-ho’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene. The room hung heavy with silence, the weight of the moment pressing down hard.

The next few rounds blurred by in a haze of quick decisions and swift eliminations. Hands darted out, rock-paper-scissors was played, and gunfire echoed when the unlucky ones lost. There was no time to process, no room for emotions. The game had taken full control.

Minutes passed until the room thinned out, leaving only those who mattered most to you as the survivors.

In the red team stood Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, Yong-sik’s mother, and Min-su. Their faces were pale, their shoulders heavy with the weight of what was coming next.

On the blue team were Myung-gi, Dae-ho, Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, and Se-mi. They stood in a tense line, their eyes darting between the players on the opposite side, fear written clearly on their faces.

You sat back in the Front Man’s quarters, heart pounding, your hands trembling as you cradled the sleeping baby in your arms. These were your friends. Every single one of them, except for Min-su whom you had never talked with before. For your friends, however, they were people you had fought alongside, cried with, and in some cases, nearly died for. And now, they stood lined up against each other.

They can’t possibly vote for each other… right?

But deep down, you knew this game wouldn’t stop until it forced them to. After all, In-ho did say: “The rounds continue until one team loses all its players. The survivors on the winning team move on.”

The victorious energy from Dae-ho’s win had been snuffed out completely, replaced by an oppressive sense of dread. Eyes met across the room. Some glanced away quickly, unable to handle the weight of it. Others, like Gi-hun, held the gaze of his friends on the opposing team.

No one spoke for a long time. Until Jun-hee’s soft voice broke through the tension. “What are we going to do now…?”

Her question floated in the air, unanswered. The words were fragile, barely above a whisper, but they echoed loudly in the hollow space.

Yong-sik rubbed the back of his neck. “This… we can't really back out now, right?”

“No,” the manager suddenly spoke up, surprising Yong-sik since he didn't intent on asking them. The manager continued, “The game will continue until one team loses all its players.”

Everyone fell quiet. The manager's words echoed in the tense space like a chilling reminder. Eyes dropped to the floor, shoulders sagged under the oppressive weight, and the air thickened with a heavy, suffocating silence.

Gi-hun’s fists clenched at his sides, the pressure almost visible in his posture. He spoke up, “There has to be another way.”

Gi-hun’s eyes flicked upward, landing on the cluster of CCTVs positioned high on the room walls. Because of this, it felt like he was staring right at you.

You stiffened in your seat, the baby still cradled safely in your arms, but all your focus locked onto Gi-hun. It wasn’t possible for him to see you but somehow, it felt like he could. His eyes burned with intensity with the weight of a plan forming in his mind.

Gi-hun stepped forward, leaving his team’s line and walking straight toward the supervising manager, who stood silent by the side.

“What if the majority of us decide to stop right here, right now?” Gi-hun asked, his voice calm but loud enough to echo across the room.

A ripple of hope stirred through the surviving players. Heads turned, eyes widened. Everyone was caught off guard by the question.

Gi-hun turned his head again, glancing up at the CCTVs, as if daring whoever was on the other side – daring the Front Man – to intervene.

“It’s in the rules, isn’t it?” he said, his voice grew stronger, the conviction clear. “Rule No. 3: ‘The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie, players will vote again.’”

You felt your heart pound harder. He was right. The rule was there, buried in the fine print of the consent form every player had signed. You remembered it, as did they.

The players glanced around at each other, their eyes now wide with hope. Jun-hee clutched her chest, tears glistening as the realization dawned. Yong-sik’s mother whispered something inaudible, her hands shaking as if in prayer. Even Myung-gi, who had stood hardened for most of the game, allowed a sliver of hope to creep into his expression.

“Come on,” Gi-hun pressed, looking directly at the manager now. “We’re following the rules. If the majority of us want out, if we decide that this is over, then it’s justified.”

For a moment, there was silence. Thick, heavy, and pregnant with the weight of possibility.

You sat at the edge of your seat, your throat dry, silently begging for it to work. Let this be it. Let this nightmare end here.

But then the manager tilted his head slightly, his distorted voice cutting through the room. “That rule does not apply during the game. It only applies to the vote after every game.”

The words hit like a physical blow. The hope that had bloomed so fast was snuffed out in an instant. The players froze, their faces draining of color, the weight of their situation crashing back in with brutal force.

Gi-hun’s shoulders sagged, the fight momentarily leaving him.

You frowned in despair. The anger and helplessness clawed at your chest. It had been so close. Too close.

The players stood motionless in their lines. Each one of them stared blankly ahead, their minds spiraling into dark corners.

Jung-bae, standing in the red team’s line, let out a long, ragged exhale, rubbing his temples as if the headache building inside was finally too much to bear.

Yong-sik stood stiffly in the blue team’s line. Across the room, his mother stood in the red team’s line, her gaze locked onto her son. Neither could reach out, neither could offer the comfort they both craved. Yong-sik’s eyes shimmered with unspoken fear. His mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, her chin quivering slightly, but she lifted her hand just enough for him to see. It was a small, fragile wave. It was a desperate attempt to reassure him. Yong-sik’s throat tightened, and he managed a weak nod in return, but it felt hollow.

Jun-hee stood in the red team’s line, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles bone-white. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep tears at bay, but her focus wasn’t on her surroundings. It was across the room. Her eyes locked onto Myung-gi, who stood rigid in the blue team’s line.

Myung-gi’s eyes darted across the room until they landed on her. Their gazes met, a silent current of emotions passing between them. Myung-gi didn’t need her to speak. The way her shoulders sagged and her jaw trembled said enough.

He offered her the faintest nod, though his own expression was tight with pain. His mind raced even now, desperately searching for a loophole that didn’t exist. But in this moment, with Jun-hee’s gaze locked onto his, there was only the bitter truth of their situation.

Dae-ho shifted uncomfortably, wringing his hands together,. His breathing was shallow, and his gaze flicked nervously to his friends before falling to the ground.

Then there was Hyun-ju. She stood still, her posture rigid, but there was a hollow look in her eyes like she had already seen this ending long before anyone else. Her shoulders rose and fell with slow, measured breaths as if she was forcing herself to stay grounded while everything crumbled around her.

And then, so slowly it was almost imperceptible, she nodded so slowly.

Her gaze was downcast, unfocused, as though she was staring through the ground rather than at it. The smallest, most fragile smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It was an expression so soft, so hollow, it almost didn’t feel real.

It wasn’t a smile of joy or hope. It was the kind of smile someone wore when they’d accepted something too painful to say aloud.

“Maybe... maybe this is it,” she whispered to herself, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the heavy silence. “At least... half of us still make it out.”

The words hung in the air, delicate yet heavy, but her fellow blue team members heard her all the same. Their heads subtly turned toward her, their eyes filled with a mix of surprise and sorrow. No one spoke, but the glances they exchanged reflected the same haunting thought. They all knew she was right, even if none of them wanted to admit it.

Hyun-ju lifted her head slightly, her hollow smile softening into something faintly warmer. It wasn’t a smile of hope or joy, but a gentle, almost sad acceptance, like someone making peace with the inevitable. Her eyes flickered toward her fellow teammates, landing first on Myung-gi.

He caught her gaze almost instantly. After a beat of hesitation, he gave her a slow, solemn nod. The tension in his jaw relaxed just enough to show he understood what she meant. There was no malice in it, no bitterness. It’s just reluctant agreement.

Next was Se-mi. She didn’t hesitate. She nodded back to Hyun-ju before casting her gaze toward Dae-ho. Her eyes softened as she noticed him trembling again, his whole body rigid with barely contained fear.

Meanwhile, Yong-sik’s attention had shifted. Instead of reacting to Hyun-ju, his eyes flicked across the room to his mother. She stood with her head lowered, lost in her own thoughts, oblivious to his gaze. Yong-sik bit his lower lip, the weight of the moment crushing him, but he didn’t call out to her. He just pondered.

Dae-ho, however, was falling apart. His breath came out in short, shallow bursts, his hands clenched tightly at his sides as his body trembled in trepidation. Every second dragged out, thick with pressure, until he flinched at a sudden bump against his arm.

Se-mi had nudged him lightly with her elbow. He jolted in surprise, whipping his head toward her, his eyes wide and panicked. She simply raised an eyebrow, her usual laidback demeanor revealing itself.

“Don’t think too much about it,” she said, her tone casual despite the situation. She offered him the smallest of smirks before adding, “It’ll go how it goes. Freaking out doesn’t change that.”

Dae-ho blinked at her, caught off guard by how calm she was, but a tiny bit of the panic ebbed away. He sucked in a shaky breath and managed a weak nod in return.

But Hyun-ju’s smile didn’t waver. She let out a soft sigh, her voice barely more than a whisper as she spoke, “I'm sorry if this feels forced on you. Of course, you all are free to continue with this game.”

For a moment, no one spoke, the weight of her words settling over them. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Yong-sik finally broke the silence. He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. “No, it’s alright. It’s hard to accept, but... the red team deserves to pass this more than we do.”

His words hung in the air, fragile and somber, yet they carried something. It wasn’t the answer anyone wanted, but it was the one they needed. A sense of reluctant acceptance washed over the blue team.

Hyun-ju’s smile widened before she slowly turned to the supervising manager. Her shoulders straightened as she braced herself.

“Excuse me,” she called out, her tone loud and clear, cutting through the thick tension of the room. “Is it possible if we, as a team, surrender altogether?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Every head snapped toward her, wide, shocked eyes landing on Hyun-ju and the entire blue team. Even some of the guards visibly turned their head to her at the question.

On the red team, reactions rippled like shockwaves.

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly as if he wanted to speak but found no words. Jung-bae’s face contorted in pure disbelief, his jaw dropping as he gawked at Hyun-ju. Jun-hee gasped softly, then turned her gaze to Myung-gi, her heart sinking when she noticed the calm, resigned acceptance etched across his face. Yong-sik’s mother clutched her chest as she stared helplessly at the blue team before locking eyes with her son across the distance. His solemn, distant expression confirmed the fear blooming in her chest, leaving her paralyzed.

Min-su, on the other hand, simply stared in stunned silence, his gaze locking on Se-mi. There was something in the way he stared. But Se-mi didn’t meet his gaze, her focus and resigned smile fixed on the ground.

From the Front Man’s quarters, your heart raced in your chest, your hands tightening protectively around the baby in your arms. The suddenness of Hyun-ju’s request left you breathless. You knew her – knew the way she held things in – but this? This was more than courage. It was sacrifice.

A storm of emotions swirled in your chest. Sadness. Fear. And a gnawing helplessness that you couldn’t do anything but watch.

The manager, silent for what felt like an eternity, finally spoke. “If a team collectively wishes to forfeit, it is within their right. If you are certain, all players in the blue team will be eliminated.”

Hyun-ju slowly turned her head, her calm eyes meeting each member of the blue team. Myung-gi was the first to nod, steady but quiet in his acceptance. Yong-sik followed, his jaw tight as he dipped his head. Se-mi, laidback as ever, offered a small, resigned smile before her nod. Dae-ho hesitated, his whole body trembling with fear, but he eventually looked back at Hyun-ju and nodded albeit tremblingly.

Hyun-ju’s smile widened, still faint but now with a hint of gratitude, before she faced the supervising manager once more. Her voice was firm. “Then, we wish to surrender as a team.”

Your felt overwhelming cold of fear grip your heart. Your chest tightened painfully. Hyun-ju’s voice echoed in your mind, the strength in it, the acceptance… it cut deeper than you expected. You hated this feeling, this helplessness, watching the people you cared about walk willingly into their end. It felt like your heart had cracked open.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Yong-sik’s mother’s voice ripped through the silence, raw with fury and panic. Her hand shot out toward the blue team, trembling violently, her knuckles white as she gripped her chest. “Are you all out of your minds?!”

Her face twisted with anguish, eyes darting between the members of the blue team, but her gaze locked hard on her son. Yong-sik stood rigid in the blue team’s line, his jaw clenched, refusing to meet her eyes. Her voice cracked as she tried again. “Yong-sik! Say something! You can’t…! You can’t be okay with this!”

But he didn’t respond. His silence said everything.

“Damn it!” she shouted, her voice breaking.

Gi-hun stepped forward, his jaw tight. His voice was rough, caught somewhere between anger and pleading. “This is suicide! There must be another way, everyone! Don't give up yet!”

Jung-bae scoffed in disbelief, throwing his arms up. “Hey! You think sacrificing yourselves is going to fix anything? Didn't we promise to have a drink together once we leave? Hey, Kang Dae-ho!”

Dae-ho jumped in surprise upon hearing his full name, his wide eyes snapping to Jung-bae. His entire body trembled, though not as violently as before. But he remained silent. You realized that fear was still there, but he believed this was the right thing to do.

Jun-hee didn’t say anything at first. But then, she stepped out of her red team's line with quick strides, each step echoing in the heavy silence. Myung-gi’s head jerked up at the sound, his eyes widening as she approached. Her glare was sharp, but there was a crack of vulnerability beneath it.

“Don’t be stupid, Myung-gi,” she snapped once she stood before him, her voice thick with emotion. “You said you wanted to make it up to me. This isn’t how you do it!”

Her words hung between them, raw and trembling, leaving Myung-gi frozen. His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he let out a slow breath, his expression softening. Then, after a beat, he smiled – not out of amusement, not out of defiance, but with a quiet sadness, a smile that held both regret and acceptance, as if he had already come to terms with this.

“Jun-hee,” Myung-gi began softly, his voice steady but filled with a quiet sorrow. “Once you pass this game, you finally get to leave. There are no more O players left, so you’ll have the majority vote. You can end this. Take our daughter and the money, and start over. Give her the life we always dreamed of.”

Jun-hee’s glare faltered. She recognized that look on his face – calm, responsible, determined. It was everything she had once wanted from him, the very thing she had begged to see in him. And now, when she finally did, it was for something she never wanted. Her breath hitched as her vision blurred, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“I really want to be there for you and our daughter,” Myung-gi continued, his lips pulling into a resigned smile. “But what matters most is you two surviving. You need to live, Jun-hee. You need to take care of her. If I know you two are safe, I can leave this world without regret.”

A tear slipped down Jun-hee’s cheek, then another, until they came freely, streaming silently as she stared at him, disbelief and heartbreak written all over her face. Her hands trembled at her sides.

Myung-gi stepped forward. He reached up and gently brushed her tears away with his thumb, his touch warm despite the cold finality in his words. “Tell my daughter I love her. Tell her that I love her mother.”

A sob finally broke past Jun-hee’s lips, her body shaking as she let the tears fall. Myung-gi didn’t move away. He stayed, brushing away every tear as they came, holding onto this fleeting moment with her for as long as he could.

You watched from the Front Man’s quarters, your grip tightening on the sleeping baby in your arms. The rawness of their exchange cut through you like a blade. You glanced down at the baby, a deep ache settling in your chest. She had no idea what was happening, oblivious to the sacrifice unfolding for her. Her tiny fingers twitched in her sleep, curled against your chest, as if searching for something she would never get to hold. Her father was about to leave this world, choosing to give her a future he would never be a part of.

Then, as you brought your gaze back to the live feed, you noticed something else.

Beside them, Dae-ho, who had been trembling moments ago, now stood still. The violent shaking of his limbs had quieted. He had been terrified – of death, of the unknown – but now, something in Myung-gi’s words seemed to settle the war inside him. His eyes no longer darted around in panic. Instead, they were calm and downcast, almost at peace.

Yong-sik took a shaky breath before finally speaking, his voice quiet but filled with emotion. “I’m sorry, Mom... for everything I did. I have always inconvenienced you. But you never gave up on me, even when I made things hard.”

His mother’s eyes widened, her lips parting as if to say something, but instead, she shook her head, tears already welling in her eyes. Without hesitation, she rushed toward him, her trembling hands reaching for him as though afraid he would disappear the moment she let go.

“No, my sweet boy, no,” she whispered desperately, her voice cracking as she grasped his arms tightly. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way. Please, my son, I can’t—”

Her breath hitched, and she cupped his face between her hands. “Let’s go home. Let’s get out of this together.”

Yong-sik’s body tensed as he fought to hold back his tears, but as his mother pulled him into a tight embrace, he finally let go. His arms wrapped around her, clinging to her like he had when he was a child. His chin rested over her shoulder, and his voice broke as he said, “It’s my fault you almost died in the third game, mom. I always put you in a tough spot. Now it’s my turn to repay you.”

His mother let out a soft sob, shaking her head fiercely. “No, you don’t owe me anything, Yong-sik! You’re my son. I would do anything for you!”

She gripped him tighter, her fingers clutching his back as if refusing to let him go. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

But Yong-sik didn’t respond. He just held her, his own tears finally slipping free, soaking into the fabric of her clothes. The two of them stood there, locked in their grief, their cries blending into the suffocating silence of the room. Nothing else existed in that moment. There was only a mother and her son, clinging to each other as their world fell apart.

Dae-ho shifted his gaze toward Jung-bae and Gi-hun, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something. But hesitation flickered in his eyes. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words.

Before he could speak, Jung-bae cut in, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Hey! Don’t you dare say anything sentimental!” he barked, his tone attempting to mask the thick emotion wavering beneath.

For a moment, Dae-ho just stared at him. Then, an amused chuckle escaped his lips, shaking his shoulders. He sniffed, wiping at his nose before suddenly straightening his form.

With a snap, he raised his hand in a crisp salute. His posture stiffened, mimicking a soldier standing before his commander. And then, in a loud voice – though cracking mid-sentence – he yelled, “Victory at all cost! Thank you for everything!”

He paused as a wave of emotions surged through him, his salute hand trembling ever so slightly. With a sharp inhale, he clenched his jaw and forced himself to stay composed. Then, with a deep breath, he yelled, “I apologize for every mistake I made!”

Jung-bae’s expression twisted, his brows furrowing as if deeply offended. He scoffed loudly, shaking his head. He muttered something under his breath, low and unintelligible, before striding toward Dae-ho with sharp and wide steps.

For a tense moment, it seemed like he might hit him. But instead, once he reached him, he placed both hands firmly on Dae-ho's shoulders. His brows furrowed as he searched Dae-ho’s face.

“Are you sure about this?” Jung-bae asked, his voice lower now.

Dae-ho held his gaze for a moment before giving a few rapid and repeated nods. “I'm sure. I get to die like a man, and my father will be proud of me.”

Jung-bae exhaled sharply, blinking rapidly as his eyes glistened, but he held it in.

Gi-hun came to stand with them, his expression now clouded with frustration and concern. He exhaled sharply, his gaze locking onto Dae-ho. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.”

Dae-ho held his stare for a long moment before shaking his head with a faint, sorrowful smile. “Not this time. But I'm sorry. At least I can make up for my mistakes this way.”

“Don't be an idiot,” Gi-hun snapped, his voice laced with agitation and concern. “I understand why you left us in the revolt, so stop sulking and rethink this!”

Dae-ho forced a chuckle, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “Eh, Gi-hun, let me go with some dignity! I was starting to look all cool there for a second!”

Jung-bae scoffed, shaking his head in frustration. “Dae-ho, you should at least try to fight back. Maybe there’s another way.”

Dae-ho turned toward him, his smile tinged with sadness. “Nah, it’s fine. At least this way, I get to decide my own elimination, not through losing a game.”

A tense silence settled between them. Gi-hun glanced down as if searching for the right words.

Suddenly, he let out a slow breath, lifting his gaze once more. “I’m sorry… for getting mad at you. About that time. I should've understood what you were going through.”

You perked up at this, your curiosity piqued. What happened to Dae-ho? Did he tell them what caused his PTSD-like reaction?

Dae-ho’s eyes widened, as if caught off guard by the apology. He hesitated before forcing a grin, reaching out to pat Gi-hun’s shoulder playfully. “Eh, it’s alright. No hard feelings.”

But as his hand lingered for just a second, his smile wavered. A shadow passed over his face, as if a memory was pressing too heavily on his mind. “I… sometimes wonder why I was the one left standing when they weren’t. When I hear a gunshot, it all comes back. Every moment on that island. I should’ve done more. Or maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have made it out at all.”

His voice barely rose above a whisper, but the weight of his words settled heavily in the air.

Dae-ho finally looked back up at Gi-hun and Jung-bae, his expression shifting. It was no longer sorrowful, but determined yet nervous. “That’s why I don’t want to go out feeling sorry for myself. If this is how it ends, then I want to face it on my own terms. So let’s not turn this into some depressing farewell, alright? Just promise me one thing. You two better make it to the end.”

Gi-hun and Jung-bae stared at Dae-ho for a long while, their expressions unreadable at first, but the weight of his words settled between them like an immovable wall.

Jung-bae's face twitched, his eyes glistening as he struggled to hold himself together. With a sharp sniff, he quickly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, muttering under his breath, “Damn dust...” as if trying to convince himself he wasn’t about to break.

Dae-ho noticed immediately. A small, sad chuckle left his lips, though his voice cracked as he spoke, “You’re such a lousy liar, Jung-bae.”

Jung-bae scoffed, still refusing to meet Dae-ho’s gaze. “And you’re crazy for doing this.”

Dae-ho’s smile wavered. His throat tightened, and before he knew it, his own vision blurred. He sniffed and blinked rapidly, trying to fight the wave of emotions washing over him. But there was no use. He could feel the tears threatening to spill.

Gi-hun watched Jung-bae and Dae-ho tear up. And before he could stop it, he felt it too – his own vision blurring as his throat tightened. He blinked rapidly, tilting his head up slightly, willing the tears away. Taking in a sharp breath, he exhaled in frustration.

Then, as if gathering every ounce of strength he had left, he turned to Dae-ho and glanced at everyone else. His voice, though steady, carried an unmistakable plea. “At least wait, everyone. Play a little longer. Give it more time. Just... don’t be so quick to throw everything away.”

Hyun-ju challenged his gaze as she responded calmly, “It’s pointless. You know it as well as we do. Instead of fighting something we can’t change, we’re choosing to go on our own terms.”

Gi-hun clenched his fists. “That’s not true. We’ve found ways before, we’ve made it through when it seemed impossible. Why are you giving up now?”

“Because this game isn’t made for us to win,” Myung-gi cut in, shaking his head. “The only way to win this is to have the other team lose all its players. It cannot be you guys.”

“That’s not a reason to just accept it!” Gi-hun shot back. “If we keep playing, we might find another way!”

“But I don't want to play anymore,” Yong-sik countered, his voice quieter but no less firm. He had pulled away from his mother's embrace but they still side-hugged one another. “I don't want to experience losing in this game. I want to die voluntarily.”

Gi-hun’s eyes darted between them, searching for something that would change their minds. But there was no hesitation in their faces, no flicker of doubt. It was a decision they had already made.

Nearby, Min-su hesitantly stepped toward Se-mi, his expression unsure.

“Se-mi...” he called with her ‘noona’ title. His voice was quiet, almost pleading. “Are you really going to do this?”

Se-mi, standing with her hands in the pockets of her jacket, glanced at him before flashing a small, laidback smile.

“Yeah,” she said simply, nodding. “At least this way, I feel like I win. Not on this game’s terms, but mine.”

Min-su stared at her, his eyes wide, his frown deepening with sadness. “But...”

He trailed off, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of her choice had just hit him.

Se-mi let out a small chuckle, shaking her head. “Don’t look at me like that. I made up my mind a long time ago.”

Min-su swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists at his sides. He looked down, struggling to find the words, but Se-mi simply patted him on the shoulder. She then told him, “After this, leave. Now you don't have Nam-gyu bullying you.”

Min-su's lips parted as if to argue, but no words came. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. His wide eyes shimmered with something unreadable – frustration, sadness, maybe even guilt. He blinked rapidly, looking anywhere but at Se-mi, as though forcing himself not to break.

Yong-sik’s mother desperately tried to reason with them, her voice cracking as she pleaded, “Please, all of you, think this through! You don’t have to do this! There has to be another way!”

But Hyun-ju turned to her with a gentle smile. “There’s no need. This is what we want. And more than that…”

She hesitated for a moment, then continued, her voice softer now, “I’m grateful. Truly. For everything. Even if it ends here, I got to experience what it’s like to have a mother who loves unconditionally, without judgment. That was more than enough for me.”

Yong-sik’s mother’s breath hitched, her hands trembling as she gawked at her, overwhelmed by the words. She shook her head slowly, grief-stricken, but Hyun-ju simply gave her a final, reassuring nod. The mother immediately rushed over, embracing her tightly.

The hot pink-clad supervising manager stepped forward, his voice booming through the room in a deep, distorted tone. “All players, return to your team's line.”

Jun-hee visibly flinched before she turned toward Myung-gi, her lips parting as if to speak but unable to find the words. Myung-gi closed his eyes briefly, as if steeling himself, before exhaling and offering Jun-hee a small, sad smile.

Yong-sik’s mother’s grip on Hyun-ju tightened, her head shaking in silent denial, even as she knew there was nothing left to be said. Yong-sik, standing beside her and Hyun-ju, swallowed hard. His eyes were red-rimmed.

Min-su turned away from Se-mi. He took a hesitant step back toward the red team’s line but his movements were reluctant. Se-mi, however, remained as she was, hands in her pockets, her gaze steady, unflinching, as if she had already accepted this moment long before it arrived.

Dae-ho swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he turned to Jung-bae and Gi-hun one last time. No words were spoken, but the message was clear. Jung-bae blinked rapidly before he let out a slow, shaky breath.

Gi-hun froze in place, his breath hitching as the reality of the moment sank in. His mind screamed for a solution, something that could stop this, but deep down, he knew nothing could save them. His friends, the people he had fought alongside, were about to be taken away, and once again, he was powerless to stop it. A deep ache settled in his chest. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let this happen again, yet here he was – watching, helpless, as the game prepared to take them away.

The triangle guards positioned themselves directly behind the blue team. They did not wait for the red team members to walk back to their team's line. Instead, they raised their MP5s without hesitation, aiming them at the red team members' back.

The supervising manager stepped forward and announced, “The blue team has been eliminated. The red team wins. All surviving players, return to the dormitory.”

The blue team did not flinch. They remained still, standing tall despite the doom that hovered just inches behind them. The red team, on the other hand, froze.

Yong-sik was the first to break the silence, his voice shaking but he knew what must be done. He turned to his mother, gently gripping her arms. “Mom, please… you need to go. You don’t have to see this.”

His mother shook her head fiercely, tears streaming down her face. “No! I won’t leave you! I can’t!”

His jaw tightened, and his hands trembled as he gave her a pleading look. “If you stay… then what’s the point of me doing this? If you die too, then my choice means nothing!”

His voice cracked toward the end, a mix of desperation and frustration seeping through. His mother opened her mouth to argue but found herself unable to speak. Her whole body trembled, her heart shattering.

"Please, mom," he whispered, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Go. Just go.”

Yong-sik took a shaky breath and gently pried his mother’s hands off of him. She resisted at first, her grip tightening in desperation, but he held firm, his fingers pressing gently over hers until she finally let go. Once her hands slipped away, she stood there, her arms limp at her sides, her hollow eyes filled with unspeakable sorrow as she looked at him.

Myung-gi turned to Jun-hee next, his voice quieter but just as firm. “Jun-hee, you have to go.”

Jun-hee shook her head slowly, her tears falling freely. “But...”

Myung-gi smiled sadly. “Come on. This is for her, for us. If you stay, all of this will be for nothing.”

Jun-hee’s breath hitched. But as she stared into his steady eyes, her resistance wavered. With a choked sob, she took a step back.

Dae-ho, standing beside them, turned to Gi-hun and Jung-bae, his expression lighter than the situation deserved. “Alright, you two need to get out of here. No second chances.”

Gi-hun clenched his jaw, glaring at the guards. Jung-bae only stared at him in despair with a pair of glassy eyes. He then spoke up, “Dae-ho...”

Dae-ho placed his hands firmly on Gi-hun and Jung-bae’s backs. Without a word, he pushed them back, forcing them to walk away. His expression, though calm, carried a quiet finality.

“Enough of that,” he said, his voice lighter than the moment deserved. “Ex-marines like us shouldn’t cry anyway.”

Gi-hun inhaled sharply, his vision blurring for a moment, but he didn’t resist. Jung-bae, on the other hand, exhaled harshly, rubbing his face as if trying to erase the emotions threatening to surface.

Dae-ho offered them one last big grin that revealed all teeth, eyes teary and shining with something between acceptance and defiance. “Go on. Get out of here already.”

The red team members hesitated, their feet unwilling to move, but the inevitability of the moment forced them into action. Slowly, begrudgingly, they took a step back. Then another. Their eyes never left the blue team, their expressions a mix of heartbreak, frustration, and helplessness.

A sharp metallic click shattered the heavy silence. Then another. The sound of the triangle soldiers unlocking the safety of their MP5s sent a ripple of dread through the red team. Their breath hitched collectively, their bodies stiffening in response.

Yet, the blue team did not waver.

Despite the tension pressing down on them, they smiled. Some were grinning widely, while others were barely-there curves of their lips. Though they smiled, each one carried a tinge of anxiety, their resolve fighting against instinct. But the message in their eyes was clear. This is our choice.

Jun-hee bit down on her lip, her hands trembling as she forced herself to step back. Gi-hun’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Jung-bae frowned forlornly. Yong-sik’s mother covered her mouth, muffling a sob as her tears spilled freely. Min-su’s throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his gaze darting between the soldiers and Se-mi.

But the blue team remained steady.

From the Front Man’s quarters, you sat frozen, gently holding the sleeping baby. You wanted to look away, to shut your eyes and block out what was about to happen but you couldn’t. Your friends, the ones you had laughed with, fought with, survived with, were standing on the precipice of death, and all you could do was watch.

You felt tears roll down your cheeks, silent and unchecked, as you watched helplessly. The weight of the moment crushed down on you, suffocating, unbearable. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to look away, to spare yourself from what was about to happen but you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The triangle soldiers adjusted their grips on their weapons, fingers hovering over the triggers. The sound of your own heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else.

From the live feed, you noticed the red team members were still walking backward, their movements heavy with reluctance. The first to turn away was Yong-sik’s mother. She forced herself to turn, her back now facing her son. You knew why. She couldn't bear to watch. A strangled sob escaped her lips as tears streamed down her face, her shoulders trembling as she walked away, each step dragging.

Min-su was the next to turn away, his shoulders hunched with guilt. Jun-hee followed, her silent tears streaking down her face. Jung-bae was next as he furiously wiped at his eyes, unwilling to let the emotions show. Gi-hun, however, couldn’t bring himself to look away.

The triangle guards braced themselves, their fingers tightening around the triggers. The blue team stood still, their backs facing the soldiers.

Then—

Gunshots.

You, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, Yong-sik's mother, and Min-su jolted in surprise and frightening anticipation. The deafening sound tore through the tension, cutting through the air like a knife.

Your eyes widened.

The shots didn’t come from the massive room where the fifth game was playing out.

They came from below.

For a brief second, confusion flickered across the red team’s faces. The blue team, who had braced themselves for their fate, also hesitated, their gazes shifting ever so slightly. And then, just as quickly, they snapped their attention back to the triangle guards.

But none of them had fired.

Instead, the guards themselves stiffened, their heads snapping toward the source of the sound. A moment of eerie silence followed, save for the distant echoes of more gunfire reverberating from beneath them.

A blaring alarm resounded through the facility, its sharp wails bouncing off the walls and shaking the already tense atmosphere. The sudden noise startled the baby in your arms, causing her to stir before breaking into distressed cries. Your breath hitched as you looked around, uncertainty crawling up your spine. Something else is happening.

Then, the female announcer's robotic voice cut through the alarm, steady and void of emotion. “Attention, all guards. Maintain position and prepare for immediate engagement. Execute defensive measures as required. Repeat: Maintain position and prepare for immediate engagement.”

It was that moment you remembered about the kind 011 guard and Gyeong-seok.

NEXT : Chapter 22

PREV : Chapter 20.1

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! In-ho's Flashback P.O.V. is here again. What do you think about his P.O.V? Then, what about the fifth game? What do you think about Nam-gyu and player 100, and Min-su being put in the same time as Gi-hun? What do you think about player 100, 226 and Nam-gyu's death? How about the fact that Myung-gi and Dae-ho were at risk of getting eliminated? Then, about the blue team volunteering to surrender, what do you think about them all? And about the emotional aspects? And theeen, what about the gunshots that came from below? What do you think that was? I really want to know your reaction on this! Anyway, thank you very much for giving my story a chance. I love reading and re-reading all of your comments!

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

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

[niwaart]

Hiii i really love your writings can you please give us more of the doctor reader pleaaase🙏🙏🙏🙏

Doctor! Male! Reader X Batfam

[Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - part5]

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Bruce has a severe headache, and the family dinner turns into a family war. Damian and Tim try to kill each other, Dick passes out on the floor, Jason and Stephanie die laughing while filming Tim and Damian fighting and filming an unconscious Dick, Cass helps Alfred gather edible food before Tim and Damian destroy it while Duke tries to talk them out of the fight, and Y/N tries to salvage the remaining food (cake) and puts it in her bag. How did this all start?

It all started when Y/N arrived at Wayne Manor, before pressing the bell button he made sure he packed everything he would need today in his bag. What did he pack? He packed several things, first the pepper spray, why? Because what if they accused him of stealing? Or decided to lock him up inside the creepy mansion?... Well he knows he's exaggerating and the reason is because of the series he watches but there's no time for regrets. Second he packed papers proving that he's an adult and can live on his own and has a good salary and job, and third he has lollipops, why? Because he's sure his father is evil to the point that he won't serve candy and cakes early... So Y/N is ready, he was going to take the hospital scalpel but Sammy stopped him and beat him up for that idea... But that's okay.

Y/N took a deep breath, pressed the bell button and waited for someone to open the door, as he expected and saw in his TV series the butler opened the door!... He should really expect from watching those TV series... "Welcome Mr. Y/N, please come in, Mr. Bruce is waiting for you." Alfred stepped aside to let Y/N in, Y/N entered with closed eyes... Why is the house glowing from the inside? Did they buy the sun or something?... Y/N made a note to himself to take sunglasses with him next time... He was sure that if he got out of here alive that meant there would be a next time... Y/N followed Alfred into the dining room, as he walked behind the butler Y/N was looking at the paintings, Bruce and his children... Why are they all wearing black in the pictures? Y/N didn't think much about it, all he wanted was cake... The world is hard sometimes.

When they arrived at the dining room, Bruce greeted them in a formal suit and a bright smile with a model's pose... Y/N wanted to leave now. Bruce approached him with the same smile "Hello son, glad you came." Y/N nodded "Yes, hello, Mr. Wayne." Bruce frowned at Y/N's formal response "You can call me dad you know, no one here but family..." Y/N ignored Bruce's words and sat down in one of the chairs before they forced him to sit next to Bruce. Bruce sighed and sat down in his chair at the head of the table "Well, that's okay, maybe later. Now I want you to meet your siblings, not everyone is here yet but they will be soon." Y/N looked around the table, there were only two people who hadn't arrived... "First off, this is my son Damian." Bruce pointed at Damian, Y/N remembered all the pictures taken of Damian and Bruce, Damian didn't smile once... Creepy. "And this is Timothy." Bruce then pointed to Tim who nodded in greeting and said, "You can call me Tim." Y/N nodded and Bruce continued, "And this is my daughter, Cassandra." Cassandra waved and Y/N did the same. "And this is Duke" Bruce pointed to Duke who smiled shyly at Y/N and Y/N smiled back at Duke. Bruce then pointed to Stephanie who introduced herself before Bruce could. "Hi!! Oh my god, nice to finally meet you!! I'm Stephanie, you can call me Steph." Stephanie extended her hand to shake Y/N's who laughed at her enthusiasm and then shook hers in return. Bruce smiled as he watched his son integrate so seamlessly into the family. Timothy's plan to bring Y/N here via cupcakes was genius.

Maybe bringing chili pepper was a bit much, the family seemed pretty normal… except for the kid, he still looked scary to Y/N, if looks could kill, Y/N would be dead. “Well, time to serve dinner.” Alfred said as he brought the plates with Cassandra’s help. “Cake?!” Y/N said excitedly as he looked at the plates Alfred was holding. Alfred laughed and said, “No, dessert is after dinner, Mr. Y/N.” Y/N’s smile faded, he knew they would keep the cakes late… that’s why he brought the lollipops… He pulled one out of his bag and it caught Damian’s attention. “Aren’t you going to eat Alfred’s food?” Those were Damian’s first words to Y/N and he felt the tone was familiar… Y/N didn’t think much of it, the point was to answer the kid before he choked him. “I came for the cake, so I’d rather keep my stomach empty for dessert.” Y/N said as he put the lollipop in his mouth.

Damian raised an eyebrow at Y/N's words and everyone at the table turned their attention to Y/N who felt like he was in exam class. "We know you love cake but we didn't expect it to be this bad." Stephanie said with a playful smile and Cassandra nodded at her words. Y/N said nothing as he looked at his plate, his pasta... well it looked delicious... but he still wanted cake first. So he pushed the plate away from him. "Can't I have cake now?" Y/N looked at Alfred sadly. But Alfred has strict rules, no dessert unless you eat the main course first. Y/N sighed and looked at his father... then a brilliant idea came to him.

“Dad… can you help me with my plate?” Bruce who was about to choke when Y/N called him dad, looked up from his food to Y/N… Y/N was looking at Bruce with big sad eyes. Bruce was confused… he didn’t know what to do, because his children had never looked at Bruce that way before… in fact no one had… he wasn’t trained to handle this “Okay, I’ll eat your plate.” Bruce sighed in defeat and took Y/N’s plate. Stephanie, Duke, and Tim laughed at Y/N and Bruce’s actions. “Oh man, I can’t believe you made B do what you ordered!” Duke said looking at Bruce who now had two plates and Y/N who was smiling proudly at his great accomplishment. Damian was watching Bruce in shock. Had his father just given in to the demands of someone who had come to the mansion for the first time in his life? No way... Then Damian looked up at Y/N... He should be careful of him in the future, he wouldn't let him take the Robin suit.

While everyone was asking Y/N about himself and his job, he heard the door open, Y/N turned to the door to see two people… oh Bruce’s sons. “Sir Jason, Sir Richard, you’re late, please sit down so I can serve you dinner.” Alfred said who immediately went to the kitchen. “Thank you Alfred. Sorry for being late, but Jason is not an easy person to bring here.” Richard said smiling cheerfully as Jason sighed as he sat down lazily in his chair. “I didn’t want to waste Alfred’s food, that’s why I came.” Jason said aggressively, Jason was sitting next to Y/N who was now terrified. Jason was huge… to his right was Damian who was terrifying enough… and now to his left sat a huge man who could crush him in seconds… reminding him of Red Hood whom he had met before…

Richard had been excited all morning to meet his big brother, finally he wasn't the big one anymore, he could be pampered... Richard approached Y/N from behind while Y/N was distracted by Jason and hugged him from behind which startled Y/N who screamed in horror and hit Richard's head hard, Richard fell unconscious from the headbutt and at the same moment Y/N accidentally pushed Damian's arm causing Damian to throw his spoon in Tim's face... Tim got angry and threw his spoon at Damian who decided to wage war on Tim, he was angry enough that day. Jason and Stephanie burst out laughing and took out their phones. Alfred had already set out a few plates of cupcakes. Y/N wasn't focusing on the trouble he caused, he was focusing on the cupcakes... He had to take the cupcakes, he got away from Damian and Tim who decided to wrestle on the table, Y/N moved to the other side of the table, where the cupcakes were. And he started to collect the plates, since no one was sitting now, Stephanie and Jason were filming Tim and Damian, documenting Richard who was lying on the floor unconscious while Duke was trying to separate Damian and Tim from each other, Y/N asked Alfred for cupcake containers for the cupcakes, Alfred didn’t hesitate to get them, Y/N immediately took the containers and started to grab the cupcakes so he could leave quickly, Cassandra was helping Y/N collect the cupcakes and keep the food away from Damian and Tim. Bruce stood up to stop Damian and Tim who were literally about to kill each other and Duke who gave up and left them while Y/N collected all the cupcakes, but he still needed to apologize to Richard, so he took the lollipop out of his bag and put it in Richard’s pocket then ran out of the dining room as fast as he could with a bag full of cupcakes. He did it! He left alive!

Bruce sighed as he looked at Y/N out the window, then turned to Damian and Tim angrily while Alfred was cleaning the table and Cassandra was trying to wake Richard up, Stephanie and Jason were sharing pictures of Barbara who couldn't come and editing the videos to make them funnier. "That ended badly tonight." Bruce said in frustration... "But it's okay, there's definitely next time." Jason laughed at Bruce's words and replied sarcastically, "Oh yeah, next time will be more fun."

Bruce sighed again and sat back in the chair thinking of a new plan to bring his son here, and keep him here forever this time.

@roxy776699 @missmannequin @theultimatezazasniffer @chericia @mybones537 @thegothamsiren

[the-traveling-poet]

“Odd, but fine”

Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader ~ SFW

A/N; I’m not sure what to classify this as—hurt comfort or just some random fluff. But it’s here and it’s 1.1k words :3

Kinda inspired by my mindset lately?? (Life’s a bitch and tearing me down rn lmao)

Anyways, we hit 800 followers this week! I’ve been in denial for a few days but genuinely y’all mean the absolute world to me, thanks for getting me here and in turn inspiring me to keep doing what I love—you’re the reason I’ve kept at it (slowly but surely).

Thanks for sticking around, even if I’m not the most active online anymore. You’ve made a hard week for me become bearable <3

It wasn’t often you had visitors to your office—you hardly used the space much, after all.

Anyone who could ever need you, for one thing or another, would have a much easier time spotting you elsewhere. They’d learned by now you preferred a more open atmosphere to inhabit while you worked—one of these places being the window you’d perch on within the library, tucked away with a good book or perhaps a small stack of papers you were meant to sign.

Another was the large elm tree on the outskirts of the training grounds, where you’d sit with your books and papers under the cool shade of the leaves, away from the burning sun—if the weather cooperated.

As such, you’d always use your office sparingly, albeit however you wanted; and today was no different. For the first time in awhile, you’d decide to coop yourself up within the space, avoiding interaction with others to get your work done.

And yet…no work had gotten done.

There you were, minding your own business in the quiet of the room, sprawled out on the freshly swept floor and your eyes staring blankly up to the ceiling in somewhat of a haze.

Everyone needed a moment to decompress—though, you weren’t certain that’s what you were doing. You felt heavy, physically. Perhaps a little foggy in your mind as well.

Lying out on the floor could constitute as a comfort, no? At least, you’d always thought so.

It was grounding in the most literate of senses, like a balm to a wound.

Today, that wound was your mind; too many racing thoughts, too many responsibilities.

Sometimes, one just needed to lay down—you figured anyone could agree to that much.

So that’s exactly what you’d done. The work could wait another hour while you attempted to unwind, right?

Your wandering mind was pulled back to the present by a simple knock to your door.

Odd; no one usually looked for you here, for how scarcely you used the space. Perhaps whoever was here urgently needed your assistance, maybe even just your presence.

You started to lift your head and form a reply, when the door clicked and pushed open swiftly. Whoever was there hadn’t waited for permission to enter after the rapp of their knuckles against your door, and one of two possible culprits came to mind almost immediately. Neither of those Captains would wait for a response before barging in.

Curious eyes met yours when you turned towards the sound, the confusion in their eyes turning to a look of brief concern.

“Levi,” you mumbled in greeting, your tone nearly sounding as confused as he previously looked. Of course, it was Levi. You should have known by the knock.

He quickly smoothed out his expression when you spoke, his lips set in a purse and brow furrowed into his usual somber expression. It seemed he’d gotten over his initial surprise to find you in such a position.

“What are you doing?” was the only thing he uttered into the quiet space, pointedly glancing over your sprawled out form for emphasis.

“Sometimes you just need to lay down, yeah? The floor can be a nice place to do that.” you answered a little hesitantly, your words coming out slower than usual as you gauged his expression.

“…That’s filthy,” Levi grumbled back, his eyes narrowing just a bit.

“You’ll get shit in your hair, dust on your ass.”

“It’s clean, I promise. I swept.”

“And did you mop?” Levi raised an accusatory brow, to which you averted your gaze.

“I hardly use this space; I imagine sweeping up the dust is good enough.” you shrugged, turning your gaze back up towards the ceiling to avoid his eyes glaring daggers into the side of your face.

Sighing softly to himself, Levi eventually softened his look, and closed the door behind him before striding further into the room, his eyes never quite straying from your form.

“For a moment I thought you were having a fit of some kind. Injured somehow, maybe…but I have reason to believe you’re fine—a little odd, but fine.”

You started to form a reply, something equally as sarcastic as he’d sounded, but the words never left your lips—they didn’t get the chance to. Not when the rustle of fabric and the shifting of his position out of your peripheral vision caught your attention.

With a quiet grunt Levi crouches down to lay on the floor, right beside you; his shoulder nearly touching yours from the close proximity.

You were surprised beyond words, your breath catching in your throat. Hadn't he just implied this was filthy? Just what provoked him to join you?

“Why?” you managed to utter softly, now laying with your head turned to view his side profile.

He spared you a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Why not? The floor’s not a great companion; emotionless and cold. Figured you could use some company that can actually listen. You’re feeling things—emotions or some shit, aren’t you?” Levi responded smoothly.

He returned his gaze to the ceiling almost nonchalantly, as though this activity wasn’t something out of the ordinary for himself.

You knew that couldn’t have been true.

Not for him.

“And you can provide these ‘lacking qualities’ that the floor cannot?” you mused, nearly biting back a smile as you, too, averted your gaze up to the dark ceiling.

“…I can at least respond to you, brat.” Levi clicked his tongue, though the annoyance he meant to show never really made it to the surface. His words were spoken almost akin to a sigh; somewhat relaxed, somewhat amused.

“If you’re going through some mental shit…I have time to listen. I won’t give you great advice but, well, who’s advice is truly right? No one has the true definition of a right answer when it comes to the mind. But one can do what they can—their best.”

“So eloquently spoken, Levi. I didn’t know you were so…insightful?” You hummed then, turning your head to admire the side of his; but he was already facing you, silver eyes widened in a more relaxed manner than before. He seemed to be studying you.

“Cut the shit, brat. I’m just trying to help,” he grumbled, but once again any annoyance he might have hoped to convey was lost on the look he held—like he genuinely cared about how you’d react to whatever he happened to say.

“Maybe you could let me help, just once? It’s not my strong suit…but I’ll try.”

It was heartfelt, the way he stared back at you.

Had those flecks of blue always belonged to his irises amidst the grey hues? Has his lips always ticked upwards at the one corner when he spoke to you?

Had he always looked and sounded so…caring?

“You help just by being here. Thanks, Levi; I didn’t know I needed the company today,” you finally whispered in response, smiling faintly in the dimly lit room.

Surprisingly, his lips mirrored yours in a soft upturn. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever seen this before.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you need, you spoiled brat.”

~More Levi Ackerman Content Here!~

[white-poppie]

𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ⎯⎯ Finale of the '𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇' series

SYNOPSIS — Your life was a mausoleum of sickening memories until light found you again at the end of the bleak tunnel, peering through his big cerulean eyes. Spitfires vanishing till you found your everlasting effervescent flame. And that's how it ends, because you still have your youth.

💿 — Mia and Sebastian's theme from La-la land

TW —breastfeeding, pregnancy, post-partum, grief, loss, crying (obv), jealousy.

WC — 5k

Series masterlist Moon Child ⏮ ⏸ ⏭ Now playing: Part 3

“Hey…shh..it’s okay…I’m here.” He mutters as he winces, closing his eyes while the remnants of his best friend's cursed energy remain.

The next few minutes go by Satoru holding you to his chest, silently as you sob. Now he’s sitting in the front seat of his car, the tinted windows drawn up as he regardless looks outside cautiously while you feed a hungry Tsukiko.

Satoru’s gaze falls to rear mirror, his eyes briefly catching your tender expression when you look at Tsuki as she stays latched to you and an inexplicable warmth erupts in his chest. He cranks up the AC silently, noticing you’re sweating a bit while feeding her.

You can’t help but smile as he turns up the AC, he notices these little things, the things Suguru should have been here for.

You sigh and lean on the headrest of the car, the smell of the faux leather making your head pound harder after crying. Tsuki suckles with soft whimpers, her face covered by your t-shirt. "It’s strange isn't it?" You murmur. "You are doing few of things Suguru was supposed to be doing for his daughter..."

He’s quiet for a long moment before he finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s his loss. He missed out.”

You look out of the window, tears pricking in your eyes yet again. Your eyes burn from crying, yet it seems as though gotten used to it, gotten yused to the uncomfortable warmth of excessive tears burning down your eyes.

You tell yourself you’ve gotten immune to heartbreak but image of Suguru tenderly holding Tsuki. His eyes filled with so much regret and pain like he would turn around everything if he could. It’s burned in your head. “I’m so tired, Satoru…” you whisper.

He’s quiet as he listens to you speak, his heart breaking as he hears the way your voice cracks again and how your words carry such a sense of exhaustion and pain, like you’ve been carrying burden that no one could understand. You’re not the same person that you were when you were just shy of seventeen. You’re not the same girl that he used to know at sixteen and he knows that better than anyone else..

"I feel so lost- I no longer know what I am working for. There is this anger that bubbles in me, This vile feeling of resentment towards everyone, everything...hell sometimes even towards Tsuki." You choke, "I feel so selfish for thinking all this when I have a sweet daughter. I hate myself that sometimes my mind conjures up this feeling of anger and blames this little girl who has no fault. I love her so much, but I can't help these sudden feelings."

His heart aches at the way you blame yourself, it all just feels so unfair. It feels…cruel. He can do nothing but sit here and listen to you talk it all out because you so clearly feel suffocated like you’re drowning.

"When he told me he was leaving the Jujutsu society. It felt as though my heart was being ripped apart, like I would stop breathing without him. I dug my nails into him. Clung to him that entire night. I got a call from Shoko in the morning when he had gone rogue and filled so many people. I wanted to rip my skin apart yet not wash the flesh he had touched" You sob viscerally, lowering your head in shame.

At times, it felt like you were living a bitter love song. Penelope unthreading the tapestry, grieving, loyal to gone Odysseus. Yet, ambivalent. Somedays, you unthread the tapestry, other days you beg Artemis to end it instead.

He can’t stop the feeling of pure agony bubbling in his chest, his throat dry. Your grief feels so real. So tangible. You’ve lost yourself to him. A part of you must have still been hoping he would come back, as foolish as that hope was. He reaches out to gently take your hand in his. “It’s okay…it’s not your fault.”

You gulp, wiping your tears with your trembling hands upon realising Tsukuba is done feeding, you fix your shirt, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. Her litttle features relaxed into a blissful expression after having her fill, her pouty pink lips making you smile despite your sorrows.

“Can I hold her?” Satoru asks suddenly hesitantly. The corners of his eyebrows upturned and furrowed almost adorably.

"You are asking as if you weren't the first one to hold her in the hospital." You croak out humourlessly and hand her to him and shift in the front seat beside him.

His face softens as a small smile spreads across his lips and he gives off a quiet breathy chuckle as he sees the way your shoulders soften and the small, weary smile that spreads across your face as you hand him the baby. His eyes are so gentle and loving as he carefully takes Tsuki and cradles her against his chest. The way he’s holding her, it’s so natural - as if he was born to be a father.

Your heart feels so heavy at the scene. Its supposed to be Suguru...Its supposed to be Suguru holding Tsukiko, not Satoru. But there's this swell of affection when you look at him cradle her. She's so loved...

"She looks so tiny against you." You whisper, The way they look like yin and yang makes your breath hitch. Tsuki with her black her and eyes and Satoru with his white hair and blue eyes. Suguru and Satoru—Yin and Yang—the strongest sorcerers.

His lips quirk up in a soft smile as he gently pulls Tsuki just a bit closer to his chest, his hand gently wrapping around the back of her head in a tender hold. “She really is a tiny little thing, isn’t she?” he whispers right back as he continues to softly stroke his hand across her back. “She’s so precious and fragile, like a baby bird.”

“”It’s both a blessing and a curse that she looks exactly like him.” You whisper looking at his strong arms hold the baby.

Satoru looks at you, her eyes softening with a mix of pity and affection for the child in his arms. “She really is the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen.”

Your shoulders relax you take in a shaky breath, your head pounding like a those drums from from Physical education classes that banged rhythmically. Sighing you raise your legs up to your chest and lean the seat back.

The sight of you curled up in the passenger seat of his car, the car which, you’ve just about proclaimed as your property is so domestic to him that it hurts a little bit. “You’re tired,” he says softly as he continues to cradle Tsuki against his chest.

"Mhm." You nod as you look at him, eyes fluttering. "You should give her here or you won't be able to drive."

He lets out a sigh as he reaches over to gently buckle her into her baby carrier against you. His breath stutters as his fingers brush against your arms and he finds himself gazing into your eyes before gulping and drawing back.“She’s just so tiny and cute and precious, I just don’t want to let her go.” He mutters, his voice slightly deeper than intended.

You chuckle and carefully cradle her neck so she’s leaning against your chest "She's a very charming little girl." You press a kiss to her forehead.

He watches silently as your breaths even out in a semi- lucid state before he whisper to himself in response. “Just like her pretty mama.” He utters and starts to drive to your house.

The smell in the car is saccharine, your vanilla perfume, and the oddly sweet smell that comes from babies; combined with a heady mix of breast milk and baby products.

Tsukiko and you are settled and curled into his front seat as if you belong here. It's so natural. To think Satoru is being the haven Suguru could never be, he's picking up cracks of you shattered, broken heart; you don't know what to call it, but it feels right. Unclear, whether it’s pity or friendship that makes him care so much for the girl and the kid his best friend abandoned.

You arrive back at you place as he helps you out of the car. You look at Satoru with heavy eyes, "Come in, I'll make tea." you say with a tired smile.

Initially, he thinks of rejecting, yet seeing your swollen red eyes and that weary slouch of your shoulder blades; he surrenders.

The little apartment that's less of a home but a sanctuary, its a cute tapestry of memories. Baby products are neatly kept, such as cribs, baby toys, polaroids of the baby, plants, and, in progress, a crochet baby hat on the couch and adorable little trinkets around.

But to you, as night comes it becomes a glum, cold sanctuary for the most part-- filled with reminders of Suguru. Everywhere. His large shoes were on the front door, his coat was on the rack, his picture with me was on the fridge, and his cologne was on the dresser. Almost everything of his is untouched the way it was, despite everything, you don't have the strength to throw out his things the same way he threw you out of his life.

The more his gaze lingers, his mind immediately drifts to the last time he came here; when Suguru was in your life. The house reeks of his memories. The place doesn’t look like a home, it looks like a museum that’s dedicated to the relationship you had with Suguru, almost like a shrine. The longer he looks at it, the more his chest aches. When he speaks, it comes out as a barely audible whisper. “Y/N...”

"Hmm?" You mutter slowly, tucking Tsuki in her crib. You walk back into the kitchen, your house sandals dragging across the marble flooring.

“Can I just…hug you for a second?” he whispers.

Your eyebrows furrow at his words, pausing midway while putting the pan on the stove. "Where did that come from?" You ask confused, but your voice softens immediately, turning into a whisper by the end of the sentence.

"I just…want to hug you right now.” he says in a tender, whispery voice. “You look like you need it.”

You gulp, keeping the pan down and wrapping your arms around him he leans down, his arms wrapping around your waist. A shaky breath leaves your throat at how warm he feels, your throat constricting and nose and cheeks feeling warmer. You close your eyes, a silent tear rolling down your cheek.

His arms slowly snake around your waist as he wraps you in, pulling you to his chest, cradling your soft, exhausted body and holding you against his larger, firm form. His eyes close as he feels you shaking in his arms, his embrace so tender that it hurts. “It’s okay,” he whispers softly to you. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Your chest aches at how comforting his embrace feels. You are suddenly reminded of the way Suguru used to hug you- but for the first time, I push the thought of Suguru away quickly. It’s Satoru in front of you, not Suguru.

"I’ve got you,” he murmurs right up against your ear. “I’ve got you.” He lifts his hand to brush his fingers across your hair, his fingers running across your scalp.

You feel my heart beat faster inexplicably as you raise your head up to look at him. “Satoru, I need your help.” You whisper out as you gulp, briefly closing your eyes.

“Help me…help throw his things away please, I don’t have the strength to do it alone. it’s so haunting." You choke, "I want to move on, I want get better, in a more stable mental place for Tsuki, and I can’t do that with these reminders of him everywhere…” You vent out in one breath.

“You really…want to throw away all of his things?” He asks, his voice a mix of hurt, and relief.

“No.” You reply immediately, “but what other way is there? I don’t want Tsuki to grow up with me being an emotional wreck over a man who abandoned us."

Your eyes fall over to the tiny toddler in the crib, unable to peel your eyes from the beautiful girl.

"I want to keep everything of his, to look at them and grieve for a man who’s alive. I want to keep that damn scarf of his, I don't have the strength to remove his picture from my wallpaper, and his pillow that I sprayed with his perfume and hugged to sleep during pregnancy because his smell calmed me during morning sickness. It’s pathetic I know…but how long am I going to hold on?” You choke up, tears rolling down my eyes.

He feels his breath hitch at your words. He slowly lowers his head to rest his forehead gently against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in slowly and trembles slightly as he gently pulls you into him, his breath trembling and catching in his throat again. “Oh, Y/N,” he whispers in a voice broken with emotion. “Oh sweetheart…”

For a second he wants to gather all of Suguru's things and keep them for himself on the other hand he wants to shatter everything. He's been like the same paradoxical situation as you, day in and day out. He's been a hypocrite. Telling you to move on when he could not get over his best friend. The only person he could ever confide in without being superficial, the only one who cared.

He's aching, just as much as you are. And he aches even more to see his first love so terribly broken apart by his best friend.

"I want us to heal, 'Toru." You mutter. "All of us: Me, you and Shoko. Of course the pain can never truly be gone, but we can't let our lives stagnant like this." You whisper, cupping his face in your palms, your eyebrows furrowed as you stare into his cerulean eyes.

He feels his heart skip several beats in his chest as he feels your soft, warm palms gently cupping his face, your eyes peering into his. He takes in a slow, shuddery breath and swallows again in an attempt to get rid of the aching feeling in his chest - the aching he feels for you.

His eyes glance over towards the crib, seeing the small infant that ties you to his best friend in the most undeniable way that he could never possibly compete, yet she draws him and you closer than ever. From the day he laid his eyes on her, he loved her.

He raises his hand slowly and gently rests it over one of the ones that are cupping his face, his fingers intertwining with yours. He holds your gaze for a long moment in silence, just trying to calm the thundering of his heart in his chest. He let his feelings sit in the backseat when you and Suguru started dating. It hurt, but the ache soon simmered and he accepted reality, he knew his feelings had never left and yet it didn't feel hard to think otherwise. Hell, he was ready to be Suguru's best man. He's finally letting himself be selfish.

"Toru," You breathe out shakily, unsure why you uttered his name like so. This feels like the precipice, the intermission of the movie of your life, right at the climax. These inexplicable feelings brewing in your heart are so heavy. You feel guilty, for letting yourself feel this way, for letting yourself move on-- to develop an affection beyond friendship for Suguru's best friend and your friend.

His heart skips a beat at the way you breathed out his name like so. It almost sounds like a plea, almost like a desperate beg. Toru. It never felt this good, never felt this right, for you to say his name like that. It's so good to hear the way his name sounds when it leaves your lips, your lips that he has never once touched.

His throat aches as he leans down and captures your lips against his own he's wanted this for so long. For so so long he's ached for you. Satoru knows its wrong, you're both vulnerable, but he feels like he would break and sob like a child if he doesn't embrace you. If he can't love you. Its physically impossible for him to control his affection anymore. His nose is red, eyes burning.

A gasp leaves you as you freeze, your fingers clenching into fists. You stand unable to react, frozen still. Your heart beats in a sickly rhythm at the confusion swirling in your chest.

He swallows thickly and instantly pulls back, his eyes wide as he looks into your shocked expression. He takes in a shuddery, shaky breath. He's a idiot, he's an absolute idiot. He knows you don't feel that way about him, knows you're still broken over Suguru, and yet he still kissed you.

"I-" You stutter, your heart shattering at his slightly red eyes. "I'm...I'm sorry..." You breathe out, unable to utter anything else. You want to pull him in again, to kiss him with the same tenderness. His glassy eyes make you sick, but you are not sure you can do this to him, not when you are so conflicted about your feelings...he deserves better than that.

He shakes his head adamantly, his hands trembling slightly as he gently reaches up to place them on your shoulders to keep you at a distance. He doesn’t want your pity. He can’t take your pity.

"You don’t—" Satoru whispers shakily, his eyes still burning. "You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Please, don’t pity me because I feel this way for you."  

"I don't-- I don't pity you 'Toru, not a bit. But you are not a replacement, I never want you to feel like that. I am- there is so much to heal in my heart, I don't think I can love anymore. I am so damn scared after all that I went through." You breathe out reaching to him hesitantly. "You deserve better than whatever mess I am right now."

His heart shatters even more as he feels the way that you demean yourself so harshly - you have no idea how much you're worth. You have no idea how many times he's had to restrain himself from kissing you, holding you, loving you - so many times he's had to tell himself that he has no right to try and love someone that's not his. But his heart is a fragile, weak thing in the face of your sorrow.

"Your daughter needs you," he whispers, his voice cracking a bit. "You're amazing.

“Would you give me time to heal Toru? For myself? For Tsuki? Maybe even for us.” You whisper with a soft voice. “I want to reclaim myself, I’ve lost that ambitious girl somewhere, I want to get her back before I can ever try to find love again.”

.

6 months pass by in a blink of an eye, wasn't she born yesterday? Tsuki's already 8 months old, its a bittersweet feeling. Yet somehow when you think of the times your blood used to run cold when someone mentioned Suguru when you trying to heal; it reminds you how long the year really was.

Those six months were a lifetime for you and Satoru too. He was there all along, for you and Tsuki. He watched you grow and change - every day, every moment, he witnessed the way you healed and slowly came back to yourself. And with each day that passed, the more that he found himself completely and hopelessly in love with you.   

You smile, wrapping the scarf around Tsuki as she sits in her stroller, wide-eyed, observing her mama dressed up differently. A red, velvet a line dress. It feel so weird to wear old clothes again, like watching yourself in your middle school yearbook pictures, cringing at how you looked, but feeling warm as you remember how truly happy you were.

You gulp, fixing your hair for the nth time, waiting for Satoru to pick you. You roam nervously in the apartment, wound like a spinning top and you jump when the bell rings.

You quickly walk up to the door, there he stands in his glory, in a tailored Italian suit, an Armani watch, his fluffy white hair parted at the side with a bouquet of peonies in his nimble hands.

And he freezes just as you do, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down trying ti muster, suave words of praise, but nothing leaves his starstruck self.

“You look so handsome, Toru.” You say fondly.

He slowly holds out the bouquet of peonies for you as his eyes scan over you again. His voice feels weak, barely a whisper as he speaks to you. "Look who's talking."

“Thank you, it’s beautiful.” You say taking a sniff of the fragrant flowers. Your heart feels warm, despite the chill in the air; warm toasted bread with sweet milk tea in the sheets, an odd sense of euphoric comforting.

"Just beautiful things for a beautiful woman."  He says, finally with his flirtatious grin which causes you to roll your eyes.

You chuckle and look over at Tsuki. “Let’s wait for Shoko” It’s the first time she’d be away from you, she’s too small, too tiny, it makes you anxious for her to be anywhere except in front of your eyes. This is the first time you've ever been apart from the infant who's been attached to your hip since she was born.

"Shoko's a doctor, she'll take good care of her. It's just for a few hours, sweetheart."  He says, interrupting your thoughts.

Soon enough, the bell rings, and the tired woman makes her way in. You go over the same things, same scenarios multiple times until you feel relieved and Shoko on the other hand, exasperated.

"And for the love of god don't smoke around her," you say and finally hug her. "Thank you for doing this Shoko."

Shoko freezes as you suddenly hug her; for a moment, she feels as though her eyes are getting bleary after seeing you smile so brightly after so long. "All good..." She murmurs, unknowingly tightening her grip around you.

"Let's go," you whisper to Satoru, holding out your hand. For a few seconds, he just stands still, unable to form a coherent emotion at the sight of your hand extended to reach his. Gulping he intertwines his large fingers into your palm. the path to his car feels sacred, intimate; he feels as though he's holding you as you walk down the aisle to him. It's an exaggerated, delusional reverie that makes his chest all tight.

The ride towards the restaurant is mostly silent, with you looking out the window and watching as the world passes by like a blur. Satoru steals a few quick glances at you every now and then as he drives, feeling the familiar ache in his chest everytime he looks at you in your beautiful, beautiful red dress.

"You look beautiful, you know that?" He whispers, his voice hushed almost as if he's afraid if he speaks too loudly, the moment will be shattered.  

Your eyes soften at his reverential tone, you tilt my head, staring at him. "You've told," you answer. "But I like hearing you say it."

"I'll say it till you get sick of it," he says with a soft chuckle, his bright cerulean eyes undoing all defenses, all inhibitions. They shine so bright, like stars.

"I don't think I can ever get sick of it," You whisper. It's peaceful, you realise. Not the wild, passionate sort of love you experienced with Suguru, where the flame was brightest before it blew. But this feels like a soft light, whispering in the dark, ebbing the strongest shadows away. It draws you in like a moth to flame. This tender light ignites my very being from the dull, colourless life you were trapped in. You never realised that what you wanted was warmth; you hunted it in a spitfire, but found it in an everlasting flame.

His heart skips a beat at your soft, but honest words. The car slows down as the light turns red, and he takes the opportunity to take a good a long look at you. You are sirenesque, it takes his breath away. He finds himself leaning closer, red lights of the signal reflecting off his face. The soft jazz he put to sound fancy is all static under your gaze. He is all static under your gaze.

Both of you flinch as a car behind you honks, pulling the two of you out of your reverie. You realise the light has already turned green and clear you throat.

He lets out a soft sound before he starts driving again, looking ahead at the road to distract himself from the way his heart still pounds in his chest.

The restaurant comes into view as he parks the car with a sigh. 

You smile as he helps you out of the car. It's a fancy restaurant, the kind you'd see in old Hollywood movies where the main characters take the heroine and a cute song starts playing. You wait for your orders, and there's an awkward silence; neither of you speak for a while. A mix of embarrassment and nervousness blended in with being clueless about what to talk about.

"So...I was thinking," he begins, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage as he fiddles with his fingers. There is a moment of hesitation as he looks up at you for a second, his heart skipping a beat at your calm expression. He gulps and decides to say it, his words leaving him in a low murmur - barely above a whisper. "Wanna dance?"

"Dance?" You question your eyes fluttering in confusion as you look around and then back at him as if to question, 'here?'

He nods as his nervousness melts away into a small, genuine, bashful smile as he stands up and gently extends his hand towards you from across the table. "Yeah...dance." He mutter, his heart feeling a bit lighter at your innocent question.

He looks at the small dance floor in the restaurant, not even a whole dozen couples dancing on it. "Just one song." 

"Alright, until the food comes in." You smile tenderly and take his hand as the two of you walk to the small wooden flooring. You look up at him as he wraps his hand on your waist, another interlacing with yours. And the song plays, ironically enough, Mia and Sebastian's theme from Lalaland, and you roll your eyes. it's a fancy restaurant; they should at least play jazz or something. Nonetheless, you sigh and just look into his cerulean eyes, and your heart pounds in your ribcage.

He can't stop the way that a small chuckle leaves him at your eye roll. He is in utter bliss in this moment, being so much closer, so much more intimate than he'd been with you in ages: everything around them feels so surreal.

You two dance at first, for a few minutes, a sophisticated pair dance before the two of you just sway, eyes peering intently into each other. The light is dull, dim, centered just at the floor, but nothing shines brighter than his hopeful, loving eyes, and you can't help but feel like you are melting as he holds you in, swaying to the music.

He holds onto you as tightly as he can, his eyes never leaving yours, his breaths growing more labored with each passing second. He can't help but be utterly enamored by you. He can just barely hear his own voice over the sound of his own rapidly beating heart. "I love you." 

Your eyebrows furrow at his admission again, and you can't help but huff out a fond chuckle. He's so sincere, despite all, despite how torn you were, despite how you had hurt everyone, including yourself. He's been there. He's been there and made you realise you don't have to beg for someone's love. It's not transactional as it was with Suguru. "I've made you wait for so long, haven't I?" You whisper, your eyes a little bleary looking at him.

The corners of his eyes crinkle with your huffed chuckle. He smiles softly as you speak, his hand on your waist gently caressing your body lovingly. He smiles and reaches his hand up to caress your soft cheek, gently stroking your skin with the rough pads of his fingers.

"Forever." He mutters, his own eyes slightly glossing over as he looks at you. "You could've made me wait forever, and I still would've waited."

You wrap your arms tighter around him and lean up to kiss him, eyes fluttering close. He tastes like mint; its sweet, and it soothes you so. You let out a shaky breath, and he leans in and kisses you tenderly at first, but then with an adolescent vigour that has you dipping in his arms.

You can't help but giggle at his excitement, somehow, the sound gets him to tone it down, tender and soft, his fingers shaky. You part away to breathe and chuckle fondly. "You've got lipstick on your lips." You shake your head and wipe his lips clean.

"We still have a dance to finish," You say as I keep your hand back on his shoulder, and start to sway, laughing as he spins you around

Outside the restaurant after a late night tussle of the girls begging for icecream and him giving in, Suguru walks with Nanako and Mimiko. Their little hands holding the ice cream he brought, trying to not make it drip.

"Geto-sama, isn't she the woman in the photo frame?" Mimiko points out cluelessly to through the glass to you and Satoru dancing. A woman she's only ever seen through the photo frame he keeps close to him, fondly smiling at the,mystery woman that the twins love to inquire about.

"Hmm...?"

Suguru looks towards the glass, and it takes a few seconds for him to process what he sees. He sighs. It's hard to breathe, but you look so radiant it's like life is back in you. It's so different from when he last saw you six months ago in the grocery store. You looked like your world was crumbling down; you were tired, depressed and alone with his daughter you gave birth to. "Yeah." He says with a smile, his voice heavy.

"That's her."

He keeps looking at you, his smile still on his face as he stares at the sight of the two of you on the dance floor. He can't explain the feeling he has in his heart: hollow and heavy, a feeling of losing something he had and messed up so terribly. The feeling of watching you fall in love with someone else, while he still is in love with you. 

But this is different. He looks at your smiling face now, and all he can feel is a strange sense of peace. His chest feels tight, an inexplicable pang of nostalgia and loss as he watches you dance with his best friend, but the pain he feels in his chest is replaced with a strange sense of acceptance.

It feels nostalgic, you're dancing with Satoru the way you used to with him, old jazz music playing as you stood on his feet and he swayed you around, sneaking kisses on your soft lips, your arms wrapped around him. But just as he remembers these memories, he is reminded of what become of your relationship.

It hurts like crazy but still doesn't compare to the soul-crushing guilt he felt when he saw your in the grocery store with Tsukiko, the baby of his love that he left unknowingly and despite knowing her existence, he was far too gone to step up. All he can remember is the utter agony you held in your eyes when you stood with that little infant so tired, so terrified. He made you go through hell.

The two of you finally stop with the dance. You glance away for a second and freeze as your eyes fall onto Suguru. Your lips part, feeling these conflicting, wretched emotions of anger and bitterness.

He is stoic before he breaks into a smile, a content, tired smile. The smile you give to someone, a goodbye, a good-luck, a smile of nostalgia and well-wish.

You breathe out as if you feel a burden off you existence, your lips twitching up to a smile too.

He looks at you and then glances at the girls, and something in him just wants to approach and hug you so tightly, ask for forgiveness and stay like this, all of you together again.

And yet, when your lips twitch into a smile at him, he smiles back, lifting up his hand to wave softly before walking away.

Life didn't end when he left, though it seemed like it would. Sometimes, we find escapes closest to us, but grief makes us blind. Satoru and Shoko were there to help, but drowning in the agony of loss you didn't find the strength to reach. The point is, no one can help you, unless you want to help yourself.

And once its over, one day you'll find yourself at crossroads with your past again. And its then you'll have courage to look it in the eye and smile, because that's how it goes:

Aches of present become memories of past:

a testament of Our Youth.

[hellinistical]

Priest! Vampire! Rafayel x Nun! Reader

synopsis: when a charming new priest is sent to your convent amidst the winter freeze, you're naturally untrusting. unfortunately, he's more knowledgeable of the faith, and you could learn a thing or two, especially if you want to protect yourself from the recent vampire attacks. trigger warnings: (heavy plot!). minor and major character death, blood, dubious consent, sacrilegious themes (Not Christianity or Catholicism; made up religion but using synonymous terms), gore, porn with plot, fingering (fem. receiving), hand jobs, piv, non-consensual vampire transformation, bodily horror, drinking blood, playing with blood, human consumption, unwilling cannibalism, afab reader- usage of female anatomy (though not descriptive of size/skin markings). fem. reader- she/her used. biting. choking. manipulation. blasphemy. overstimulation. virgin reader. corruption. monster fucking. slight belly bulge, bondage. incorrect use of holy water. wax play. this list may expand and/or be altered. trigger warnings: (for this chapter) period blood. blood. afab reader. fem reader. chasing. dreams. forced cannibalism. major character death. maiming. body horror. descriptive language. long chapter. misuse of religious scripture. detachment of muscles. graphic violence. betrayal. live dissection. forced dissection. slight non con. manipulation. pet names. gore. choking. corruption.

a/n: this piece holds no actual religious scripture or quotes, I just needed those terms as they were synonymous. This is in NO WAY a jab at those faiths nor is it meant to spread hate or harm to them. It is also not an insult to those who practice. I tried to write with care, which yeah may be hypocritical of what I have here, so I apologize. Additionally, thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. While it was originally intended to be a one-shot, I felt it would be better to break it into chunks as this is very plot-heavy. Thank you for your support! Reblogs are highly appreciated.

word count: 18.2k

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IV. Il Prete

“I do not speak as I think, I do not think as I should,"

The door creaks open before you can even react, and there he stands—always when you least expect it. His presence fills the room, his smile too wide, too knowing, like he's been waiting for this moment all along. "Good evening, Sister, I hope you’re feeling better now?"

You don’t answer immediately, instead turning away to stare out the small window beside your bed, refusing to meet his gaze.

He doesn’t take offense—of course not. His footsteps are steady and controlled, not a sound out of place as he approaches your bedside.

"I trust Sister Yvonne and Simone have kept you company?" His voice trails off as though it's a mere afterthought.

You don’t answer, feeling the cold sweat forming on your palms. He’s too close now, close enough that you can feel the chill of his body next to yours. The coldness of his hands, always so cold.

You finally turn to face him, but you can’t meet his eyes—not those eyes that are always so full of knowing.

"Father Rafayel," you murmur, the words sticking to the back of your throat. "What do you want?"

His smile falters for a fraction of a second, but then it returns, broader than before. He reaches out, his fingers grazing the edge of your blanket.

"To ensure you're not too lonely, Sister. It’s been such a long day for you, I imagine.” His words slide over you like a serpent, coiling tighter with every syllable. "How have you been?”

“Great.” “Truly?” “No. Get out.”

You watch him, heart hammering, as his laughter reverberates off the cold stone walls of your chamber. The words "Get out" die on your lips, swallowed by the terror clawing up your throat. Yet Father Rafayel doesn't move to leave—instead, he strides over to your vanity chair, perching himself there with a casual stance.

His eyes never leave yours, and in the flickering candlelight, those inhuman irises—blue and pink, swirling in a hypnotic pattern—seem to drill into your very soul. The room feels small, the air thick with the heavy scent of his cologne mixed with something less definable, something that reeks of inevitability and despair.

"Tell me, Sister," he murmurs, his voice soft and silken yet laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of menace, "how have you truly been?" His tone drips with mock concern as if he cares deeply, yet his smile reveals a twisted amusement at your obvious discomfort.

You swallow hard, the taste of bile still lingering on your tongue. "Great," you manage to reply, your voice sounding brittle and false even to your own ears.

He leans back with an easy grace, one leg crossing over the other as he studies you with that same amused, unreadable expression. The lamplight flickers, casting shadows that stretch long across the walls, elongating his figure.

"You wound me, Sister," he says, placing a hand over his chest as if your words had struck him. "Is that any way to speak to your teacher? After all, I’ve gone through such trouble to check on you."

You tighten your grip on your blanket, fingers clenching into the fabric to keep your hands from shaking. "I don’t need your concern."

Rafayel sighs, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair in a slow, methodical rhythm. "That sharp tongue of yours will get you in trouble one day." His gaze flickers to the loose strands of hair falling over your shoulder, and something in his expression shifts—just for a moment. "Sister Jenna should really be helping you with your habit. It’s a shame to see you so… undone."

Your jaw tightens. "Why are you here, really?"

 "Oh, but I already told you. Lessons must continue, even in the face of adversity. And… well, I do so hate to see you cooped up all alone."

Rafayel's lips part just slightly as he grins, and that's when you see them—gleaming, sharp fangs, nestled among otherwise ordinary teeth.

How had you not noticed before?

How had no one noticed before?

The way his canines press just a bit too sharply against his lower lip, how they gleam in the dim candlelight like polished ivory…  

Your fingers twitch toward the beads at your bedside, but you hesitate. Would that even do anything? Your mind races, stomach twisting with something far worse than fear—something closer to understanding, a horrifying realization creeping at the edges of your thoughts.

Rafayel tilts his head, watching you with something akin to amusement. “Oh? Not a fan, are you?” He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as though in quiet prayer. “Well, that is unfortunate. I quite like you.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “With all due respect, Father, you're quite the hypocrite, and I’m not the biggest fan.”

His laughter is soft, warm even, but it sends a chill straight down your spine. “Hypocrisy? My dear Sister, I merely practice what I preach—power is meant to be checked, is it not?” His fingers drum against the chair’s armrest, slow and deliberate. “I simply ensure it does not go unchecked in the wrong hands.”

He isn’t talking about himself.

He’s talking about you.

Adjusting how you sit, suddenly feeling as though your back is too stiff, you take the pillow away from your back. When you open your mouth to speak, he raises a hand.

"Before you answer, Sister, you're a smart woman. So let's cut to the chase, hm? You know what I am, you watched me kill that woman. You've probably figured out about the rest. So here's what's going to happen. You're going to help me get my meals, and I won't kill you." 

Help him? Help him?

He says it so plainly, so casually, as if he’s asking you to pass the salt at dinner rather than demanding you lure innocent people to their deaths.

Rafayel watches your reaction with quiet amusement, his fangs catching the candlelight as he speaks again, voice smooth and patient. “It’s a rather simple arrangement. You’re already quite good at charity work—this will be no different. Just…a different sort of donation.”

"I will not-" Rafayel sighs like you just told him you won’t eat your vegetables. He leans back in the chair, legs spreading wide as he gets comfortable, drumming his fingers against the armrest. “C’mon, pet, don’t make this difficult.”

You stiffen. “I am not your—”

He waves a hand, cutting you off. “Yeah, yeah, you are, but we’ll circle back to that.” His smirk widens, and you hate how casual he is, like he’s discussing the weather. “Look, I get it. You’re upset. You saw something nasty, had a little existential crisis, threw up a few times—”

Your stomach turns.

“—but here’s the thing,” he continues, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re smart, Sister. And you care. That’s your whole thing, right? You care so damn much.” His gaze flicks to you, sharp and knowing. “Which is exactly why you’re gonna help me.”

You shake your head immediately. “I won’t.”

He actually laughs at that. “Oh, you will.” He stretches, rolling his shoulders. “Because if you don’t, well… I’ll just have to start getting creative.” His voice is light, conversational. “Maybe start with Yvonne. She’s always so chatty. Or Simone—she’s got sass in her, I like that.”

Your blood runs cold.

Rafayel grins. “See? You’re already thinking about it.” He reaches out, flicking a stray strand of hair behind your ear like this is some friendly little talk between acquaintances. “So take your time, sleep on it. But don’t take too long, yeah?”

And just like that, he stands, dusting himself off like this has all been a very boring chore. “I’ll be expecting a yes, pet. Don’t disappoint me.”

Rafayel pauses for a moment, his chest rising with a deep, almost exaggerated breath, as though he’s just stepped into a field of blooming flowers. And then, without warning, he leans in, the cool air between you shifting as he presses his lips to your cheek.

It’s not a soft kiss, not tender. It’s firm. As though he’s marking you

His lips barely brush your skin, but the sensation lingers, cold and wrong. He takes a deep breath, like he’s savoring something, and when he pulls back, there’s a slow, lazy smile on his face.

“Sweet,” he muses, tapping a finger against his lips. “Just like I thought.”

Your stomach churns. Your skin burns where he touched you, like it might rot away if you don’t scrub it clean. His scent fills your nose—something unsettlingly familiar, something that belongs only to him.

He chuckles at your expression, at the way you’re gripping your sheets like they might save you. “Don’t look so scared, Sister. It’s just a little kiss.” He turns, walking to the door with a hum, before tossing one last glance over his shoulder. “Sleep well, pet.”

You want to scrub the spot where he touched you until it bleeds, but you can’t move. Your limbs feel heavy, as though something inside you has frozen over, solidifying in place.

His footsteps retreat down the hall, but his presence stays with you, suffocating. A dark stain spreading across the room, turning everything in it into something vile.

It was just a kiss. He’d said so himself.

But it was not just a kiss.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trembling, and you wonder if you'll ever be able to rid yourself of the feeling of his lips.

The morning light filtered in through the cracks in the curtains, but it did nothing to ease the sick feeling in your stomach. You groaned, pressing your hands to your stomach “Astra above, I hate this,”

The chill in the air felt colder today, and your mind immediately raced to yesterday’s events, to the way his lips had grazed your cheek and the sick feeling it had left behind. The blood had stained your undergarments. You move as quickly as the cramps will allow, stripping the soiled cloth away with a grimace. The sensation is awful—sticky, damp, and warm in the worst way. You bundle it up, tossing it aside to deal with later. Right now, you need water. Hot, scalding water to burn away the discomfort clinging to you like a second skin.  

Shuffling toward the washbasin, you prayed no one decides this is the morning to check in on you. The last thing you need is Yvonne or Simone barging in with their usual chatter while you’re hunched over, scrubbing at yourself like a woman possessed.  

The moment you splash water onto your skin, a shudder rolls down your spine. It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Not when you still feel him—his breath, his hands, the way he lingered too close with that smug, knowing smile.   

You dunk the cloth into the basin again, rubbing harder. The water turns pink.   

Damn him. 

You should be worried about other things—like why your cycle came late, or whether Sister Jenna has noticed your absence—but all you can think about is him. His cold touch. His fangs. The way he looked at you like you were something to be had.  

Your stomach twists, though whether from the cramps or the memories, you’re not sure…and you don’t know if it’s a good thing, the way the tips of your fingers feel numb, as if a swarm of butterflies had taken refuge inside your skin. 

You feel your cheeks grow warm.  

"Curse his damn face," you mutter under your breath, throwing the rag back into the basin with a wet slap.  

You’d like to go one day—one—without thinking about him. But it seems even the gods aren’t that merciful. 

Changing the water after you cleaned up, you wince. You’d need to light the fire if you wanted anything consistently hot. 

Pulling your head out of the tub, you take a mouthful of sudsy water with you as you cough and sputter. The water sloshes around you as you catch your breath, heart pounding from the sudden shock of nearly slipping under. Soap clings to your lips, bitter and sharp, and you spit it out with a grimace.

Brilliant. Drowning in a bathtub. What a way to go.

Pushing your hair back, you wipe at your stinging eyes, willing the heat in your cheeks to fade. You rest your arms on the edge of the tub, staring at the rippling water. The steam curls around you, thick and cloying, but it does little to ease the weight pressing against your chest.

He’s in your head. No matter how much you try to push him out, his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you—

You squeeze your eyes shut. Just breathe. Focus.

A knock on the door. Fuck. Who could it be? Jenna? Yvonne? Simone? "Bathing! Come back later!"

Silence.

For a moment, you think whoever it was has actually listened, but then—another knock.

You grip the edge of the tub. “I said I’m bathing. Come back later.”

"Oh, don't mind me, pet. Take your time."

The door stays shut, but the voice slithers through the wood, smooth and unhurried.

"Though, if you need a hand," Rafayel continues, voice laced with amusement, "I’d be happy to assist."

Your stomach twists. "Get. Out."

A chuckle, deep and knowing. "Oh, but I’m not in, am I?"

Your fingers twitch toward the nearest thing you can throw. A soap dish. Not nearly heavy enough, but it’ll do.

"Don’t you have a sermon to give?" you snap, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Hm. I do," he muses. "But I thought I’d check on my favorite little lamb first."

Your grip tightens. "I swear on Astra’s light—"

"Careful, Sister," he interrupts, voice dripping with false chastisement. "Oaths are binding things. Now, be good and finish your bath. I’ll see you soon.”

His footsteps fade down the hall. 

You need to get out of here. 

 Father Rafayel stands at the pulpit, his voice rising, reverberating through the wooden beams. The congregation sits in rapt attention, some faces lit with a fervor you find undeserved, if not for his clear violations of priesthood, than for the lack of variety in his sermons. 

His words are like honey, sweet but laced with poison. The man has truly mastered the art of manipulation.

"The Vampires," he continued, pacing slowly, his every step a rhythm. "They sought rebellion, but rebellion is the realm of those too blinded by pride to see the true light. And Astra, in His infinite wisdom, gave them a chance—a chance for redemption, should they seek a bride to prove their loyalty." Father Rafayel pauses, his gaze sweeping the room, landing on you for a brief moment.

You sit stiffly in your pew, hands clasped in your lap. The church is suffocatingly full, every bench packed, every eye turned toward the pulpit where Father Rafayel stands. His voice, smooth as ever, wraps around the congregation like a serpent coiling its prey.

"A bride," he repeats, letting the words hang, letting them settle into the minds of his rapt audience. "A chance at salvation. A chance to be made whole in Astra’s light."

They’d been focused on the Vampires before, but…

Since when had his sermons taken this turn?

Simone leans in, whispering, “Kinda weird, huh?” Her voice is light, joking, but there’s an edge beneath it. She’s noticed too.

Yvonne, on your other side, tilts her head. “I think it’s romantic.”

You barely bite back a scoff. Romantic? The way he spoke of it felt less like devotion and more like ownership.

And of course, stupid, sweet Yvonne raised her hand. About to pinch her to put it down, Rafayel had already noticed. His gaze was unreadable for a split second, and then that damning smile was easy and on. “Yes, Sister Yvonne?”

She clears her throat, sitting up straighter. “Father, does that mean the vampires can be saved? If they find a bride?” Simone subtly grabs your sleeve under the pew. Rafayel steps down from the pulpit, slow and deliberate. “Oh, Sister Yvonne,” he muses, his voice dripping with amusement. “What a wonderful question.”

He stops right in front of your row, right in front of her.

You don’t dare look up.

“But tell me,” he continues, tone light as air, “would you offer yourself, if such a creature sought salvation?”

Yvonne flushes. “O-oh, well— I just meant—”

His fingers brush her chin, tilting it up ever so slightly. The whole congregation watches, waiting. “Such devotion.” Chuckling, he releases her and straightens. “A heart as pure as yours, Sister, is a gift to Astra indeed.”

The tension in the room breaks. The sermon moves on.

Was no one seeing how blatantly wrong this all was?

But Yvonne just purses her lips. Father Rafayel continues on. "Now now, I know we've all been on this topic for quite some time as it is reoccurring. So, let us have a breathe of fresh air, Hmm? What would the Sisters like to discuss?" 

There’s a murmur of excitement as the congregation shifts, relieved by the change in topic. Yvonne and Simone exchange glances before Yvonne hesitantly raises her hand again.

“If it pleases you, Father,” she begins, “could we speak of Astra’s chosen? The saints?”

Father Rafayel chuckles, tilting his head. “Ah, a lovely choice. The saints. The most beloved of Astra’s servants.” His gaze flickers briefly across the Temple. “Tell me, Sister Yvonne, do you have a particular saint in mind?”

Yvonne thinks for a moment before nodding. “Saint Callista. Her miracles were always my favorite growing up.”

There’s a murmur of agreement from the other sisters, nods of approval.

Rafayel leans back ever so slightly, resting his hands on the podium in an easy, practiced motion. There is nothing grandiose in the way he speaks, no performative weight to his words—just the natural, fluid cadence of a man accustomed to teaching.

"Saint Callista," he repeats, as if rolling the name over in his mind. "A good choice." He takes a moment, thoughtful, as though he's considering how best to explain.

"She was known for her piety, yes," he continues, "but more than that, she was willing. That is what set her apart. Many saints were martyred, many suffered for their faith, but Callista? She offered herself. Freely. Without hesitation. That is why she was blessed beyond death."

A few heads nod. Yvonne tilts her head, thoughtful. Simone shifts slightly, but says nothing.

“Of course,” he adds, almost lightly, “sacrifice is not for everyone.” A pause, the ghost of a smile. “Not everyone is worthy of it.”

He closes the book with a soft thud before standing up. 

“Take, for example, Sister Y/n. Would you stand up, please?”

Rafayel's eyes flicker over you briefly, but there's no malice in his gaze—just that same calm, steady presence, like a teacher guiding a student through a well-worn exercise. He doesn’t demand attention, but somehow, all eyes turn toward you, drawn by his subtle power.

"Now, Sister Y/n," he begins, his voice even and calm, not an ounce of mockery in his words. "What would you say it means to offer oneself to Astra? To give freely and without hesitation?"

His gaze doesn’t waver from yours, and it’s like he’s waiting for an answer. Not like he expects one, not like he’s trying to put you on the spot, but more like he’s just curious—almost academically so. His fingers rest gently on the edge of his book, and you can feel the weight of the room's attention on you, but it's not uncomfortable. He makes it easy, as if you could refuse at any time and it wouldn’t matter to him.

"Think about it, Sister," he continues, voice smooth, "Surrender is a gift in itself. And it’s not something just anyone can give, is it?" There's a soft, contemplative pause, but his eyes never leave yours.

"I think...it means letting go of-" 

One of the postulants interrupts, answering for you. “Letting go of your truest self and giving your soul!”

Rafayel’s tongue clicks softly, and for the briefest moment, something sharp flickers across his face—annoyance, maybe even distaste. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with that smooth, patient smile of his.

"Ah," he hums, turning his attention to the postulant who interrupted. "A thoughtful answer, Sister. Though, I must admit, I was rather curious to hear what Sister Y/n had to say."

His tone is mild, but there’s an unmistakable finality to it. The postulant ducks her head, suddenly unsure, while Rafayel gestures for you to continue, as if the interruption had never happened.

"Please, Sister," he says, and his voice is kind—too kind. "You were saying?"

"I...I disagree with Sister Marianna. I think to offer oneself you are offering a sort of...*finality*, with your eternal soul, putting the afterlife above this, with which even if you die, it is in thanks to our Lord. A blessing, so to speak."

Rafayel tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to let you know he’s considering your words with more weight than usual. His gaze shifts from you to the rest of the room, scanning the group of young women. His voice is quiet, yet firm as he speaks.

"Interesting," he muses. "A self-sacrifice in the name of salvation, something more eternal. But let me ask you this, Sister Y/n—what happens when that sacrifice is taken without choice? Is the soul still willing to give itself, then?"

He stands, pacing slowly in front of the altar, his fingers lightly brushing the pages of his book, but his focus clearly on the subject at hand.

"It’s easy to speak of offering yourself when it’s voluntary," Rafayel continues, his voice gaining a certain depth, almost hypnotic. "But if forced, what value does that offering have? What grace can there be in that?" He pauses, letting the question hang in the air for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

"I wonder, Sister, would you still feel the same if your choice were taken from you?"

His smile is almost too gentle, his expression so casual, as if asking the most natural question in the world. 

“It depends on the pleasure of their lived life, I suppose, to determine if the value is there or not.”

Rafayel hums in acknowledgment, his fingers idly tracing the spine of his book. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something—amusement? Approval? It’s impossible to tell.

"A fascinating perspective," he says, voice even. "One’s lived experience dictating the worth of their sacrifice. A transactional sort of faith, wouldn't you say?"

He lets the words settle, then continues, stepping down from the altar’s platform.

"But tell me, Sister Y/n, if suffering outweighs pleasure, does that make the soul’s offering… meaningless? If pain eclipses joy, does that lessen the value of devotion?"

He stops just beside your row, looking out at the others rather than at you directly. There’s something disturbingly casual about his presence, as if this is nothing more than a friendly debate, as if he’s not leading you somewhere far, far darker.

"Or perhaps," he muses, "it’s quite the opposite. Perhaps those who suffer the most offer the greatest sacrifice of all."

"Not at all. If their last moments were that of pleasure, I see no reason as to why it would not count, regardless of how much pain there was to supposedly out weigh it. Pleasure depending on the person being- and excuse me- whether lust in sexual affairs or that of an enjoyable hobby."

Rafayel’s eyes flicker for a moment as you speak, the faintest glimmer of something dangerous behind his calm demeanor. He doesn’t interrupt, though, letting you finish your thought. "Ah, so it’s the subjective nature of the pleasure that gives it its value?" He tilts his head slightly, considering. "Then, by your logic, someone may find peace in their final moments, their soul offering complete, because they spent their last moments doing what they loved, regardless of the cost of that passion. Even if they were to find themselves at the very precipice of hell for it?" His gaze finally lands on you, and for a second, it’s almost like he’s scrutinizing your every word, every breath. 

"But isn��t that a dangerous path, Sister? If everything depends on personal satisfaction, where does one draw the line between self-preservation and sacrifice for the greater good?" He tilts his head slightly, his smile returning to something more playful.

He steps closer now, his presence imposing yet soft, the lines of his voice dropping lower. "A truly compelling notion, Sister. It almost implies that humanity, at its core, is not bound by pain or suffering but by what it chooses to embrace in its final breath. It suggests that in life, it is the joy that endures, not the torment." He pauses for a heartbeat, letting the silence stretch out between you. His gaze flickers to the rest of the room, to the others who seem to listen but remain silent, their attention clearly drawn to the unfolding conversation.

"And yet," Rafayel continues, his voice turning thoughtful, "we return to a rather simple question: If pleasure is so paramount, then why do we continually reject it in favor of discipline, of duty? Why is it that we are taught that sacrifice must be painful, that devotion must be without joy?"

“Tell me, Sister, would you say the gods themselves—those we revere—truly understand the weight of sacrifice, or are they simply looking for compliance, for submission?"

"Religion at its core is a man made ideology created to bring comfort from the unknown- is this the answer you wish for, Father? And still you try to make the question phrased as if to suggest my waverance in my faith?"

Father Rafayel’s smile doesn’t falter, though there’s an unmistakable sharpness in the way his eyes lock onto yours. He leans back slightly, folding his arms across his chest, but there’s an unsettling calmness in his demeanor, as if your words are merely the next piece of a puzzle he's been putting together.

"A thought-provoking perspective, Sister," he says slowly, almost savoring the weight of the exchange. "But you misunderstand me, I assure you. I’ve no intention of questioning your faith. No, it’s not your faith that I doubt, but perhaps the ease with which you claim certainty."

He takes a small step closer, lowering his voice, yet keeping it steady and soothing. "You see, faith—true faith—doesn't require the comfort of answers. It thrives in the unknown, in the questions. Religion, or at least the true form of it, is not about certainty. It is about accepting the chaos and the paradoxes. The belief that the divine, in all its mystery, is still worthy of trust, even when the answers don’t align with the world as we know it."

He uncrosses his arms, the soft rustle of his robes punctuating the silence that settles in the room. "That is why I ask you, Sister. You speak of religion as a creation of man, but is that not the very beauty of it? We—humankind—are meant to shape and mold what we believe, to become closer to the divine through our actions and thoughts. And I believe," he pauses, a slight edge creeping into his tone, "that you have the capacity to understand the true purpose of faith. Don’t you?"

His gaze intensifies, holding yours with an almost predatory focus. "So I ask again, Sister, where do you stand? What will you do when your beliefs are truly challenged? Will you embrace them or reject them, as so many have before?"

There’s a moment of silence, thick and suffocating, before he steps back, allowing the question to linger in the air between you like an unspoken dare.

The stone walls around you seem to press in a little closer as you walk, the weight of the silence heavy in the air. The hall is dim, with only the flickering light from torches along the walls casting long, uneven shadows. Each step of your shoes echoes louder than the last, your heartbeat drumming in your ears.

The air smells faintly of old stone and incense, mingling with the cold draft that slips through cracks in the walls. You can hear the distant murmurs of the other Sisters, their voices muffled and far away, lost in the sprawling expanse of the monastery.

Your mind feels a little foggy, heavy with the conversation from earlier. Rafayel’s words still linger in your thoughts like an echo, nagging at you. They don't sit right, and yet, they gnaw at the edges of your convictions, making you second-guess everything you thought you knew about faith, religion, and your place in it all.

As you approach the doors to the main hall, you pause. The feeling of being watched creeps up your spine, cold and uninviting. You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to find Father Rafayel standing in the shadows, watching you with that unsettling, calculating gaze.

But there’s no one.

Just the silence.

Taking a deep breath, you push the doors open, your footsteps barely audible against the stone floor as you step into the dim light of the hall. The heavy doors creak as they close behind you, sealing you into the quiet sanctuary of the place that’s both your refuge and your prison.

A figure stands near the altar, facing away from you. It’s him.

Rafayel.

He doesn’t turn as you approach, but you can feel his awareness of you, like a presence pressing down on you from all sides.

Walking past him, he doesn’t look up. 

“Midnight, Sister. Do not forget.”

Your shoes click against the stone floor as you move quickly through the hall, and the distant echoes of your footsteps are the only sound in the air.

Midnight. That’s when he wants you, when he’ll come to take you.

You keep your focus straight ahead, your mind racing. You can’t help but wonder: What would happen if you refuse? What if you just... disappear?

Something clicks into place, a thought so simple yet so obvious it almost makes you laugh.

Disappearing. That’s it.

Your breath catches as you push off the door, pacing now, your thoughts unraveling in frantic, chaotic threads. It wasn’t just the sermons, the changes in doctrine, the way Rafayel had wormed his influence deeper and deeper into the village under the guise of faith.

It was the timing.

It was the pattern.

Because midnight was when Astra cast judgment. When the veil between the holy and the unholy was at its thinnest.

And if Rafayel had been twisting doctrine, twisting you—

Then what, exactly, was he planning to do?

It doesn’t matter. You needed to get out. Like hell you were going to help him. No way. No chance. 

The further you get from him, the heavier your chest feels. You know he's watching you, that unsettling stillness he always carries with him wrapping around you like a noose, but you refuse to turn back. You won't give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter. Your shoes click against the stone floor as you move quickly through the hall, and the distant echoes of your footsteps are the only sound in the air. Finding your room, you open the door-

“Huh?” Why was Sister Jenna here?

She was sitting on your bed, hands folded neatly in her lap, back straight as a rod. At the sound of the door opening, her head snapped up, and she smiled—too bright, too forced.

“Sister Y/N,” she greeted, voice smooth but… off. “I was just tidying up.”

Your eyes flicked over your room. Nothing seemed out of place. Your bed was still made. Your books stacked just as you left them. The only thing that had changed… was her.

“I was hoping to speak with you.”

“About what?” you asked, stepping inside cautiously.

Sister Jenna tilted her head, studying you. “About Father Rafayel.”

Your breath hitched.

“What about him?”

Jenna’s smile widened, but her eyes—her eyes were watching you too closely.

“Oh, Sister,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I think you already know.”

“Did Father Rafayel send you?” You kept your voice even, careful.

Jenna blinked—too slow. And then she smiled.

“He does worry about you, you know.”

Your grip tightens around the handle, pulse hammering against your ribs.

Jenna takes a step forward. Not threatening, not quite, but there’s something in the way she moves—like she’s already decided how this is going to end. Jenna tilts her head, watching you like a cat might a cornered mouse. “Where are you going, Sister?” Her voice is gentle, too gentle.

“I— I’m tired,” you lie. “It’s been a long day.”

Her smile doesn’t waver. “Oh, I understand. But you really should stay put. It’s dangerous to be out at night.”

Your grip tightens. “Since when?”

“Since now.”

The air in the room shifts, the weight of something unspoken settling between you. Jenna takes a slow step forward. You push back against the door, pulse hammering in your throat.

She isn’t stopping you. Not yet. But she isn’t letting you go, either.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she says, her voice sickeningly sweet. “It’ll be painless. I made sure of it.” You turn the handle, and she stands up.

“I know you’ve been struggling,” she says, voice laced with something that might have passed for concern if not for the glint in her eye. “Your faith. Your health. It’s been so hard for you, hasn’t it, Sister?”

You swallow. “I’m fine.”

A soft sigh, almost pitying. “No, you’re not.”

She takes another step forward. You step back.

“You shouldn’t fight this,” she continues, her voice taking on a rehearsed tone.

“You—” Your breath catches. “You’re giving me to him.”

Jenna sighs, clasping her hands together. “It’s not personal, Sister. He needs someone, and I… I can’t die yet.”Her eyes flicker with something desperate, something rotten. “You understand, don’t you?”

“No. I don’t.”  You don’t hesitate. The fire poker is cold and solid in your grip, and you swing it with every ounce of strength you have.

Jenna barely dodges. The tip of the poker grazes her shoulder, and she hisses, stumbling back.

"You crazy bitch!" she snaps, clutching her arm.

"I should be saying that to you!" you snarl back.You don’t wait. You raise the poker again, aiming for her ribs this time, but she sees it coming. 

She ducks, grabbing the shaft of the poker and yanking it. You stumble, losing your grip as the poker is ripped from your hands. But you don’t give her a chance to recover. You throw yourself at her, ramming your shoulder into her chest. She grunts as the impact sends both of you crashing to the floor.

You scramble to your feet first, your heart hammering as you make for the door.

But Jenna is fast.

She grabs your robes, yanking you back before you can escape.

"Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!"

You twist, elbowing her in the ribs. She lets out a sharp oof but doesn’t let go. You barely have time to react before she swings it at you.

You dodge, the poker narrowly missing your ribs. The air hums with the force of her swing. You don’t think. You just throw yourself at her, ramming your shoulder into her chest.

She grunts, knocked back a few steps, but she’s quick—too quick. Her fingers snatch at your robes, dragging you down with her.

You hit the floor hard, pain bursting through your back. But you don’t stop. You scramble, trying to roll away, to get up, but then—

Her hands are in your hair.

She yanks your head back, the sharp sting shooting through your scalp.

"Fucking—!" you gasp, one hand reaching to claw at her wrist, the other punching wildly. You connect—a sharp smack to her cheek—but she only snarls.

"Stop fighting!" she snaps, gripping your arm and twisting it behind your back.

"Get off of me!" you scream, thrashing, trying to buck her off.

She slams your head into the floor.

White-hot pain explodes through your skull. Your vision flares, then dims at the edges.

Your ears ring. Your limbs feel sluggish.

"You’re ruining everything," she growls, grabbing your wrist and forcing it above your head. "Do you think he would’ve let me go if I didn’t give him something better?!"

Your breath catches.

"He was going to take me," she spits, her voice shaking. "But then I realized—he wants you more. So I made a deal. You go to him, and I get to live."

Your legs kick, your free hand claws at anything it can reach—her face, her arms, her throat. You rake your nails across her cheek, feeling the skin break beneath your fingers.

She screeches, jerking back—but it’s not enough.

Before you can shove her off, she shifts, straddling your waist and pinning you beneath her weight.

"Just stop!" she snarls, gripping both your wrists and slamming them above your head. "You’ll only make it worse for yourself!"

"Fuck you!" you spit, wrenching against her grip.

She doesn’t budge. Instead, she presses her forearm against your throat.

You can’t breathe.

Your mouth falls open, a strangled, wheezing gasp escaping as panic erupts through you. Panic surges through you as your vision darkens at the edges. You choke, your legs kicking uselessly against the wooden floor.

Your fingers claw at her arm, nails digging into her skin, but she only presses harder.

"Shhh," she murmurs, leaning down, her breath warm against your ear. "It’s alright, Sister. It’ll be over soon."

Darkness pulls at the edges of your vision, but you can still feel it—Jenna’s iron grip on your face, her nails digging into your skin.

“There,” she huffs, panting from the struggle. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” She ties you up, grabbing your face harshly before letting go. 

“There,” she huffs, panting from the struggle. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Your limbs are useless, bound tight, and your head lolls as she forces you to look at her. Then—

The door creaks open.

A slow, deliberate step.

The air shifts, thick and oppressive, sinking like a weight into the room.

Jenna goes still. Her fingers tighten on your jaw.

Then—

A voice. Smooth, cold, and dripping with venom.

“…Sister Jenna.”

The last thing you feel is Jenna’s nails digging into your cheeks, forcing your head still. The last thing you hear is the sharp intake of breath from the doorway. 

And the last thing you see—before the darkness swallows you whole—is Father Rafayel’s face.

His expression is unreadable.

But his eyes?

His eyes are seething.

Then, everything fades.

You wake up to the sensation of something cool against your forehead. Your head pounds, your limbs feel like lead, and for a moment, you can’t remember where you are.

Then it hits you.

Jenna. The struggle. The rope biting into your wrists.

And then—

Him.

Your eyes snap open.

The room is dim, flickering candlelight casting long, eerie shadows along the stone walls. You try to move, only to realize you’re still restrained. Not as tightly as before, but enough. And sitting across from you, elbows lazily resting on his knees, is Father Rafayel.

He says nothing at first, just watches. Like a predator taking its time with wounded prey.

Then, finally, in a voice quieter than you’ve ever heard from him, he asks:

“…Are you hurt?”

You don’t answer, looking around frantically. 

The room feels unbearably cold, the air thick and stale with something you can't quite place. Your pulse races in your ears, a sharp contrast to the eerie silence that hangs between you and Rafayel. The cold stone floor presses against your bare feet, and the lack of your habit—the comfort of its weight—only heightens your vulnerability. The back of your neck prickles, exposed, and your hair stirs with the ghost of a memory.

Your eyes flick to the corner, where a pile of clothes is neatly folded—your habit. But it's not yours anymore. Not the one you remember. The silence between you two deepens.

His gaze hasn't wavered from you. The intensity of it, the unspoken questions in those unsettling eyes, it forces your chest to tighten. His calm demeanor is almost worse than anything, especially after everything that just happened.

“Well?”

You shift, testing the restraints. Your wrists ache, but the bindings aren’t as tight as before. You swallow hard, your throat dry as sandpaper.

Father Rafayel watches you closely, his head tilting slightly. "I asked you a question, Sister." His voice is calm—too calm. The kind of calm that slithers under your skin like a warning.

You lick your lips. "You tied me up."

His lips twitch. Not quite a smile, but something close.”Sister Jenna tied you up.”

You glare at him. "And you left me like this."

He shrugs, rolling his shoulders as if the conversation bores him. "Would you have preferred I let her finish what she started?"

Your jaw tightens. He has a point, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, you test the bindings again, hoping for some give.

"Ah, ah," he chides, stepping closer. "You'll only hurt yourself. And I’d rather not have my little pet all bruised up—"

"I'm not your pet."

Rafayel sighs as if you're being difficult on purpose. "Sister, you’re in quite the predicament to be making declarations, don't you think?"

You scowl, but he continues before you can fire back. "Now, are you hurt?" His voice is gentler this time, almost coaxing.

You hesitate. "No."

"Good." He steps even closer, crouching down so he's level with you. His cold fingers brush your cheek, tilting your head just so. "You were very brave," he murmurs. "Very, very brave."

You swallow hard. "Let me go."

He smiles. "Not yet."

He shifts his weight slightly as he gets on his knees behind you, his eyes narrowing as he inspects the marks on your wrists. His tongue clicks in disapproval. "All beaten up. That's no good," he murmurs, his voice a mix of irritation and cold concern. His gloved fingers trace the fresh bruises and raw skin, the harsh reality of his examination underscoring his words.

You flinch when his fingers ghost over the raw skin of your wrists, feeling the sting of torn flesh beneath the bindings. He tsks softly, his breath cool against the nape of your neck.

"She was quite rough with you, wasn't she?" His tone is light, almost amused, but there's something darker beneath it. Something that makes your stomach twist.

"She was trying to kill me," you snap. "Forgive me if I'm not too concerned about how rough she was."

Rafayel hums, undoing the knots with practiced ease. "A shame, really. I liked Jenna. She had a certain…pragmatism to her."

"She was going to sell me to you."

"And that was very pragmatic of her, don't you think?" He chuckles as he pulls the rope free, rubbing circles into your sore wrists. His touch is deceptively gentle. "But don’t worry, Sister. I have no use for traitors."

Something about the way he says it sends a shiver down your spine.

"She's still alive," you whisper.

"For now."

You swallow hard. "Are you going to kill her?"

He leans in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "What do you think?"

His hand drifts dangerously close to your neck. 

You let out a slow, shaky breath as his hand finally retreats, but the ghost of his touch lingers like a threat.

He stands, stretching lazily before offering you a smirk. "No more 'Father Rafayel' nonsense. Just Rafayel will do."

You glare at him, rubbing your sore wrists. "You're the one who insisted on it in the first place."

"And now I’m insisting otherwise." His head tilts slightly, watching you with an amused gleam in his eyes. "Come now, we’ve been through so much together. Surely we can be on a first-name basis."

"Go to hell," you spit.

He barks out a laugh. 

Your jaw tightens, but you don’t say anything. You can’t. He’s watching you too closely, like a cat toying with a wounded bird.

Then, with an easy smile, he gestures toward the door. "Shall we?"

You don’t move. "Where?"

"To see Jenna, of course." His smile doesn’t waver. "She did go through all that trouble for you. It’s only fair we return the favor."

“But-” "Everyone's asleep." He picks you up with ease, your bindings stopping you from lashing. You squirm, uncomfortable. 

“Put me down,” you hiss, thrashing as much as you can, but with your wrists bound, it’s a pathetic attempt at resistance. He ignores you, walking as if carrying you is no more effort than holding a book.

You squirm harder, your bound wrists digging uncomfortably into your back. "You bastard—"

"Tsk." He clicks his tongue, adjusting his hold so you’re pressed tighter against his chest. "Such language from a holy woman."

You grit your teeth, heart hammering as he descends the stairs, the air growing colder, damp. The cellar. Your breath is ragged, fury and fear mixing into something wild inside you. The corridor is eerily silent, only the soft padding of his footsteps breaking through. The weight of the moment sinks in.

For what? Retribution? A lesson?

You don’t want to find out.

"You bastard," you seethe- its the only curse on your tongue in the moment, your voice barely above a whisper. "If you think I’ll just stand by and—"

He leans in, his breath cool against your ear. "Hush, pet."

Your whole body locks up.

"Wouldn't want to wake anyone, would we?"

Your breath comes faster now. "Rafayel—"

"Shh." His voice drops to a murmur as he pushes open the heavy wooden door. "I don’t want to ruin the surprise."

The room is dimly lit by a single candle. The smell of damp stone and something metallic clings to the air.

And then you see her.

Sister Jenna.

Tied to a table, her head drooping forward, a fresh bruise blooming across her cheek. Her chest rises and falls—she’s alive.

Barely.

Rafayel hums thoughtfully, setting you down with deliberate care. His hands linger on your arms before he steps back, watching you expectantly.

"Go on," he says, almost gently. "Say hello."

Her wrists and ankles secured so tightly the rope has bitten into her skin. Dried blood crusts around the bindings, and her breath comes in short, ragged gasps.

Beside the table, neatly arranged on a metal tray, are knives.

Your throat tightens as you stare at them. The candlelight gleams off their sharpened edges, each one pristine, waiting.

Rafayel watches you, his expression unreadable. "Quite the sight, isn't it?" His voice is light, conversational, as if discussing the weather.

You take a step back, but he moves faster, fingers curling around your upper arm in a firm grip. "No, no, don’t run just yet."

"Rafayel," you whisper, panic creeping in. "What—what are you doing?"

He sighs, almost disappointed. "I thought you'd be quicker than this, pet. She offered you to me, did she not? She was ready to serve you up like a lamb to slaughter, all to save herself."

Jenna lets out a weak whimper, barely lifting her head. Her eyes are hazy, unfocused, but when they land on you, something like fear flickers across her face.

"She’s no martyr," Rafayel continues smoothly. "No saint. And yet, here you stand, hesitating."

He releases your arm, nodding toward the tray. "Pick one."

Your stomach twists. "I’m not—"

Your breath hitches as your eyes flick from Jenna’s limp form to the array of knives neatly laid out beside her. The steel glints in the candlelight, sharp and gleaming, meticulously arranged as if this were some kind of twisted ritual.

"What—" Your throat tightens. "What the hell is this?"

Rafayel leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an infuriating calm. "A lesson," he says simply.

You take a shaky step back, your bound hands useless behind you. "I’m not— I’m not doing this."

He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Aren’t you?"

Jenna groans, her head lolling to the side as she stirs. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused, before settling on you. Her expression shifts from confusion to something close to relief—until she notices the knives. Until she sees the look on Rafayel’s face.

Her breathing quickens. "No— wait. Please." She tugs at her restraints, panic taking over as she thrashes against the table.

You wrench your gaze away from her, glaring at Rafayel. "She tried to hand me over to you, and now you want me to do your dirty work?"

He exhales through his nose, pushing off the wall to saunter closer. "I want you to make a choice, pet." He plucks a knife from the table, twirling it between his fingers with casual ease before holding it out to you, handle first.

Your stomach twists. "No."

His smile doesn’t falter, but his tone cools. "Then what will you do?"

Jenna whimpers, eyes darting between you both. "Please," she whispers. "Please, Sister—"

The crack of his hand against Jenna’s cheek echoes through the cellar, sharp and merciless. She yelps, her head snapping to the side as fresh tears spill down her face.

"Shut your mouth, rot." Rafayel’s voice is cold, bored even, like she isn’t worth his time. He shakes out his hand as if shaking off dust, then turns back to you with that same insufferable, expectant expression.

You flinch despite yourself, your pulse hammering in your ears. "You didn’t have to—"

"I did." He rolls his shoulders. "She’s lucky I let her keep her tongue."

Jenna is shaking, her breath coming in shallow gasps as blood dribbles from the corner of her mouth. She won’t look at you. Maybe she knows there’s nothing you can do for her now. Maybe she’s just waiting for whatever comes next.

And you?

You're still staring at the knife in his hand. The weight of the moment, of what he wants from you, coils in your stomach like a sickness.

"Choose, pet." Rafayel steps closer, pressing the handle into your palm, his touch cold against your skin. "You or her."

"I cant-" "Pick." "I dont-" Tears well up. He was crazy. Crazy! Slicing Jenna open- or even yourself?! His hand grabs your wrist, firm. You panick. "Jenna!" And oh, how he smiles.

His smile remains, but the amusement in his eyes dims into something far more unreadable. He exhales slowly, as if savoring the moment.

"Good girl."

Jenna's breath stutters. "No—wait. Please." Her voice is shaking, barely more than a whisper. "You don’t have to do this."

Rafayel doesn’t even look at her. Instead, he gently adjusts your grip on the knife, his touch unsettlingly patient. "Steady your hand." His voice is as calm as if he were instructing you on embroidery, not murder. "You don’t want to make a mess."

You can't move. Your fingers tremble against the cold steel.

Jenna is sobbing now, straining against the bindings. "Y-you said you'd spare me!"

Rafayel tilts his head, considering. "I did." He finally acknowledges her, his voice never shifting from that quiet, measured tone. "And I let you breathe a little longer, didn't I?"

Then, back to you. He nudges the knife forward with the ease of someone guiding a quill to parchment. "Go on, Sister. It's time to be useful."

“You..you want me to kill her?” A question, but it was meant to be a statement. 

“Heavens no. You’re helping me with my meal. What good is it if she’s dead?”

Oh.

Bile creeps up your throat. 

This was a dissection.

Your breath shudders as you stare at him, at the way he speaks so casually—so calmly—as if this were an ordinary lesson. "No need to look so queasy, pet," he murmurs, watching you closely. "It's just flesh. Just skin and sinew. You have plenty, she has plenty. A little won't be missed."

Jenna thrashes against her restraints, tears streaming down her face. "You can't— Please!"

"Shh," Rafayel soothes, brushing a gloved hand down the side of her face. "You'll make it worse for yourself."

Your stomach twists violently. "I—I can't—"

He sighs, shaking his head as if you’re being particularly slow with your studies. "You can." His fingers guide yours, pressing the blade just so, right against the softest part of her arm. "And you will."

Jenna sobs beneath you, her pleas dissolving into frantic, breathless gasps. Your own pulse pounds in your skull, dizzying and thick.

"Do be gentle," Rafayel reminds you. "I do hate when they go into shock too early."

"We'll start..." He grabs the buttons of Jenna's gown, tearing it open. He does not care for her modesty, removing her bra, freeing her breasts, placing a hand on her sternum. 

Jenna gasps, her body trembling under the weight of his cold touch. Her eyes dart to yours, wide with terror, pleading silently for help she knows won’t come. The atmosphere is thick with dread, the sound of her shallow breathing the only noise filling the room aside from Rafayel’s low, measured voice.

"Here," he murmurs, fingers tracing over her ribcage as if examining a specimen.

"The chest is a delicate area—too much pressure here could collapse the lungs, but just enough and the heart becomes a... delicate target."

He gives a slight chuckle, more for his own amusement than anything. His gaze flicks to you, gauging your reaction as if waiting for you to show some sign of understanding.

"You know, Sister," he continues, so casually, so calmly, "the body is full of little treasures, little hidden pieces of life that we can take a closer look at. But you have to be careful. Every piece has a purpose."

The knife is still in your hand, the weight of it a steady reminder of the horrific task at hand. The longer you stand there, the more you can feel the bile rise in your throat, but you’re frozen, a sickened bystander caught in the vice of his manipulation.

"You do know where to cut, don't you?" he asks, voice softening just a little, the mockery sliding away for a moment. "Go on. You’ll learn more than you ever could in a sermon."

“Father Rafayel-” “Rafayel.” “Rafayel,” “Yes?”

You choke on your words, but they come out anyway, shaky and weak.

"Please... please don't make me do this." Your voice cracks, and you can't tear your eyes away from Jenna, who now stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and desperation.

Rafayel tilts his head slightly, studying you as though you were the one on display. "What do you think is so wrong about it, Sister?" His tone is so patient, almost affectionate, as if he's teaching you something, not forcing you into an irreversible choice.

His eyes glimmer with something almost amused, but it's not kindness. Not mercy. Just amusement at the power he holds over you. "This isn't the first time you've seen blood. You've seen enough of it in this very room, haven’t you? You’ve witnessed more horrors than most could ever imagine... but somehow, this is the line for you?"

He takes a step closer, his voice lowering as if trying to soothe you, but it only makes your stomach churn more. "What’s one more death, hm?”

He pauses, his gaze flicking over to Jenna, who is trembling against the restraints. Her eyes search you desperately.

He clears his throat. "Enough theatrics, now, Y/n. Get on with it. We had a deal." Jenna's eyes widened. Right...you were the first to betray the convent... "YOU BITCH!" Jenna screams

Jenna freezes mid-scream, her eyes going impossibly wide as Rafayel moves with terrifying speed. One moment he’s behind you, and the next, he’s gripping her jaw with bruising force, his fingers prying it open.

His other hand latches onto her tongue, yanking it forward.

"One more word from you," he murmurs, voice eerily soft, "and I'm ripping this out."

Jenna makes a strangled, panicked noise, her entire body going rigid. Tears spill freely down her face now, her fury swallowed whole by sheer terror. She tries to shake her head, to plead without words, but Rafayel’s grip is unyielding.

For a long, horrible moment, he just stares at her, his expression blank, unreadable—but his eyes. Those deep, inhuman eyes burn with barely restrained irritation, as if he’s grown tired of this whole ordeal.

The room is silent except for Jenna’s muffled whimpers. You can’t move, can’t breathe.

Then, just as quickly as he grabbed her, he lets go. Jenna jerks back with a sob, coughing and gagging as she scrambles against her restraints.

Rafayel exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the inconvenience. He flicks his gaze to you, his patience clearly thinning.

“Get on with it,” he says, voice clipped, calm once more. “Before I decide to make this a lesson instead.”

Rafayel's fingers press into Jenna’s cheeks, forcing her mouth to stay shut. His grip isn’t gentle—there’s an undeniable disgust in the way he holds her, like she’s something filthy beneath his hands. But his eyes?

His eyes are on you.

You force yourself to look away from his gaze, down at Jenna’s exposed sternum. Your stomach twists violently. The skin there is smooth, untouched. For now.

You swallow thickly, your fingers trembling as you hesitate.

Rafayel hums, almost thoughtful. His thumb brushes against Jenna’s jaw absentmindedly, his patience thinning with every second you delay.

“You’re wasting time,” he says, his voice deceptively gentle. “Do you need my help?”

You shake your head quickly, barely suppressing a shudder.

No. You’d rather not find out what his version of ‘help’ looks like.

‘Oh, Astra, forgive me, for I am a sinner,’

Bringing the knife to her sternum, you take one more look at her, at the desperation in her eyes, how she was begging you to stop. Your hand shakes a little. 

But seeing how Rafayel was waiting, you licked your lips, swallowing thickly.

Better her than you. 

“I’m sorry, Jenna.”

You push the knife in, 

Jenna thrashes beneath your hold, a muffled, agonized scream escaping past Rafayel’s grip on her jaw. Your breath is shaky—ragged—as the blade sinks into her skin, deeper than you meant, warm blood welling around the steel.

You can hear it, how the skin breaks, how your own blood is rushing in your ears. You heart pounds. Your stomach is everywhere but where it belongs. You want to look away. 

But you don’t. 

He watches, poker faced, save for the slight raise of his brow. His grip on Jenna’s face tightens as she tries to wither away, but she’s bound. 

Helpless, like a lamb beneath the shepherd's hold. 

A choked sob slips from Jenna’s throat.

Your hands shake harder.

You try to steady yourself. You have to steady yourself. You push in deeper, biting down on your own tongue to keep from screaming along with her. The blade drags through muscle and skin, sluggish and cruel.

Rafayel exhales, a satisfied sound. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Jenna’s body convulses, her muffled screams fading into sharp, broken sobs. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment.

Astra above, what have you done?

The blade carves downward, splitting flesh with an ease that makes your stomach churn. Blood wells up, spilling over the edges of the wound, warm and slick against your trembling fingers. You watch, unable to tear your eyes away as Jenna’s skin parts beneath the sharp steel, muscle and tissue shifting, twitching beneath the intrusion.

A strangled cry rips from her throat, her body jerking against the restraints. You don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Rafayel hums, tilting his head as he observes. "There you go," he says, voice calm—too calm. "Just like that."

You bite back the bile rising in your throat, your breath coming out in short, sharp gasps.

Jenna’s eyes, wild with terror and pain, lock onto yours, glistening with unshed tears.

"You—" Her voice is raw, choked. "You monster—"

Rafayel clicks his tongue, displeased. Without hesitation, his fingers tighten around her jaw, forcing it open as his other hand snakes forward, pressing down against her wound.

And unfortunately, he’s a man of his word, if nothing else. 

Jenna thrashes, but it’s useless. His grip is ironclad.

A sharp, wet sound—like meat being torn from the bone—echoes through the cellar. Blood splatters across the table, across his fingers, across you. Jenna's body convulses, her eyes rolling back as a choked, gurgling scream bubbles from her throat.

Rafayel holds up the severed tongue, examining it with a detached sort of curiosity. A muscle in his jaw twitches. "Now, that’s better," he says, utterly unaffected by the way Jenna is spasming beneath him, her throat working uselessly, trying to form words she no longer has the means to speak.

His eyes flick to you, and there’s an annoyed look on his face. "Do continue, Sister," he instructs smoothly, as if he hadn't just torn the organ from a living person.

Your throat tightens. The knife in your hand feels heavier than before.

You press down again, dragging the blade another inch lower. The skin peels apart, revealing the red, glistening tissue beneath. Jenna’s body jerks violently, her cries breaking into incoherent whimpers.

Rafayel sighs, shifting slightly. “Messy work, but you’ll get better with practice.”

You think you might throw up.

A sickening wet sound follows, and Jenna’s convulsions weaken. Her body, still bound, arches in agony, but there is no more screaming. Just wet, gurgling sobs.

Rafayel watches intently, his fingers gliding over the blood-streaked table as if testing the slickness. “Steady your grip,” he murmurs, his tone too casual, too calm for the atrocity unfolding before you. “You’re hesitating.”

Your vision swims. You want to stop. You want to run. But you also know that stopping would mean something far, far worse.

Jenna is looking at you. Her eyes are glassy, her pupils blown wide with horror, with pain.

Rafayel clicks his tongue, shifting closer. “Don’t look at her face,” he advises, almost gently. “That only makes it harder.” He leans in, his breath tickling your cheek as he whispers, "Look at me instead."

Warmth surrounds you, the weight of a thick blanket pressing over your body. The scent of something faintly sweet lingers in the air—incense? Dried flowers? Your mind is sluggish, hazy, like waking from a deep fever dream.

The room is dimly lit, golden candlelight flickering against stone walls. You shift, and soft fabric brushes against your skin. No rope. No cold, hard table.

Your stomach clenches as fragmented memories slam into you all at once—Jenna’s screams, the knife in your hand, Rafayel’s steady voice guiding you through the nightmare. Your breath quickens.

“You’re awake.”

His voice is smooth, composed. The scrape of a chair against the floor follows, and then he’s at your bedside, looking down at you with an expression you can’t read.

“How do you feel?” he asks, and there’s something unnervingly genuine about the question.

“I…” Oh, Astra above.

You spotted Jenna. 

You freeze, your heart hammering in your chest. The sight before you is nothing short of a nightmare—Jenna's body, but... not.

Her limbs are stretched unnaturally, joints twisted at odd angles, skin hanging loosely where it once clung to her bones. Her face is contorted, eyes wide and glassy, her mouth stretched in an awful, silent scream. The skin around her sternum, where you had stopped, is pulled open further, exposing the raw, red tissue beneath. A cruel, jagged line runs down her torso, the flesh torn apart with care, revealing the bloodied, exposed organs, the pinkness of muscle. Some of the organs were missing from what you could tell, and what you thought was her liver was cast aside carelessly beside her face. 

It’s like a grotesque sculpture, her body still twitching with the faintest movements, an echo of the life that had once been there.

“Jenna...” Your voice breaks as you reach for her, but your hand hesitates, trembling. You can’t touch her. You can’t bear it.

“Ah, yes. This,” Rafayel says casually, his eyes following your gaze to the butchered body. “A masterpiece of sorts. My handiwork, of course, but you set the stage.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your chest heaves with disgust, the bile rising in your throat once more. He’s twisted her, mangled her.

He watches you with a quiet, unnerving intensity, like he’s studying a fragile creature he’s not sure will break or fight.

“How does it feel?” he asks, his voice low and patient, as though he’s waiting for you to understand, to comprehend the depths of what’s been done.

“Why... why did you...” You struggle to form the words, your eyes never leaving the horrific sight.

“Oh, Sister,” Rafayel sighs, placing a finger under your chin to lift your gaze to him. His smile is almost pitying. “You’ve been so much more useful than you think. I didn’t want to waste such potential.”

He leans in, giving you a quick peck to the lips. 

The coldness of his lips against yours sends a shudder down your spine, but you can’t pull away, your body frozen in place. His eyes, the soft, burning smile—so calm, so controlled—sickens you more than you can bear.

He brings a piece of what you assumed to be Jenna’s tongue to your lips. 

“Thank you for the meal,” Rafayel hums. His fingers brush against your cheek, tracing the outline of your face. “Of course, I have no use for meat, however. That’s on you.”

You swallow, unable to tear your gaze away from Jenna’s mutilated form, feeling the weight of her life—her screams, her pain—pressing in on you. You feel sick to your stomach.

“And Astra said, “To waste one bite is to waste a million,” he continues, his voice smooth and casual, the tone almost playful. “So, let’s not be wasteful.”

Every word is a slap. Every syllable drips with casual cruelty, as if you’re nothing more than a tool in his hands. No use for meat... that’s on you. You can feel your stomach flip, the very thought of touching her body—of continuing this... this desecration—makes you want to scream.

But you don’t. You don’t move, you don’t protest. You simply stand there, every fiber of your being revolting against the reality you’ve been forced into. The guilt, the horror—it eats at you. It’s suffocating. The weight of it is unbearable.

His grin stays as he pushes it past your lips, the warm muscle on your tongue, the membrane holding its taste buds rough against your cheek.

He holds your chin. You want spit it out, try to spit it out, and yet you can’t. 

Your jaw moves on its own, chewing. Chewing through the muscle until it was mush, as if you overly chewed over cooked steak. You can’t swallow yet, or no. 

His lips are on yours again, molding to your form as he’s kissing you- forces you to swallow. But his own tongue doesn’t prod. It doesn’t push. Doesn’t beg for entry, no. He bites down on your bottom lip, breaking skin, letting the blood gloss over his lips like  sickening rouge. 

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects you. 

He steps back, admiring his “work,” his hands clasped behind his back as he observes the carnage. “You’ve done well, Sister,” he murmurs, as if he’s complimenting you on something simple, like a meal he’s enjoyed.

Rafayel steps closer, his hand reaching out toward you. His fingers gently thread through your hair, and before you can even register it, he’s petting your head like you’re nothing more than a docile pet. His touch is oddly affectionate, tender even, as though the horrors you’ve just shared don’t matter, as though he doesn’t see you anymore—just another tool to use, another puppet to guide.

He lets out a contented hum, as if he’s genuinely pleased with you. The weight of your nausea deepens. The quiet cruelty of his smile seems to stretch further, making you feel smaller, more insignificant.

“You’re so obedient,” he murmurs, his voice laced with something close to amusement. “It’s... endearing.”

It’s too much. Your stomach churns violently, but still you don’t move. You can’t. You feel sick to your core, but every ounce of defiance you had is buried beneath a crushing weight. You’re afraid. Terrified of him, terrified of what’s become of you—what you’ve done.

His touch is impossibly gentle. The same hand that had so effortlessly torn Jenna apart now cradles your cheek with the reverence of a man holding something precious. His thumb smooths over your skin, wiping away something—blood? Tears? You’re not sure.

“You did so well,” he murmurs, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. Almost sweet. Almost kind.

You don’t understand.

You should fear him, hate him, recoil from his touch. His skin was…warm, the new blood beneath his skin giving him a human flush. His palm against your face, soft and reassuring, sends a shiver down your spine, not of fear, but of something dangerously close to comfort. His tenderness doesn’t fit with the carnage behind him, with the blood still drying beneath your fingernails. It doesn’t fit.

But for a fleeting second, you let yourself lean into it. Because your body is exhausted, your mind is frayed, and you don’t know how to fight anymore.

His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak, but he doesn’t. He only watches you, his gaze searching, drinking in every tiny shift of your expression. Then, with a quiet breath, he brushes his thumb once more over your cheek, his touch lingering.

It’s been two days since Sister Jenna’s absence. Yvonne is on your bed, humming some hymn Father Rafayel had taught you all the previous week. 

“You’ve been quiet,” Yvonne murmurs, running her fingers absently through your hair.

You hum noncommittally, eyes tracing the jagged cracks in the ceiling. You see shapes—mountains, a bird in flight, a gaping maw with teeth.

“You’re always quiet, but this is different.”

She’s observant. Too observant.

You shift slightly, closing your eyes. “Just tired.”

Yvonne makes a noise of acknowledgment but doesn’t press. Instead, she resumes combing through her curls with the wooden comb, careful not to tug too hard.

“They’re saying Sister Jenna ran off,” she muses. “One of the Elders told me they found her habit in the woods. No blood, no sign of struggle. Just… gone.”

She’s not gone. You know exactly where she is—what’s left of her. The thought sends a chill through your bones.

Yvonne sighs. “Not that I blame her. If I had a way out, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

Your throat tightens. You had a way out. Rafayel had given you one—no, he had forced one upon you. And yet, here you are.

Still here. Still breathing.

Still his.

Yvonne shifts, tilting her head to look down at you. “If you ever ran, would you tell me first?”

Your mouth feels dry. “Yeah… Yeah, I’d tell you, Yvonne.”

Yvonne gives a soft smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s a weight to her expression, something unreadable hidden just beneath the surface.

“You’re a good friend,” she murmurs, her fingers pausing in your hair for a moment. “I don’t want to be left behind.”

Something about her words twists in your chest. Left behind

Instead, you just offer a soft, tired smile, the best you can manage. “ I wouldn’t do that to you…I’d never leave without you knowing. You’re too important.”

A comfortable silence settles between you both. The rhythmic glide of the comb, the warmth of her lap beneath your head—it’s grounding.

‘I miss Tara,’

You stand in the middle of a vast field, the grass swaying gently under a sky painted in hues of deep violet and gold. The air is warm, carrying the scent of something familiar—salt, rain, and something darker, something rich and metallic.

Rafayel stands before you, but he’s… different. No pale skin with a shimmer under the moonlight, no eerie glow in his multi-colored eyes. Instead, they are deep, dark pools of something human, something almost warm. His hair is still that strange shade of lavender, but it’s shorter, neater. He looks like a man—no long, sharp nails, no fangs, no monstrous hunger lurking just beneath his skin.

"You hesitate," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, watching you with something that is not quite amusement, not quite curiosity. "Do I frighten you more like this?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. He steps closer, his presence heavy, suffocating. His hands, bare and unmarked, reach for yours, and you let him take them.

"You’re always running from me," he continues, his voice softer now, almost… tender. "But you keep finding me, even here."

You shake your head, but his fingers tighten around yours. There’s no escape, not here, not in this dream where the sky shifts like the sea and the ground feels as unsteady as the tide.

"Tell me," he whispers, leaning in close enough that you feel his breath against your lips. "Which version of me do you prefer?"

 You don't answer.

You can’t.

Rafayel’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the feeling of your skin against his, or memorizing the shape of your hands. His eyes flicker to your lips and linger there, the corners of his mouth curling into a quiet, knowing smile. 

"You always look at me like that," he muses, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flickers, trailing from your eyes to your lips, lingering there. "Like you can't decide if you should run or stay."

You swallow hard, your pulse betraying you. 

His gaze searches yours, frantic but quiet, as if the answer is buried somewhere in your eyes. The weight of his words presses into you, unraveling something deep inside. Because for the first time, he doesn’t look untouchable. He doesn’t look cruel. He looks…lost.

You want to ask him what he means, but the words won’t come. Because this is a dream, isn’t it? A trick of the mind? A lie?

But he looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost.

You blink.

The world blurs at the edges, shifting and twisting like ripples on water. You blink, and suddenly, you are small.

Your hands—tiny, soft, unscarred—clutch the fabric of a tunic too big for you. The air smells different, fresher, untouched by blood or fear. You look up, and he's there—Rafayel, but not as you know him.

His hair is shorter, wild with curls. His cheeks are rounder, his frame smaller, more human than ever before. His eyes, though… they are the same. Wide, confused, filled with something neither of you can name.

"You're crying," you say, and your voice is so light, so young, it startles you.

He lifts a hand to his cheek, touching the wetness there like he hadn’t realized it himself. He sniffs, rubbing at his nose with the sleeve of his tunic, but more tears spill over. He looks at you, stricken.

"I—" His voice cracks. He doesn’t finish.

The wind moves through the tall grass around you, warm and golden in the light of the setting sun. Somewhere in the distance, the sea hums a lullaby against the shore.

"Did you get hurt?" you ask, stepping closer.

He shakes his head, curls bouncing. "No."

"Then why are you crying?"

He opens his mouth, hesitates. Then, finally—"Because I lost you."

Something in your chest tightens. Something in your soul whispers that this is important. But before you can ask him what he means, the world tilts—

The world bends, flickers like a candle in the wind. The golden grass fades, the warm breeze cools, and suddenly—

You are sitting in a confessional.

The wooden walls are dark, enclosing you in flickering candlelight. A lacey black veil drapes over your head, delicate and sheer, the intricate patterns casting faint shadows over your skin. Your hands are folded neatly in your lap, trembling slightly against the rich fabric of your dress.

Across from you, separated by the thin wooden screen, sits Rafayel.

Not the boy from before. Not the nightmare he’s become. But something in between.

He is utterly beautiful.

The dim light catches the sharp angles of his face, the fullness of his lips, the inhuman glow of his eyes. His hair falls loosely around his shoulders, strands curling against his collarbone. He looks at you, solemn and unreadable, his fingers idly tracing the wood grain of the confessional’s divider.

"Confess to me," he murmurs. His voice is calm, steady, yet it sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow, your throat dry. The silence stretches, heavy, suffocating. You don’t know where to begin.

"I don’t know what to say."

His lips quirk into something like a smile, but it’s faint, almost sad. "Then let me ask."

He leans forward slightly, his face closer to the screen, though he does not touch it.

"Do you regret it?"

The air in the confessional grows thick, pressing against your chest. You don’t have to ask what he means. You already know.

Do you regret what you've done? Do you regret him?

You inhale sharply, fingers tightening around themselves. The lace veil brushes against your cheek as you tilt your head down, thinking—feeling.

"No."

His eyes darken. Something shifts in his expression, something you can’t quite name. His hand lifts, just barely touching the wooden divider between you.

"Then why," he breathes, "do you look so afraid?"

Your breath catches in your throat as you sit up, heart hammering in your chest. The room is dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the high windows. The chill in the air clings to your skin, but that isn't what sends a cold shock down your spine.

It's the sheets.

Stained. Deep crimson, seeping into the fabric beneath your fingers.

"Fuck."

You throw the blankets back, scrambling to your feet. The scent of iron lingers in the air, thick and unmistakable. Your hands tremble as you inspect yourself—no wounds, no pain, nothing to suggest that this came from you.

So where—

A noise.

Soft. A breath.

You freeze, every muscle in your body locking up.

And then, from the shadows of your room, a voice—low, smooth, and far too amused.

"Bad dream?"

You blink, disoriented, but oddly…not scared. You rub your tired eyes. 

When did he even get in here?

He glances at the ruined sheets, a quiet hum of approval slipping from his lips as if he's seen this before. "Any pain?" His voice is casual, as if he’s asking about the weather. There’s no urgency in his tone, only a calm.

"Why... why are you here?"

His gaze softens slightly, noticing the shift in your demeanor. There's something about you now—something that feels different, like a calmness you've found in the chaos. He's used to seeing fear, hearing shaky breaths, but now there's just a cool, measured presence in the way you meet his gaze.

He takes another step, his voice still calm, though a little more concerned this time. "You seemed troubled," he says, as if it's an innocent observation. He doesn't know about the dream, doesn't know that his own face haunted your sleep. To him, you're just another piece of the puzzle, another small mystery.

"You look... different," he adds, eyes scanning you, trying to gauge any sign of distress. It's almost a relief, seeing that you're not cowering. The air between you still hums with something electric, but it's less oppressive, less tense.

You're no longer recoiling at his presence.

He tilts his head, as though trying to read you, not fully understanding what he's seeing. "Better?" he asks, voice soft, just above a whisper. His hand hovers near the side of your bed, but he doesn't touch you. He's too cautious, too unsure.

You nod. Though ‘better’ wasn’t a term you’d use.

Rafayel exhales quietly, his shoulders loosening ever so slightly as though a weight has been lifted, though it's hard to tell exactly why. His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, studying you with a strange tenderness that feels unfamiliar to both of you.

"Good," he says, almost to himself. The word lingers in the air for a beat before he shifts his weight, glancing away as though searching for something else to say or do. But it’s like he's forgotten the reason he came in the first place.

He takes a step back, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that’s oddly human. There’s something about him right now—less the towering figure of power, more... unguarded. It's like he's unsure of how to handle this space between you two, this quiet calm that has overtaken everything.

"Well," he starts, his voice steady again, "if you're... fine, then I suppose I should leave you to rest." He hesitates before adding, his voice softer now, "But if you need anything, just... ask."

And with that, he turns, his footsteps quieter than usual as he moves toward the door, the weight of his presence lingering in the air behind him.

But he pauses.

Rafayel’s breath hitched, raw and uneven, as he leaned heavily against the door. His body trembled, a violent shiver running down his spine. The scent of your blood—your scent—was still thick in the air, woven into the fabric of his very being. His heart raced, the pulsing need inside of him threatening to consume everything.

His eyes were wild, unfocused, his pupils dilated, black pools of hunger that ached. He could almost taste you on his lips again, feel the rush of your warmth in his veins. Every thought, every rational piece of him screamed for distance, for control, but his body... his body was betraying him.

Blood. Your blood. That delicious, burning sweetness. 

Rafayel’s pulse hammered in his ears, the world around him spinning in a haze of overwhelming desire. His hands shook, the edges of control slipping from his grasp as the scent of your blood lingered, heavy, intoxicating, seeping into every inch of his being. He couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t escape you. The need to claim you, to sink into you completely, was clawing at him from the inside, like a wild animal tearing at its cage.

He dragged in a sharp breath, but it did nothing to quell the fury of hunger thrumming in his chest. He could feel every beat of his dead heart, every inch of his skin aching for you. It wasn’t just blood—it was you. Your essence, your soul. He needed it. He needed you.

He leaned heavily against the door, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself back, the muscles in his legs tight with restraint. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Every inch of him was burning, and he could feel the monstrous part of him—the monster that had always been there—pushing at the walls of his control.

His gaze brought him back to where you lay, the faint scent of your blood still in the air, thick and overwhelming, and he could almost feel the warmth of your skin against his. He could taste your fear, your sweetness, your surrender. His breath came faster, his grip on the door tightening as if he could hold himself back from the inevitable with sheer force of will.

But he knew it was futile. There was no stopping this.

The moment you had opened up to him, even just a sliver, he had been lost.

His want for you had been seeded deep inside him. 

And now? Now it was blooming—uncontrollable, reckless.

The very air in the room seemed to burn with the need, suffocating him, pushing him toward you. His legs moved before he could stop them, carrying him to the side of your bed. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, his nails digging into his palm to try and hold himself back from grabbing you, from pulling you into him like a lifeline.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus on anything but you. Your body, your warmth. Your blood.

Just one taste...

He slammed the door shut behind him, the final thread of restraint snapping.

“I need you,” he rasped, the words forced from his throat, desperate and hoarse. The sound of his own voice was unrecognizable—feral, almost animalistic.

His gaze locked onto yours, pupils blown wide, face twisted with hunger.

“I can’t stop this,” he whispered, voice raw with the admission.

His hands were on your face, cradling you gently, almost as if he could hold onto you to stop himself from spiraling. His touch burned in desperation.

 A hunger that laced every syllable he spoke, every shaky breath he took.

He met your eyes, pupils blown, his expression twisted with a mix of pain and need.

The words came out slowly, like they were being ripped from him. "I can't stop this," he repeated, softer this time, but the weight of them hit you harder than anything.

You froze, the words making your heart race. There was something in his voice—a haunting, desperate edge—that made your chest tighten with unease.

"Can't stop what?"

He blinked, as if the question startled him, and for a moment, it felt like he was fighting against something inside himself. His jaw clenched, eyes flickering away before they snapped back to you, like he was wrestling with a beast of his own making. The tension between you both was thick, suffocating.

But still, his hands remained firm against your face, almost holding you still.

They trembled slightly against your skin, and the intensity in his eyes flickered between fear and something darker, more primal. He took a long, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed to battle with something deeper inside him.

"You need to run," his voice was low, strained, almost broken, as if the words themselves caused him physical pain. "I'm only going to give you a minute."

His grip tightened just a fraction, and his gaze became more intense, more possessive, as if he was trying to convince you of something—something dangerous that you weren’t quite sure of.

You shoved him off, the force of your actions startling both of you. Your chest heaved as you backed away, heart pounding in your ears. If he said run. 

Then by Astra, you were going to run. 

You turned and bolted, your feet slamming against the floor as you rushed for the door. The hallway outside felt like freedom, but you could almost feel the heat of his gaze searing into your back.

Run.

You shove past the other postulants, barely sparing them a glance as you rush through the hallways. The thin fabric of your nightgown flutters around your legs, the dampness of your blood-smeared sheets still clinging to your skin. You don’t care. You don’t care about how you must look, or the whispers you’re sure are trailing behind you. You just need to get away.

A few of the younger postulants stare wide-eyed, murmuring in surprise, but you don’t stop. You don’t apologize as you push past them, not even glancing back at the gasps and whispers. The cold stone floors beneath your feet echo loudly, every step pounding through your chest, a stark reminder of the seconds you’re wasting.

"Where are you—?"

"Move!" you shout to a pair of girls blocking the way. You don’t wait for them to step aside before barging through, heart hammering, breath quick and shallow. The corridors twist and wind in maddening turns, but you don’t care to stop and think; it’s like your body is on autopilot, propelling you forward, away from him.

You glance over your shoulder briefly. Is he behind you? You can’t tell. You don’t care.

There’s a sharp gasp ahead of you, and you barely register another postulant before you barrel straight into her, knocking her back a few steps.

"Are you mad?!" she cries, her eyes wide with shock.

“Move!” you snap, voice hoarse. Your breath is ragged, like you’re drowning, and you don’t stop, not even to see her expression. Your feet burn, your legs ache, but you keep running, the sense of urgency rising in your throat like bile.

You hit another turn, your hands slipping against the walls, panic clawing at your chest. Your hair is wild around your face, sticking to your skin with sweat, your nightgown clinging in uncomfortable patches to your body.

Where the hell is the exit?

You can’t think, can’t breathe—your mind is a blur of pure adrenaline and fear. You turn another sharp corner, a burst of energy pushing you forward as you sprint through the labyrinthine halls. You don’t know where you are anymore, but it doesn’t matter. You know the kitchens are nearby; the back door, the one leading to the yard, the escape.

Your feet pound against the cold stone floors, every step a blur as you rush through the darkened halls. The world around you feels distant, unreal—there’s only the frantic rhythm of your heart, the pounding of your feet, and the desperate need to escape. You can hear his footsteps now, closing in on you. You’re not fast enough.

Finally, you see the familiar kitchen door at the far end of the hall. The back door. Your pulse quickens as you push the door open, the hinges creaking loudly in the stillness. You don’t stop. You run, the cool night air hitting you like a slap to the face as you burst into the yard, the crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath your bare feet.

Your nightgown flutters behind you as you break into the wooded area beyond the yard. The trees are thick with shadows, but you barely notice them—your only focus is on the ground beneath your feet. But then, a root. You trip, your foot catching on the gnarled knot in the earth, and you go down hard.

Your palms scrape against the rough soil as you push yourself back up, panic surging through you like wildfire. You scramble to your feet, breath coming in ragged gasps as you force your legs to move again. You’re not going to stop. Not now.

“Y/n,” a voice calls out behind you, smooth and dark. It’s so familiar, so impossible to ignore. His voice. Rafayel. You refuse to turn around, you refuse to look, but his voice is there, impossibly close, like the shadows themselves have come to life.

You push yourself up, wincing as sharp rocks and splinters tear into your feet, the jagged ground biting through your skin. Your nightgown is torn at the hem, the fabric clinging to your legs as you force yourself to move, even though every step feels like it could be your last. The cold air hits you, biting into your exposed skin, but you barely notice it—your body is numb, consumed by the desperate need to flee.

Every movement feels like it could be your last. Your feet are raw, the pain from the sharp rocks and broken twigs only fueling your panic. You can feel the blood trickling down, the burning sting of it on your skin, but you can't stop. You won’t stop.

The sound of his voice cuts through the night, smooth and dark, slicing through the air like a knife. “Y/n…”

You stumble forward, your legs aching, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Each step is a struggle, a fight against the pull of the shadows, the fear of him closing in. You can hear him moving behind you, that same dark presence pressing in on you, a weight in the air that makes your breath catch and your chest tighten.

You gasp as a hand wraps around your neck, its grip like iron, dragging you backward with terrifying strength. The air is forced from your lungs, and before you can even fight it, your back is slammed hard against the trunk of a tree. The rough bark digs into your skin, but the pain is nothing compared to the suffocating grip tightening around your throat.

Your body jerks, struggling, but it’s no use. His hand holds you in place, and his presence is overwhelming—his warmth, his scent, his weight pressing against you in a way that makes every instinct in your body scream to escape, to run, but there’s no more distance. He’s here. He’s got you.

“Got you.” His voice is low, dark, an almost pleased undertone that sends a chill racing down your spine. And yet, it’s still as if he’s in pain.

You cough weakly, your hands shaking against his, still trying to push him off, but it’s useless. The force of his hold makes every movement seem pointless, your limbs heavy and weak. You can’t breathe, can’t think. His proximity pulls you in, and your vision blurs at the edges.

Tears sting at your eyes as your mind races, but you’re still locked in his grip, unable to escape, unable to do anything but feel him there, pressing, suffocating.

“No! No, no no- lemme go!” You thrash and claw at his hand at your neck. He clicks his tongue. 

The realization hits you like a wave. You’re far enough from the church—far enough from the walls that have kept you safe, from the gaze of the Elders, from any kind of protection. Out here, in the woods, it’s just the two of you. And the terrifying truth: He could get away with anything.

His grip tightens around your neck as if to prove it. You can feel the cold smirk curling on his lips, that same dark amusement, almost a promise of something worse to come. His touch is relentless, and there’s no hesitation in it. He could hurt you in ways that would leave no marks, no evidence, and you know it. He knows it.

“You think they’ll come looking for you?” His voice is a soft whisper, mocking, as he presses his body closer to yours. You feel the full weight of him against you, that sense of inevitability, like he’s savoring the moment.

His eyes are dark, hungry, and far too calm. There’s no panic, no anger, just... need. It’s the kind of need that runs deep, the kind that lingers and festers in his chest. You can see it in the way his pupils dilate, the way his breath catches, the way his hand moves ever so slightly, gripping you harder, pulling you closer.

“Out here, no one can hear you scream,” His words are cold, clinical.

You feel your heart pounding harder against your ribs, the pressure on your throat making it hard to focus. You try to push against him, but it’s like pushing against a stone wall. Every inch of your body screams to get away, but you know the truth: There’s nowhere to run.

His grip loosens for a brief second, enough for you to suck in a desperate breath. His fingers trail down your throat, almost gentle now, as if tracing the place where he could end it all. Your pulse races under his touch.

He watches you closely, his eyes scanning your face like a predator savoring his prey. The terrifying truth lingers in the air between you: He could make you disappear, and no one would ever know what happened out here.

His grip tightens again, just enough to make you feel the warning, but not enough to completely choke you. His thumb brushes against your throat as if testing your limits, savoring the way your pulse beats faster with every second.

"Do you want to know why I came to this shitty little town?" His voice drops to a whisper, a dangerous calm settling in. He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you’re not sure if it’s from fear, from the desperate need to escape, or something else entirely. Your body screams to run, to push him away, but you’re frozen, held captive by the weight of his presence. The air feels thick, suffocating.

Rafayel doesn’t wait for an answer, letting the silence between you stretch long and heavy. His eyes burn with something darker than anger, something more possessive. "I came here for you," he says finally, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite place.

“The Vampire needs a bride. I need a bride. But you,” he lets out a shaky laugh, “You chose to be reborn in this dump, to become a nun for a god you don’t even care for. And Astra, that son of a bitch, thinks he can keep you from me.”

The words sink in, twisting your insides into knots. Your chest tightens, and your breath comes in short gasps. The realization hits like a slap—he never came for the town. He came for you.

"And now," he continues, voice quieter, almost indulgent, as if he’s savoring every word. "Now that I've found you... you belong to me."

You want to say something, to scream, to fight, but all you can manage is a sharp breath as his fingers trace the lines of your throat, tenderly. There was no “almost” about it. It was sure. 

His grip is soft, but you know better than to trust the gentleness. 

“You… you’re my bride. My bride.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. 

Before you can process what he's said, his lips crash into yours, stealing the breath from your lungs.

For a moment, your body freezes, every muscle locking up as the intensity of the kiss overwhelms you. His hands are on your face, pulling you in closer, deeper, like he’s trying to consume you whole. His touch, though soft, carries an undeniable power. You can feel it in the way his fingers grip your jaw, holding you in place, unwilling to let you escape.

You try to pull away, try to fight, but the sensation of his lips on yours is like a drug, addictive and overwhelming. His taste lingers on your tongue, mixing with the taste of your own blood, the blood he craves, the blood he owns.

Your pulse is erratic, your heart racing in a mixture of fear and... something else. His kiss is suffocating, possessive, like he's claiming every part of you, body and soul. There's no softness to it—only the pressure, the heat, the undeniable need.

And then, as if sensing your resistance, his grip tightens on your face, forcing you to comply. His breath is heavy against your lips, the air thick with his scent, and you feel a surge of panic clawing at your chest. 

His lips leave yours only for a moment, but it feels like an eternity. His eyes are dark, almost feverish, studying your face, watching the way your chest rises and falls with every frantic breath.

Your stomach churns, but you're not sure if it's from disgust or fear—or something much more dangerous, something you can’t bear to acknowledge. 

The way his knee presses between your legs sends a jolt through your body, a stark reminder of his presence, of his control. You instinctively try to shift, to pull away, but the weight of his touch keeps you anchored in place, his gaze burning into you.

“It’s less than ideal, taking you here,” he sounds annoyed, “But this works. I’m tired of waiting.”

Your mind screams at you to fight, to get away, but the tingling sensation in your fingertips and the heat rushing to your face betrays you. You're not sure if it’s fear or something else, something darker blooming inside you, but it fills you with disgust, confusion, and a strange sort of helplessness. Your breath catches in your throat as his hand slides down your side, like he’s marking you, staking a claim.

"No," you whisper, a futile attempt to reclaim some control, but it feels hollow, weak in the face of his overwhelming presence. His knee presses harder, sending another rush of panic and something else through your chest.

 You try to focus, to remind yourself that this is wrong, but the sensation of him against you, of his hands on your skin, starts to drown out every thought, every protest.

The heat between you grows, and all you can do is try to push him away, futilely struggling in his grip. You can feel the blood rushing to your face, the shame, the fear, all tangled together with something you can’t quite place, something dangerous.

He leans in again, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You don't need to be afraid, You’re already here.”

He leans in, tucking his head in the crook of your neck, breathing in. His lips graze your skin. 

“On the fifth day, when the Vampire sought his bride, Astra raged in the heavens, his throne shaking. For how could someone- such as I- succeed where I’ve been damned? The Vampire seeks salvation, whether in a chance for humanity, or taking his lover with him.”

Astra raged in the heavens, a god’s fury unleashed, as if the very universe was rebelling against the concept of such a union. You could almost feel the weight of that celestial wrath pressing down on you, as if it were being mirrored in the conflict between you and Rafayel.

The Vampire, the outcast—he sought redemption, salvation, even if it meant dragging his lover into the abyss with him. You wonder if he feels that same longing, that same desperate desire for something more, for something beyond his cursed existence. Does Rafayel want salvation? Or does he simply want to pull you into the darkness with him, because to him, there’s no salvation without you?

The words of the tale suddenly feel too close, too real, as if the story was written for this exact moment.

You take in a shaky breath, forcing your pulse to steady. You’re not sure if you can ever truly escape him—his words, his touch, they’re a constant pull, a gravitational force. And yet, there’s something almost tender in the way he keeps coming back to you, like an obsession that has consumed him completely.

What is it that makes this story feel like it’s yours, wrapped in the velvet cloak of the Vampire's endless thirst? Could there ever be a chance for humanity between the two of you, or is it truly a damned fate?

“Astra-” You’re still going to say his name, knowing what he's done?”

His words slam into you like a tidal wave, raw and visceral, crashing over the calm facade you’ve desperately tried to hold up. Rafayel’s face twists with a fury that matches the storm brewing within him, a storm of betrayal, longing, and confusion. His eyes blaze with something almost too intense to bear, his grip tightening around your wrist, pulling you closer.

"Astra," you whisper again, but it feels hollow, as if saying the name is betraying everything you feel now. His anger rips through the air, tearing the fragile thread of calm you were clinging to.

"Still? You still dare to say his name after what he’s done to me?" His voice cracks, breaking on the words. "What he’s done to us?" His tears fall, but they’re not the kind of tears that ask for comfort. They burn, they ache, a reflection of all the years he's carried this burden alone.

You swallow hard, the weight of his pain sinking deep within you, making it harder to breathe. You had never seen Rafayel like this—vulnerable, raw, his anger mingling with grief, with a deep sorrow that felt like the weight of the entire world pressing down on him. The same world that had damned him. The same world that had damned you by bringing you into this.

“I…” You can’t find the words, not when it feels like everything inside you is unraveling. Your hand trembles in his, but his grip doesn’t loosen, only tightening, almost desperate.

“You—" he struggles to hold his composure, his chest heaving with each breath, “He abandoned me. Cast me aside like a thing, an object.” His voice is thick with betrayal. "Do you know what it’s like, to give everything, only for it to mean nothing in the end?"

His face is so close to yours, the heat of his breath mingling with the tension in the air. The rawness of his pain is suffocating, and for a moment, you’re not sure who’s more broken—him or you.

Rafayel leans in, forehead resting against yours, eyes not leaving yours, those hauntingly beautiful eyes filled with fury, anguish, and something else—a plea, a desperate need to be seen, to be understood.

"Why do you still cling to him, after everything he's done to us?" he asks, his voice soft but laced with the kind of desperation that makes you shudder. "What if I’m all you have now?”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken between you both. You feel yourself faltering, the lines between right and wrong blurring. It’s almost as if the tale is repeating itself, a twisted, tragic dance that you can't escape from. A tale of the Vampire and his bride, bound together by fate, by a force neither of you can control.

You don’t know how to answer. Not when your heart aches for him, not when your mind can’t wrap around the idea of tearing yourself between the remnants of a god and the depths of this creature before you.

Rafayel lets go of you as if your touch burns him, staggering back, his hands tangling in his hair. His breath comes ragged, his body trembling with something that isn’t entirely anger but isn’t far from it either. His nails scrape against his scalp, as if he’s trying to claw something out, some unbearable, all-consuming feeling that refuses to let him go.

"I despise you," he snarls, his voice thick with something deeper than rage, something desperate and raw. His eyes blaze, his pupils blown wide, his entire being quivering with frustration. "And yet—" His breath shudders as he exhales. "And yet I need you."

The confession tastes like poison, dripping from his lips as though forcing it out might lessen its power. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes it stronger.

"I want you so bad it hurts."

His voice cracks on the last word, his hands gripping his head as if he could physically rip the feeling from his skull. He stares at you like you’re something he was never meant to have, something he both loathes and worships in equal measure.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to respond to a hunger like this, to something so tangled in fury and longing that it leaves you breathless.

Rafayel steps forward—then stops himself. His fists clench at his sides, his chest rising and falling as if he's battling against some invisible restraint. "Do you think I want this?" His voice is hoarse, thick with frustration. "Do you think I chose this? To be bound to you like this? To crave you like I would air, like blood, like my very existence hinges on you?"

You swallow, heart hammering against your ribs.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the thoughts clawing at him. "I should kill you," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I should end this before it ruins me completely."

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t strike. Instead, he just stares, his entire body locked in place, torn between war and surrender.

You push off the tree, your breath ragged, your body trembling from fear, adrenaline—something pulsing deep in your core. And before you can second-guess yourself, before you can think of the consequences, you grab his face and kiss him hard.

It's not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, bruising, something raw and unspoken pouring into the space between you. His body stiffens for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting you to do this. Like he thought he’d pushed you too far.

And then—

A growl rumbles in his chest, low and primal, and suddenly his hands are on you, gripping you tight, pulling you in like he might disappear if he lets go. His fingers dig into your waist, your hips, your back—everywhere. He kisses you back with a ferocity that borders on violence, as if punishing you for meeting him where he stands.

Your back slams into the tree again, but this time it’s different. This time it’s not cold bark that keeps you pinned, it’s him. His body, his weight, his heat pressing into you like he’s trying to carve himself into your bones.

A sharp inhale—his, not yours. His hands tighten, then hesitate, like he’s fighting something, like he’s warring with himself. His lips leave yours for just a second, his forehead pressing against yours as he breathes hard, his chest heaving.

"You have no idea what you just did," he murmurs, voice wrecked, barely more than a whisper. His eyes bore into yours, wild, hungry, sad, desperate. Desperate for you.

And Astra above, you think you might be desperate for him too.

©hellinistical 2025 do not copy, translate, distribute, plagiarize, or reproduce in any form without permission, and do not share to any media outside of tumblr.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hi! Who do you think was the most special person for Sirius? I love your analysis

James. No question.

Okay, now more seriously: Hi, thank you so much!

But yeah, it was James and later Harry, but Harry was never James in Sirius' eyes. I think I talked about it a bit in various posts in the past but I low-key think one-sided Prongsfoot (as in Sirius was in love with James) is canon. There isn't like, much textual evidence, it's mostly a vibe thing, so I consider it a canon-based headcanon more than a proper theory, but I think there's something there if you want to read into it.

I kind of wanted to make a post about it for a while, so this ask is as good an excuse as any:

So, I want to start by saying James and Sirius are not normal about each other. Their friendship is kind of insane and it's mutual. There's a reason in PoA whenever someone talks about them they forget Remus and Peter and just talk about James and Sirius and how inseparable they are:

“You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,” murmured Professor McGonagall. “Do you remember who his best friend was?” “Naturally,” said Madam Rosmerta, with a small laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here — ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!”

(PoA)

Their names are on the same breath for all their teachers & Rosmerta. So much so, that they had to place them in separate detentions. Not that it helped because these two found a way to not be separate for even a second:

This is a two-way mirror. I’ve got the other. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you’ll appear in my mirror and I’ll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions.

(OotP)

They literally couldn't spend an hour apart from each other when in school. I completely understand why you "never saw one without the other".

Every photo they took, they took so they were flush next to each other at the center of the Mauraders:

With a leap of pleasure, Harry recognized his father; his untidy black hair stuck up at the back like Harry’s, and he too wore glasses. Beside him was Sirius, carelessly handsome, his slightly arrogant face so much younger and happier than Harry had ever seen it alive. To Sirius’s right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter, plump and watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the much-admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. On James’s left was Lupin

(DH)

He was the best man in James and Lily's wedding, right there next to James the whole wedding:

He stopped on a picture of his parents’ wedding day. There was his father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was his mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there ... that must be him. Their best man ... Harry had never given him a thought before.

(PoA)

Sirius was Harry's godfather and as I mentioned here, it appears Sirius lived with James and Lily when they were married before they went into hiding. JKR stated Sirius & Lily were living on James' inheritance — not Remus who couldn't get a job, not Peter who didn't get an inheritance from Uncle Alphard — Sirius.

When Sirius had enough of his family at 16, he went to James. It's always James for him. He probably felt he was able to leave his family because he knew he could go to James.

Sirius' plan with the Secret Keeper switch was that everyone would think he was the Secret Keeper so they'd torture and kill him and he wouldn't be able to tell them anything. His plan was to die for James, Lily, and Harry. Sirius didn't think he'd survive the first war if Voldemort really wanted to get to the Potters and it was worth it for him. Because James, Lily, and Harry would be safe, and he expects everyone else to do so too:

“You don’t understand!” whined Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!” “THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roared Black. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”

(PoA)

Lily was well aware of how codependent James and Sirius were:

James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell—also Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much.

(DH)

She knows that Sirius can talk James into things she can't. She knows how inseparable these two are and how important it is to Sirius to be on Harry's birthday, as she comforts him about it in her letter. I think Lily was more consciously aware of the insanity that was James and Sirius than either James or Sirius. I mean, it speaks volumes that Lily feels the need to write Sirius to talk sense into her husband becouse she knows it would work and that Sirius would do it. Because I'm sure the moment Sirius saw this letter he made the time to come over because it was for James. And Sirius would die for James in a heartbeat, without a second thought. Becouse, yes, it is how his loyalty works, but there aren't many people Sirius Black is loyal to to that degree. Even though he says he'd die for Peter, I don't think he'd do it as quickly and as readily as he would for James or Harry (after all, he makes fun of Peter in SWM in a way he'd never dare to when it comes to James).

When Sirius talks about James in the books, there is so much reverence. The same reverence Snape has for Lily and more. James is on a pedestal on which he can do no wrong in Sirius' mind — and it might've been that way when James was alive too, if perhaps to a lesser degree.

“He kept messing up his hair,” said Harry in a pained voice. Sirius and Lupin laughed. “I’d forgotten he used to do that,” said Sirius affectionately.

(OotP)

When talking to Harry about James' negative traits and behavior with in OotP, Sirius is incapable of seeing James in a negative light. While Lily disliked James' cruelty (I think she was fine with the arrogance somewhat, contrary to what she says), Sirius loved James' cruelty becouse it was James. (Sirius is probably also a crueler person than Lily, but that's a different matter). But Sirius isn't willing to see any faults in James' behavior or traits. James is a good person and his best friend and he knows, objectively, that James did bad things, but he would rather call it being an "idiot teenager" than what it was. Like, this fandom talks a lot about Snape putting Lily on a pedestal, but what about Sirius with James?

James could murder someone in cold blood in front of Sirius for no reason and Sirius would start making excuses for him on why he was actually right to do so. ("no auror, see, this was actually completely justified and the right thing to do!")

“Look, Harry,” said Sirius placatingly, “James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other, it was just one of those things, you can understand that, can’t you? I think James was everything Snape wanted to be — he was popular, he was good at Quidditch, good at pretty much everything.

(OotP)

(I love that while excusing the bullying he sings James' praises, I can just hear the 'good-looking' he isn't saying out loud)

And even when he confesses they were berks for what they did, he spreads the blame on all of them:

“I’m not proud of it,” said Sirius quickly. [...] “If we were sometimes arrogant little berks, you mean,” said Sirius. [...] “Well . . . I thought he was a bit of an idiot.” [Harry] “Of course he was a bit of an idiot!” said Sirius bracingly. “We were all idiots! Well — not Moony so much,” he said fairly, looking at Lupin, but Lupin shook his head.

(OotP)

Sirius doesn't blame James without blaming all of them. And, he continued to justify James as he said it. (I'll add Remus is doing just as much to defend James and excuse all of his behavior, so it's not just Sirius)

“She didn’t know too much about it, to tell you the truth,” said Sirius. “I mean, James didn’t take Snape on dates with her and jinx him in front of her, did he?”

(OotP)

I wanted to note this above quote because it's interesting to me. Yes, it's Sirius not minding James' behavior again, but I find it interesting that James didn't reform completely and hides it from Lily, but not from Sirius — never from Sirius. Kind of goes with how in the letter Lily mentions how James is trying to act strong in front of her, but he probably wouldn't in front of Sirius. Their friendship was just the most important connection to both of them. James keeps secrets from Lily, the love of his life, but not from his best mate Sirius who lives with them.

(Also the "took Snape on dates with Lily" made me think James had Sirius hide nearby on at least one date with Lily to help him out and Lily, obviously, caught them. Either as Padfoot for moral support or sitting in the bushes with the two-way mirror as James holds his under the table at Madam Puddifoot's)

Sirius outright says himself James was the most important person to him:

Sirius frowned at Harry, who was still looking unconvinced. “Look,” he said, “your father was the best friend I ever had, and he was a good person. A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.”

(OotP)

I also think Sirius had zero experience pre-Azkaban, contrary to some fanon. I mean:

With another shock of excitement, Harry saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up. Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James’s nor Harry’s could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn’t seem to have noticed. 

(OotP)

Harry instantly notes how hot Sirius is and how he is getting girls' attention, and yet, Sirius only has eyes for James. He doesn't notice the girl (or any other) because he's looking at James. This is practically text at this point (mostly joking, but also, not really).

And Sirius' fixation on James started from day one, from the moment these two met:

“Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” James asked the boy lounging on the seats opposite him, and with a jolt, Harry realized that it was Sirius. Sirius did not smile. “My whole family have been in Slytherin,” he said. “Blimey,” said James, “and I thought you seemed all right!” Sirius grinned. “Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?”

(DH)

Sirius and James just met, the train barely even moved out of the station, and Sirius was upset at the possibility James wouldn't like him now because of his family history in Slytherin. It's the opposite reaction Harry had to Draco about the "wrong sort of wizard" where Harry would rather be disliked by an arrogant berk, Sirius wanted James to like him. Sirius wants James to like him so much that when James says he thought Sirius was "all right", Sirius jumps at the opportunity to prove why James should like him because he won't be a Slytherin like the rest of his family.

I low-key think this conversation affected Sirius' sorting. I think that, loath as he is to admit it, Sirius has some Slytherin characteristics, he has the cunning, the arrogance, and try as he might, he is still, so clearly, a rich pureblood from the House of Black. And he acts it. I think he was a borderline sorting and the hat took his preference. I can see young Sirius going "not Slytheirn" the same way Harry did (I like the mirroring). I think he considered that before, I think Sirius' started drifting from his family before, but I think James' words really cemented it to him.

and, just look how Sirius is with Harry. Listen, I'm the first person to jump to Sirius' defense when anyone claims he sees Harry as a James replacement — he doesn't. But Sirius' devotion to Harry (which is insane, I mean, he lived in a cave and ate rats for months, he returned to his family home which he both loathes and misses becouse it'll help the Order keep Harry safe) is an extension of his devotion to James. Sirius would do anything for Harry becouse he'll do anything for James. He sees Harry as his own person, I don't think he treats him the way he treated James at all, but his love for Harry and loyalty to him is tied to his love for James. James is the initial connecting tissue.

This post was a bit more of a rambly one than a proper essay, but I think the point comes across.

[knight-dwx-09]

Consequences Of Your Own Actions

After team RWBY and Jaune had arrived back to Remmant and reunite with everyone. They hold a party together as RWBY and Jaune retell most of what happened after they fall and listen to what had happened while they were in the Ever After.

About Jaune stuck at the ever after, his journey with Alyx and Lewis, which they were surprised of, meeting team RWBY, and their story how they get back.

Ruby try to keep the whole drinking poison as a secret, since it was pretty mess up, but Yang won’t allow her little sister to suffer alone anymore and just tell them straight up what she did and the reason. Safe to say, most of them were horrified from their expression, especially Qrow.

Ruby: Yang! You weren’t supposed to say that.

Qrow didn’t let to continue as he grabbed Ruby by the shoulder and yelling at her.

Qrow: Ruby! What were you thinking?!

Ruby: I-I didn’t… *Sigh* I am sorry for causing more trouble…

Qrow: What? There’s nothing you did that you have to say sorry *Sigh* I have already lost your mom, Ruby… I can’t lose you too… so please, if this whole stuff is weighting you down or the pressure are too much. Speak to me, your friends, sister, or your dad. Let one of us carried some of burden. Not because we think you are worthless or you couldn’t handle it. But because we cared of you. Can you at least do that for me?

This cause her to choke a bit, tears welling up in her eyes as a sob leave.

Ruby: … I will try, uncle Qrow, I will…

Qrow: That is good for now

Ruby: I love you, Uncle Qrow… *Buried her face into his chest and hugged him tightly*

Qrow: Love you too, Pipsqueak *Ruffled her hair*

Yang smiled at all of this, happy that she could help Ruby after being a failure of a sister for not being able to noticed her sister’s trouble. Qrow noticed her and opened his right arm, gestured her to come in as well with a smirk which she replied by accepting the hug.

At the same time, Jaune simply stared at the family with a slight smiled before feeling someone wrapping their hands around his waist as he looked to the side to find sad Nora.

Nora: You must felt so alone… waiting there for years… alone…

Jaune: …Yes… yes it was… *Wrapped his arm around Nora and deepen the hug, tears slowly emerged from his eyes*

Ren open his mouth to say something but hesitant a bit, mouth tremble as his eyes wander to the side.

Ren: Jaune…

This get the attention of the knight.

Ren: *Takes a deep breath*… While you were gone, I couldn't help but reflect on old memories, and all I could say was...… I am sorry for yelling at you back at the snow storm. It wasn’t right of me to put the blame on you when I have watched how much effort to grow stronger and your desired to become a huntsman. While I become one just for my selfish desire and following Nora… I am really sorry…

Jaune: Ren… It’s okay, I have already forgive you

Ren stared with wide eyes.

Jaune: Come on, don’t be so shock. You are my brother from another family, of course I forgive you after I have the times to myself. Now come here and give your brother a hug as I really needed one right now.

Ren stood there, not knowing what to do with that information but decide to step in to hug his girlfriend and brother together with a smile, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulder. After those beautiful and cute moments, Jaune had finally ready to reveal the news. Well, more like being pressure by the voice in his head.

Jaune: I guess you all should meet my new partner from now on

This grab the mind of most of the people there, remembering about Juniper in the story.

Nora: Are we going to meet Juniper? Did she follow along? Where is she? I can’t wait to feel her fur and ride her into battle against Grimm. That is one of my dream!

This only cause Jaune to laugh awkwardly as he pulled off from the hug and stand a feet away from them

Jaune: No, he is someone I extremely despise but I don’t have any say in this partnership so here we are

Jaune closed his eyes and letting air leave his lungs as everyone watch him, awaiting what he gonna do next. The next time he open his eyes, they weren’t met with the usual blue eyes, instead, the saw purple and neon blue eyes with a grins that stretch to inhumanly size as his voice distorted with an another voice.

Jaune(CC): Oh, how nice it is to finally able to move *Breathed in* Is this how the air in Remmant feels like? They aren’t much different to my old home but they sure feel a lot fresher.

Everyone, beside team RWBY, just stared confusedly at Jaune? As he looked around the room with a big smile before stopping at Oscar.

Jaune(CC): *Appeared in front of Oscar, scaring him a bit* You must the boy name Oscar whose has an old wizard soul inside you. So, how does that work? Did the wizard pick his next host or is it just random? If it is random, is there anything conditions it must met before you are transfer to said person? I am really curious.

Oscar: Huh? What?

Jaune(CC): *Gasp as he push away Oscar* Are those chicken nuggets dinosaur you have said you miss eating? I wonder how it taste *Rushed forwards and shove a hand full of nuggets into his mouth, chewing and swallowing the whole thing in seconds, before doing the same with the rest of the food*

Those who weren’t at the Ever After just stared, no sound made, no action made to stop him from eating. Just watch as Jaune? drink a bucket of chocolate milk.

Ruby: Okay, I know you all may be confused as to why is happening at this moment

Nora: I will be the first to asked it. What in the hell happened to Fearless Leader? One second he seem normal, now he had become a child-like state who are amazed by everything around him. Did Jaune-Jaune get possessed by a curious being that seriously want to know about our home while in the Ever After?

Ruby: *Blinked* Wow… that is pretty much what had happened

Yang: So yeah, Vomit-boy here is possessed by the Curious Cat

Qrow: The cat from the story?

Team RWBY nodded.

Qrow: Well, fuck my ass. I guess he had joined into the “Two soul in one body” club *Slipped one lien into the swear jar in Ruby’s hands, don’t ask where she get that from*

Oscar: The what club now?

Qrow decided to not answer that.

Emerald: So how do we separated them?

Blake: That is the thing, we are unable nor know how to do so. Even the blacksmith said that their soul has fuse together that forcing them apart could be extremely dangerous, possibly kill them.

Emerald: And what now? Are they gonna stuck like that for the rest of their lives?

Weiss: No, that doesn’t mean we won’t stop trying to find a way. I will ask the scientists and doctor around if they have some idea. *Looked at Oscar* And sir, could you perhaps give us the blue print of the machine that could transfer the maiden power? I am not certain it will work but it won’t hurt to look into the blue print of it.

Oscar(Ozpin): *Took control* I would advise you to not use that machine, it’s only supposed to be the last resort due to how taxing and dangerous to one soul. The only reason we use it was to keep Amber alive and not let the maiden power fall onto Salem’s hands, it was a desperate attempt which I regretted even up to this point.

Weiss: I am aware of the risk sir and I would like not to use this as well. However, maybe we could look into the machine to find out how the soul work, deconstructing its function and rebuild it, making it a bit more safer for the person in it. Just as a last resort of course

Oscar(OZ): *Nod* if you are that willing, I will draw the blueprint for you to look at. I just hope it won’t end this way. *Gives control back to Oscar*

Oscar: *Look at Jaune(CC) who was eating watermelon with its skin* Should we stop him before he got stomach ache?

Qrow: You kidding? From how much the brat is eating, he will probably go into a food coma in a couple of minutes.

After he said that, all of Team RWBY, (J)N(P)R, and Oscar rushed in to hold Jaune(CC) down before he could stuff a whole chicken into his mouth.

Next days

Jaune could be seen sitting near the toilet, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him alive as he vomit into it. Tears began to emerged from his dull neon purple and blue eyes, half-lidded from nausea as he rest his cheeks against the toilet sit.

CC: Jaune… please switch with me… I don’t like this feelings…

Jaune: Screw that, you were the one who eat all of the foods. Then you must deal with the consequences of your own actions

CC: Please Jaune… I am really sorry for eating and drinking all of those nuggets, salad, fish, steak, cake, chocolate milk, orange juice, coffee… *Vomit*

Jaune: Wow, so this is how it feels to be the passenger of my own body? Just the feeling of floating on a cloud with my own thoughts. No responsibilities, no dizziness you are feeling right now, just a bliss, comfy feeling of existing. It’s kinda nice.

Jaune(CC) just whimper as his stomach grumble once again.

[pascalislove]

ANGEL: SALESMAN X FEM!READER- PART 2

Summary: She was an angel and she should be his.

It's only been a few days since he first saw Y/N, but he already felt like he'd been watching her his entire life.

There was something about her that kept him captive, something that encouraged him to follow her, to know her, to want to possess her. Every step he took, every smile he shared with strangers in the bookstore, made him more eager, more determined.

I wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was her purity, perhaps her soul so oblivious to the evil of the world he knew. Or maybe it was just a need for control. What I did know was that I had to have her. And for that, he needed to know everything about her.

It started with the simplest thing: public information. He searched her name on the internet, scanned social media profiles, checked any trace he could find. Y/N, 25, was a woman without much presence in the digital world. There were no flashy photos, no personal posts that gave away too much about her life.

Most of her photos were of books, of quiet landscapes, of a simple and seemingly happy life.

He didn't care. He continued searching. And he found it.

Y/N had a sister, a fact that didn't entirely surprise him. Her name was Hye-Jin, and she lived in the same city, in a relatively close neighborhood. The family seemed united, but modest. The sister, Hye-Jin, was married and had two small children, a 5-year-old girl and a 3-year-old boy. Y/N used to take care of them sometimes when her sister and brother-in-law couldn't. Her parents lived in Busan, a few hours away, which seemed to be the only part of her life that actually involved trips out of the city.

She was a woman everyone trusted. But there was something else.

There was a brother.

And he was her weakness.

His name was Min-Soo, a man who seemed to have no direction in life. He didn't have a stable job, he didn't have a family of his own, and the worst thing: he had an addiction.

Bets.

It didn't take him long to figure it out. Just a couple of calls to the right places, a few questions in the circles where money changed hands in a matter of seconds. Min-Soo was known in underground gambling clubs. He lost more than he earned, and when he didn't have money, he used names that weren't his. The last name he had used was Y/N. He had applied for a loan in her name, an absurd amount of money that she would never have asked for. And now, the creditors were looking for her.

It wasn't difficult to imagine the scene. Y/N, receiving threatening calls, maybe even visits from men who wouldn't accept excuses.

Her once peaceful life was now shrouded in fear and despair.

And he knew it.

Y/N seemed to be the cornerstone of their family, someone everyone turned to, someone who, without asking for anything in return, offered her help.

But he saw something more in that. I saw vulnerability.

He knew that the poor, those who always gave without receiving, were the ones who most needed what he had: money, power, and a world of luxuries. And in his mind, Y/N wasn't cut out for such a simple life. I wasn't. She deserved something much greater, much more valuable, and he was willing to give it to her.

He came to that conclusion as he watched her leave the bookstore for another day, with her worn coat, the scarf that already showed signs of use, and her step light but firm.

It was as if her carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. That night, like so many others, he decided to follow her.

His black car was parked outside the building for longer than usual. He watched from the darkness as Y/N entered the building and headed to the second floor, like always. There was no doubt that she lived there. And although he didn't care about the discomfort he might be causing, the truth was that he already had everything planned. Hours passed, and night fell on the city. From his car, he watched the window of his apartment, waiting for that moment when the lights would finally go out. When he saw that, shortly after midnight, the light in the living room faded, he knew it was time.

He approached the building with firm steps, knowing exactly where he was. Security cameras were no longer a concern for him; I knew how to avoid them. The front door was locked, but the doorman already knew him, or at least had seen him in the neighborhood, and did not suspect his intentions.

He walked stealthily through the hallways until he reached Y/N's door. He looked around to make sure no one was nearby and, with a dexterity that surprised no one but himself, effortlessly opened the door.

The smell of aged wood and home-cooked food greeted him as he entered her home. It was not a luxurious house, far from it. It was modest, perhaps a little messy, with cheap furniture and decorations that had clearly been purchased at thrift stores. There were books everywhere, some even on the floor, and the soft light of a floor lamp illuminated the place softly.

He smiled with satisfaction.

Everything was in its place. It all seemed so... real. So simple. And, at the same time, so devoid of what she truly deserved.

He walked around the apartment, examining every corner, touching without leaving a trace on the objects he found: a broken mug on the kitchen table, a folded blanket on the couch, a framed photo of his family on the fireplace.

But what really caught his attention was the room. As he approached, he peeked through the crack in the door. There she was, lying on her bed, hugging a pillow, with a calm expression on her face. She's breathing was regular, calm.

It was his time.

The desire to touch her, to get closer to her, invaded him. He wanted to caress her hair, feel the softness of her skin, and mark her as his. But he held back. I knew it wasn't the time. Patience, waiting, was an essential part of the game.

But the temptation continued to grow within him.

"Soon," he said to himself. "You'll be mine soon, Y/N."

Before leaving, he once again observed every corner of her humble life. And as he walked away, he smiled to himself. There was still much to do. But it didn't matter. In the end, he would be the one to give her everything she needed.

And she would be his.

This story does not follow the plot of the series, tell me if you like it and if you want me to tag you in the chapters🫶

Tag list:

@beebeechaos, @onyxmango, @muchwita

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