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pixiepipedreams · 1 day ago

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♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — intrusive thoughts, tied up in knots, by the concept of us // in-ho x reader x gi-hun

♡ ⁄ pairing: in-ho x reader x gi-hun ♡ ⁄ warnings & tags: fem!reader, canon-typical violence & death, obsessive behavior, lying/manipulation, age gap (reader is 20-22, in-ho & gi-hun are late 40s, early 50s) ♡ ⁄ wordcount: 6.9k ♡ ⁄ summary: the second vote holds no promises for a brighter future, and both in-ho and gi-hun find themselves contemplating the ever intriguing player 132. THIS IS PART THREE OF A SERIES! (➊) (➋)

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

In-ho had dedicated his youth to policing the criminals of Seoul, and he has seen the balance of human nature. He had been devoted to fighting the good fight, keeping the criminal population in line, dealing with drunks and abusers and the worst of the worst. He’d never done anything unjust, never used unnecessary force, but still, he’d been tossed to the curb in his hour of need, falsely accused of accepting bribes. Like clay, the cruel hands of the universe shaped him into what he needed to become to survive. The games had been both a blessing and a curse, a way to fight back, to save his wife and unborn child.

None of it had mattered. Every sacrifice was just another digit pressed into his moldable form, so slow and sure that he hadn’t even noticed the difference until he’d received the invitation from Il-nam to front the games. It had felt like a reclamation, a saving grace, a way to hide from the misery of his life as a widower, from the disgust he felt with an uncaring world. When choosing between the lesser of two evils, he chose the more black and white option - give one or two pieces of gum on the bottom of the country’s shoe a chance to unstick themselves and reform, while the rest get tossed and burned like the trash that they are. Like everyone is.

That’s what you should have been.

Another piece of gum, debris, a bag of trash rotting on the side of the road. Another inconsequential player, another layer of scum on this waste of a planet. But at every turn, you surprised him. The optimism in your view of life, the intelligence in your eyes, the strength that you carried even in fear. You pointed out flaws in Gi-hun’s arguments, you challenged In-ho just by existing. He should hate it. He should want to corrupt you, bring you down to his depths of apathy and revulsion with the world.

In a way, he does.

Player 132. (Y/N). You were an unexpected factor in his mission, made all the worse by the fact that you bear the same number he did in 2015. Every flicker of feeling that you cause in him is only accentuated by the closeness the games force the players into, the camaraderie between those meant to be competitors. Despite himself, he feels that same union with his team, as well, celebrating the victories of every passing team in the Pentathlon.

Weakness. Human connection. One that he can work in his favor, a flaw to exploit.

That’s what he pretends the victorious feeling in his chest means while they return to the dorms, but even he can’t deny the high of winning as a team. His sabotage had only made it more delicious that they all made it out alive, and the adrenaline still buzzes in his veins, better than any glass of whiskey.

Your hands fidget nervously as you stare at the player count, wondering how much longer it could be before you find out if Young-il, Gi-hun, and player 222 made it out alive. The bed you sit on is closest to the open concrete floor, and you feel on edge, ready to jump and run at a moment’s notice. The rest of your team is more tucked into the tighter enclosure the bunkbeds make, conversing about the games. Where are they?

“Hey,” player 120 says, her voice soft and assuring, calling for your attention. “132. You surprised me out there. It was really… impressive, honestly. You sure you’ve never played Spinning Top before?”

You look over, smiling faintly, your leg jittering as it bounces in place. “I’ve never played it. Well - in America, we have tops, but you just spin it from the axle. No twine. I guess I just… had a good teacher.”

007 laughs, but covers it quickly with a cough. His mother whacks him on the chest, then turns to you with kind eyes. “Are you and player 001 close? He doesn’t seem like the… helping sort.”

You tilt your head, surprised by the observation. But you can understand it - when Young-il isn’t engaged in conversation, he shows little to no emotion, carries a coldness that seems impenetrable. “We’ve talked,” you say vaguely. “He promised to help me with any games that I don’t quite understand. Since I wasn’t raised here.” You clear your throat, feeling oddly embarrassed, like you’re admitting to some deep secret crush, even though you’ve done nothing of the sort. “What are your guys’ names? So I have something to call you besides a detached number.”

The group goes around sharing names, and you commit them to memory. Whatever the outcome of these games, you refuse to forget any of them. Perhaps it would be too big of a burden to remember everyone’s name who’s already died, would haunt you until your own end, but it feels like a bigger sin to not know at all.

Light discussion starts, easy joking, but you can’t focus, your eyes flicking from the group to the door as you wait endlessly. Where are they?

When his team returns to the dorms, In-ho’s eyes instantly find you, a locked missile on target. You’re sitting near your team, but still separate, disengaged. Another curiosity - despite your disposition, and your apparent friendly nature, you keep yourself apart. Perhaps you recognize the truth he’s accepted long ago - despite any kinship one might feel with a person, or a group, everyone is on their own at the end of the day. Family, friends, coworkers, passing acquaintances, they all fall away to serve their own needs. It takes you less than a second to meet his eyes, and his stomach clenches at the way you instantly relax, sheer relief etched into the line of your posture. He’s not foolish enough to assign his own reaction to unease.

He gives you the tentative smile that Young-il would give, but his eyes are dark. Whatever cocktail you stir inside him, he knows that your own reaction to him is much simpler. Attraction, maybe. Comfort, certainly. Why him, of all people, instead of Gi-hun, or that player, 120, that you’d spoken to before, he can’t begin to comprehend. Is his mask that good, his performance so inviting? No, it’s not quite that. He needs to dig into your mind, unravel the knots into understanding. Perhaps the knots are his own.

He follows his team with a sense of purpose, duty, forcing himself to look away and your warm, relieved smile, that churning in his mind feeling so out of place in the typically still waters of his mind. As they sit, he shakes his head, focusing on the group, his team.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know what happened,” he says, infusing a sheepish embarrassment into his words, his hands clenching the metal of the bench as his shoulders tuck forward.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dae-ho says quickly, his voice overlapping with Gi-hun’s own assurance.

“What happened earlier?”

In-ho’s spine straightens on instinct at the sound of your voice, and he forces himself to relax, looking up, oddly surprised to see you step up to their group. He shouldn’t be. His eyes trace over you, as if checking for wounds, even though he saw you escape earlier entirely unscathed. Your hair is a bit messy, the grease of not showering settling in, and your hands are shoved into your pockets, an infused nonchalance to the posture. You make a concerted effort to look at everyone in the group before your eyes land on In-ho.

His mouth goes dry.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Jung-bae says with a small grin, always playful and easing the tension. “Big bad number one over here just struggled on his game. We made it out, though! So nothing to worry about.”

“If he hadn’t helped me in Jegi with the final kick, we never would’ve made it,” Gi-hun adds, a trace of his old smile on his lips, trying to comfort whatever tension in him that he’s sensing.

Your eyes narrow, searching In-ho, in a different manner than he just analyzed you. Like you know something. That intelligence you hide behind easy smiles flashes in full force, but then it’s gone, any concerns or comments you had not even reaching your throat. “I’m glad you all made it,” you say finally, smiling, and your eyes flick to player 222. “Especially you.”

She meets your gaze, a quiet appreciation in her expression. She nods her head slightly, unable to express her true gratitude, and that’s another thing that In-ho doesn’t wish to think about. The pregnant player. Another barnacle on the world’s ship, but perhaps the way he closed off his feelings after the passing of his wife had left some backdoors open for unwanted sympathy. He refuses to wonder about what the outcome would be if his wife had entered the games instead of him, refuses to imagine her in this place, founded on cruelty and equality.

She would have died either way. There’s no reason to wonder, to feel the sick twist in his gut.

In-ho rocks in place, unable to tell if it’s the surge of his own undesired emotions or the act of Young-il that causes it. “222, are you doing alright?” he asks, but doesn’t care. He doesn’t.

“Yeah. Thank you all for including me on your team,” she replies with a slight bow of her head, and In-ho catches a soft smile on your lips, likely comforted by the fact that you genuinely helped her.

“She smashed that ddakji and flipped it on her first try!” Jung-bae adds, grinning. 222 ducks her head, hiding a proud smile. “And for a pregnant lady, you were fast, too. We were lucky she joined our team.” His eyes flick to you, and In-ho clenches his jaw briefly. There’s too much ease in Jung-bae’s words, in every conversation, and he finds it grating - both with Gi-hun and you. In-ho’s eyes flick to Gi-hun, his own expression dry of any emotion or reaction.

Gi-hun is already looking at you.

He hadn’t heard the conversation the two of you had last night, too far away at the time, but he had watched. Observed. Even not knowing what passed between the pair, he knew that some sort of understanding had been reached, that you hadn’t taken your eyes off him for a moment.

That earlier, when you brought the pregnant woman to his team, you’d looked at Gi-hun first.

The conversation continues, and In-ho laughs in all the right moments, in the bond over the victory, but he keeps you in his line of vision. When Dae-ho stands next to you, his eyes land on the distance between you both, a sour feeling in his gut, like bile.

“Perhaps we should learn each other’s names. I still don’t know any of your names. I’ll start.” He gives his name, and its meaning. Huge tiger. In-ho suppresses a laugh - which is an odd feeling. Laughter doesn’t come easily to him anymore, and fighting to keep it down is unfamiliar. Jung-bae gives his next, because of course he does.

When player 222 offers hers - Kim Jun-hee, a name that instantly gets engraved in his mind - he can’t seem to help the words bubbling from his lips. ��Jun-hee, when we get out of here, you should head straight to a hospital. You’ve been under a lot of stress. You need to get yourself checked out.”

“Okay,” she replies softly.

“I’m Oh Young-il,” In-ho adds, tossing his false name into the ring. Amusement rises in his chest - it’s likely that no one will look too closely at his name, or assume he’s lying, but he’d been rather proud of the joke of it all. Right down to the last detail, of taking Il-nam’s family name. Flying right under Gi-hun’s nose.

“Young-il?” Jung-bae repeats, arching a brow.

“Yes. ‘Young-il’ sounds like ‘zero one,’ and that’s my number,” he explains with a playful smile, his finger pointing to the patch on his chest. His eyes meet yours, catching the way they narrow. It would make sense that you hadn’t put the pun together yourself, and he gets the cold feeling that you’re suspicious of him. You, of all people. It isn’t that you come off as naive, but you had trusted him so easily last night, allowing him to sit with his hand in your hair as you fell asleep. He had assumed you didn’t see through his manipulations, the strings he pulled in the world of these games.

The group shares a laugh over his name, but not you. You arch a brow, smiling, but with that sharp look in your eyes. “The gamemakers must have a sense of humor,” you murmur wryly, but that coldness spreads in his body. Everyone else chuckles, but In-ho knows there’s more to your statement.

And he realizes there might be even more to you than he thought.

“And you?” he asks quickly, looking to Gi-hun. “Your full name, I mean. I only know you as Gi-hun.” Another lie, so little in comparison to the rest.

“Oh, right, um… Seong Gi-hun is my full name,” he replies quietly, eyes flicking between In-ho and you. Curious.

“Seong - that literally means last name, doesn’t it?” he asks, feeling almost nervous. It’s not the right word, but the strange tightness in his chest can’t seem to be described any other way. He laughs, his chuckles rolling off him through the anxious energy, at his own bad joke.

Nobody else laughs, but there’s a flicker of amusement in your expression. “Like our ‘un-Seong hero’?” you add, voice laced with humor as you speak in English for the first time in his presence. He laughs harder, not expecting the cheesy joke from your lips, and you laugh too.

Such a delightful sound. Something bright and sweet, like the sky on a cloudless day in a past that’s long gone. There’s a couple chuckles in the group, but nobody laughs as much as the two of you do. Somehow, you make him feel like Young-il, the man he used to be, and In-ho, the man he’s become, the man he’s always been underneath it all.

The doors open, guards filing in, and the joviality of the room quiets, stills. Any small relief that the groups have managed to find after escaping the last game with their lives dissipates. You tear your eyes away from Young-il, your mind churning, twisting over the information, but it’s hard to stay focused on his potential deceptions with the gut-dropping recognition of the button being wheeled in.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game.” The head guard stands in the center of the group of pink-clad soldiers, the rigid square on his face an indicator of his rank. The lights turn off, the now-familiar glow of golden light shining down on them as the pig takes the spotlight above their heads. “Here are the results of the second game. In the second game, 110 players were eliminated.” The familiar chiptune plays as the bank above everyone's head fills with bundles of won, counting the bodies that had been bloodily removed from the schoolyard scene of the last game. “The prize money accumulated up to this point is 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person’s share is 78,823,530 won.”

Uproar. People start shouting out complaints, the ‘O's growing restless at the realization that even with so many dead, the split of the prize pool isn't enough. Even for you, that amount isn’t enough to settle your father’s debts and pay his medical bills.

In-ho has to hide a smirk, even as something inside him clenches. Just as expected, desperate greed wins over the lives of the people whose blood invisibly stains the prize pool. He eyes Gi-hun, who stares around the room, cataloguing the people complaining with barely disguised loathing. Gi-hun, who has never been able to look past the cost of all that money to see the freedom it grants. In-ho can hardly judge. He’s barely touched his own money, after all.

“I completely understand your disappointment. However, we always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not. Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here is entirely your choice. Please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner.” The guard’s voice is clinical, rehearsed, and a sick feeling twists at your gut. Just how many games have there been? How many times has he said these exact words?

And the implication slams into you, the easy manipulation of the words. The vote hasn’t even happened yet, and you already know the outcome. Desperation, self-preservation. Nobody is leaving the games today.

“I should go,” you say softly, as the crowd accumulates at the edge of the glowing ‘X’ and ‘O’ separation on the ground. You give a slight bow of your head, turning to leave, feeling displaced, uneasy.

“Wait, (Y/N),” Gi-hun says, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes flick to him, widening. “Stick with our team. You said you, uh, you wanted to fight by… by our side, last night, didn’t you?”

Lips parting, you can’t seem to take your eyes off his face. That wasn’t quite what you said, but based on his shifty expression, he knows that. You said you wanted to fight by his side. The invitation still surprises you, but underneath that surprise is a warmth at being included, at him asking you to stay. You nod, smiling a little. “I would appreciate that, thank you. And, if it’s at all possible, if… if we end up staying for another game, I’d like for us to try and keep an eye out for the team that kept me alive today.” If. You don’t want to crush their spirits with the foresight you currently hold.

Gi-hun’s eyes soften, smiling just a little, but it feels like a victory. You find yourself craving more of that smile, to see the full force that used to come easily to him, if the lines of his face are anything to go by. “We’ll do our best,” he replies, his voice just as soft as those eyes. He must be a very kind man. You get a little lost, looking at him, at the lingering cloak of who he once was. "We have to end the games here,” he adds, turning to the group. “I will help you all with my winnings from the first game when we get out. Please trust me, and vote to leave.”

“Don’t worry,” Young-il adds, eyes locked on Gi-hun. “I want to stop here too. I should go.”

“Yeah,” Gi-hun says, his eyes softening as he looks back at Young-il. “You should be with your wife at the hospital.”

And then you freeze. Wife. Your lips stay closed, but your eyes widen a fraction, feeling a horrible sense of disappointment that takes you by surprise. It shouldn’t be shocking, you should have suspected it, seen the train coming at you full force. He’s twice your age, it makes sense for him to be married - hell, Gi-hun probably has a wife too.

Young-il’s frozen too, and his eyes slowly slide to meet yours from the side. His expression is unreadable, and he doesn’t respond for a moment, his lips parting. Then he looks back at Gi-hun, giving a smile that seems a little tight around the edges. “I’ve been away too long,” he responds quietly, agreeing.

The group chatters, quickly agreeing to all vote to leave. Deep in your gut, you know it’s not enough. But you’re not thinking about that, not in this moment. You’re thinking about Young-il’s hands on yours, guiding you through the motions of spinning an invisible top. You’re thinking about him cradling you to his chest, of the details of his face that you don’t dare to look at now. And you come to the realization that you’re well and truly fucked.

“Guys, all huddle up again,” Dae-ho calls, drawing your attention to him. He’s much easier to focus on than Young-il or Gi-hun. He juts his hand out, arm rigid and straight, into the center of the group. Everyone lays their hands on Dae-ho’s, and you hesitate, before setting yours down last. It’s strange, being a part of a group. “In one, two, three. Victory at all costs!”

“Victoryat all costs!” You all call back.

The voting is in reverse order, this time. Young-il doesn’t hesitate before pressing the ‘X’, but there are a few surprises - namely, two of your old teammates pressing ‘O’. But you can’t blame them. Even with Gi-hun’s offer to pay off your group’s debts, you don’t know what to pick. Hyun-ju hasn’t received that same offer, nor has Young-sik.

Player after player gets called up, but it’s obvious early on that your vote alone won’t matter. Even if every ‘O’ on your team switches, even if Young-sik and Hyun-ju had voted differently, it wouldn’t be enough.

“Player 132.”

Your body trembles, but your feet move automatically, not sparing a glance for Gi-hun or Young-il. When you reach the buttons, you stare down at the glowing red and blue domes, unblinking. It doesn’t matter, does it? What button you press? You already know the outcome. You feel a horrible guilt at the idea of taking Gi-hun’s money, just another stack soaked in blood. The money floating above you may be no different, but at least it’s from your competition - the cost of your own survival, not his.

You press ‘X’. It won’t be a close vote, not by a longshot, so your ‘X’ serves no purpose other than to prove to Gi-hun that you stand with him. Your mind is still detached as you step to the red side, standing next to Young-il but refusing to look at him.

He leans closer to you, heat prickling at your skin from his proximity. “(Y/N),” he murmurs. You bite the inside of your cheek, not reacting. You feel ridiculous, like the little kid you haven’t been in so many years right now, crushing on a married guy. It isn’t his fault. Maybe he felt protective of you, just because you’re only in your 20s. He never actually did anything untoward.

His hand in your hair, stroking it until you fell asleep. Comforting, safe, but not wrong.

The blue crowd cheers on their side - another recruit to continue the games. He sighs softly, settling a hand on your arm. Your body jolts, despite yourself, a zing running through you, your eyes flicking up to meet his despite yourself. “I–”

“Excuse me, everyone!” Gi-hun’s voice rings out across the room, taking command of it. Your breath catches, head turning to stare at him as he walks toward the center. Ever since the first game, he’s been magnetic, unignorable. Young-il’s hand tightens on your arm, then drops, and he suddenly steps forward before Gi-hun can make it to the open space.

“Are you all out of your minds?” Young-il shouts, sending a shiver through you. Your eyes flick to him, stunned. “You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who’s to say you won’t die in the next game? We have to stop. We’ll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses, and leave with that money.”

You feel like you’re waiting for something - maybe the guards to step in, to shout that interruptions to the voting process aren’t allowed, for one of them to press a gun to Young-il’s head. But it doesn’t come.

Players from the ‘O’ side step up to argue, including the detestable player 100. But your eyes drift back to Gi-hun, watching him watch Young-il. Touched isn’t the right word, but Young-il joining him in protesting the continuation of these sadistic games definitely affects him. Gi-hun’s eyes are huge, relieved, to not be fighting for this alone. Awe doesn’t fit any better, but it’s the only thing your mind comes up with.

“If we play one more game, the prize will be at least 240 million!”

For some reason you cannot decipher, it’s Gi-hun’s expression that pushes you to step forward, into the aisle. “And if you die?” you say, your words sharp, eyes flicking to player 043, who had just spoken. “Almost a third of the players died in this last game. What makes you think you’re special enough to make it out? You’re all cowards, just hoping as many people as possible die. You’re not fucking invincible - everyone here has the same odds of getting out. Do you feel so lucky? There’s 255 of us left - if another 110 die, that’s almost half of us. 50/50 odds - a coin flip. Heads, you win - tails, you’re gone forever, and you’ll be the one who dug that grave.”

Silence, for just a moment. Then, player 095 - Young-mi, you remind yourself, Young-mi - sobs, tears streaming down her face, pleading with the other players to not continue these games. Pity wrenches through your gut, and again, you wonder what someone so fragile could have done to end up here. How she ever called the number on that business card after being slapped by the recruiter. You find yourself unable to look at her, your eyes finding Gi-hun’s once more. Something akin to dread builds in his expression, but there’s a quiet gratitude laying under the surface.

Young-il steps between you two, eyes locking on yours for just a moment before scanning the crowded ‘O’ side.

“If you die here, your family won’t even get your body. Then it’d be the end for you and your family! Don’t you see?” Young-il shouts, but the ‘O’s are beyond hearing. Their arguments are solid enough, but they refuse to acknowledge on thing - that every single one of them is praying that as many people as possible will die, besides themselves. It doesn’t take long for them to start up a chant, mob mentality kicking in, spreading like an airborne virus.

“One more game! One more game!”

A chill runs through you. Those words were exactly what you had thought during the first vote. One more. Just one more.

The vote continues, digital numbers climbing higher and higher, and you can’t bear to watch. Knowing the way something ends is much different from watching it all happen. Will you survive one more? And what about the one after that? There’s little chance that the vote will turn back to your team’s favor - at least, not while player 100 is alive. 10 billion won owed… that man won’t rest until there’s at least only four players left, splitting the prize into 11.4 billion per person.

Gi-hun’s posture is slumped in the glow of his red vote, and your heart aches for him. He’s a good man, you know it deep in your soul. How a man like that could possibly win such cruel games is beyond you. And to be the only one to make it out alive…

Your feet take you to his side before your mind catches up. “Gi-hun,” you murmur, your hand grabbing his wrist. He goes still, statuesque, but you persist. “Please, can we… can we talk?”

A few breaths pass, but he nods, turning to you, his wrist slipping from your hand. He looks down at his arm, then his eyes meet yours. He feels… strange. It’s the same tightness in his chest as he felt earlier, when you approached his team with Jun-hee in tow. There was no guarantee that his team would do better than any other, especially since he hadn’t known the game going in. But the look in your eyes as they met his, a desperate edge to them, but not desperate on your own behalf… it had stunned him into silence. He wasn’t able to speak. It wasn’t the desperation, but the sheer trust that affected him so. You had trusted him with two lives, neither one of them your own. He’s not worthy of that trust. Every life that has been entrusted to his care, with the exception of two, has met a violent end. Both you and Young-il, so firm in your belief of him. He wants to apologize now, for not speaking up when you asked for his help. But what could he say? He can’t explain his reaction, the stunned twist of his chest the way he’d been trapped in your gaze. The way his mind had fit the puzzle pieces into place to paint a clear picture of his understanding of your character.

Your eyes are wide, intense as they meet his. “What is it?” he asks quietly, his brows furrowing, his lips set in the frown he’s worn for years now. “Are you alright?”

You huff out a breath, nodding, the intensity never leaving your expression. “Yes, but… Well. I had a few questions,” you say slowly, your expression pinching, as though you’re holding something back.

“A few questions,” he repeats dumbly, rubbing at his wrist, still feeling the warmth of your hand. He hasn’t been touched, not gently, in years now. “About?”

You swallow, and his eyes follow the bob of your throat, chest seizing with that strange tightness. “About… about your games. If you don’t mind. I know it’s a hard subject, but… We need to plan ahead, to think more about how this will all play out.” He just gives you a blank stare. Faintly, he feels himself nod for you to continue. “At this point in the games, how… how many people were left, in yours?”

Gi-hun’s brows furrow, and he tries to think, beyond the blood splatters on the playground scene, beyond the sounds of gunshots, beyond his tongue desperately working to melt the sugar honeycomb candy. “About 100,” he says finally, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“Oh, wow,” you mutter, eyes flicking up to the board. “So… 155 less than we have now. You really must have saved a lot of people this time around, interfering in that first game.”

His eyes squeeze shut for just a moment, remembering the weight of a body pinning him to the ground, after the first death caused a stampede of people attempting to escape. But… but you’re right. So many more people died in his first Red Light, Green Light game. “And?” he asks tiredly, rubbing his forehead, trying to focus on this room, not that giant field filled with blood. To not remember revisiting it later, when it was empty, with only one opponent. Sang-woo. He flinches, tries to cover it with a cough, but when his eyes meet yours, he can tell he wasn’t fooling you.

“Sorry, it’s just… Well, it’s impressive. You’ve given more people a chance, here.” You cross your arms, shoulders hunching up, but your eyes don’t leave his. “They said it was new, allowing the players to vote after every round. You didn’t have that choice?”

“No… well. If the players called a vote, and the majority decided to leave, then the money would be split among the deceased players’ families. None of the surviving players would get anything. My…” His jaw clenches on reflex, and he shakes his head. “One player called for a vote, after the first game.”

“And everyone chose to stay?” you ask, brow furrowing.

“No… no, actually. We all left. But they gave us the option to return. Most of us did,” he explains quietly, eyes flicking around the room, finding it hard to look at you as he answers the stream of questions, the tightness in his chest only growing.

You pause, taking that in, your breaths even beside him, almost meditative. He peers at you out of the corner of the eye, taking in the contemplative twist of your lips. “Why would they change the rule?” The question stuns him, and he doesn’t have an answer. If anything, it might be because of him. To prove a point. But that feels too self-important to say, to admit that the Front Man may be choosing to play a separate game with him at the cost of hundreds of lives. But you don’t wait for an answer, sucking in a quiet breath. “How many people made it to the final game?”

His eyes flutter shut. “Two. Is that all of your questions?” he asks, voice a bit too sharp, now. Raw emotions threaten to crash over the dam he’d built in his mind. Memories, he can handle. But they don’t exactly have therapy for the kind of trauma he went through, and every emotion goes unsorted.

Silence. Gi-hun opens his eyes, squinting at you, feeling oddly guilty. It’s not your fault, not really. But this isn’t a subject he’s spoken openly about, ever, and he feels like a stripped wire. “Yes, sir,” you mutter, arms tightening across your chest. “I’m just trying to figure out the best way to convince these people to leave. One of them needs 10 billion - that means he won’t rest until there’s only 4 players left. If not less. I’m sure the gamemakers will want to cut the number of players by more than half in the next game, to try and make the final games closer.”

His eyes slowly open more as you speak, surprised by the observations. They’d tickled at the back of his head, but he’d been operating on blind determination this entire time. Analysis has never been his strong suit, though admittedly he’s gotten better at it in the years since his own game. You remind him of…

He bites the inside of his cheek, almost hard enough to draw blood. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice quieting to something softer. “You don’t need to call me sir,” and those words are just blurted out, spilling like a bowl of ramen after too much soju. It’s the last thing that he should have focused on, but it feels wrong, to have you call him something so impersonal. “I’m sorry for being short with you, it’s just that… I don’t speak about that time.” He reaches out, but aborts the motion halfway through, his hand hanging in the air. What the hell is wrong with him? “You say that you think they’ll try to cut the players by more than half?”

You nod, your eyes softening as you look up at him. “We need to keep our team together next round. To keep as many of us alive as we can, but also… because we’re the only votes that can be guaranteed to be ‘X’ next time.”

Resourceful and compassionate. Something inside him aches as he nods, feeling struck dumb. “You said you were a student, didn’t you?” he asks, eyes roaming over your features as you blink back at him.

“Uh… yeah, actually. I spend most of my time studying, to be entirely honest,” you admit, eyeing him curiously. “Why?”

The corners of his lips twist up, a gesture that feels unfamiliar in his life after becoming a billionaire. “Nothing. I can tell, though. I appreciate having your brain to work on this with me.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Is that why you’re here? Student loans?”

You stiffen, eyes widening a fraction, biting your lip. But you nod. “That, and to help my father,” you say vaguely. You have every right to play your cards close to your chest, but he wants them laid out bare, for him to study, learn, understand. The urge terrifies him.

He swallows past the lump in his throat, nodding. Your father. “You shouldn’t be the one bearing your father’s problems,” he mutters. A brief alternate future flashes through his eyes, one where Ga-yeong, as an adult, has to pay his gambling debts, one where he never entered the games. Guilt stabs through him. “What is it? Gambling?”

What he doesn’t expect is the way your expression darkens, your mouth twisting into a frown that doesn’t fit your face. “Housing debts. He hasn’t had a job in a while, and he was never good at holding one down to begin with. Maybe gambling - I haven’t asked.” Your face is pinched, your lips a distractingly cute shape, even in your upset. He feels a bit dizzy, actually, but he shakes it off, feeling an instant aversion for your father. Perhaps it’s because he reminds Gi-hun of who he used to be, who he still could’ve become. “He’s in the hospital,” you add in a hushed tone, but don’t elaborate. He doesn’t want to push you, but he feels a shocking wave of anger. You shouldn’t be here - although he believes that about every person in this room, that nobody deserves to end up in these games, it’s fiercer, more violent when it’s you. Sure, you likely have your own debts as a student, but your father’s incapability shouldn’t be the reason your life is on the line.

“So that’s why you voted to stay after the first game?” he asks, his voice insistent, intense. Angry.

Maybe you think he’s angry at you, because your eyes narrow. “Yes. But I voted ‘X’ this time, didn’t I? Why, is that a problem?”

“He shouldn’t be your responsibility. He should be taking care of you.”

“He’s my father,” you snap back, defensive. “He’s the only person I have in this country, the only parent I have left. I’m not–” You cut yourself off, eyes oddly shiny, and it takes him a moment to realize that you’re tearing up. His mouth opens, then clamps shut, his expression clearing itself of the white-hot anger he’d felt. His hand reaches out, taking your upper arm in his grasp. Right. Your father is in the hospital, and here he is, practically yelling at you for giving a damn, just because it made him uncomfortable to be speaking to someone on the other side of the situation he had been in years ago.

His own mother’s death sits in his chest, unresolved, clumsily compartmentalized along with every other horrible thing he’s had to deal with. The guilt of eternally letting her down, until the very end. Of not even being by her side in her last moments. Of Ga-yeong, thousands of miles away, and the way these games got in the way of everything and everyone he cared about.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, his eyes wide, flicking between your own.

Gi-hun hadn’t said anything that you hadn’t already crossed your mind. Your own guilt feels like lead in the pit of your stomach, Gi-hun’s words mirroring your worst thoughts. His apology stings, a slap to the face. Why should he be sorry? You feel sick. “Whatever, alright? It’s fine.” You rub at your eyes, at the tears that never fell. “We all have baggage.” Yours just happens to be a sick, indebted father, and a strained relationship with your dead mom. “I voted to leave, even though that money up there isn’t enough to cover it all. Whatever your baggage is, beyond these damn games, isn’t my fault, and you shouldn’t be taking it out on me.” Gi-hun just stares at you, wide-eyed, looking a little younger. Not by very much - but he looks like the man he might’ve been, before his first time in these games.

A thought bubbles up like a laugh, that it’s probably been a while since he was last scolded by a woman for hurting her feelings.

He presses his lips together, eyes darting to the side, and you realize, belatedly, that his hand is still warm on your arm. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, softer this time. “I told you, though, I’ll give you enough money to cover your debts. Your father’s, too.” He squeezes your shoulder, his other hand partially raised, almost in surrender.

You would laugh if that sentiment doesn’t twist the knife in deeper, despite being well-intentioned. “I already feel horrible enough, taking the blood money from this game,” you reply, voice tight. “I don’t know if I can handle your ghosts on top of my own.”

Gi-hun’s expression twists, but there’s a deep understanding in his eyes. “Please. If that money is good for anything, it’s helping people escape the same fate that others couldn’t.”

Your insides are churning, a befuddling mixture of guilt, pain, understanding, appreciation, and… something else, something you shove deep down. If your feelings for Young-il were misplaced, you refuse to make the same mistake twice. But something about Gi-hun tells you that he’s unmarried, unattached. A man with any kind of relationship in the outside world, filial or romantic, wouldn’t come back to a place like this.

“If we make it out,” you finally reply, your shoulders dropping, arms loosening. Gi-hun nods, his expression drawing in at the reminder. One more game. “I’m still with you, Gi-hun. I trust you.”

He smiles, just a little, and finally releases your shoulder, albeit hesitantly. There’s something strange in his eyes, stress or guilt or something more. As you finally walk away, you don’t let yourself wonder, don’t let yourself get caught up in frivolous emotions for a man who carries too much weight to ever let someone else lighten the load. And you pretend you don’t feel Young-il’s eyes watching you as you take a bed in the corner with Gi-hun’s group, choosing to lay down and stare at the mattress above you, trying not to think of anything at all.

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

♡ ⁄ taglist: @pursued-by-the-squid @in-hos-wife @bloooooopblopblop <33333 @nellabear @gloriousjellyfisharcade @politicstanner @xcinnamonmalfoyx @beebeechaos @delfinadolphin @bbrainr0t @ineedazeezee @watasinekoru @solarpotato @nerdytif @speedymagazinewhispers @machipyun @dilfismz

#front man x reader #hwang in ho x reader #in ho x reader #in ho x you #the frontman x reader #gi hun x reader #gi hun x you #seong gi hun x reader #the frontman x you #front man x you #squid game fic #squid game fanfic #oh young il x reader #hwang in ho x you #young il x you #young il x reader

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ot8xbangchansgirlsblog · 15 hours ago

Text

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟?

part one

Warning: Angst, cursing, Tired reader, really clingy Felix.

Summary: Y/n's exhausted and slowly breaking down.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Today was one of those mentally off days. Y/n’s body felt like it was on autopilot, moving without her full control. Every step she took seemed harder than the last, her mind foggy and clouded by exhaustion. Her stomach churned from the overdose of caffeine that had only made her feel worse, mixing with the emptiness of not eating anything all day. Her skin had lost its usual warmth, now pale and clammy, drenched in sweat as the lack of sleep began to hit its peak. It was a feeling she knew all too well, but one that still managed to knock her out every time.

She barely heard her manager’s voice through the haze, his words distant as he waved his hand in front of her face. “Y/n, are you listening?”

She flinched, her heart racing as the sound of his voice jerked her from the haze. Her eyes focused on him, trying to piece everything together. “Uh… what?” she mumbled, blinking in confusion, her brain struggling to catch up.

Her manager sighed but gave her a soft, understanding smile, though there was a hint of impatience there. “Oh right… I finished filing the documents you asked me to—”

“Great!” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow, his tone lighter now as he leaned forward. “Can you just go over them again and make sure there aren’t any mistakes?”

Y/n mentally groaned, the thought of reviewing pages of fine print when her head felt like it was splitting open. But she knew the importance. She couldn't afford to mess anything up.

He really was a sweet man—kind, professional, and understanding. It wasn’t his fault that they were all running on fumes. But the reality was, some idiot had royally messed up one of the key projects they were set to present. It had thrown everything off course, and now everyone was scrambling, working endless hours to catch up with the other departments that had their shit together.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get started right now,” she said softly, the words almost coming out as a whisper. She blinked a few times, gathering the willpower to lift herself from her chair. “May I be excused?”

Her manager gave her a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, dear. Thank you so much for your hard work.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “I really do appreciate it, more than you know.”

Y/n nodded, trying to hide the fatigue creeping into her bones. Before she could leave, he stopped her, holding out his wallet and pulling out his company card. “Here, take this,” he said gently. “Get yourself some dinner... well, technically breakfast.” He glanced at his watch, a guilty laugh escaping him when he realized it was already 3 AM. “You really don’t have to, but I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

She took the card hesitantly, his concern evident in his eyes. “You really don’t have to, sir. But… thank you.” Her lips curved into a tired but genuine smile, her mood shifting slightly, softened by his kindness.

He gave her a reassuring smile, watching as she stood, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the night’s work. "You deserve it, Y/n. Get some rest when you can, okay?" She nodded, grateful, and walked out of the office, the card tucked into her pocket.

It was around 4:30 AM when Y/n's phone vibrated softly on the desk. She glanced at the screen, seeing Chan’s name light up. His call was a relief in the quiet, late hours of her work shift.

“Baby?” His voice sounded husky, still laced with the grogginess of just waking up. His tone carried a trace of concern.

“Hey, Channie,” Y/n said sweetly, though her voice wavered from exhaustion. Her eyelids fluttered in an attempt to stay open as she balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear, all while continuing to work.

“Hey, where are you? It’s 4 AM…” Chan's words came out in a small panic. Y/n could tell he was still trying to shake off sleep, his voice deepening with worry.

“I’m sorry, babe, I’m still at work,” Y/n sighed, turning a page in her file while typing something up. She clicked a few buttons on her laptop before glancing out the window. The city streets were silent, the world wrapped in a peaceful stillness that seemed a world apart from her busy desk. “Mr. Ji asked me to finish something quickly... I'll be home in a bit, I promise.”

Chan let out a frustrated groan, but his voice softened. “Still at work? Baby, it’s 4 AM. Come home already.” There was a slight panic in his tone now. He shifted under the covers, careful not to wake up Han, who had been nestled against him the entire night. The warmth of his touch was still fresh on his skin, but his concern for her outweighed any desire to stay in bed.

“Yeah... I know, I’m sorry. But Mr. Ji is being really worried about this project,” she explained, the guilt in her chest growing heavier with every word. She didn’t want to add more to his plate. “I’ll be done soon. I’ll be home before you know it.”

There was a pause, followed by Chan’s soft, frustrated sigh. “I can come pick you up right now…” His voice was filled with worry. “You don’t have to be out so late by yourself.”

“No, babe—” Y/n interrupted gently, “it’s way too late, and you have practice in an hour and a half. Get some rest, okay? I’ll be home soon.” She spoke with a calmness she didn’t entirely feel, trying her best to soothe him.

Chan’s frown deepened, even though she couldn’t see it. “Who’s going to drop you off? You shouldn’t be out at this hour alone. It’s not safe…”

“I’ll ask Yi-so Unnie to drop me off,” Y/n reassured him, trying to sound convincing. “She’ll take me home. Don’t worry, please? Just go back to sleep.”

There was a long silence, and Y/n could almost hear his internal battle. Finally, with a resigned sigh, Chan let out a quiet, “Okay... just call me if you need anything, alright?”

“I promise,” Y/n said softly, a smile tugging at her lips despite the weight of the moment. She felt the stress melting a little with each reassuring word. “How are my boys?”

“They’re good, all asleep,” Chan replied, his voice lighter now. He’d finally crawled back into bed, pulling Han back into his arms, the warmth and comfort of his body providing a sense of peace. He closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his shoulders slowly ease.

"Felix is mad at you," Chan said, chuckling lightly, his tone teasing yet knowing. Y/n furrowed her brow. Chan knew all too well how dramatic Felix had been these past few days, sulking about how little time Y/n had been able to spend with him due to her hectic schedule.

Y/n sighed, leaning back in her chair, and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I know, I know," she muttered, clearly exhausted herself. "Is he sleeping with you?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of concern, though there was a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Felix always slept with her every night, curling up beside her for comfort and companionship. Her long nights at the office had clearly been taking a toll on him, and that made her feel a pang of guilt.

Chan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, he's with Changbin," he replied, his voice still laced with a tired yawn. He stretched his arms overhead, the exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders slumped.

Y/n’s frown deepened slightly, the guilt gnawing at her as she glanced over at the clock on the wall. "I really need to wrap this up," she murmured more to herself than to Chan. It was late, and she knew Felix would be waiting for her, feeling abandoned.

"He'll survive," he said, teasing again, though there was a comforting warmth in his voice. "But maybe just send him a text before you come home, so he knows you haven’t forgotten him completely."

Y/n gave him a small, grateful smile. "I will," she promised softly, though her mind was already on the long to-do list she still had to get through. The work would never stop, but neither could her relationship with Felix—she just hoped he understood.

“I’m glad to hear that. See you soon, my love,” Y/n replied, her heart aching as she imagined him lying next to Han.

“Did you eat something?” His voice was soft, his eyes growing heavy with sleep again.

“Yeah, baby,” Y/n responded, a tiny lie slipping past her lips. “Get some rest. You sound exhausted. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Chan murmured, his voice growing quieter. He drifted back into sleep, the call fading into silence.

Y/n smiled as she quickly hung up, her gaze drifting back to the screen. But the guilt still gnawed at her—she was only halfway through her work, and the night was far from over.

It was now 5:20 AM, and Y/n was almost done with her work. The office was quiet, save for the soft hum of her computer. She was confident she’d be wrapped up by 5:45. Letting out a loud yawn, she stretched her arms overhead before grabbing her coffee cup. The bitter taste jolted her awake, though only slightly.

"Hey, neighbor," came a familiar voice. Hae, one of her co-workers, knocked lightly on the office door before pushing it open. "Hey, love," Y/n greeted with a tired smile, her eyes flickering up from the pile of papers she was working through. "Are you done with work?"

"Almost," Hae replied, swinging herself into the office chair with a casual stretch. "Are you?"

"Yeah," Y/n groaned, rubbing her face and flipping a page in her book. "I’m so tired. I can’t wait to get out of here."

"Same here," Hae agreed with a dramatic sigh, flopping back in her chair. "So, once we’re done, wanna grab breakfast? We don’t have to be back until 8 anyway." She rolled her eyes at the thought of getting only a few hours of sleep.

Y/n laughed softly. "Yeah, sure. Mr. Ji gave me the company card, so we can go get something to eat."

"Great!" Hae beamed, standing up from the chair with a bounce in her step. "See you in a bit." She waved and stepped out of the room, leaving Y/n chuckling at how adorable she was.

The moment Hae was out of sight, Y/n’s focus returned to the computer screen in front of her, but not for long. Her phone vibrated on the desk, and without looking, she picked it up. It was one of her boyfriends, likely Changbin.

"Hey, bunny," Changbin's voice came through the phone. She could hear the sound of him rattling around in the kitchen, probably making his usual protein shake. "Where are you? Did you head out for work already?"

"Hey, baby," Y/n sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I didn’t come home last night. I’m still at work."

“What? You didn’t come home?” Changbin’s voice was filled with concern. “Why? That’s so unhealthy.”

She winced, knowing what was coming. "Yeah, but remember how I told you we’re behind because of one of my coworkers?”

"Yeah, I remember..." His voice softened, but she could tell he was holding back his irritation.

“Binnie, be nice,” Y/n scolded, cutting him off before he could say something sharp. "We’re almost done, though. Just a bit longer."

He exhaled loudly. "But you’ve been coming home really late these past few days, going to work really early. You barely eat and you're practically running on coffee. We’ve barely seen you.” He pouted, even though Y/n couldn’t see it. She could hear the concern in his voice, though.

“I know. I know,” Y/n whispered, feeling her chest tighten. She was trying so hard to stay composed, but the weight of everything was getting to her. The constant pressure, the long hours—she was on the verge of breaking down. "I’m just...really tired."

There was a pause on the other end before Changbin let out a sigh. "I’m heading to the gym right now, but I’ll swing by and drop off your jacket. You need anything?"

Y/n shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it. "Don’t bother. I’m leaving the office now. You’ll probably find me home." She tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice was tight, like a rubber band stretched too thin.

“Are you sure?” Changbin asked, his voice laced with worry. "I can grab you something to eat, too, if you need it."

"No, it’s okay," Y/n quickly dismissed him, trying to push back the feelings welling up in her chest. "I’m leaving soon. Go work out. I’ll be home before you know it."

"Okay..." Changbin’s voice was defeated, but he didn’t push her any further. "I love you. Call me if you need anything, alright?"

"I will. I love you too." Y/n's words came out a little too quickly, but she needed him to hang up. Her head was starting to ache, and she couldn’t bear to talk much longer. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Bye, my love."

She hung up, her fingers trembling slightly as she set the phone down. For a moment, she just sat there in silence, the office lights buzzing overhead. She closed her eyes for a beat, trying to steady her breathing, but the tension was too much. It was too much.

"Finally," Y/n huffed, letting the tension leave her shoulders as she stood in the empty office, basking in the quiet after a long day of work. She had managed to finish everything in time and turned in all the reports. She finally felt like she could breathe. "Hey, neighbor, you finished?" Hae's voice cut through the stillness as she leaned casually against the doorframe. She was already wearing her coat, a small bag slung over her shoulder, ready to head out.

"Yeah, just handed everything in," Y/n said with a relieved smile. "Lemme grab my stuff and we can go."

As she tossed a few stray papers into her bag and pulled on her coat, Hae lingered in the doorway, trying to make small talk. "It’s quite chill outside," she noted, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"Yeah," Y/n chuckled, the image of her boyfriend popping into her mind. "My boyfriend wanted to bring me another jacket just because it’s so cold."

Hae raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Aww, that’s sweet. How are they, by the way?"

"They're good," Y/n said with a soft laugh. "Probably really mad I didn’t come home. I kind of...forgot to charge my phone." She cursed under her breath as she fumbled with her dead phone. "Great timing, huh?"

"I've got a charger," Hae offered with a grin, pulling out a cord from her bag. "We can charge it at the cafe."

"Thanks," Y/n said, gratefully accepting the charger and slipping her phone back into her bag. She locked her office door and followed Hae out into the chilly evening air.

After they grabbed a quick breakfast at the cafe, they parted ways. Y/n didn’t realize until she was on her way home that she had completely forgotten to charge her phone after all. The day had already begun for most people, but for her, it was time to sleep.

When she arrived at the house, she could hear footsteps echoing through the halls, indicating that everyone was getting ready for their schedules. Y/n sighed softly, pushing her tired body to unlock the door. She stepped inside, shedding her shoes and coat, and called out, "I’m home!"

Her feet dragged on the floor as she made her way through the house, exhaustion pulling at every step. "Babe?" Leeknow's voice came from the kitchen, and he appeared in the doorway. Dressed in sweatpants, a hoodie, and a cap, he looked comfortable but clearly concerned as he rushed over to her.

"Why weren’t you answering our calls?" He asked, pulling her into a warm hug, his worry evident in his voice.

"My phone died, my love. I totally forgot to charge it," she explained softly, resting her head on his chest. "Are you good? Did you sleep well?" she asked, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

"Yeah, I did," he replied, brushing a hand gently through her hair. "But you, you're burning up," he frowned, his palm coming to rest on her forehead. "Are you sick?"

"No, just really tired," she yawned, fighting to stay awake as her body screamed for rest.

"Okay, go wash up and get into bed. I’ll make you some warm hot chocolate," he cooed, guiding her toward the stairs with gentle hands.

"I just had breakfast, baby. Just get ready for work. I promise I’m okay, I just need to recharge before going back in," she reassured him, giving him one more soft kiss on the lips. "Go on, I’ll be fine."

Leeknow looked at her with concern, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "O-okay... but I’ll come check on you before I leave, yeah?"

Y/n nodded, offering him a tired smile, before slowly making her way up the stairs, feeling his eyes follow her every step. His worry gnawed at him as he watched her sluggish movements, but he didn’t say anything.

Upstairs, the house was busy with everyone getting ready for the day. Y/n managed to sneak past everyone and into her room, where she quickly washed up and changed into something more comfortable. She turned off the lights, allowing herself to collapse into her cozy bed. A sigh of relief left her lips as she curled up, closing her eyes and letting the weight of the day melt away. The sound of the house buzzing with activity was drowned out as she finally allowed herself to fall into a deep, well-deserved sleep.

20 minutes hadn’t even passed by when suddenly her door opened and closed. She was too tired to open her eyes to see how it was but she could tell by the persons cologne.

Her blanket shifted, the soft fabric sliding off as Felix’s body pressed against hers, seeking warmth. His small sniffles reached her ears as he nestled closer, his head resting against her chest. "Y/nnie?" he mumbled, his voice thick with something between sleepiness and sadness.

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered open slowly, the hazy room coming into focus. She blinked once, twice, before realizing Felix was right there, pouting, his soft features contorted with a mixture of discomfort and longing. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands cold against her skin as he nuzzled his head under her chin, snuggling into the crook of her neck.

"Hey, babyboy, what’s wrong?" she murmured softly, her voice thick with the grogginess of sleep. Without even thinking, her hand instinctively moved to stroke his arm, soothing him with gentle touches. She threaded her fingers through his tousled blonde hair, the faint scent of his shampoo mixing with the warmth of his body.

Felix let out a soft whimper, his voice muffled against her skin. "You didn’t cuddle with me last night..." His words were laced with an almost childlike sadness, his lower lip protruding in a small, endearing pout.

Y/N’s heart tugged, and she felt a wave of guilt rush over her. Felix always craved her attention, often joking about it, but tonight was different. He needed her, and she hadn't been there. "I’m sorry, Lix," she whispered, her fingers brushing through his hair again. "I had so much work to do. It was a long night…"

"I know, but still…" His voice faltered, and he tightened his hold around her waist, his body curling further into hers, as if trying to get as close as physically possible. "You’ve been working so much. You don’t even have time for me anymore."

The guilt in her chest tightened. Felix was right. He was always by her side, but recently, the overwhelming weight of her responsibilities had kept them apart. "Baby," she started, her voice low, "I'm really sorry. It wasn’t intentional."

Felix looked up at her with big, wide eyes, his brow furrowed in that familiar, pouty expression she knew too well. His voice wavered, vulnerable. "But… I don’t get it, Y/N. You’re always with Han and everyone else. When it’s my turn… I’m always the last one."

She felt her chest tighten at his words. This wasn’t how she had intended for him to feel, but exhaustion clouded her thoughts, making it hard to communicate. "Sunshine," she interrupted gently, her tone more fatigued than she intended. "Can we talk later? I’m just so tired right now."

Felix’s face shifted, a flash of hurt crossing his features. "Fine. If you don’t love me anymore, just say that. You’re always laying up with Han and the rest, and when it comes to me, you just ignore me…" His voice cracked as he pulled away from her, slipping out of her grip. His body shifted away as he sat up, the room feeling much colder without him against her.

"Felix, it’s not like that," Y/N protested, frustration rising as she tried to reach for him, her tiredness now turning into worry. "I promise, I do love you. I just—"

"Whatever," he muttered, his tone sharp now, tinged with bitterness. He stood up, pacing away from her bed. "You don’t get it, Y/N. You’ve been too busy for me. I’m not going to sit here and beg for your attention anymore."

"Please, Lix," Y/N pleaded softly, trying to push herself up from the bed, but her body felt like lead, heavy with exhaustion. "I’ve been up all night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry."

Felix turned to her, his back facing her as he stood by the door, frustration radiating off him. "I get it, okay? You’ve got a million things on your plate. But it’s fine. It’s whatever." His words dripped with resentment, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the conversation had drained him.

Y/N’s heart sank as she watched him storm out of the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft thud. She sank back into her bed, her mind reeling with guilt and exhaustion.

She hadn't wanted things to get like this, but as she lay there, her eyelids fluttering shut again, she couldn’t help but wonder if the rift between them had gotten too wide to fix with just a few apologies.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Don't forget to reblog and follow! <3

A/N: Thank you anon!

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luxerians · 2 days ago

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The Last Mask (18.2)

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

Chapter 18.2 - Humanity [NSFW]

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 19

PREV : Chapter 17.2

SFW ver. : Chapter 18.1

[Hwang In-ho’s Flashback…]

It was during the first few minutes of the Seven-Legged Hexathlon when In-ho stood quietly beside player 423. Her brows furrowed slightly, her lips pressed together in concentration. She was focused. Almost too focused on the first two teams playing Tuho. He noticed the way her eyes tracked every throw, every movement as if she was absorbing every detail.

She wasn’t just watching; she was analyzing, preparing, worrying.

He had seen that kind of look before. People who tried to predict every outcome, tried to control what little they could in an unpredictable situation. He knew it well because he was the overseer of these games. He had watched and noticed everything throughout his times as the Front Man. And yet, something about the way she did it made him pause.

“Don’t be nervous. I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he said, stepping closer.

She turned to look at him, startled for a brief moment. He held her gaze and gave her a small, confident smile. “You said you did it often. I’m certain you’ve got skills.”

Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to respond, but she hesitated. Instead, she lowered her gaze, something shifting in her expression.

“That was years ago. Now…”

Her voice trailed off, her eyes turning distant. Whatever she was thinking about, it wasn’t the game in front of her anymore. It was something else. Something heavier. In-ho recognized that kind of look, too. It was the look of someone recalling a nightmare without meaning to. He knew because he tended to do it too.

He stared at her intently, curiosity creeping in. What was she hiding? He knew loss when he saw it, knew the weight of burdens unspoken.

Out of nowhere, she shook her head, shaking away whatever thoughts that had taken hold of her. “My arms sometimes tremble uncontrollably. What if it messes up my aim?”

That’s when an idea sprang to his mind. An opportunity to lower her guard and manipulate her further. Without hesitation, In-ho responded, “Then I’ll hold your hands.”

It still felt odd, though. Manipulation or not, he wasn’t the kind of man who offered comfort. The Front Man wouldn’t care. The cold, detached persona he had built over years of isolation wouldn’t have said anything at all.

And yet, here he was, trying for someone he had only known for a short time.

Manipulation or not, maybe it was because she reminded him of something – of warmth, of his past self he had buried. Or maybe it was simply because he thought he was in control of everything. Yes, he is doing this to manipulate her, he convinced himself.

After completing the Seven-Legged Hexathlon, the group returned to the dormitory. In-ho, playing his part, apologized for failing the Spinning Top multiple times – even though he had done so intentionally. He was expecting little reaction, maybe even some teasing, but instead, you smiled warmly at him.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Everyone has moments like that, but you didn’t give up, and that’s what mattered.”

For a moment, In-ho just stared at you, caught off guard once again.

Your words always seemed to slip through his defenses, seeping into places he had long sealed off. It was unnerving how easily you could disarm him, how your warmth found cracks in the cold exterior he had spent years perfecting. It felt as if you had known him far longer than just these past few days. As if you saw through him. Not just the man he pretended to be, but the one he had buried beneath layers of control and calculation.

His eyes softened before he could stop them, and he smiled. Was it real? He wasn’t sure. He had been pretending for so long that even he couldn’t always tell.

Then, that moment came.

The smile on your lips turned fake. That’s when you told them. About your parents, about the weight of your family situation, and about the staggering 350 million won debt that had pulled you into this place.

In-ho watched you closely, reading every small detail.

The way you kept faking a smile, the way you tried to make it sound like everything was fine. But he saw the strain beneath it, the exhaustion of someone carrying far too much for far too long.

And something inside him tightened.

He knew that look all too well. The quiet acceptance of an unfair fate. He had worn it himself, once.

For the first time, his reaction wasn’t calculated. He simply watched you, feeling something unfamiliar creep into his chest. A quiet ache. A reluctant understanding.

And perhaps, just for a moment, he hated that he cared.

Not only that, but he felt an anger so deep it surprised him. The thought of anyone threatening you, forcing you into this situation, made his blood simmer with quiet rage. The image of you struggling under the weight of someone else’s cruelty refused to leave his mind.

These men had taken advantage of you, had pushed you into a corner with no way out. And now, standing here, watching you mask your pain with that forced smile, he knew one thing for certain.

Once these games are over, he would find them.

Soon enough, In-ho saw the full extent of your kindness. He watched the way you treated player 222. Of course, everyone who learned of her condition was gentle with her, but the way you cared for her was different. Softer, warmer, motherly and deeply sincere.

What he didn’t realize yet was how much he liked seeing that kindness spread from you to everyone else, including him.

He didn’t yet understand that he was drawn to you the way the tide is drawn to the moon. Inevitably, irresistibly, without question.

Then came the moment when everyone in the group began introducing themselves.

“My name is [Your Full Name],” you said next, offering a small smile. “I’ve never checked what it means.”

From the corner of his eye, In-ho noticed the others nodding in acknowledgment, but his focus stayed on you. He smiled to himself, content. Now he had your name.

Before joining the game as a spy, he hadn’t bothered learning the players’ names. Why would he? Ninety-nine percent of them wouldn’t make it to the end.

Now, however, knowing your name felt like something worth keeping.

“It sounds perfect for you. Beautiful, even,” he said.

Your reaction was immediate. Your head dipped, eyes lowering as if his words had caught you off guard. There was a flicker of shyness, an innocence to the way you absorbed his compliment. He stared at you quietly, taking in that moment before finally introducing himself.

“I’m Oh Young-il.”

“Young-il?” Player 390, whose name was Jung-bae, blinked.

“Yes,” In-ho gestured toward his player number. “Young-il sounds like ‘zero one,’ and that’s my number. Easy to remember.”

Player 388, Dae-ho, looked at him with amazement. “Oh, that’s true! Your name is your number!”

“What a coincidence,” you remarked, smiling. “Maybe the game makers noticed the connection and assigned you as 001 on purpose.”

In-ho’s smile widened in amusement, finding your comment inwardly hilarious. “Who knows? It does feel a little too perfect.”

***

“[Your name].”

In-ho’s head turned instinctively. Gi-hun had approached and now stood beside you on the staircase. It was right after the announcement of how much each surviving player would receive if the majority voted for X.

He didn’t even know why he reacted like that – instinctive and swift. It wasn’t even his real name, but hearing yours always seemed to pull his attention.

Gi-hun stared at you, his expression solemn.

“If the vote goes our way and we leave this game, memorize my phone number,” he said. “Contact me. I want to help you and your situation.”

Something dark curled in In-ho’s chest. There it is. He barely held back a scoff. That oh-so-heroic self. Trying to impress her that much, Gi-hun?

But Gi-hun had no idea what was running through In-ho’s mind. He kept going.

“I still have billions of won left. More than enough to help your family. If you’re more comfortable, we can arrange to meet somewhere. Maybe at a park or a subway station.”

Pathetic.

Gi-hun was dangling a solution in front of you, playing the role of savior like he always did. But what irritated In-ho more was your reaction. You looked amazed. Grateful, even. The appreciation in your eyes, the warmth in your voice as you responded, “Thank you. That would mean a lot.”

In-ho’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. His gaze flickered between you both, the sight of it making his stomach churn. The idea of you meeting Gi-hun outside this game, of continuing this connection, of sharing moments beyond these walls. It unsettled him in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

If the majority voted X, you and Gi-hun would meet again. You’d talk, you’d share stories, you’d smile at him the way you sometimes smiled at In-ho now. And that displeased him more than it should have.

More than it ever should have.

Then In-ho spoke up, “I’d like to help as well.”

You turned to him swiftly, wide-eyed in astonishment. In-ho instinctively smiled, satisfied that your attention was back where it belonged – on him.

He added with a reassuring tone, “Whether it’s protection or financial support, I’ll do whatever I can. If we leave this place, let’s set up a meeting as well.”

Your cheeks tinged with a faint crimson before you bowed your head in gratitude. “Thank you so much, you two.”

In-ho nodded, but just as he looked up, his gaze met Gi-hun’s. The younger man was frowning at him. The two locked eyes, exchanging a silent but charged stare. Then, Gi-hun’s gaze flickered to the O patch on In-ho’s chest.

Oh? Is he doubting me because I voted to stay last time?

In-ho kept his voice even as he addressed Gi-hun directly. “Don’t worry. I want to stop here too.”

Gi-hun’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but something about his expression remained unreadable. In-ho thought that was the end of it. But then Gi-hun nodded and spoke again.

“Ah, right. You have a wife waiting for you at the hospital.”

Something snapped in In-ho. His jaw clenched, his body tensed, every nerve in his body suddenly alert. He didn’t need to glance at you to know that Gi-hun’s words hit you like a punch to the chest. He could feel the weight of your stunned silence, the realization crashing over you like a tidal wave.

He knew exactly what must be running through your mind. After all, there was something between you two. So subtle, yet undeniably alive. You and he had been moving toward something, slow and inevitable, changing the way he saw the world – changing him. You had altered something in his very chemistry, and he knew you felt it too.

But now?

Now you knew he was married. Or in your head at that moment, is married.

He didn’t need to ask to understand the kind of person you were. You were the type to respect boundaries, to step back the moment you realized there was a line you shouldn’t cross. You would let go, even if it hurt you, because you were that kind and selfless. And that realization made his stomach twist.

Sure, he should have told you. He should have explained everything. About his wife, about what had happened. But he had wanted to tell you on his own terms, when you were alone, when he had control over how the truth was revealed.

But Gi-hun had taken that choice away from him.

It wasn’t an accident. It was too perfectly timed, too deliberate. In-ho’s mind reeled. Could it be that Gi-hun had noticed? Had he seen something between you two?

Does he like you too?

Is he trying to put an end to whatever was growing between us?

His fists curled at his sides as he forced himself to keep his face neutral. But the damage had already been done. And worst of all, now you knew.

After the majority of players voted to stay in the games, In-ho’s eyes subconsciously searched for you. When he found you lying in bed, he gravitated toward you without thinking. But he wasn’t the only one. Dae-ho and Jun-hee were also approaching.

His gaze flickered to Gi-hun. There he stood, frozen in the middle of the X zone, drowning in despair over the result, over the players’ greed. In-ho should have enjoyed the sight, should have taken satisfaction in watching Gi-hun’s naive ideals crumble. This vote had proved In-ho right. These players weren’t victims. They had chosen to stay.

Yet, instead of smirking at Gi-hun’s misery, In-ho kept walking toward you.

When he reached your bed, he realized you were trying to sleep. It was obvious. You were disappointed too.

Dae-ho sighed beside him. “I’m disappointed too. Jung-bae voting for O? I didn’t see that coming. I felt like screaming, ‘Sir, what are you thinking?’ at him. He agreed with us to vote for going back home just moments before the vote.”

“It can’t be helped,” In-ho spoke up, his tone even. “People tend to change their minds once they’re standing at the voting counter.”

His eyes lingered on your face, searching for any sign that his presence had an impact on you. But there was none.

Was it because you knew about my marriage? Had that changed things between us already?

He didn’t like that thought. He didn’t like the uncertainty it brought.

He found himself staring longer than he should have, lost in thought, until movement from Dae-ho snapped him out of it. The man leaned against the pillar of your bunk bed, exhaling a heavy sigh. “I understand him, but… what was Jung-bae thinking?”

In-ho cast a dark glance at Dae-ho, who remained oblivious. He noticed it then – the way Dae-ho hovered, the way he was so quick to linger by your side.

Did he like you?

It made sense. You were warmth in a place like this, a rare softness amidst brutality. Of course, others would be drawn to you. But In-ho didn’t want that. He didn’t know why, but the thought of someone else getting too close to you made something stir inside him. Something possessive.

So he acted.

Without a word, he sat down at the far corner of your bed, closing the distance between you both. He was now the closest to you, closer than Dae-ho, closer than anyone else.

“There’s no use thinking about it now,” he said, his voice steady. “The votes are done. Let’s focus on staying together and winning the game again tomorrow.”

Then came the moment when you refused to get up and queue for dinner.

“Don’t be like that,” Dae-ho urged. “You’ll end up weak and all skinny tomorrow.”

A brief silence followed before you quipped, “I’m trying to go on a diet anyway, so it’s fine.”

Dae-ho waved off your excuse. “Haih, you look beautiful already. Now get up—”

Before he could continue, In-ho spoke up, his voice firm yet composed. “It’s okay. You two go on ahead. The queues are getting long. I’ll persuade her.”

Dae-ho and Jun-hee hesitated, but after a moment, they left.

In-ho turned back to you, watching as you remained lying in bed, unmoving, your disappointment in the voting result still weighing heavily on you. He then attempted to coax you into queuing for dinner, but you remained lying in bed. You had no appetite, no motivation, only a heavy frustration that dulled your sense of hunger.

In-ho knew at this moment that coaxing you further would be useless. But he could do something else. He could make sure you ate.

After all, the next game was the Mingle game. Running, speed, stamina. It would all matter. And you wouldn’t get far on an empty stomach.

So, without another word, he left and joined the dinner queue. When he reached the front, the worker guard supervising the line handed him a single set of a round bun and a carton of milk.

In-ho didn’t take it.

Instead, he reached straight into the box, his fingers closing around a bun and a milk carton. He slipped them smoothly into the pocket of his jacket, then grabbed another set as if nothing had happened.

The worker guard hesitated, momentarily stunned. Behind him, a manager noticed but did nothing. Of course, they wouldn’t stop him. They knew exactly who he was.

Without another glance, In-ho turned and walked away, making sure none of the other players saw what he had done.

In-ho arrived at your bedside and called your name softly. The moment your eyes fluttered open, he handed you your set of dinner. You frowned before resting your head back against the pillow.

“I don’t want to eat your dinner. Don’t worry about me,” you murmured.

In-ho was amused. Even after knowing about his marriage, even when he knew you were hungry, your kindness and concern for him still remained. That part of you hadn’t changed. He glanced around briefly before revealing another set of dinner from his jacket.

“It’s not mine,” he told you. “It’s yours.”

Your gaze shifted to the food in his hands. Two sets – two buns and two cartons of milk. Surprise flickered across your face as you slowly sat up, the blanket slipping down from your shoulders.

“You got two?”

“I took another set on your behalf,” he admitted, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Your eyes widened. “We can do that?”

His smile grew in amusement. “We can’t.”

You stared at him, perplexed. “Then how did you get two?”

He extended the dinner toward you again, his voice calm yet knowing. “I know what to say to the guards. My line of work taught me how.”

***

[Back to present…]

“I may have led this hell myself, but I will be the one to keep you from burning.”

You closed your eyes, torn between the storm inside you and the undeniable pull of his touch.

Sensing no resistance from you, In-ho pulled the blanket around your naked body. His movements were careful and tender as if handling something fragile. Once you clutched it closer around yourself, he kissed your temple before shifting away from you.

You watched in silence as he sat at the side of the bed, bent down and retrieved a radio from a pocket of his Front Man coat. He pressed the button and brought it close to his bare face. “What’s the status on my dinner?”

A static-filled voice responded, “Currently being prepared, sir. It will be delivered shortly.”

You stared at his side profile quietly, noticing how attractive he looked from this angle.

In-ho informed, “Make another serving. Bring them both to my room as usual.”

“Understood.”

He set the radio down and turned back to you. His hair, no longer slicked back with oil, was all over his forehead. He looked every bit the Young-il you grew to love. And oh, it melted your guard as you stared at him quietly. His eyes – which you had seen turned dark and ruthless more than once – were now looking back at you softly.

He looked away and got up from the bed. He went to grab a black towel, wrapping it around his hips. He then retrieved a glass and a water bottle from the cupboard behind his study desk, pouring the clear liquid into the glass before turning back to you.

Silently, he extended it toward you. You hesitated for a moment before taking it from him, bringing it to your lips and drinking deeply. The cool water soothed your dry throat, but it did nothing to ease the tension gripping your chest.

“Wait here and rest up,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll call you when your dinner has arrived.”

“But Young—” you caught yourself, your lips pressing into a thin line before correcting, “I mean, In-ho. What will happen now? Will the games continue like usual?”

He met your gaze, but said nothing. His silence weighed heavier than any answer could have. You could see it in his eyes – this was the path he had chosen, the role he had accepted. The games would go on.

Disappointment settled over you like a thick fog, dimming whatever flicker of hope you had clung to. “What about our friends?”

Still, no answer. Just that same unreadable stare. A wall between you that you weren’t sure could ever be broken.

The sudden shrill ring of a wired telephone shattered the silence, making you flinch under the blanket. In-ho, too, tensed at the sound, his gaze snapping toward the door. His entire posture stiffened. You watched him carefully as he stared into space, contemplating.

Without turning back to you, he muttered, “Wait here.”

He strode to where his Front Man attire lay discarded on the floor. You observed as he put on his boxer and black pants and retrieved the dark coat, pulling it over his broad shoulders before reaching for the smooth, geometrical mask. He placed it over his face, transforming instantly from the man you knew into the enigma that ruled this place.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you swathed in the blanket on his bed. You kept still, suppressing even your breathing as you sharpened your hearing, hoping to catch fragments of the conversation.

The ringing ceased, replaced by the deep, robotic distortion of his voice as he answered in fluent English.

“Front Man speaking.”

A pause stretched. You wished you could hear the other caller but the walls swallowed the words before they could reach you. Then, In-ho’s voice emerged again, composed and authoritative.

“Ensure they don’t get anywhere close to this location.”

Another beat of silence. Then, he added, “All eyes are on Player 456. We will not allow another incident.”

You inhaled sharply. He was talking about Gi-hun. A cold realization settled over you. Gi-hun was still seen as a threat. They were watching his every move, ensuring he wouldn't instigate another uprising.

A long pause followed. You assumed the call had ended when you heard the soft ding of the elevator from beyond the door. Your heartbeat quickened.

Footsteps. Several of them. Boots clicking against the polished black and gold floor. Then, In-ho’s voice echoed once more, deep and authoritative. “Place them in the dining room.”

More steps, followed by the faint creak of a door opening. Ten seconds later, you heard those footsteps again in the hallway before another ding of the elevator.

Seconds later, the door to the bedroom where you lay opened. It was In-ho, fully dressed in his Front Man attire except for the mask. He had removed it, and his hoodie was down.

“Our dinner has arrived,” he announced as he stepped inside, standing beside the bed. His gaze softened as he looked down at you. “Can you stand?”

With your hands clutching the blanket tightly around yourself, you shifted toward the side of the bed. That’s when a hand, palm up, hovered in front of you. You blinked, glancing up at him with wide, hesitant eyes. In-ho was offering his hand to you.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his outstretched palm, before finally placing your hand in his. His fingers curled around yours, firm yet gentle, as he helped you rise from the bed. Your legs wobbled the moment your feet touched the floor, but his steady grip anchored you.

Before you could sway again, he slid an arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer against his chest. The warmth of his body radiated through the fabric of his clothing, and you gawked at him in quiet astonishment. The unexpected tenderness of the gesture, the close proximity of your bodies, left you feeling strangely breathless.

In-ho met your gaze, his expression calm and reassuring. “Let's go. I'll help you to the bathroom so you can clean up.”

Without another word, he guided you across the room, his arm remaining securely around your shoulders. Your naked form was still wrapped in the heavy black blanket from his bed, the fabric trailing along the floor as you moved. Yet, he seemed utterly unbothered by it. If anything, his focus was solely on ensuring you remained steady on your feet.

The two of you made your way toward the bathroom in silence. Each step sent a dull ache through your body, a lingering reminder of the intensity from earlier. But with In-ho's arm keeping you steady, the exhaustion felt more bearable.

You stepped into the opulent black and gold bathroom, feeling the contrast between the cool marble floor and your warm skin. A long, polished black marble sink stretched along one side of the room, adorned with gold-trimmed mirrors that reflected the soft, ambient lighting. The walk-in shower stood enclosed by sleek glass doors, its golden fixtures gleaming under the soft illumination. In the far corner, a luxurious bathtub rested as if waiting to cradle someone in its warmth.

In-ho guided you toward the shower, his arm still loosely wrapped around your shoulders. Stopping just before the glass door, he cautiously released his hold on you.

“You should take a shower first,” he said gently. “Then we can have dinner together.”

You nodded quietly, shifting slightly under his gaze. Your fingers hesitated before finally loosening the grip on the blanket wrapped around your form. The cool air brushed against your bare skin, making you shiver slightly.

Without a word, In-ho peeled the blanket off of you and folded it before he placed it over the marble sink. His movements were calm but when he turned back, his gaze darkened. His eyes roamed over your form, the once-calm expression clouded with something deeper. Something raw. Lust and longing flickered in his face, restrained yet unmistakable.

Your breath hitched as you noticed the way he was looking at you, heat rising to your cheeks. You quickly averted your gaze, pushing open the shower door as a means of breaking the tension. Stepping inside, you took a moment to examine the golden fixtures, scanning for a way to turn the water on.

Before you could figure it out, In-ho followed you inside, his presence looming close behind.

“Here,” he murmured, stepping forward. His fingers brushed against yours briefly before he reached up, adjusting the settings on the panel.

“This controls the temperature,” he explained, demonstrating how to find the right heat. Then, turning a different handle, he activated the rainfall shower above, letting warm water cascade down in smooth, steady streams. “And this is for the pressure.”

You stood still as the heat of the water mixed with the heat of his body near yours. The tension between you was thick, tangible. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to focus on the shower rather than the man beside you.

In-ho studied you for a moment longer before stepping back, his gaze lingering on your form. His voice was barely audible above the sound of the rainfall shower as he said, “I'll be outside when you're ready.”

With one last fleeting glance, he exited the shower, closing the glass door behind him. As the steam from the hot water filled the room, it obscured your view of him through the glass. By the time you lifted your gaze, he was already gone.

Dinner was quiet, tension thick in the air. The black and gold-themed dining room, though elegant, felt stifling. Both of you wore matching black bathrobes, fresh from the shower, the scent of soap still lingering.

You ate slowly, your mind too preoccupied to focus on the food. Across the table, In-ho watched you, his dark eyes lingering. There was something restrained in his gaze. Something dark and lustful.

Once the meal ended, In-ho stood and gestured for you to follow. You hesitated but eventually rose, trailing behind him through the grand halls.

The walk to his bedroom felt slow. When you entered the dimly lit space, unease settled in your chest. You sat on the bed as In-ho turned to the door. Without hesitation, he reached for the lock and twisted it shut. The soft click echoed, sending a shiver down your spine.

The next thing you knew, you found yourself kneeling on the floor next to the bed, with him standing upright in front of you. You shyly licked his cock, all the while feeling the intensity of In-ho’s gaze on you. He took in a sharp breath as your tongue made contact, his hands instinctively finding your hair. His fingers tangled into the strands, grip firm yet not forceful.

“Suck,” he commanded softly but clearly. His usually deep voice had turned husky, desire glazing his eyes. You paused for a moment, meeting his gaze before taking him into your mouth. The salty taste was foreign to you but not entirely unpleasant.

In-ho’s body tensed as you did so. He threw his head back, a low groan escaping from his throat. Your fingers grazed against the thick veins on his cock, feeling the pulse throb beneath your touch.

You continued, your lips and tongue working around him. His grunts and moans were sporadic, filling the room with intoxicating sounds of pleasure. You found it arousing, the way he reacted to your ministrations, watched as he lost control bit by bit.

His grip tightened in your hair as you took him deeper, the pressure of his fingers a stark reminder of the power dynamic between you two. His other hand found its way to your cheek, his thumb gently stroking across it in a soothing manner as if to reassure you.

“Slow down,” he instructed, his voice strained. “Take your time.”

You took a moment to adjust your pace, watching his reaction as you did so. In-ho's eyes were half-lidded, his gaze burning into yours. The intense look sent shivers down your spine, stirring an unfamiliar sensation in your core.

He let out another low groan as you slowly pulled away, a thin trail of saliva connecting you two briefly before breaking. His grip in your hair loosened slightly as you moved to lick at the base. You didn't miss the way his breath hitched at the change in stimulation.

As you continued working, In-ho's hand moved from your cheek to your shoulder, then down to gently grasp one of your breasts through your bathrobe. The sensation of his warm hand cupping you so intimately made you squirm, the tingling feeling spreading out from your center. His thumb brushed your nipple through the fabric, his touch lingering and firm. You gasped around him, the unexpected stimulation making you moan.

In-ho grunted in response, his grip on your hair tightening again. He took a step forward, forcing you to take his cock deeper and look up at him. His eyes were glazed over with desire, his breath coming in ragged pants.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice quiet but firm.

You complied, meeting his intense gaze as your lips slid over him once more. The moan that slipped from his lips sent a thrill of satisfaction through you. Your hands gently gripped In-ho’s thighs for support, your head bobbing up and down as your lips slid over him.

The dim light from the lamp cast a golden glow on his skin, highlighting the way his muscles tensed and relaxed with each moan that escaped his lips. You could see the desire in his eyes, urging you to continue. His hand was tangled in your hair, his fingers gently pulling and directing your movements.

You could feel the heat between your bodies, your breaths coming in short pants as you worked to bring him to the edge of ecstasy. His body reacted to your every touch, his hips lifting in response and his chest rising and falling with heavy breathing. The sound of your soft gasps and moans mix with In-ho’s own pleasured moans.

The desire that filled the room was palpable, intoxicating. You could feel your own arousal building, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His grip tightened in your hair as he let out a low groan. Your tongue swirled around him, coaxing more sounds from his throat; each one was a reward, further igniting the heat within you.

“Good girl,” In-ho breathed, his voice laced with pleasure. The praise sent a wave of warmth through you, spurring you on.

Eager to please him further, you reached up with one hand to cup his balls gently. He groaned louder at the additional stimulation, his hips bucking slightly.

In-ho’s grip on your hair tightened as he pulled you deeper into his hard cock, his intense gaze meeting yours. His voice was husky with desire, his hands holding your head firmly, when he spoke. “Can I take over?”

You nodded, a shiver running through you at the thought of giving yourself completely to him. In-ho’s dominant side was a huge turn on for you. You felt both frightened and anxious since it was your first experience, but you appreciated him taking charge in this scenario.

Without a word, he began to move your head back and forth along his length, setting a rhythm that had you both moaning. You could feel yourself getting lost in the pleasure; the taste of him on your tongue, the sensation of his cock sliding against the skin of your mouth, the sounds of his moans filling the room, and the sensations coursing through your body. Your hands were now free to roam over his thighs and stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch.

His fingers gently guided your head up and down, his pace increasing slowly but surely. You could tell by the way his breathing became more erratic and his grip on your hair tightened even further that he was getting more and more aroused.

As he guided your head and movements, you gazed up at him with wide eyes, noticing that he was gradually losing control. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now burned with unbridled lust. The sight of this normally composed man unraveling before you sent a thrill of power and arousal through your body. His grip on your hair became nearly painful - yet pleasurable - as he started to thrust faster.

“F-fuck,” In-ho grunted, his voice strained and ragged.

You tried your best to relax your throat, taking him as deep as you could while continuing to work your tongue along his thick shaft. The room filled with the sickening sound of wet, sloppy sucking as he eventually used your mouth mercilessly for his pleasure. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all, but you didn't stop him. You didn’t want to.

His hips now moved with a mind of their own, slamming forward and forcing his throbbing cock deep into your mouth and down your throat. The tip kissed the back of your throat with each violent thrust, gagging you again and again as drool spilled down your chin. Tears streamed down your face from the intense treatment of your mouth. Yet through the haze of tears and pain, you saw his face contort in pure concentration, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead as he chased his pleasure.

Despite the punishing pace and force of his thrusts, he showed no signs of slowing down or stopping. His stamina seemed endless as he used you like a mere object for his selfish gratification. You felt like a toy, a set of warm, wet holes for him to rut into. The realization sent a sick thrill through you, knowing you were truly at his mercy.

Minutes passed in this manner, your jaw aching and throat raw as he fucked your face with reckless abandon. Just as you thought your jaw would give out and your throat could no longer take the brutal pounding, In-ho slammed his hips forward one final time.

Your eyes widened in shock as he sheathed his throbbing cock deep into your mouth, the bulbous head kissing the entrance to your throat as he hilted inside you. You felt his shaft pulse and throb against your tongue as he began to unload thick, hot ropes of semen directly into your gullet.

The first spurt caught you by surprise, causing you to gag and convulse around his plunging cock. But his grip on your hair never wavered as spurt after heavy spurt of his potent seed pumped into your throat, forcing your neck to swallow convulsively.

You could only whimper and moan around his softening member as he emptied his heavy balls deep in your mouth and throat. The sheer volume of his release surprised you. It seemed to go on forever, your neck bulging slightly with each fresh gush of jizz.

Finally, with a last shuddering groan, he finished, his softening cock slipping out of your abused mouth with a wet pop. Pearly drops of semen clung to your swollen lips before dripping down onto your heaving chest.

You placed a shaky hand on the floor to support yourself, coughing and sputtering as you tried to regain your breath. Your other hand remained pressed against your mouth, feeling the tacky remnants of his release coating your fingers. As you blinked away the tears, you became vaguely aware of In-ho's heavy breathing filling the otherwise silent room.

Seconds later, you felt him crouch down beside you, one large hand coming to rest gently on your back.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his usually deep voice now laced with concern and regret, “for being rough with you. I got carried away.”

His voice was genuine, filled with remorse and regret. You could see it in his eyes too, the way they softened as he took in your disheveled state. His hand gently rubbed your back in soothing circles, a stark contrast to the brutal way he had just used you. Despite the throbbing pain in your jaw and throat, a thin smile crept onto your face.

“It's okay…” you managed to rasp out in between coughs, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. “I let you, didn’t I?”

A look of shock crossed his handsome features before being replaced by a hesitant smile. With his hand still gently rubbing your back, he murmured, “You're really something else.”

You could feel yourself growing sleepy as exhaustion began to creep up on you, the adrenaline of your earlier activities slowly wearing off. Sensing this, In-ho was about to carry you into his bed when you extended your hand to stop him, keeping him from coming any nearer. He gave you a surprised look, clearly taken aback by your avoidance.

You shook your head to him as if reassuring him. “I just need to go to the bathroom.”

Afterward, In-ho kept his distance but never let you out of his sight. He trailed you to the bathroom and even assisted in washing your face. For someone his age, he appeared quite attached as if he wanted to soak up every moment in your company.

Before long, In-ho assisted you onto the bed and joined you there. He draped the blanket over both of you and gently drew you back against his chest, enveloping you in his comforting warmth. His strong arm encircled your waist securely, while his fingers leisurely traced gentle patterns on your bare skin, crafting a calming rhythm that eased you deeper into relaxation.

You assumed it was over, and it was – for that night. However, the following morning, you were stirred from sleep by the sound of heavy breathing behind you and felt a persistent firmness pressing against your bare backside beneath the blanket. Gradually, you became aware that In-ho was either becoming aroused or experiencing morning wood.

Before you could fully wake up, you felt a persistent pressure against your backside as In-ho shifted positions slightly. The next thing you knew, his large hand was gripping your hip firmly as he guided his hard, thick cock to nestle between your soft buttocks. Your eyes widened as he began to grind against you, his hips moving in a slow, teasing rhythm.

That’s when he stopped. You felt him inching closer to your ear and he groggily spoke, “You awake?”

You gave a shy nod, then reached back to hold his hip with one hand. He interpreted this as permission and started to move. You could only let out a soft gasp as he slipped his cockhead past your tight entrance, pushing insistently against the resistant ring of muscle. Your body instinctively clenched around him but his persistence won out as he slowly sank into your hot, velvety depths with a low groan of satisfaction.

In one swift, powerful thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as your body arched back against his chest. He didn't give you any time to adjust before he began to move, his hips drawing back until just the tip remained inside before slamming forward again, burying himself to the hilt.

He set a hard, deep pace as he pounded into you ruthlessly, his hand gripping your hip tightly enough to bruise. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans and grunts filled the room as he took his pleasure from your pliant body.

Despite the brutal treatment of your body, you found yourself pushing back against his every thrust, matching his rhythm instinctively. The sensation was too intoxicating, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that made your toes curl and spine tingle. Tears sprang to your eyes again from the sheer intensity of it all, but you merely moaned and whimpered it all out.

He wasn’t gentle, nor did he give you any respite. His thrusts were unrelenting and savage as he used your body to sate his need. But in an odd way, you relished the rawness of it all – the primal need that In-ho unabashedly expressed through his brutal lovemaking. You ended up loving his aggression and roughness.

Time seemed to blur as he continued to pump into you relentlessly, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. His thick cock stretched you open with each movement, filling you with an intensity that left you gasping for breath.

Next round later, you found yourself straddling In-ho's hips, his large hands gripping your waist tightly as you rode him with fervor. Your hair was a wild mess, sweat-dampened strands clinging to your flushed cheeks and neck. The room was filled with the rhythmic slap of skin against skin and the erotic sounds of your moans and his grunts echoing off the walls.

In-ho's eyes, dark and intense, watched you intently as you bounced on his thick cock. He seemed transfixed by the way your breasts jiggled with each movement, the creamy mounds glistening with a sheen of sweat. His grip on your hips tightened, guiding you to take him deeper and faster.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he grunted, his voice ragged and rough with lust. “So good taking my cock so well.”

His words sent a thrill through you, spurring you to ride him harder and faster. You could feel every thick inch of him stretching you open, filling you completely. The pleasure was almost too much to bear.

Your hips moved with a frenzied rhythm, bouncing on his lap as sweat dripped down your flushed skin. In-ho’s hands held onto your hips tightly as he thrust upwards to meet your movements. Each plunge sent a ripple of pleasure through your body, causing you to moan and writhe in ecstasy. His face was contorted with pleasure, his dark eyes watching every move as you took him deep inside you. Your bodies were slick with sweat and your moans filled the air, creating an erotic symphony that echoed throughout the room.

The room was filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, like the drumbeat of a wild and passionate dance. Wet squelching and slapping noises echoed throughout the room as In-ho's cock plunged into your semen-filled pussy again and again, his hips meeting yours with a primal rhythm. The sound of your moans and the slickness of your sweat adding to the intensity.

“Come on,” he commanded, his voice strained with impending release. “Use me. Come over my cock.”

Your eyes met his in a heated stare, the intensity of his gaze causing a spark of need to ignite within you. His words were a catalyst that incited your primal instincts, driving you to abandon any remaining inhibitions. With a desperate nod, you continued to grind against him, your movements growing more frantic until pleasure consumed your senses, making your eyes roll back and your mouth open in a silent scream.

His hands gripped your waist tighter as he thrust up ferociously, the rhythm wild and uncontrolled. The intensity was overwhelming, the pressure coiling tightly within you, pushing you both to the precipice of release. Just as you felt the impending rush of orgasm, he pulled you down hard onto his cock one final time.

“Now!” he growled commandingly. The command was all it took for your body to finally surrender to the waves of pleasure that washed over you. Your muscles tightened around him as an intense orgasm rocked through you, your cries echoing around the room.

Your body shuddered and convulsed, overcome by the explosive force of your climax. A scream of pure ecstasy tore from your throat as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you. Your inner walls clenched and fluttered around In-ho's throbbing cock, gripping him like a vice as your orgasm reached its peak.

But In-ho was far from satisfied. Even as you trembled and gasped through the aftershocks, he gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. With a feral growl, he slammed upwards, burying himself to the hilt inside your still-spasming pussy.

“Fuck, I'm not done with you yet,” he snarled through gritted teeth, his eyes wild and consumed with lust. He began to pound into you with renewed vigor, each powerful thrust shaking your entire body and forcing moans from your raw throat.

Despite the sensitivity of your overstimulated flesh, you found yourself meeting his rough thrusts eagerly, your hips undulating in tandem with his. The knowledge that he was still so hard, still so hungry for you, only fueled your own rekindled arousal.

Your hands rested on his damp chest, allowing him to take over. Even though he was beneath you, he wasn't losing control or submitting to you. Instead, he took control of your body and cunt all the time in complete dominance. His forceful and swift thrusts caused you to collapse onto his chest. As your bare chests brushed against each other, you gazed at him with half-closed eyes and parted lips.

Without warning, In-ho placed a hand on the back of your head and pressed his lips firmly against yours. Your tongues intertwined in a passionate dance as he continued to thrust into you repeatedly.

Lost in the throes of passion, you could only cling to him as he took you with wild abandon. Your nails dug into his chest, leaving red crescents in their wake as he drove into you relentlessly. Each powerful thrust sent jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through your sensitive nerve endings, stoking the fires of your rekindled arousal.

In-ho's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises as he slammed up into your still fluttering pussy. The wet, obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your desperate moans and his harsh grunts.

In-ho's hips snapped upwards sharply, burying himself to the hilt in your dripping heat. The head of his cock kissed your cervix, sending a bolt of pleasure zinging up your spine. You could feel him growing even harder, his member swelling and twitching inside your clinging sheath.

“Fuck… I’m… close!” he grunted, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust. His face was a mask of concentration, jaws clenched and eyes squeezed shut as he chased his rapidly approaching climax.

Suddenly, with a groan, he slammed into you one final time, grinding his pelvis against yours as his cock jerked and spasmed violently inside you. Searing hot ropes of his seed gushed from his pulsing member, painting your insides white as he emptied his heavy balls deep in your womb.

Panting heavily, you collapsed against In-ho's sweat-slicked chest as the last spurts of his release trickled inside you. His heart raced beneath your ear, matching the frantic pounding of your own. Slowly, you became aware of the hot, sticky fluid seeping out around his softening cock, dripping down to stain the sheets beneath you.

In-ho kept his arms wrapped around you possessively, holding your limp body against his as he caught his breath. His hands slid up and down your back soothingly, almost lovingly. He pressed soft kisses to your hair, your temple, your cheek, murmuring words of praise and apologies.

“I’m sorry… again… for being rough…” he murmured, his voice low and rough from exertion. “You’re amazing… thank you for trusting me…”

You could only hum softly in response, too spent and sated to form coherent words. Your body felt deliciously sore and used, every inch of your skin tingling from his touch.

***

Several hours later, after sharing a shower, you both found yourselves in his bedroom. In-ho was getting dressed in his Front Man outfit, while you, still wrapped in your black bathrobe, searched the room for something.

He noticed and pointed. “Your clothes are over there.”

You followed his gesture and saw black pants and a matching trench coat. It looked just like his outfit, but there was no geometric mask for you.

After a moment of hesitation, you asked, “Where’s my uniform?”

In-ho turned to you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His hair was still messy from the shower, hanging over his forehead. He looked you over before asking with a neutral expression, “What uniform?”

“My manager uniform,” you clarified.

He looked away, adjusting his coat. His posture stiffened as he responded, “You don’t need to disguise yourself as a manager anymore. You can stay here until the games are over.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you serious? You can’t keep me locked up here the entire time.”

“I’m not,” he said simply. He finished adjusting his coat and turned back to face you, his expression unreadable. “You’re safer here. You won’t have to worry about getting caught.”

You shook your head. “But I still want to wear the disguise.”

His gaze hardened. “You want to help them in the next game, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. He had figured it out instantly. He knew you were thinking about your friends – Jun-hee, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Yong-sik and his mother, Hyun-ju. Even Se-mi, who had been difficult to trust you, was on your mind.

Instead of confirming it, you asked, “Is that wrong?”

He stared at you with a conflicted expression. Something about this moment made him hesitate. It was as if there was something he didn’t want you to know.

“You can’t help much for the next game,” he finally said.

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. The statement confused you. Worry crept in as you thought about your friends, who were about to play the fifth game. If you couldn’t do anything, did that mean they were in serious danger? What kind of game was it that even a disguised manager couldn’t intervene?

You stared at him wide-eyed. “What’s the next game?”

In-ho looked at you like he had been expecting the question but dreaded it. He didn’t answer. His hesitation only fueled your curiosity.

“What is it?” you pressed softly.

He looked away, casting his gaze down. His jaw tightened as he seemed to struggle with himself. Finally, after a long pause, he admitted, “The next game is called ‘Why Did You Come to My House.’”

You frowned. You recognized that children’s game. It was a team-based competition where one side had to take over all the members of the other team to win. But something didn’t add up. How could a game like that lead to player eliminations?

A heavy silence settled between you. In-ho glanced at you, noticing your confusion. He quickly averted his gaze before speaking again, “The surviving players will be separated randomly into either the blue or red team.”

Without another word, he turned toward the door. You could tell there was more he wanted to explain, so you followed him. The next room was dimly lit, its centerpiece a mannequin dressed in a black suit with a golden animal mask covering its head.

In-ho stopped before the dressing table. He reached for a small bottle of men’s hair oil, pouring a little into his hands before combing his hair back neatly. The slicked-back style made his sharp features even more defined. As he worked, he continued his explanation.

“Before they are taken to the next game’s location, the players will queue in front of a giant gumball machine. Each player will take a turn and receive either a red or blue ball. They will be split into two teams, regardless of their X or O patch.”

In-ho set down the bottle of hair oil and glanced at you through the mirror. His expression remained unreadable, but there was an unease in the way he carefully adjusted his collar.

“How much do you know about Why Did You Come to My House?” In-ho asked.

“A lot,” you replied. “Players split into two teams. One person from each team plays rock-paper-scissors to decide who attacks first. The two teams then stand in parallel lines, holding hands. The game begins with the defending team moving forward singing the first line of the song while the attacking team steps back. Then the attackers step forward singing the second line. The defenders ask, ‘Which flower?’ and the attackers name a player to steal. That named player faces an opponent in rock-paper-scissors. If they lose, they move into the attacker's team. If they win, they stay. This continues until one team takes all the players.”

In-ho adjusted his hair, his fingers running through it as he gave a slight nod. “That’s right. But the rules are different this time.”

You swallowed hard. The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. “What’s changed?”

He turned to you, his expression sharp. “Players still form two teams, but now, each round, both teams pick one player to face off in rock-paper-scissors. The loser isn’t just switching teams anymore. They will be eliminated.”

Your breath caught. “Eliminated? As in…”

“Yes,” In-ho said. “They’re removed from the game entirely. The rounds continue until one team loses all its players. The survivors on the winning team move on.”

Silence settled between you. The game had transformed into something far more brutal. There would be no second chances, no coming back. Just win, or disappear.

The moment the words left In-ho’s mouth, a wave of emotions crashed over you. Shock paralyzed your body. Another simple childhood game turned into a merciless execution? Your stomach twisted as the reality of it set in. Your friends, the people you had fought to protect, would be forced into a game where their survival hinged on nothing more than a hand gesture. The thought made you feel sick.

But there must be some way to stop it. Some loophole, some hidden rule that could be exploited. But as you looked at In-ho’s face, the hardened gaze he wore like armor, you knew there was none. His silence only confirmed it.

You could imagine Jun-hee, her hands cradling her belly protectively as her soft eyes darted around. You thought of Gi-hun, his stubbornness keeping him upright even as fear gnawed at his resolve. Dae-ho, Jung-bae, Hyun-ju, Yong-sik, his mother. All of them, at the mercy of this game. A game where luck decided their fate.

Then came the sadness. A deep, suffocating grief at the thought of losing them. The bonds you had formed weren’t just for survival. They had become your family. And now, one by one, they would be taken from you. The worst part was knowing you could do nothing to stop it. You had never felt so powerless.

But beneath all that pain, another emotion burned hotter, stronger. Betrayal.

Your fists clenched, your nails digging into your palms as you turned to In-ho. The man who had sheltered you, who had given you a role that kept you safe, was the same man overseeing this massacre.

“How could you let this continue?” you demanded, your voice barely above a whisper, but laced with anger.

In-ho sighed before he looked away. “These are the rules. The games have to continue.”

“Not like this!” you snapped. “Not them! They don’t deserve this!”

He replied, his voice colder now, as he stared at himself in the mirror. “But the games go on regardless of what we think. Regardless of what I think.”

You took a step closer, forcing him to meet your glare through the mirror. “But you have the power to stop it.”

“It isn’t that easy,” he turned and looked back at you. “Do you think I own this room? That I started this place? Do you think I’m the only one pulling the strings?”

“You enforce it,” you shot back. “You make sure it happens. You wear that mask and pretend you don’t care, but you do. I know you do. I saw the way you cared about Jun-hee.”

For the first time, a flicker of something flashed across In-ho’s face. A crack in the carefully constructed armor he always wore. But it was gone in an instant.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” he said, his voice quiet. “This is not the first time a pregnant player participates. It won’t change anything.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “So you’ll just let them die?”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “That’s how this place works. That’s how it’s always worked everywhere.”

The words stung, but they weren’t enough to shake your fury. “And you’re okay with that?”

Silence.

That was all the answer you needed.

You took a step back, feeling the weight of the conversation settle on your shoulders. It was suffocating. You had thought, maybe foolishly, that In-ho still had some shred of humanity left. That beneath the mask and the cold exterior, there was a part of him that regretted all of this. Maybe there was. But it wasn’t enough.

“So…” you stared at him in disbelief and shock. “Gi-hun was right, after all. You saw us like horses. We’re just trashes to you.”

In-ho’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened slightly as if you had struck something deep within him. His usual unreadable expression faltered, the cracks in his composed mask growing more visible. He looked like he wanted to say something, but no words came. His lips parted, then pressed into a thin line, hesitation flickering across his face.

You glowered at him, the weight of everything suffocating. Without another word, you spun on your heel and marched into the bedroom. Your heart pounded as you scanned the room, searching for something. The floor was clean, no discarded clothes or signs of disorder. Your gaze landed on his study desk. There, neatly folded on the chair, was your square guard’s hot pink jumpsuit.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed it and swiftly started putting it on. Your movements were sharp, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and anger. You slid your legs in first, then pulled the sleeves over your arms. As you zipped it up, the door behind you creaked open.

“What are you doing?” In-ho’s voice carried disbelief and frustration.

You didn’t turn around. “I’m going back out there.”

“You can’t,” he said, stepping further into the room. “It’s too dangerous.”

You scoffed, adjusting the jumpsuit. “And it’s not dangerous for them? For Gi-hun, for Jun-hee, for the others? They don’t even have a choice, but I do. And I’m not staying here while they’re out there fighting for their lives.”

In-ho exhaled sharply. “The other guards will not stand by and let you ruin the games.”

Finally, you turned to face him. His hair was neatly slicked back. His expression was a storm of conflicting emotions. Anger, concern, something else buried beneath it all.

You asked pointedly, “But will they shoot me once they know who I am?”

He stayed silent, his gloved hands balling into fists at his sides.

“That’s what I thought,” you muttered, brushing past him toward the door. But before you could reach it, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

“Stop,” he said, his voice lower now, almost desperate. “You think you can handle this by yourself? Do you think you can stop games that have been operating for more than thirty years so easily? Stopping this place wouldn’t stop this operation completely.”

You yanked your wrist free. “Maybe not. But at least I won’t be watching from the sidelines while my friends die.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes dark with frustration. “If you get exposed, it will be hard for me to cover you.”

“I don’t care.”

He exhaled deeply as if trying to steady himself. “No matter what you do, don’t do anything rash. I care about you, but if you—”

“Then help me save them, please,” you pleaded, cutting him off.

“Them?” In-ho’s eyes narrowed as he regarded you. “Do you mean you want to save all of them? Even the ones who only care about themselves? Even someone like player 100?”

You fell silent, momentarily caught off guard by his reaction. It was in that instant you realized his defenses were beginning to crack, exposing a glimpse of the deeply held beliefs he had tried so hard to mask.

“I want to save whoever I can,” you said firmly.

In-ho scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s naive.”

He turned away for a moment as if trying to compose himself. Then, when he faced you again, his expression was steeled with something harsher. “Some of them deserve this.”

You frowned, unsure if you had heard him correctly. “Deserve what?”

“The games,” he stood rigidly as he observed your reaction, his voice taking on a colder edge. “You think everyone here is innocent? That they all got caught up in this unfairly? That’s not true. Some of them are here because of their own selfishness. Their greed. Their complete disregard for others."

He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “Do you know what player 100 did? He borrowed billions from desperate people, promising high returns, only to vanish with their savings. He destroyed families. And player 226? He pushed his own brother into ruin just to escape his own debt, but still it isn't enough for him. Tell me, do they deserve your sympathy?”

You hesitated.

“People like them,” he continued, his voice laced with conviction, “are the reason this world is broken. They climb over others, they exploit, they lie, and when they fall, they expect to be saved. Why should you risk yourself for them?”

You stayed quiet, giving him space to speak. You wanted to see what was hidden behind his guarded expressions, to understand his views and the way he managed these games. You had fallen for Oh Young-il, but you still needed to know more about Hwang In-ho. The man behind the mask. The enforcer of the rules.

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down, pushing forward.

“Then what about me?” you asked, your voice steady despite the unease in your chest. “Am I a trash in your eyes too?”

In-ho stiffened. His jaw clenched, his fingers curling into his palms. His breath came slower, heavier as if you had struck something deep within him. For a long moment, he didn’t respond, and the air between you felt heavier than ever.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re different.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“How so?” you asked, your voice softer now, wary of his answer.

In-ho’s gaze wavered just slightly. “You…"

Your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened, anticipation shimmering in them like a reflection of the truth you had been waiting to hear. It felt like the answer was right there, hanging in the air, waiting to be spoken. A confirmation of something unspoken yet deeply felt. It felt like this answer would determine everything – whether you could trust him, whether there was a future for the two of you at all.

But just as the moment reached its breaking point, a sharp, static crackle interrupted it. The radio inside In-ho’s coat pocket buzzed to life, and the distorted voice of the masked officer cut through the heavy silence.

“Captain, the VIPs have arrived.”

The words shattered the fragile space between you like glass meeting concrete. In-ho’s expression stiffened instantly, the vulnerability in his eyes vanishing behind a hardened mask. He reached into his coat, pulling out the radio, his grip tightening around it as if bracing himself.

He pressed the button and told through the radio, “Understood. I will be there.”

He put away the radio and turned to you. “They’re here earlier than expected. I have to go.”

The abrupt shift left you feeling unsteady as if the ground beneath your feet had tilted. The moment that had almost happened between you was gone, yanked away by the cruel reality of where you both stood.

In-ho walked back toward the door and said without looking back, “Stay here.”

You glared at his back, frustration boiling inside you. Like hell you were going to sit here while your friends fought for their lives. Without a second thought, you grabbed your manager mask from the table and followed him out into the hallway.

As you caught up, you saw him raise his Front Man mask and fit it over his face, the sharp angles making him look as unreadable as ever. You stood behind him and said with a firm tone, “There’s no way I’m standing aside and watching my friends die.”

He didn’t stop moving. Your voice remained low yet insistent as you added, “Is there something you can do? Anything? Can you let them live even if they get eliminated?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned around and kept walking. He exited the dressing room and into the hallway. You followed him like an aimless kitten. His silence dragged the tension between you to its breaking point.

You wanted to grab his arm, force him to stop, but something about the way he carried himself told you that he was already at war with whatever answer he would give.

Suddenly, he halted in the middle of the hallways. It’s as if he knew that you were following him and would not stop unless he gave a clear answer.

He let out a slow breath and spoke up, voice distorted and robotic behind that mask. “If I do that, it will go against everything I enforce in these games.”

You frowned, frustration simmering beneath your skin. You took a step closer until you stood right beside him. With his body still facing the door and yours facing him, you asked, “What exactly do you uphold in these games?”

He turned his head slightly, just enough so you could see the sharp lines of his mask in the dim light.

“Fairness,” he said. “Equality. Players and guards alike. The rules apply to everyone.”

You exhaled, the ache in your chest growing heavier. “But this is different. Their lives matter too. Couldn’t you change that? Just this once? Just for them only.”

You hesitated before continuing, your voice barely above a whisper as you counted your friends who were still playing. “Jun-hee, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Yong-sik and his mother, Hyun-ju, Se-mi, and also Myung-gi. Couldn’t you hide them if they get eliminated, and just let the O players finish the games.”

Silence stretched between you. In-ho stood still, his masked face tilted slightly downward as if staring at you. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He simply watched you, the stillness making your heart pound harder. Was he considering it? Was there a part of him that wanted to agree?

Seconds passed. Then a minute.

You held your breath, waiting for something. Anything. The soft hum of distant machinery filled the space, but all you could focus on was him. The way he was standing. The way his head was slightly bowed as if your words had reached a place within him that even he wasn’t sure existed anymore.

Then, finally, he inhaled slowly.

“If I do that,” he said at last, his voice low, careful, “I put everything at risk. Myself. The structure. The rules that keep this place from falling apart.”

You swallowed hard. “But what happens if you don’t? What happens when you watch them die, knowing you could’ve done something?”

A flicker of hesitation. You saw it in the way his posture shifted, in the way his fingers twitched ever so slightly at his sides. He had thought about this before. Maybe not about your friends specifically, but about something like this. About the cost of playing his role.

“I don’t have the luxury of questioning these things,” he finally muttered.

You stepped closer, your voice softer now, almost pleading. “Then why are you hesitating?”

He turned fully to face you now. “Because you’re asking me to break the rules. To compromise everything I’ve built to keep order.”

“And I’m asking you to remember that you’re human.”

Another silence stretched between you. You could feel it crackling in the air, the tension thick and suffocating. He was fighting something inside himself, something he didn’t want to admit.

For the first time since you had known him, he looked at you in long silence as if he wasn’t sure of himself. As if, just maybe, you had found the one crack in his armor that he had spent years trying to keep hidden.

And you wanted to put more cracks in his wall. Stepping closer, you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze with wide, unwavering eyes. The height difference made you appear smaller, but there was nothing fragile about the way you spoke. Your voice was soft, yet edged with something sharp.

“If you can’t do anything, then fine,” you said. “But if they die, I will hate you.”

In-ho remained silent. He took in the restrained fury burning behind your eyes, the way your body stood tense, ready to pounce like a mother cat protecting her own.

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. “Is this who you want to be? A man who lets people die because everyone is like a trash to him? A man who stands by and watches when he could’ve made a difference?”

Still, no answer. You shook your head.

“I refuse to believe you’ve lost every part of yourself,” you said. “The man I see now… the one who hesitates, who lingers on my words… he is not a machine. He is not just a mask. And I don’t think he wants to be.”

Silence stretched between you.

His posture remained rigid, but his breathing had changed. A fraction deeper. A fraction slower. Like something was unraveling inside him, thread by thread.

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to answer. You didn’t know if your words got through his wall – his mask. But you couldn’t linger here any longer. Your friends’ lives mattered more.

Reaching for your manager mask, you pulled it over your face, the smooth surface cool against your skin. Without another word, you turned and strode toward the elevator. You pressed the down button, and almost immediately, the doors slid open.

Stepping inside, you turned around just in time to see him still standing in the same spot, unmoving. He looked frozen in place as if caught between the choice of letting you go and calling you back.

Then, just as the elevator doors began to close, the radio in his coat crackled to life.

“Captain, the VIPs are looking for you,” came the masked officer’s distorted voice from the other end.

The last thing you saw before the doors shut was In-ho, his body stiffening at the summons. And then he was gone, swallowed by the mechanical whir of the elevator descending.

***

You were in a storage room somewhere within the game management facility. Your mask was off, clutched tightly in your hand. Sweat clung to your skin, making strands of hair stick to your face. You stared at the floor, lost in thought, your mind racing through everything you had just learned.

“So that’s the next game,” Gyeong-seok murmured, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

You had managed to find him and 011 among the sea of soldiers. 011, ever the cautious one, had led you both to this storage room, away from prying eyes.

You had told them everything you knew – or almost everything. You had carefully left out certain details: the true identity of the Front Man, his past as player 001, and most importantly, your involvement with him. Some things were too dangerous – and embarrassing for you – to reveal.

011, her own mask discarded on the table beside her, exhaled. Her dark hair clung to her skin just like yours as she said, “I’m surprised he told you that much.”

“Is there any loophole to save them?” you asked, voice tight with urgency. If anyone knew the inner workings of the games well enough to find an opening, it was her.

011’s gaze flickered, scanning your expression before she responded. “This game had been played twice throughout my years here. The way I see it... I think we can't do much.”

You and Gyeong-seok were stunned, the color draining from your faces as her words sank in. The latter straightened slightly from the wall and said, “Are you sure?”

She lowered her gaze, unable to meet his forlorn expression. With a heavy sigh, she said, “In this game, the soldiers shoot the players who lose rock, paper, scissors on the spot, just like in the Seven-Legged Hexathlon and the Open, Dongdaemun game. We can't change that. If some soldiers discreetly lead certain players to an isolated area for an out-of-sight elimination, it would raise too many questions.”

You lowered your gaze, staring at the floor, your mind racing for any possible way to save your friends. The more you thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. Every scenario ended the same way. With them being forced to play, with them losing, with them being gunned down in front of everyone.

Hopelessness settled into your bones. You felt so small, so powerless. It was suffocating. But you couldn’t accept it. There had to be a loophole somewhere. A flaw in the system. Something they hadn’t accounted for. You just had to find it.

Just as despair threatened to take over, 011 spoke up, “But there is a way…”

Your head snapped up, and Gyeong-seok turned sharply, both of you staring at her with wide, hopeful eyes. She hesitated, her gaze flickering between you both before she looked away. The weight of what she was about to say was clear in her hesitation.

“What is it?” Gyeong-seok asked in a hopeful tone.

011 let out a heavy sigh, crossing her arms. “There’s an underground cave that leads to the ocean below us. Dive packs and oxygen tanks are stored there already. If I can make it there, I’ll swim to the nearest island and find help.”

You blinked, trying to process what she had just said. “Wait… there’s a way off this place?”

She nodded. “Yes. But it’s not simple. While the access to get there is easy, CCTVs are everywhere. If I’m caught in the live feed, the masked officer or the Front Man will be alerted.”

Gyeong-seok narrowed his eyes. “That's risky.”

011 met his gaze, her expression firm. “It is. But there is another access to get there. It's in the kitchen. But workers are regularly passing that room.”

You perked up. “Workers?”

011 nodded to you. “Yes, workers. This is where you could divert their attention as a manager.”

You swallowed hard, the idea beginning to take shape in your mind. “How far is the swim?”

“Roughly two kilometers,” she answered. “It won’t be easy, but there are dive packs.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of her out in open water, alone, with no guarantee she would make it. But what other option did you have? Staying meant watching your friends die one by one. Leaving meant at least trying to fight back.

Gyeong-seok stepped closer to 011, his voice firm. “I’ll come with you.”

011 seemed taken aback. “No. You stay here.”

“It is unsafe for you in the open ocean alone,” he insisted, locking eyes with her. “I will go with you.”

011 stared at him with quiet intensity, her hard gaze softening into doe-eyes for him. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was an unspoken tension between them. While 011 had always kept her distance from both you and Gyeong-seok, it suddenly became clear. There was a reason she had chosen to save him in the first place. It was thanks to him that she saved you too.

Finally, 011 turned to you. “Will you be okay staying here alone?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Yes. You two just go ahead. I will do whatever I can to keep them safe.”

With that, the plan was set.

011 led you toward the kitchen, guiding you through the corridors like she knew them by heart. As she had said, workers swarmed the kitchen, moving in and out like a colony of ants. The scent of food filled the air, mingling with the tension thick in your chest.

You straightened your posture, adopting the authoritative presence of a manager. With short, clipped orders, you directed the circle guards away, telling them to fetch supplies elsewhere. They obeyed without a question. Soon, the kitchen was empty, save for you, 011, and Gyeong-seok, now in disguise.

011 wasted no time. She turned off the lights, plunging the room into a dim haze. You locked the doors behind you, ensuring no one would walk in unexpectedly. Then, she and Gyeong-seok pushed a massive freezer away from the wall, the heavy metal scraping against the tiled floor.

Behind it was a crawl-sized hole, just big enough for a person to slip through.

“This is it,” 011 said, turning to you. “Please wait for us. We will alert the authorities as fast as possible.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Be careful.”

She nodded wordlessly before slipping through the hole, Gyeong-seok following close behind. Under 011's guidance, he grabbed the chain tied to the back of the freezer and pulled it back into its original position.

You exhaled slowly, turning back toward the locked door. Now came the hardest part: waiting.

***

You had returned to the control room, hands moving over the monitor as you operated the live feeds. Only the masked officer stood supervising the room, overseeing the overall operation. As you worked, your gaze occasionally flicked to the dormitory’s feed.

The players had just woken up. Your eyes scanned for your friends, and soon, you noticed a gathering. A small crowd had formed around one bed in the X zone. Your stomach tightened.

Before you could observe longer, the elevator chimed. The sound made your shoulders stiffen. You turned slightly, just enough to see the doors slide open, revealing Hwang In-ho clad in his full Front Man attire. His presence alone made the air in the control room heavier. He stepped out, surveying the space with his usual scrutiny. Instinctively, you looked away, forcing your attention back on the feeds, watching as pink guards moved through the halls.

You could feel his gaze lingering on you. It burned through your back, making every movement at your console feel heavy and scrutinized.

You couldn’t believe you had slept with him… multiple rounds. You had slept with the overseer of this whole operation. You pursed your lips to a thin line beneath your manager mask and mused, Gosh, you really are a whore.

“What’s the status on the players’ breakfast?” In-ho finally spoke in his deep, distorted voice behind that mask.

The masked officer, standing near the main monitors, turned toward him. “They are ready to be distributed.”

In-ho gave a curt nod. “And the next game’s preparations?”

“Everything is on schedule,” the masked officer responded. “We expect to begin at the designated time.”

Before In-ho could reply, static crackled through the masked officer’s radio. “Officer, we have a situation in the dormitory.”

Both the Front Man and the masked officer turned their attention to the monitors. You stole another glance at the live feed, your heart pounding faster. The cluster of players in the X zone had grown, figures moving frantically around the same bed.

“What is it?” the masked officer asked.

The guard on the other end hesitated for a moment before replying, “It appears a player is giving birth.”

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

Jun-hee is giving birth.

SFW ver. : Chapter 18.1

NEXT : Chapter 19

PREV : Chapter 17.2

Story Masterlist

Thank you for the warm wishes, everyone! I am still a bit ill which is odd because a normal fever usually lasts for 3-4 days for me but now it still persists albeit very vaguely. But I've taken medicines and all so I will be fine. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! What do you think about In-ho's flashback and P.O.V? Did I make him OOC? Is the length of that flashback good enough? Then, what about In-ho's care for you after your lovemaking? And that's not the end of it. What's your thoughts on you and him doing lovemaking again... multiple rounds? Did you expect that or was surprised? And what about your confrontation with him? He told you about the fifth game. Do you know where I got that Why Did You Come To My House game details from? And oh, what about 011 and Gyeong-seok going to the underground cave and leaving the place to find help? Do you think it will happen that way in the third season? Finally, what do you think about Jun-hee giving birth at this moment? Considering there have been signs and tells in the series that she was due, it is predicted that she would give birth in this place. 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!

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

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho fanfic #in ho #the front man #player 001 #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #front man x reader #front man x you

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siddyyyyyyyy · 2 days ago

Text

Desperation Bruce Wayne x fem!Reader

MDNI wc: 1.8K warnings: smut, softdom!bruce, p in v, light spanking (?), praise, was too lazy to write the aftercare, so just imagine it summary: Bruce gets frustrated at the charity event and eventually takes it out on you once you are home. a/n: divider (@saradika-graphics), i felt myself cringe while writing this, and that usually means that i did well. but still, im sorry if it's too cheesy or unrealistic, i did my best to give you my vision😖

You know that Bruce despises events like these, too many rich people who never had to work a single day in their life, who always try to brag to him about the most unimpressive stuff, or try to have intelligent conversations about economics or social studies. It‘s all the same stuff as well, it‘s always the same ‘intelligent‘ discoveries these people try to tell him about. Fortunately, you only had to hear about Bruce complains and never had to fave these people on your own. Unfortunately, you convinced your husband to tag along with him tonight.

You didn‘t expect for a lot of people to approach the both of you, but it still happened, as Bruce is used to. But when they did, they never really acknowledged you. The very least someone did acknowledge you, was to simply give you a side glance before continuing to ‘subtly‘ brag about about how many cars he has.

Bruce‘s hand stays at its familiar place, around your waist, giving you an occasional squeeze. The squeezes become more frequent as the people around the round table keep talking to him, not giving him a chance to even steal a sip of his drink. You notice his growing frustration, even when he hides it well. The guests around the ball room are chatting amongst themselves, creating a bubble of mixed conversations, together with the subtle scent of alcohol and different perfumes. No doubts, expensive.

Finally, Bruce has a brilliant idea, and excuses the two of you from the table, before standing up and walking to the middle of the dance area.

»All this talk about money and expensive models gets on my nerves… they don‘t even bother talking about the topic of today‘s event.« He murmurs lowly as he smoothly glides you along with him, one hand holding yours, the other propped up against the curve of your waist.

You chuckle softly in return, studying his tired features, »I know... they actually make me feel like an intelligent person for once.«

Bruce expression softens finally, keeping his eyes glued to you.

»You are intelligent… even if it‘s not hard to be smarter than them.« He can‘t help but tease lightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. You pinch his shoulder in return, crinkling his perfect suit slightly.

Your peaceful dance under the classical music from the romantic era gets interrupted as a rather old man approaches the both of you, wearing a rich smile on his face. Bruce‘s expression falls immediately, reluctantly stopping the dance, even though he selfishly wants to keep going and ignore everyone else. But that would be childish, too.

»I sincerely apologise for interrupting your wonderful dance, but I was wondering...«

Your husband restrains himself from letting out the most annoyed sigh ever, keeping himself composed in front of the unfamiliar man. Maybe another economics man, ready to ramble his ears off about nothing other than his spendings on money and begging for Bruce‘s opinion about his decisions.

You watch them interact with a faint smile, knowing very well about your husband‘s annoyance, noticing his jaw clench every now and then. Luckily, the older men steps away, leaving you alone.

»He could‘ve just… nevermind.« Bruce sighs out, not bothering to curse him out, considering you are both still at a public event. He shakes his head lightly and focuses his gaze back on you, expression growing less guarded. »Ready to leave? It‘s getting late.«

You can‘t deny his offer, getting sick of the sticky air inside the ballroom as well. Bruce feels more than reliefed once you step out of the large, barouque building, approaching the car, where Alfred‘s already sitting inside, waiting to drive you both home.

◖

Once inside, Bruce gets rid of his tie and hangs up his suit jacket, before he finally turns his full attention to you. You just got rid of your high heels and can‘t wait to slip into bed to give your feet a break, but once you glance at Bruce, you‘re sure this won‘t be happening anytime soon.

»I don‘t know ‘bout you, but this evening made me really worked up...«

He slurs out quietly while taking some steps closer to you, secretly hoping you feel the same way. He doesn‘t need to hope though, because you‘d be happy to provide him in anything. You nod in response, letting him come closer and almost close the gap between you both.

»Oh, definitely… but I kinda enjoyed seeing you frustrated for once.« You smirk up at him, a mischivous glint in your eyes. It makes him shakes his head lightly in return, although the corners of his lips curl up slightly.

»Cheeky,« he exhales softly before pulling you closer by your hip, gently connecting your lips into a sweet kiss. Your hand props up at his chest, curling around the cool fabric while Bruce deepens the kiss. He makes you tilt your head, his larger hand resting by the nape of your neck.

It takes a lot in him not to finish what he started in the hallway, but he eventually breaks the kiss and takes steadying breaths, his eyes trained on you like a prey.

Your back hits the door as soon as you reach your master bedroom, making you huff out softly. Bruce doesn‘t waste his time to attack your neck with open-mouthed kisses and light bites, working his way down to the column of your throat, and down to your collarbones. A quiet hiss escapes you as you feel his bites become harsher, probably enough to create faint marks the next day. Your hands desperately clinge to his shoulders, one at the back of his neck, keeping him close while keeping you steady on your feet. A soft growl escapes him, seeming impatient. His hands finally stop roaming over you curves, picking you up by the back of your thighs. He sets you up against the next furniture, his moves being rushed and needy. Due to his rushed demeanor, he placed you down on the surface of the dresser messily, making you shift to be more comfortable on it.

»Sorry, I… I didn‘t hurt you, right?« He catches his breath as he takes you in on top of the dresser, noticing your flushed demeanor.

»I‘m all good, just didn‘t expect this,« you answer, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. Bruce grows smug at your action, letting himself be pulled close again. His breath fans against you before he nuzzles to your neck. You feel a gentle tap at your thigh, his voice coming out low and commanding.

»C‘mon… spread,«

A light shiver goes through your spine, listening to his words without a single thought in your head. He settles in once your legs allow him to, pushing your evening dress a little more up.

You feel his cool hands trace your body until one of them travels down to your middle, gently rubbing and starting to work you up further. A breathy sigh leaves your lips before Bruce crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing all of your sounds. You weakly grip to his upper arm, supporting yourself as best as you can. His hand quickens its pace against your core through your lacy panties, making your brain melt. Your lips part further as your mind goes slack, allowing him to deepen the kiss and rub slow circles against your tongue with his.

A quiet whine leaves you as he suddenly stops, breaking the kiss too.

»Sorry, darl‘… patience.« He mumbles softly as he starts to undo his belt, keeping his hazy eyes trained on your face. You grow hotter under his eyes, trying to rub your thighs together again, but it‘s impossible with him between your legs. A faint smirk tugs at his lips, dragging his teeth against his bottom lip once his pants finally fall down.

Your eyes fall to his boxers, noticing the light patch on the front. Without further hesitation, Bruce‘s boxer briefs get pulled down, mixed with a quiet groan from his side.

He leans in again, his hot skin pressing against yours, feeling like you‘ll melt any second. You feel the way his lips trace along the side of your neck while he gently teases you, feeling his tip nudge against the outside of your panties. Your hand shoots out to hold onto him again, settling against his shirt as you grip tightly on him.

Having had finally enough of it, he pushes your panties to the side and dives in, being as gentle as he can, even in his desperate state. You tense up at the sensation, not used to his size, due to the busy lives of you both.

»Shh… it‘s okay. I‘ve got you,« Bruce gently shushes you and wrap his arms around your torso, keeping you close against him as he continues to gently drive in further.

You slowly relax again and regain your breath, keeping a tigh grip against his shirt. Once he bottoms out, you can‘t help but tremble slightly, being overwhelmed with the hotness and full feeling he provides. You nod against his shoulder, giving him the final sign for him to start out properly.

His rhythm starts out slow and sensual, but it quickly evolves into a quicker and rougher pace. He drives more urgently into you, trying to be gentle at the same time. The strokes are deep, knocking the breath out of your lungs. He adjusts his grip on you, changing the angle lightly as he continues to shove his hips against yours, not giving you a break.

The room fills with soft flaps from skin slapping against skin, your breathy moans mix with his deep groans, making the scene more erotic than it already is. The sensations finally start to kick in, making your breath hitch. He notices the slight shift in you, knowing it won‘t take long for you to come undone before him.

He leans back a bit to watch your face, his hands keeping a firm grip on your hips as he pushes himself into you even harder than before. Your eyes roll back, moans growing higher in pitch. He relieshes in the way you melt because of him, the way you look like you are losing your mind, all because of him.

He groans and a possesive feeling overcomes him, making his hips snap rougher against yours. Sure enough, your climax comes in after a few final thrusts, his jaw going slack as he feels how tightly you squeeze him.

His pace doesn‘t die down, if anything, he‘s trying to speed up a little further. It‘s not until he feels himself grow closer to the edge until he pulls out and continues to drive himself to pleasure with his fist. You hear him moan out softly and nestle his head against your shoulder once he finishes, white spurts of his cum painting your panties white. You run your hand along his back in a soothing motion, helping him calm down too. He comes down faster than you, meeting his eyes again after catching his breath.

»Let‘s clean ya‘ up… did so well for me.« He mutters as he rubs your upper thighs, eventually picking you back up into his arms and walking to the attached bathroom.

←MASTERLIST

#dc comics #x reader #batfam #drabble #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne x you #batman x reader #dc #dcu #fem reader #smut drabble #fanfiction writer #im not used to write smut please be kind #i couldn't bring over my heart to make him rough so this is the best you'll get #writers on tumblr

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wolls-angel · 2 days ago

Text

୨୧ ‧₊˚ hockey song (cover) - Offside AU ˚₊‧ ୨୧

pairing: j. woll x popstar!reader summary: Y/N is in Toronto to meet her best friend's new boyfriend and they go to one of his games. Little does she know a certain goalie is captivated by her. lyrics: Oh! The good ol' Hockey game / Is the best game you can name / And the best game you can name / Is the good ol' Hockey game word count: 1.4k warning(s): pure fluff, not proof read notes: yayyyyyy first chapter of Offside !! so excited to finally share this with you all. i hope you enjoy !! xoxo fun fact: ik this song by heart. offside masterpost - next chapter

You hear a high pitched squeal come from behind you and immediately know exactly who is standing there. Iris Bennett, your best friend since... well, forever. You turn around and open your arms to invite her in for a hug. It has been 7 horrible months without your best friend, but now you are here, in Toronto, to play a show and (more importantly) meet Iris' new boyfriend.

When Iris told you she met someone you never thought it would be a hockey star. "His name is William Nylander. Look him up, Y/N" and you did. Tall, handsome, blonde. You understood why she liked him. But you wanted to meet him. It just so happened that you had booked Scotia Bank Arena the day after the Leafs were scheduled to play there, so Iris Invited you to the game as her plus one.

She ran into you at full force, "I missed you!!". She was a little taller than you with shorter blonde hair and the kindest eyes you could ever imagine. You lose your balance for a second but she stabilizes you.

"I missed you too, Iris," she pulls away, "How have things been?". All she does is smile and cover her mouth, as if she's trying to hide her excitement, "Amazing! Y/N, you have to meet Willy. He's amazing and so sweet and so funny and just the perfect guy". You smile at her excitement. She hasn't spoken this way about a man in a very long time.

"I'm happy for you, babe," you look around and notice how people are starting to recognize who you are, "Time to go to the hotel?"

"Yeah".

The drive to the hotel is filled with giggles and gossip as you tell Iris about your breakup with Milo and her first few months of dating William, who she lovingly refers to as Willy.

The Leafs management had been very kind in arranging your accommodations for staying in Toronto, in exchange for an appearance at a game. Your publicist, Janine, agreed but only if you could steal a player the next night for your show. So... everyone was happy.

You were staying in the Royal York, a gorgeous old hotel right across from the arena where you would be attending the game and playing your show. The staff seemed nice and they were able to bring all your luggage to your room no problem. When you got to the hotel room, there was a box on the bed with a card beside it. You drop your purse and open the card.

ANGL, We are so pleased you will be joining us for our game against the Anaheim Ducks tonight. As a token of our appreciation for your work and talent, we hope you will wear this bedazzled and signed Joseph Woll jersey. We are excited to see you at the game. ~ Leafs Management

You smile and open the box. Just like the card said, there is a bedazzled blue Leafs home jersey. Of course you decide to wear it. How could you say no?

The gossip between you and Iris continues as you get ready for the game together. Normally WAGs don't wear their man's jersey or sit in the front row, but Iris wasn't going to make you do all the fan stuff on your own. She put on her jersey, reading Nylander 88 on the back, and a pair of crisp blue jeans to match.

"He did what?" Iris' jaw drops as you nod, finishing your makeup. "Seriously, I can't believe you didn't leave him sooner... What an asshole. Telling you to lose weight because it would be bad for him to have a fat girlfriend? He's just self conscious he couldn't lift you up at Disney". You let out a giggle at that comment. You see Iris check her watch in the mirror and she says, "Shit, girl, you need to change. We're gonna be late and I told Willy I'd get you there for warm ups".

"Perfect timing, because makeup is done," you swipe the last bit of lipgloss on your lips and put the tube in your purse. Iris hands you the jersey. It fits well. Kinda oversized, which you like. You fix your hair and sigh. You didn't even look up who this Woll guy is. What if he's some controversial guy who has a criminal record and is barely being kept out of jail? What if he beats his girlfriend?

"Come on, Y/N, we need to go!" Iris yells from the other room. You slip on your black leather platform boots and grab your purse, following Iris out the door.

Scotia Bank Arena is already bouncing with excitement when you arrive. The Leafs are all on the ice and skating around, warming up. You take your seat and number 88 immediately comes up to the boards, waving at Iris. She waves back and then points to you. You wave and smile. That must be William. He waves and mouths "nice to meet you" before blowing a kiss at Iris and skating away.

Thirty seconds later, another guy, number 23, comes up to the board. He waves at Iris and shoots you a wink before continuing on his way. You laugh at the gesture and ask Iris, "Who was that?". "Matthew Knies. Young guy, very nice. I can introduce you if you want..." Iris shrugs against you and wiggles her eyebrows. "Stop that," you playfully hit her thigh. Then, you hear a horn. The game is starting.

The game is exciting. Leafs score. Leafs powerplay. Offside. Ducks score. Leafs score. Leafs score. Ducks penalty. Icing. Fight. Leafs score. Two minutes to the end of the 3rd and its 4-1 Leafs. The arena is buzzing. Your leg is bouncing and you are holding Iris' hand for dear life.

The whistle blows and the man over the speakers shouts, "We forgot to mention a little surprise for all you music lovers in the crowd tonight. Please give a warm Toronto Maple Leafs welcome to popstar, ANGL!". The crowd roars as the camera pans to you and Iris. You wave and blow kisses up to it, smiling sweetly.

The Leafs goalie turns to look at you while tapping his stick on the ice as if to clap before getting into position for the face off. This is exciting. Ducks empty net. Pumped up crowd and thirty second left in the game. The ref drops the puck and the Ducks captain wins the faceoff, shooting it at the goal. The goalie males the save and there is a path. He gives it a good hit and it travels down the ice, into the Ducks net. The whistle blows signalling the game is over and the announcer says, "Leafs win 5-1 annnndddddd Joseph Woll with his first goal of the season, unassisted!". The arena erupts in cheers and you even hear people chanting "And after allllllll, you're my Joseph Wolllllllll" (like Wonderwall by Oasis).

The rest of the Leafs line up to give the goalie, or Woll, a hug before they all file off the ice. You get up to leave but Iris tells you, "No, wait, we have to see who are the three stars of the game," so you sit back down. The announcer begins, "And now, your stars of the game! Third star of the game, from your Toronto Maple Leafs, number 88, William Nylander," the crowd cheers and Iris jumps up and down, screaming. William skates onto the ice and gives his stick to a young boy in the front row across the ice from the bench.

"Second star of the game, from the Anaheim Ducks, number 11, Trevor Zegras". There is very little applause from the audience and Zegras doesn’t even come on the ice. "Finally, the first star of the game, from you Toronto Maple Leafs, number 60 Joseph Woll." The crowd cheers again and Woll skates onto the ice. He turns towards you and smiles, tossing his stick over the glass to give you. He mouths "nice jersey" and skates away.

You can feel your cheeks heat up and you look at Iris, whose mouth is hanging open. "What?" you ask her. "Nothing, nothing. Just seems like a song worthy moment, you know?". You laugh. Maybe it is. All you know is you'll be going to a lot more hockey games from now on.

*ur.angel has added a post*

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berrybore · 2 days ago

Note

I 100% agree that canon Sally made choices against Percy’s best interest at times but I don’t necessarily think Gabe was one of them.

Let me explain, we do know that Sally knew about Poseidon and camp, there’s a very really possibility that she also knew about the prophecy to an extent. As in, she must have known her son would be in a crazy amount of danger just for being born. We know from the text that Poseidon waited until the last moment he could before claiming Percy, until his powers essentially revealed to the whole camp who he was. That’s how dangerous it was for him to be found out.

I really don’t think Percy should have been raised at camp, that fact that he had a well-meaning, loving mother is one of the biggest things that set him apart from Luke.

I do think she should have sent him to camp earlier than she did but not years earlier like maybe you were suggesting. I also agree that it was an inherently selfish decision to keep him close. She certainly didn’t do him any favors by sending him away to boarding school after boarding school where he was always the new kid, always harassed, and even physically punished by the teachers in one of them (staff of Hermes).

She was in an impossible situation and she made choices purely out of survival not stability or safety cause they had neither. But this way he wouldn’t be outright killed. But Percy is a child and he needs both, so he grows up with low self esteem, neglected, abused emotionally and physically, and without a single friend in the world with how often he changes schools. He can’t talk to his mother either because she’s a little in denial and when Percy asks hard questions she gets emotional, and he feels guilty when he upsets his mom so he stops asking altogether.

(I do believe that she went into the relationship with Gabe with her eyes open and maybe that made it harder for her to admit to herself that she was stuck, that the man she was sure she could face down near damn swallowed her whole, because she chose this, of course in her mind she was still in control but I digress. )

I think as soon as Grover and Chiron were in the picture she should have told him. Instead she told Grover not to do anything. There was a fury at the school, he was found out and attacked, why was he still there for an entire semester after the incident?

We know they didn’t tell her about the fury because we know she didn’t know. Chiron mishandled that big time because it was at that point that it became evident that whatever scent Gabe was hiding wasn’t working. Him following her wishes to the point of keeping Percy at school after an attack from a kindly one without even informing his mother of what happened is actually crazy. Hades found him and sent him a fury to his school. Right under chirons nose. Percy was serving detention with her late into the night sometimes. They should have called Sally and taken Percy to camp together. Instead he was gaslit by everyone to the point of questioning his sanity. Ran away form Grover when they met the fates and Grover still refused to say a word. Didn’t say anything to his mom because why would he at this point, who would even believe him?. Not to mention the very traumatic introduction to the demigod life by watching his mother die right in front of him.

I just think about all the individual choices that Sally, Grover, and Chiron made that led to that night on half blood hill and I think how much it didn’t need to happen.

All three of them failed him.

Sally Jackson choice safety over stability in terms of how she'd take care of her child. Both her and Percy faced years abuse by the hands of one man. Does this make her a good mother who was in over her head or an unprepared one making an impulsive decision?

You found the one hot take even I haven’t dared say aloud yet, because I think it may just be my most unpopular opinion in this fandom. One thing everyone in this fandom seems to agree on is the “universal truth” that Sally Jackson is the best mother in the history of fictional mothers. So, here’s my hot take:

Sally Jackson is not that perfect mother the fandom pretends she is.

Sally during the series? Presented as a loving and good mother. But to get to that point? Pre-series Sally is not written as a good mom; she’s written as a plot-device with the things the author needs to happen in mind and not the motivation of a good mother who prioritizes her child’s happiness and safety in mind.

And I’ll back that claim up with three ways in which Sally has failed Percy as a mother. Not just once, but repeatedly, for years.

But before we get into that, I’d like to switch what you said first. Sally Jackson chose stability over safety. Sally chose the stability of keeping her child at her side over said child’s safety. She made an inherently selfish decision that was not with her child’s best interest and overall safety in mind.

Now, the first - and most obvious one - is Smelly Gabe.

And before I can elaborate on that, I need to clarify one very important thing here, before anyone goes “don’t blame the victim!” on me: Sally Jackson is not a victim; she’s a fictional character. Fictional characters can be written as victims, but they are not autonomous people who make their own choices; their choices are very deliberately made by their author for them. And I want to look at the choices that went into writing her this way, writing her story this way.

Real abuse victims get stuck in abusive relationships for a variety of reasons and they don’t get out of them for equally various reasons. Most of the time, it’s something like “he was so sweet and kind at first, but by the time he showed his real face, it was too late” (and, as a note to that; Percy describes Gabe as having been nice to them for a total of thirty seconds before showing his real face. Now while that is, of course, and exaggeration, it still goes to say that Gabe was pretty much upfront about what kind of person he was).

I’ve never heard one start with “he was the most disgusting, grossest man I could possibly find”. Sally Jackson chose this man. Not just in the way one picks a partner. She went out there and chose the stinkiest, grossest man.

It was a deliberate choice on Riordan’s part to have Sally choose an abusive relationship over sending her son away for his own safety. And this decision did not keep Percy safe; Percy Jackson was abused in his own home, by a horribly stinking man, for six years of his life. That’s not keeping your child safe.

The choice was not made to keep Percy safe; the choice was made to keep Percy with Sally. It was inherently selfishly motivated; she didn’t want to send him away, she wanted to keep him with her.

Sally loves Percy, she loves him dearly and fiercely, I’m not arguing that. But that love led to her not wanting to let go of him. And sometimes, parenting means making tough choices, sometimes loving someone means you have to make a tough decision.

In this case, the “tough decision” is presented as Sally bravely putting up with six years of abuse at Gabe’s hand. That’s the narrative chosen by the author.

But the actual “tough decision” would have been to send Percy to Camp Half-Blood, where he would have been safe. That’s the tough choice a mother would have had to make to keep her child safe.

That’s the tough choice the parents of most of the year-rounders have made. Mister Beauregard sent his daughter all the way from Paris to New York to give her this safety. The distance alone guaranteeing he wouldn’t see her for years potentially - because flying between New York and Paris is not necessarily easily affordable for everyone. Sally’s option was to send Percy to a camp that’s literally one and a half hours away. She could have still seen him, he could have easily visited her.

But her solution was to mask Percy’s scent by marrying a stinking, gross, abusive man.

Let me just stretch once more: Sally’s choice did not keep Percy safe. Sally’s choice made their home unsafe. It brought the danger and pain into their home. It may have moderately protected Percy from monsters - until The Lightning Thief kicked in - but it did not keep Percy actually safe, because it put him into a different kind of danger and through a different kind of pain.

For six years. And, this is where the “not a real person but a fictional character” thing comes up again, because this isn’t a woman where one choice leads to a date with a man which leads to a relationship which leads to abuse that she doesn’t know how to get out of anymore. She is a fictional character whose journey was set out to end with her being in an abusive relationship.

And we also don’t know why she didn’t get out of it. She’s not a real person, we don’t know if she was so scared of Gabe that she didn’t know how to leave, if her lack of a support system is what led to her not leaving him, or if it was the motivation of not giving up Percy. The real, actual reason is that Riordan wanted to keep her in there and keep Percy out of the loop until he was twelve and The Lightning Thief could happen. Because she was able of getting rid of him as soon as the truth unravelled and Percy met camp.

And I’d like to use the way she did that to drive back home just how bad Gabe was, just how bad the situation Sally and Percy were in for six years, really was.

She murders him. She flat-out murders him. Both, her and Percy, together. This twelve-year old child who we meet and get to know as kind and not... not a murder-child, is ready to kill a man. That’s how badly Gabe abused them; both of these kind people chose murder to get rid of him.

And it’s just something I’ve never gotten over. Riordan really made the decision that his protagonist’s mom would rather get them both into an abusive home than give Percy up to camp. That was his decision; there could have been other ways. One thing that would have made this seem less like a deliberate choice would have, for example, been Sally not knowing about camp.

If she was a desperate mother, who saw no other options? That’d have made the situation different too. But we know Sally knew about camp. She knew there was a place she could send her son where he would be safe from the monsters, but she decided against that, she decided that she wanted to keep him close, at any costs - and the cost was six years of abuse.

I do not think that this decision should be framed as a heroic sacrifice, because the fact that she knew of an actually safe solution and decided against it was inherently selfish. She did not put up with six years of abuse for selfless reasons because there was “no other way”; there was, she knew that, but the author didn’t want her to take that.

Sometimes, the sacrifice is letting go of your child. And, as mentioned before, she wouldn’t have let go of him for good - camp is in the same bloody city as she is living. Literally one and a half hours away from her.

Now on to the other two ways in which I think Sally Jackson failed Percy.

For one, the lies about his father. Now, real people who are left by their partner with a baby, they can pick whatever to tell their kids whenever. But, again, this is a fictional character and the author makes the decision for her. And this, again, was a decision made solely based on the end result; Riordan needed Percy to not be in the know by the time The Lightning Thief came around, even though from a character-perspective, telling Percy the truth earlier would have been the logical and right decision.

If your kid is a demigod who is attracting real actual monsters with his scent alone? Percy started really attracting monsters when he was six years old and for the next six years, Sally didn’t disclose the truth to him; not about monsters, not about his father, not about the fact that Percy may have powers.

Percy attracted so many monsters that it led to Sally getting married to Gabe. That’s how badly he attracted monsters. Which also implies that Percy must have seen monsters. We get to see in The Lightning Thief just how much Percy thinks he’s going crazy with the things he sees. And that’s been going on for six years too - six years and in those, his scent only got stronger.

This, again, isn’t just one decision she made. This is a decision she made every single day over and over again. The decision not to tell Percy about his father, the powers, the simple reassurance that he’s not going insane, that monsters are real. This was Percy’s reality and it would obviously only become more and more of an issue the older Percy got, but every single day, she chose not to tell him, to let him believe not just a lie but also steadily that he was going crazy.

And it’d have gone a long way if he had just known. Even with Gabe in their life, even if she hadn’t made the choice to send him to camp at age six, it’d have helped him so much to know the truth and be prepared for this life.

Because this wasn’t just an issue of “the guy left me, I don’t want to talk about it with my kid”, this was inherently about, once more, Percy’s safety. Knowing what to watch out for, knowing the thing you should watch out for is actually real, are huge factors in Percy’s safety. Having him as well-prepared as possible.

She knew his father was Poseidon. It’s not even that she had sex with some dude, not knowing who he was. She knew he was Poseidon. She knew what Percy’s parentage was, she must have observed the slow development of Percy’s powers over the years.

But again, she chose to leave him in the dark about it. He could have been well-prepared by age twelve. Read up everything on Poseidon, experimented with potential powers he may have, understanding why the fishes in the aquarium are talking to him and that he is not actually hearing voices, learning.

But that’s not useful for the author; Riordan wants an unprepared Percy who can be used to introduce this world to the reader.

The choice to not tell Percy the truth about his father and about being a demigod was made deliberately and, again, not in Percy’s best interest. And in this case, there really is no other interpretation left aside from “the author needs it to happen this way” - with Gabe, there is the legitimate argument that she may have been at one point just an abused woman stuck in a relationship with no out because we don’t know enough to know what her motivation and situation were exactly - but there is... no benefit at all in lying to Percy about this, no reason for it.

The moment he first started being in actual life-threatening danger because monsters came after him, it became a pressing matter to tell him what monsters are, that they are real and why they are after him and to prepare him for it.

Which brings me to the third instance.

She never prepared him - even just in a mortal manner. Even if we let the first two - the marriage to Gabe and the lies about his father - stand as they are, Sally could have done something very simple to prepare Percy for his life and to help keeping him safe.

Self-defense classes. Judo. Martial arts. Sword-fighting classes. Whatever.

Many parents teach their kids these kind of things from a young age. Parents whose kids aren’t in constant danger of being attacked by monsters. One of your first parental instincts should be to teach your kid to be safe; to protect themselves. Give him the means to fight back.

So, that’s it. That’s the three very vital and important instances in which I think Sally failed Percy as a mother; not just once, but repeatedly, for years.

Instead of sending him to a safe place where he could learn about his heritage and learn control of his powers as well as learning how to fight the monsters after his life, she chose to marry an abusive, smelly man whose scent would mask Percy’s. Probably. Hopefully. But it didn’t really, not all the time. As shown by The Lightning Thief and monsters coming after Percy. And Percy starts to think he’s crazy, because at no point did she tell him about the monsters, and at no point does he really know how to fight for his life, because at no point did she put the means to defend himself into his hands.

No. No, I do not think that those are the decisions a good mother would make. Those are decisions the author made because he knew the starting point of his story and he knew where Percy’s character needed to be for that.

The thing that’s glossed over are the choices Riordan implicitly made Sally make. To get to this point for Percy, at age 12, he had to make Sally repeatedly act against Percy’s best interests and deliberately not tell Percy the truth or teach him way to stay safe. So he masks those choices by putting on a framework that’s meant to make you only look at her suffering and the outcome, not the choices that led to it. That was Riordan’s choice and he framed it in a way that the fandom ate up and celebrates, when... neither Sally, nor Riordan, had do to that. There was another option on the table and, if Riordan had sat down and thought hard, I’m pretty sure there would have been more options.

The bottom line, what Sally’s parenting comes down to in the end, is that she and Percy got stuck with an abusive man for six years, because she didn’t want to send him to an actual safe place, she spent six years essentially gaslighting Percy about the things he hears/sees by not telling him the monsters are actually real and she repeatedly left him in unnecessary danger by not giving him the means to defend himself in any way whatsoever. And those are not signs of good parenting, not in my book.

But it’s just so much easier to ignore all of that and pretend that blue candy and trips to Montauk are the end all be all and that Sally’s fierce love for her son is the most defining trait of parenting. I know that. Most of the time, I’m right there with you - I love fanon!Sally, I love to pretend she’s the best mom ever and never did anything wrong, because I know the decisions are inherently made by Riordan and are a by-product; I know he wants her to be a good mother, I know throughout the series, he writes her as a good and loving mother.

But if I have to be honest and if I look at the whole text, including the implications of their past, canon!Sally isn’t that good of a mother.

#I also think a part of it is Percy absolutely refusing to blame her for anything cause she’s all he has #and he doesn’t want to unpack some of the damage that she caused #because then he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that his mom made choices that knowingly hurt him regardless of the situation #this could have been a great arc about kids idolizing their parents and coming to terms with the fact that their human too #but ahh that implies that riordan is capable of complex storylines #sally jackson #Percy Jackson #tlt #pjo

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bright-side20 · 2 days ago

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The fact that Elain had no problem giving Azriel his gift the first time in front of everyone, literally saying she’s been observing him, but the second Solstice, she preferred to keep it secret....regardless of the joke behind it or Lucien’s presence ,she gave Cassian his gift. She could’ve also given Azriel his gift and played it off like she was just being a friend. But she didn’t. Why? Because the tension between them has gotten too intense. Azriel affects her just by looking at her, and she can’t hide it, even when she tries. So she’s afraid the others will notice. Honestly, I want to know what’s going on in her head. What was she thinking when she nodded at Azriel and he smiled back at her? Does she want to climb him so badly that she had to look away before she blushed, trying to hide the dirty thoughts in her head? I bet she does.

#when I tell u Az will teach her how to control her expressions #pro elriel #elriel #elain x azriel #elain archeron

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ddaelie · 3 days ago

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I don't know if any of you have come across such videos on TikTok, but my dream is a fanfic about faceless driver Charles (and Max, the only person outside the Ferrari team who knew who was hiding under the helmet)

Maybe smth like this:

At the end of 2018, the Ferrari team shook the motorsport world with an announcement:

«Sebastian Vettel's new teammate would not reveal their identity»

No name, no age, no nickname, not even a voice. Only their racing number. Number 16. The FIA approved this experiment, largely because they wanted to draw more attention to the sport, but Ferrari had no reason to refuse this opportunity. A driver hidden behind a helmet entered the world of Formula 1, shrouded in mystery.

From the very first race in Australia, the media could not stop speculating. Some believed it was a legendary driver returning under a pseudonym, while others thought Ferrari was shielding a rookie from media pressure. But as soon as the race began, it became clear: Number 16 was not just ordinary driver. He was a force of nature. He sliced through the field with precision, battled wheel-to-wheel with the sport's biggest names, and carried himself with a composure beyond his years.

With every race, his legend grew. He never spoke to the press, never removed his helmet in public, yet every overtake and every victory spoke louder than words. His first podium came at Silverstone.

His first win, a masterclass performance in Monza, sent the Tifosi into a frenzy. By the end of the season, he had five wins to his name, proving he was no fluke. But it wasn't always smooth sailing-mechanical failures cost him dearly. His car shut down in Singapore due to an electrical failure, and an engine blowout in Japan robbed him of a surefire podium. Still, every setback only added to the legend, making his triumphs all the more thrilling.

Yet, while the entire paddock scrambled to figure out who was behind the helmet, one person seemed completely unfazed-Max Verstappen. While others speculated, Max just smirked.

Then came the final race of the season: the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. Number 16 started from pole and dominated, clinching his fifth victory of the year.

Standing atop the podium, the driver finally reached for his helmet. The grandstands roared, cameras zoomed in, the world held its breath. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it off.

Silence. Then shock.

Charles Leclerc.

After his dominant Formula 2 season, rumors swirled that Charles Leclerc had become a development driver for Ferrari. Articles were written about his potential, his raw speed, and the likelihood of him securing an F1 seat in the future. But no one-no journalist, no fan, not even those within the paddock-could have imagined that he would be the faceless driver behind the wheel of car number 16.

The paddock was stunned. Sebastian Vettel clapped, Toto Wolff shook his head in disbelief, journalists scrambled to rewrite their headlines. But amid the chaos, one person simply grinned.

"Good to see you again, Charlie," Max said.

Charles turned, arching an eyebrow.

"Since when did you know?" he asked.

"I had my suspicions in Australia. By Bahrain, I was sure."

"When I pushed you off the track?" Charles smirked.

Max chuckled. "It was just an inchident," He leaned in slightly. "There's only one driver in the world who could make me hate and enjoy racing at the same time. And he is standing right in front of me. I always thought that if I would make it to F1, you would also make it."

Charles flashed a wide smile.

"Well, I couldn't just leave you here to get bored on your own," Charles grinned.

Max nodded, a rare warmth in his voice. "Yeah... It's really good to see you here."

#f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc #cl16 #max verstappen #mv33 #lestappen ao3 #lestappen #1633 #please someone write this #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #faceless Charles is very dear to me because I first saw him in a helmet and only after a long time I saw his face without it

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bunnyinvanilla · 16 hours ago

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you just need reassurance from old sugar daddy!john price aaall the time — bunnies are territorial, especially a soft, young, little bunny girl like you… (laaaarge age gap, reader is 21 and price is in his late 40s)

“what the heck is a barracks bunny?”

the urgency behind your voice rung in john’s ears like an alert bell, like the one he’d always felt when he’d been a lieutenant — he hadn’t expected you to stomp in front him like that, phone in hand and frowning.

“what? who taught you this word, doll? was it Johnny-“

your sweet voice interrupted him, followed by your free hand, lifted upwards towards him in a dismissive manner, “no no, sir, pleaser, answer my question.”

he’d never seen you like this, hand adorably set on your hip, titled in the most delicate yet delicious way, doe eyes narrowed and slightly squinted, excepting an answer — your sweet, sweet bunny features clearly petty over something.

always so polite and obedient, so sweet and kind, what had gotten into you?

“is there one at the base, sir? I promise, if the answer is yes i-“

but you stumbled on your own words, because as soon as he caught the sparks of irritation in your voice, he stood up, straightening his muscular and board shoulders — he looked down at you, his buff body that always picked you up so effortlessly slowly inched closer to you.

“you what, doll? mmh?” his voice sounded rougher, a hint of threatening warning behind it.

you flattered your lashes, tenderly, a silent, docile sign of submission in the midst of that moment,

“is there one, sir?” you repeated, your voice small but steady, tilting your head all the way up to meet his intense, sharp gaze.

“you already know the answer, princess, of course not. where did you even learn that from?”

”it doesn’t matter, sir, I-“ you replied dismissively, but his voice rumbled taking over your own, a low, gruff baritone that echoes deeply in your eardrums

“asked you a question, sweetheart. where.”

you swallowed, your eyelids trembling softly as you blinked up at him, shifting your position — when bunnies felt neglected, they pushed their nose against their owner’s body, seeking, demanding attention and clarification.

“everyone on the internet is talking about being afraid of their men in the military possibly having one, and-“

“and you immediately thought we’d have one at the base, huh doll?”

you softened your expression, and he could finally recognize his bunny back, obedient and gentle “you can’t blame me sir, i was only worried, was simply a question, i never know what really goes on at the base and—“

“no, no, no doll, you need to remember who you’re talking to, even when you ‘only want to ask’” he lifted his large hand and cupped your chin, squeezing your cheeks with a firm, yet gentle enough grip. “understand?”

your cheeks burned, bright and red between his calloused fingers, “I know but—“

a flicker of warning passed through his thin, squinted eyes like a shooting star, “do you understand, doll?”

you pressed your lips together, the serious look behind his eyes making your imaginary bunny ears tug down, back towards your head, and your tail tuck between your legs — you only nodded, still holding the same pouty expression.

he tilted his head expectantly, deepening his voice and cooing down at you, slightly raising his brows “that’s not how you answer me, is it sweetheart?”

“yes, daddy,” you finally let the words slip out, eyes softening even more when you recognized the tiny twitch of his mustache, that tried to hide and disguise his growing entertainment —

your cheeks burn brightly, a warm, red blush that almost felt warm against his calloused fingers, how could he be mad at his bunnygirl for being worried about her daddy? you’re so clingy and possessive, and it amuses him :(

with a short tug of you chin, he lifted your face closer to his, mere inches from his beard as he almost breathed against your lips, his voice so rough and low it sounded the rumble of distant fireworks.

“we don’t have that sort of thing at the base, angel, would never allow it, the only bunny I have hopping around is you, little one. guess that makes you the captain’s personal barracks bunny, doesn’t it?”

#john price x f!reader #john price x female reader #john price #john price imagine #captain price x female reader #price x female reader #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #call of duty #cod imagine

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shimohyo · 2 days ago

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Konfessions

I hate you

I hate you so so so so much.

Your actions make my very skin crawl, your cruel words are my nightmares every night. You make me sick just thinking about you.

I hate what you did,

I hate what you did to them.

You hurt those four, you killed two of them and those you left alive will never be the same.

You took away their pillars of safety, and now they are scrambling for an anchor to ground themselves with.

I hate hate hate how you acted. You acted like you didn’t even care! You didn’t care about the lives you had ruined!

So I hate you. I hate you with either fiber of my being, every bone in my body, every part of me hates you.

But I don’t hate you, do I? I love you. I love you so much that it hurts. It hurts that I love you. I hate the fact I love you because I should hate you. Because my brain tells me that I should hate you but my heart screams and scrambles for an explanation, reason, excuse, anything to justify your actions. To justify loving you.

You hurt so many people for something so so childish and stupid! You killed two people. You mutilated his body just to mess with and hurt his friend so so so much when he saw his best friend missing a head.

And you did that just for some convulsed plot to kill your ‘rival’! You killed her right in front of him. You drove him to stab you! You practically tortured him just to get at her. All for the sake of your stupid delusions!

Loving you feels like a sin. A horrible horrible horrible action. You hurt so many people. So many people I see everyday and talk to and I feel so wrong because I love you and they don’t and I’m in the wrong for loving you still!

….i wish i could just hate you….

….Maybe I don’t love you for you.

Maybe I love the idea of you. The you I thought I knew. The you that you showed to me to keep me on your side. The you that was a mask, just like the one you always wore, hiding your disgusting truth underneath it.

I hate the True you. The true you you showed everyone except me until the end. The true you who would mutilate a corpse to mess with others. Cut off someone’s head and tongues and disembowel him and oh god I’m about to throw up just remembering it.

I love your mask, but hate the real you. The you under your mask. The you that is bloodied underneath.

I don’t know if we’re going to be

Foxes our next lives.

You have a lot of sin to pay for after all.

Maybe I’ll join you down there.

For the sin of loving someone so terrible.

#tetro pink #tetro danganronpa #tetro danganronpa pink #tetro danganronpa spoilers #danganronpa tetro #watari nishino #okazaki hanano #wada masanari #tsuno manami #hasegawa ken #kamimura kazutoshi #character study #Sent this to my friends and family to show of my writing.#Forgot that it started with ‘I hate you’

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inmyheaddd · 2 days ago

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kiss it off me - jameson hawthorne x reader

a/n: hold me.. console me.. then ill leave without a trace... woah i haven't posted a fic in a hot minute!!! this idea has been brewing in my mind since like october... may become a series, who knows!! anyway, i hope you enjoy 💖 wc: 5k synopsis: you and your long time best friend, jameson, meet up on a stranded beach to escape for a little while. who cares about anything else when the person you love looks hurt? warnings: tobias is alive in this, best friends who r inlove, what else is new?

Your leg bounced up and down in front of you as you waited, sitting on a bench overlooking the beach.

You came early so you’d have some alone time, time to think, but you quickly realised that was the worst idea ever, because you didn’t want to think.

You wanted to shut your mind off, you wanted to just be, and most of all, you just wanted to see Jameson.

So, there you sat, an hour earlier than the time you had agreed on with Jameson, wishing you had something to do other than sit and wonder and rattle your brain with thoughts.

You’d been doing more than enough overthinking this winter.

The beach was a pretty sight, the sun starting to set, painting the sky shades of orange and pink, clouds looking like oversized strings of cotton candy in the sky.

You let out a frustrated sigh of boredom, got up from the bench, and walked over to the sand. You looked around on the isolated beach—you were the only one here.

Your family owned this strip of the beach, so you weren’t surprised that it was empty.

It had quickly become one of you and Jameson’s favourite hideout places. Not that you were particularly hiding from anything; it was more so just an escape from everything and everyone else.

On that beach, nothing existed but you and Jameson, with the sand, the sky, and the sea.

You walked over to the blanket you always kept on the beach, folded and placed underneath a rock about twice the size of your fist to keep it from blowing away.

You unfolded it, sat down, and entertained yourself by putting some breathing exercises into practice. Your therapist had given them to you months ago, but if you were being quite honest, you didn’t think of using them a single time after you left that room.

You weren’t even anxious; you were simply bored. You wished you had your headphones with you, or something to keep you company.

The sun was setting even further; you stared out onto the beach in front of you and wished Jameson was seeing the sunset with you. Your favourites were the ones that had hints of pink and purples in them, while he liked the ones that ‘were golden and painted everything else golden too.’

He would love this one.

You then looked at your watch, which was a huge mistake. Whenever you thought about the time or checked it, it only seemed to pass infinitely slower.

Only 10 minutes had passed since you last checked. Another deep breath, and you exhaled it all as you held your head in your hands.

You brought your knees up to your chest and then hugged your arms around them. Your hoodie kept you warm, and so did the layers you had on underneath, but you still felt a weird shiver in your bones. You made a conscious effort to not check the time, then looked up.

You turned your head left, seeing nothing but the beach, then right, and saw a figure far away, walking in your direction.

The walk, the clothes, and the way this person began jogging once they spotted you—it all told you it was Jameson.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched on your face. You brought your arm up, waving wildly at him. He was closer now, and you could see the own grin on his face as he sent you a chin nod and waved back.

You looked back at your legs as he finally approached the blanket you sat on. “Hey, you.’’ He breathed out, standing over you for a second and grinning, only a little out of breath after running 100 metres or so, just to get to you.

With a smile, you brought your gaze up to him, ‘’Hey there yourself,’’ you laughed through your sentence at the stupidity of the greeting.

“Pretty sunset, isn’t it?” He said

Just like how you had expected. “Yeah,” you nodded in appreciation of the sky, “It’s pretty.”

He suddenly tilted his head slightly. “You’re early,” he pointed out, and then with a furrow of his brow, he said, “How long have you been here?”

You ignored the last part of his question. You glanced at your watch before answering, “Technically, you’re also early. ’’

“Technically, I don’t care.”

“Okay, still. Why are you early?” You insisted. If you were being honest, you were insanely thankful that he was here right now, and didn’t arrive an hour later like you’d originally planned.

You had absolutely no clue what you’d do for an hour, which seemed to stretch on forever when you were alone.

He was silent for a moment, then sighed as he finally sat down, leaning back with his legs outstretched, looking at you. ‘’I know you; I know you’d be early.’’

You quirked a brow up, despite the way your stomach erupted with butterflies. I know you.

‘’Okay…?’’ You forced a chuckle, tearing your gaze away from Jameson and telling those butterflies in your stomach to respectfully leave and never come back. ‘’What does that have to do with you being early?’’

Jameson shrugged like it was obvious, looking at the sea when you finally looked at him again. ‘’I just wanted to spend more time with you.’’

The butterflies did not leave and never come back.

You wished they would’ve, because Jameson was your friend. Your best friend, though you felt that friend wasn’t even a good enough term to describe what you were.

You’d known each other since you were kids, been there for each other when your family wasn’t, and seen each other through just about every embarrassing phase there is. You often times felt as if you knew each other better than you knew yourselves.

Friend didn’t cover it.

But whatever he was, whatever your friendship was—it didn’t include romantic feelings.

Again, you wished those millions of butterflies to go find someone else to torment.

“The real reason?” You prodded, raising a brow at him.

‘’That is the real reason.’’ He protested, gasping in mock offence. ‘’Although, I wouldn’t be lying if I said that one of Xander’s started making a weird buzzing noise… And, well… Getting out of the house was the safest option."

You felt a little twang of disappointment, then you felt annoyed that you were feeling disappointed. “Since when did you care about safety?”

Jameson shot you a look. “Since I don’t want my eyebrows burnt off.” He deadpanned.

“Okay, fair.” You rolled your eyes with a slight laugh. "Well. I’m glad you’re here.’’ You said a little quieter. “With both of your eyebrows intact.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.” His eyes glinted with a smile, “With… both of my eyebrows intact.”

You were both silent for a second, holding back laughs as you looked at each other, until Jameson let out a snort— and you both started laughing.

You covered your face with your hands, shaking your head as you tried to control your giggles.

God, could you get any more awkward? This was why you hated the idea of having feelings for him, because then you started to act different and make things awkward by saying things like I’m glad you’re here with both of your eyebrows intact.

You were a goner.

Your laughter died out, then you started talking about your respective days—the things that set you off, the things you waited to tell each other in person, overall, about nothing and everything.

After a moment of silence, you looked over at him, noticing a strange look on his face as he stared out at the horizon. There was a deep crease in his dark brows, his expression almost grim. You scooted a little closer to him.

“What’s up with you?” You nudged his shoulder gently. “You have that weird… furrow in your brow.”

“Nothing's up with me.” He turned to look at you, offering one of those dangerously distracting Jameson Winchester Hawthorne grins for a moment.

But it didn’t work. It looked off and strained. “What’s up with you?”

“Deflecting and a weird look?” You raised your brow incredulously. “ We hang out too much for that lie to work on me.”

He sighed dramatically, looking forward. The sky was shades of dark pink and orange now, the sun bouncing off the clouds and colouring them.

Jameson looked at you once again, his green eyes looked extra inviting with the pink sky around him, like a dangerous sea you could get lost in, possibly never find your way out of, but one you almost wanted to get lost in nonetheless.

His eyes flickered over you, and you got the feeling he was trying to read your expression. “It’s times like these I wish you didn’t care about me." He said so casually, "Then I wouldn’t have to face my emotions.”

The way he said it—without realising, he made it sound like there were��other emotions, not just whichever ones he was dealing with right now.

“Oh, don’t worry.” You responded jokingly, rolling your eyes the slightest bit. “I don’t care about you. Not in the slightest.”

Jameson’s smile seemed a little less strained at that. “Wonderful.”

“Truly.”

“Agreed.”

You let the silence stretch for a moment, seeing if he’d say anything else.

He didn’t.

If this were anyone else, you’d stay quiet.

But this was Jameson; your friendship meant more to you than the fear of being seen as annoying or pushy. Besides, you quickly learnt that Jameson wouldn’t talk unless he had that push, even if he did really want to.

“Okay, enough of these one-word answers.” You sighed, trying to mask the pure concern you felt with a light chuckle. “What the hell is wrong?”

Jameson chuckled humourlessly, propping himself back up on his hands again. “You know how it is,” he said, “the usual.”

“The usual as in the old man?” You deadpanned, “Or the usual as in you did something reckless to shut your brain off?” There was no point in beating around the bush, especially when you both knew each other more than anyone else in your life.

Jameson didn’t meet your eyes. He shrugged casually, “The usual as in both.”

Your heart tore a little at his words. You wondered if he was lying about one of Xander’s machines exploding. Then you thought about it; you knew Xander, and knew he often resorted to his robotics room when he felt hurt.

It was highly probable that Jameson wasn't lying. He just wasn't telling the full truth.

It was a Saturday. What could the old man have said that managed to ruin his grandsons like this?

You hated how Tobias could reduce your best friend to a mess of feelings and emotions—to a boy who felt like he wasn’t good enough and would never be—with just a few disapproving words.

Nobody should have that amount of power. Ever.

You pressed your lips together for a moment. “I don’t like your grandpa. Not one bit.”

“That's funny.” That dry, sad chuckle of Jameson’s was killing you. He ran a hand through his hair. Roughly. “He rather likes you. Says you’re a bright girl, a good influence for me.”

“I told you, Jameson,” your voice came out softer than you intended, “I don’t care about anything he has to say.”

He called Jameson ordinary.

Jameson felt like he was betraying Tobias for simply telling you what he said.

That was the moment you lost respect for the man.

“Everything he says is bullshit. If you don’t want to talk about it, I get that.” You paused for a second, watching his expression and waiting for him to meet your eyes.

The second he did, you almost wished he didn’t, because the look of sheer hurt in his eyes almost made you lose your breath.

’But Jamie…” You couldn’t hide the worry on your face anymore. “Please know whatever he says isn’t worth anything. If you’re going to trust me on one thing, let it be that.”

Jameson was silent for a moment, looking down at the sand. His voice came out hoarse, then he finally met your eyes. “I trust you with everything.”

You managed a little smile because you had a feeling that if you didn’t, you would’ve probably teared up instead. “You still wishing I didn’t care about you?”

Jameson shut his eyes for a moment, chuckling. “God, no.” He admitted. “I don’t even know what I’d do without you.”

He said the last part so simply, so matter-of-factly, you almost didn’t catch it until you realised what he said.

“If it’s any consolation,” you started, a slow smile dragging on your lips, “I trust you with everything, too.”

Jameson went still for a moment, something shifting in his expression.

He masked it so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him so closely.

Then his grin slowly returned. “Some would say that’s a dangerous choice.” His voice was playful, but his eyes told a different story.

“I don’t mind dangerous.” You shrugged.

Now his eyes turned teasing. “You probably should.”

You rolled your eyes at the irony, but you still couldn’t even manage a small laugh because of the moments prior. “Look who’s talking, Jamie.”

“Hey, I do mind it sometimes,” He raised his hands up in mock surrender. “Yes, I like playing dangerous; I’m simply saying... I don’t like playing it dangerous when it comes to us.”

Us. He said that like it was something important to him.

“Yeah.” You tried not to overthink what he just said. He didn’t want to play it dangerous, as in he cared about your friendship so much? Or was he trying to say he didn’t want to take it any further than friends? And let you down slowly? Or was he saying the opposite, that he was scared to?

Your eyes flickered over his face as your thoughts ran, finally focusing on his eyes. “Good. We’re keeping us safe.”

He ran a hand through his hair, smiling at you. “Good.” He echoed.

After that, neither of you said anything else for a minute, which you didn’t mind. You fell into a comfortable silence as you so often did. It was never awkward with him, there was never a need to fill the silence. You could just be there with each other and exist.

That was what you loved. In both of your lives, there was always way too much pressure on who you had to be, the way you had to act.

But there was no pressure when it was just you two.

You stared out at the beach in front of you, quickly entranced at the way the waves met the shore, the way nature seemed like the only constant when everything else was hectic in your life.

Well, nature, and you and Jameson.

‘’It’s freezing, c’mere.’’ His voice shook you out of your trance-like state. He didn’t have a grin on his face like you’d expected when you looked over at him, but more so a look of concern.

He opened his arms out for you, and you let out a little laugh as you scooted closer, leaning into his chest.

Your arms wrapped around his torso, head on his chest. “It is freezing.” You paused, “Oh God, I feel my teeth clattering.’’

“Yeah? I can hear it.” Jameson laughed, slowly lowered the both of you down onto the blanket, then his arm began running up and down your arm, the other bringing you even closer in attempts to make you feel less cold.

You lay in each other’s arms, your head on his chest as you looked up at the sky above you.

You stayed like that for a while, simply talking.

Every time he laughed, you felt his laughter, and you thought, surely there’s no other better feeling, his laughter vibrating through your body.

Feeling it warm your heart like it was your own happiness doing the job.

The sun quickly set, and the stars were on full display. You specifically loved this beach, because it was so far away from all the city lights that put those stars to death. You could see everything when it finally got dark.

You lay in his arms while you spotted constellations, and laughed while arguing with Jameson over which one was which.

“I’m telling you, that’s the Big Dipper. I’m sure of it.’’ He said, unwrapping one arm from around you and pointing to a bundle of stars.

‘’No, Jameson,’’ You guided his arm over to the left with your hand, ‘’That’s the Big Dipper.’’

You turned over in his arms to face him, one of his arms wrapped under your waist as you lay on your side.

Your head was propped up with your other hand, so you watched his expression as he lay on the blanket, and he hummed in thought with his eyebrows furrowed.

He opened his mouth to argue but then fell flat. ‘’Oh.’’

He pointed back at the stars he was pointing at earlier, your hand still on his arm. "So… what’s that then?”

You paused, looking at them for a good minute, trying to decipher which constellation it was. You came up blank.

“My knowledge might be limited, but…’’ you mumbled, your hand returning back to your side, and then you looked down at him again. “I don’t think that even is a constellation. They’re just some stars.”

Jameson was silent for a moment before putting his arm back down in defeat. He hummed, “That’s oddly sad.”

You adjusted the way you sat, scooting back into his arms and laying your head on his chest as both arms wrapped around you. You hadn’t realised how cold you were just a minute earlier until you felt warm.

Your hand drew patterns on Jameson’s arm. “But it doesn’t have to be.’’ You muttered, hesitating slightly. "I mean, they can still be important without being a constellation. They can just be stars.”

“They can just be stars,” Jameson repeated, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you could hear his heartbeat, your ear on his chest. “I like that.”

“Listen,” he started again, “This defeats the whole purpose of what you just said, but… Why don’t we just make it our own constellation?”

You laughed a little, shaking your head. “Just let them be stars, Jamie, for Godsake.” You huffed a laugh, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Just tell me what you see. After we leave this beach, they’ll go back to being stars. But when we’re here, it’s our little constellation.”

“Okay, fine.” You rolled your lips inwards, “Our constellation…” You trailed off, trying to find something that fit those clusters of stars.

“I can’t see anything.” You admitted after a long second.

You were almost saddened by the fact that you had a chance to make some special moment between the two of you, something for those butterflies—that insisted on never going away—to actually have something to be happy about.

Instead of saying all that, you just stared at the stared at the stars and saw nothing extraordinary. Hiding that weird sense of melancholy, you asked Jameson, “Well, what do you see?’’

“I see…” he chuckled, “God, what do I see? I think… I see a bench… With two people on it.”

“A bench?” You questioned.

“Yes, a bench,’’ he craned his neck down to shoot you a look, then leaned his head back on the blanket. ‘’Those ones at the bottom, those are the legs; then that part is the bench; then those are the heads of the people.” He said, pointing at each part as he went along. “See?”

You squinted as you tried to imagine the picture Jameson was trying to paint. You tried, you really did, but you had no idea what he was on about. "Oh, actually, yeah!’’ You said, nodding. “Yeah, I see it.”

A silence followed… Then Jameson suddenly started laughing.

You felt him chuckling against you, so you lifted your head. The sight of his smile was enough to make the biting cold disappear for a moment. ‘’What?” You said through a smile, unable to stop yourself from laughing too.

“You are by far,’’ Jameson managed through a series of low laughs, one arm slung over his face as he continued laughing. ‘’The world’s worst liar.”

Your jaw fell open, accompanied by uncontrollable laughter on your end too. “What! I’m not lying—I do see it!”

Jameson kept laughing, so you fully sat up, pushing yourself off of him and crossing your legs. He propped himself up on his elbows as he watched you.

“Look! I see it!” You wouldn’t believe yourself if you were him, because you couldn’t even speak without laughing through every sentence.

“That's the bench, and those are the legs, and uhm… Those are the heads. It’s our constellation!” You pointed up at the sky, vaguely in the direction of the stars you were looking at.

“I beg of you,” Jameson’s laughter was dying out, but he still had that smile on his face, ‘’Never attempt to lie again. That was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not lying.” You said through a stifled giggle, putting your most serious face on.

“Say that again without that look in your eyes, and then I’ll believe you.” Jameson said.

Your smile faltered a little, and everything else in that moment seemed to slow down for a moment as you stayed looking at him, “What look in my eyes?”

Jameson’s endless green eyes never left yours. He pressed his lips together for a moment, then let out a low chuckle, which more so sounded like a sigh. He didn’t answer your question. “Nothing. Lay with me for a while, will you?”

A part of you was disappointed he changed the subject; what did he mean by ‘look in your eyes’?

Then you criticised yourself for being disappointed. He probably just meant a teasing glint in your eye, like the one he has before he’s about to say something stupid in hopes of making you laugh.

You shook yourself out of your stupor, looking at the sky for a second before you looked back at Jameson.

With a roll of your eyes, you uncrossed your legs and shifted towards Jameson. “What a stupid question.” You remarked. “Of course I will.”

Jameson’s expression turned amused with a raise of his brows. “Insulting and sweet, all in one go.” Jameson said, almost in appreciation. He lay on his back, and you on your side. “You are an enigma.”

“Don’t push your luck,” You muttered back, resting your hand underneath your face as you looked at him. “Next time, I’ll be just insulting.”

He turned to look at you, his hands resting behind his head casually with his elbows wide and relaxed. “I won’t mind.” He said simply.

You managed a dirty look, which only resulted in the both of you laughing. Your voice was hushed, “You are very strange.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love strange.” He responded, a low chuckle escaping as he spoke.

You swore his eyes literally shone— glinted, sparkled, any word in the dictionary to describe something shiny could’ve been used to describe his eyes in that moment, but it still didn’t feel true enough.

You were a little obsessed with the way they always seemed to be a little smiley when it was just you around.

You managed a bored, frustrated sigh as you puffed out your lips. “And what gave you that impression?”

“Quite a few things, actually.” Jameson’s voice was low and gravely. He grinned at you, his eyes lidded slightly.

Your brows furrowed at that statement. Why was he saying things like that today? What on earth did that mean too? You were too tired to worry about it.

You felt a shiver pass through you as you looked away, then Jameson rose a brow and took that as a sign to open his arms out for you.

Wordlessly, you accepted the invite as you shuffled forward into his open arms. His arms wrapped around you tight, like they had a million times before. And you curled up against him, your arms around his middle.

You just then realised how late it had gotten. You’d been here since sunset, and the sky was completely dark now. Yes, it was dark this whole time you were stargazing, but you didn’t really let the fact sink in.

How long had passed? 3 hours? 4?

You noticed that Jameson’s breath steadied, his hold on you the tiniest bit looser. Your own eyes were feeling extremely heavy.

You tried to stay awake, to dwell in the moment a little longer and memorise the feel of Jameson’s arms around you, the faint smell of his cologne—faint cedar and whiskey—and the comforting chill of the breeze.

You couldn’t help closing your eyes for just a few seconds.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you found yourself lying in a completely different position than you slept in, Jameson’s front against your back with both his arms around you. You and Jameson must’ve fallen asleep still holding each other because of the cold gust of winds.

You carefully unravelled Jameson's arms around you. The pins and needles in your arm told you: you definitely did not just close your eyes for a few seconds. It must’ve been way past midnight by now.

Still slightly numb, your pushed yourself up so you were sitting up slightly.

Your attention went back to Jameson when you heard him groan slightly, his arms patting the blanket for a second, then he shifted to lay on his back.

You looked at the way stars shone in the distance, the sun long, long gone, and replaced by the moon. You then looked down at Jameson, who was still lying down, and his eyes were fluttering open slowly.

Thank goodness for the moonlight, and the faint beach house lights far away that illuminated his features in the prettiest way.

His eyes then opened fully, and you locked eyes for a moment.

A small smile played on his lips as he furrowed his brows slightly, as if asking you, What are you looking at?

You smiled back, despite your heart beating faster in your chest and feeling like you got caught in the act.

A part of you wondered how you could feel so warm inside when it was the middle of winter.

Jameson simply opened his arms out once again from below you, beckoning you in.

You didn’t move, only letting out a sleepy laugh as you tried to engrain this image in your mind—the slight messiness of his hair, messier than usual, the way the green in his eyes was no longer visible because of the dark, but they still gleamed and glittered all the same.

You suddenly wished you had thought of the time more, so that it would’ve passed slower.

“Come here,” he grumbled, feigning annoyance with that stupid smile on his face, his voice tinged with sleepiness.

“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely,” you mumbled back, as if you spoke any louder, the moment would shatter.

Your voices didn’t need to carry much volume in this moment, because you didn’t really need them. He could understand you just with a single look. You understood each other.

You fell back into his arms, and his arms wrapped around you a little tighter this time.

One hand was doing the same thing as last time, running up and down your arm, while the other was wrapped around your waist and pulling you close, like if he held you any looser you would slip between his fingers—someone trying to pick up sand, or hold water in their hands.

Your legs tangled in each other's, Jameson's soothing hand began to slow down, but you selfishly didn’t want to fall asleep quite yet.

“Jameson?” You mumbled against his chest.

He hummed, and you felt the vibrations coming from his chest. “Yes?”

“What if…” You started, “What if this was every day? What if we just ran away from everything for a while?”

You were rambling nonsense, of course you weren’t going to run away. You couldn’t lie and say you never thought of it, but, it was simply reckless.

You could afford the consequences of running away, not with who your parents were and the image you’d paint.

‘’I think… I wouldn’t mind my days being full of you.’’ He confessed quietly, ‘’I mean, having fun with you. Making memories, living life to the fullest, and all that jazz." He continued, his hand resuming going up and down your arm. He exhaled, and you felt his neck move, looking down at you. ‘’You got any more ‘what if’s’ for me?’’

You hummed in thought—you had a lot. “Yeah, actually.” You laughed slightly, “What if we get hypothermia out here? And, like, die before we get the chance to even run away?’’

You felt him let out a low, sleepy chuckle against you. You bit back your smile even though he couldn’t see you, out of sheer habit.

You wanted to lift your head and see his face, see his smile, but you felt way too comfortable on his chest to move a single inch, and you had that nagging feeling that if you did get up, you wouldn’t be able to find the same comfortable way you were laying when you went back down.

“Never mind.’’ He decided, his voice breaking your thoughts. “No more what if’s for you.”

If only that could silence the what if’s that lingered in your mind.

“Hey!” you defended yourself, laughing slightly. “It’s a valid question.”

His hand that was previously on your back lifted up, and you suddenly felt cold again, until he began toying with the ends of your hair, then ran his hands through it, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the cold down your spine.

“One that I don’t have the answer to. We’ll see when we wake up.”

You managed a laugh despite your tiredness, and also managed another sarcastic remark. “But… will we?”

You heard him gasp incredulously, though it was quiet. “You,’’ he tapped your shoulder as if to emphasise your point, ‘’Are one dark, twisted person. If you don’t have hopes for us surviving one night, how do you have hopes for anythingelse?”

“I’m not dark and twisted! I have hope, I swear.” You felt yourself getting sleepier, eyes getting heavier, and you couldn’t help the light chuckles passing by your lips. “I’m just tired. Anything feels possible when you’re awake.” You stifled a yawn, ‘’Especially with you—like, having someone with you to keep you going. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Jameson said. “I’ll still know you’re there, though. Even if I’m sleeping. Or tired. You’re in my arms. Anything still feels possible.” He continued lowly, “So, I will survive hypothermia.”

Jameson’s voice could almost bring you to sleep. A giggle slipped your lips, “You’re going to survive hypothermia by sheer willpower? Subconciously?”

“Thats the goal, yes.”

Shaking your head, you let out a long sigh. “You and your Hawthorne overachiever goals.’’

You felt Jameson laugh tiredly against you, then you realised he was trying to keep himself awake, like you were, for the sole purpose of staying in the moment together for longer.

‘’Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into when we first met. You knew me.”

You let out a sigh, picturing the little middle-school version of you both ditching an event held by your parents, and accidentally meeting each other by the staircase to the cellar. Your spot.

You remembered your frustration when he asked you what you were doing there, when he was in your house.

Then you remembered thinking his green eyes were quite pretty, and after you got to talking, thinking he wasn’t all that bad.

“I pretty much did, yeah.” You agreed with a light laugh.

Though, a part of that wasn’t true. Sure, you picked up on his dangerous, devastating smile, that he was a risk taker, and that he did things according to his will. You knew he was a Hawthorne, and that Hawthorne’s weren’t easy or simple.

But you would’ve never known upon seeing him that first time, that you would develop a friendship with him that made you believe in fate.

“Then you should know,” He said, “hypothermia is not standing a chance against us.”

That word again. Us.

“If we survive the night,” You jokingly started, hearing Jameson hold back a laugh and mask it with a cough, “Let’s do something crazy tomorrow to honour it.”

“Crazy,” he hummed, “crazy, as in?” He prodded on.

“Crazy as in we run away for a day.” You blurted, without really thinking. “I dare us to do it.”

He let out an amused chuckle. “Well, you know I’m one for crazy.” Jameson said, and you could hear the grin in his voice as you pulled yourself closer to him the tiniest bit more, adjusting your head on his chest. “And you know I’m not one to back down from a dare. But are you being one hundred percent serious?

His hand ran over your hair, sending tingles down your spine. “Yes, I am. I’m not fully insane; we aren’t really running away, I guess. It’s just like a little road trip if you think about it,” you said.

“A road trip with no destination and not telling anyone where we are off to.” He contemplated, “Sounds like a recipe for disaster. I like it.”

“And, where are we running off to?” He then said, continuing. “You know, if we do survive this horrible, tempestuousnight.”

You let out a little laugh at his dramatics. You felt so at peace in this moment, looking at the pitch black sky with stars dotting it alight, hearing the faint sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

Your gazed fixed on those special cluster of stars, and you could almost start to see what Jameson was saying earlier.

The bench, the two people. Our constellation, you thought giddily.

“I don’t know,” You admitted, “anywhere but here. Just for a few days. I’m kind of growing sick of it all.”

“Then we’ll go anywhere.” Jameson concluded. “Just for a few days.“ His hand slowed, then stopped in your hair, then it moved to the middle of your back, and his hand lay flat.

Your eyes were heavy, and you attempted to stifle a yawn but failed.

You wrapped your arms tighter around Jameson, and felt his hand grasp the fabric of your hoodie. You wondered how long it would take your parents to notice your absence. Then you thought about all the things you could do, places you could go with Jameson.

“I’ll make a plan tomorrow morning.” You mumbled in your half-awake state, because it didn’t hurt to just be a littleorganised, especially when your ‘runaway partner’ was someone who liked to live on the edge 24/7.

You could hear Jameson’s tiredness in his voice, along with that intoxicating smile. “I knew you’d say something like that.”

A little chuckle fell past your lips as you felt Jameson’s chin rest atop your head. You curled a little closer into his chest, finally letting your eyes shut.

You’d give up the sun, the moon, the stars, and everything in between if it meant everything could stay like this forever.

Well… Maybe not the stars. You wouldn’t want to give up your new favourite constellation.

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm @goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington @peppapigsposts @thoughtdaughter3 @apollospoem @jjsblueberry @yayyy-insecurities

#jameson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne x reader #jameson hawthorne headcanons #the inheritance games #the grandest game #grayson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #tgg #games untold #tig #tig headcanons #jameson winchester hawthorne #jameson hawthorne fluff #the hawthorne legacy #❦ jude writes

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phiehasleaves · 2 days ago

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secrets and confessions - han jisung

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with great difficulty, you'd hidden your relationship for the past few months, only to accidentally slip up now.

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han jisung x reader

w/c - 720

fluff

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everyone had settled onto the sofa's in the living room, waiting as chan flicks through various movies, attempting to find one that you'd all enjoy.

you were currently squished in-between han and hyunjin, felix on the latter's other side. changbin, chan and minho took up the other sofa as seungmin and jeongin resorted to laying on the floor, pillows and blankets providing a makeshift mattress for them.

han's arm softly drops onto your shoulder, pulling you further into his side. his fingers move absentmindedly, drawing shapes across your arm.

"can you cook again tomorrow?" he asks, head turned to face you fully.

you look up at him, "it wasn't that good."

"it was better than minho's."

"okay..." you eye him suspiciously. nothing was better than minho's food. "what do i get in return?"

it takes a short moment for him to think of an offer, "breakfast in bed."

you shake your head, suppressing an amused laugh, "you'll wind up setting the kitchen ablaze, so i'm gonna have to say no to that one."

he smiles, looking away as he racks his brain harder. a squeeze of your shoulder and he turns back around, "this one you're not going to pass up," he smirks before continuing, "as many kisses as you want, and-"

a snort sounds from beside you, "why would she want kisses? that's a terrible- oh!" hyunjin's face contorts, mouth open in revelation.

both your's and han's eyes widen as you stare at the boy.

"he- he was joking, right?" you blurt out, glancing at jisung as he slowly removes his arm from you.

his hair bounces as he nods, "it was a silly joke, meant nothing."

the loud commotion of your desperate voices draws the rest of the boy's attention to you three.

"what's up?" chan questions first, a small smile on his face.

unfortunately, hyunjin answers before either of you can, "they're in love!"

gasps echo along with multiple 'what's and 'huh's.

you shake your head, "we're not in love." a futile attempt at settling them down.

"we're not?" han's voice is small from beside you.

eyes lock onto his once again, "i- i don't know... are you?" you cross your arms. this was a topic you'd never spoken on. you know it's not that big of a deal, yet you still feel nervous for his answer.

"maybe." he scratches the back of his neck, glance flickering across the many people behind you. "maybe we should talk about this in our room?" you were lucky that you shared a dorm, made it so much easier to sneak around.

although, that's probably not going to be much of an issue anymore.

"no, no, no, talk here." seungmin waves his hands around, legs crossed as jeongin grins behind him.

"i don't understand," changbin leans forwards, "you two are dating?"

"yeah" you nod.

chan nudges his shoulder, "but they might be in love." a teasing smirk plays his face.

the boys laugh. you drop your head into your hands, rethinking all your life choices.

the weight of the sofa shifts.

"okay." han's voice is clear as you look up at him, "we're gonna leave you guys to gossip."

he takes your hand, guiding you out of the living room and into your bedroom, the pair of you ignoring the playful comments thrown as you exit.

"thanks." you mutter, moving to stand in front of jisung who's now sat at the edge of his bed.

his eyes shine as he cranes his head to look at you, a pitiful smile on his face. "maybe i should've thought harder before speaking."

you laugh softly, "yeah, maybe. but at least now we don't have to hide." raising your hand, you gently brush through his hair, watching as his eyelids flutter closed. "i'm sorry i said we weren't in love."

"don't worry, i blame hyunjin for it."

his hands grab your legs, pulling you forwards as he rests his forehead against your stomach.

without thinking, those three words leave your mouth, "i love you."

doe eyes stare back at you, mouth forming a natural pout. "you mean it?"

you lean down, both hands holding his face as you kiss away his pout. his shoulders slump as he melts against you.

his voice is soft as you break apart, "i love you too."

#skz #skz x reader #han #han jisung #imagines #fluff #oneshots

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luxerians · 2 days ago

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The Last Mask (18.1)

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

Chapter 18.1 - Humanity [SFW]

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 19

PREV : Chapter 17.1

NSFW ver. : Chapter 18.2