#jung rhythm

[bingergrave]

Dumpshit doodletime! Look at the!

[quirky-vg]

From: Jung Rhythm

[bejeousdoodle]

Art dump of newer and older art dib-shit and doodle-shitles spam-ham

[theinfinitedivides]

where's my Body Rhythm challenge with TVXQ!. ik no challenge actually exists but i want it to so where is it

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ shades of cool ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? and a part three, ultraviolence.

˚ ༘♡ you stirred, the weight of consciousness creeping back in like a slow, unwelcome sensation. the first thing you noticed was the pain, not sharp, but dull and ever-present, pulsing from your leg in as a painful remnant of what had happened. your eyes fluttered open, and the room before you swam into view, blurred and unfamiliar.

˚ ༘♡ soft, warm light illuminated the bedroom, the golden glow radiating off polished wood and gilded accents. the room was lavish beyond imagination. silk curtains hung in folds along the high windows, their rich, deep hue a stark contrast to the sterile white sheets covering you. the bed beneath you was impossibly soft, its headboard ornate and meticulously carved.

˚ ༘♡ it didn’t feel real.

˚ ༘♡ your gaze dropped to your leg, your breath hitching at the sight of thick, pristine bandages wrapped around your injured knee. the ache was dulled, numbed, and for a minute you thought it was a dream, until the frigid tug of an iv in your arm brought you fully into reality. clear tubing snaked its way from the crook of your elbow to a stand beside the bed, the consistent drip of fluid into your veins the only sound in the unnerving quiet.

˚ ༘♡ panic set in as you scanned the room for answers. sleek medical monitors blinked softly in the corner, their digital hum an eerie companion to the slow rhythm of your heartbeat displayed on the screen. the pure cleanliness of it all, no blood, no chaos, no grimy stairwells, was jarring.

˚ ༘♡ the door creaked open.

˚ ༘♡ your body tensed instantly, your hands gripping the sheets as you turned toward the sound. standing in the doorway was young-il, but something about him was different. he was dressed head to toe in onyx-black now, the sharp lines of his attire immaculate, his presence nearly unrecognizable.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in your throat as a sensation of horror surged through your body. you struggled to push yourself up, wincing as the motion sent a jolt of pain through your leg. “you bastard,” you spat, your voice hoarse and trembling with both fury and anguish. “what the hell is this? what did you do?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression was undisturbed, his face composed, as though he hadn’t betrayed you, shot you, and left you to bleed out. his voice was soft when he spoke, almost gentle. “you’re safe now.”

˚ ༘♡ safe? the word felt like an insult, a mockery of everything he had done. “safe?” you snapped, your voice rising despite the weakness in your body. “you shot me! you killed them! where are jung-bae and gi-hun? what happened to them?”

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, the pause heavy with unspoken truths. “their fate… isn’t yours to worry about,” he said at last, his tone measured, deliberately vague. the non-answer only stoked the fire of your anger, your hands clenching into fists.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t give me that nonsense,” you grimaced. “tell me what happened to them!”

˚ ༘♡ his gaze softened, as if he pitied you. it made your stomach twist. “you’ll have your answers in time,” he said evenly. “but for now, there’s something more important you need to understand.”

˚ ༘♡ your chest heaved with ragged breaths as you glared at him, the venom in your gaze meeting his unnervingly tranquil demeanor. “and what’s that?”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floor, enveloping you in its reach. “my name isn’t young-il,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an undertone that made your pallid skin crawl. “it’s hwang in-ho. i am the front man, the overseer of these games.”

˚ ༘♡ his words hit you as though it was a physical blow, the weight of their meaning sinking in too slowly, too horribly. your jaw slackened as confusion, revulsion, and fear collided within you. you shook your head, as if denying the truth could erase it.

˚ ༘♡ “no,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “no, that can’t be…”

˚ ༘♡ “it is,” he interrupted, his tone kind, almost soothing, as though he were breaking news to a child. “i know it’s a lot to process, but it’s the truth. everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve seen, it all leads back to me.”

˚ ༘♡ his serenity, his gentleness, only made it worse. you stared at him, horrified, unable to reconcile the man before you with the one who had saved your life, who had stood by your side, who you thought you could trust. your heart pounded in your chest, a desperate beating of denial as his revelation sent cracks through your already fragile world.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, your mind frantically trying to stitch together some coherent explanation for what he was saying. every word felt like a jagged shard, cutting into what little remained of your trust. the man you thought you knew had unraveled into someone monstrous, someone you couldn’t even begin to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “you want answers,” he said quietly, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. his hands rested at his sides, his posture unnervingly relaxed. “then let me give them to you.”

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t reply, your throat too tight to push out words. the tremor in your hands betrayed the dread coursing through you, though you tried to mask it with a glare that had lost its edge.

˚ ༘♡ he let out a desolate breath, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to yours. “a long time ago, i was no different from you or any other contestant for these games. i was desperate, clinging to whatever hope i could find. my wife…” his voice caught, for a split second, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. “she was pregnant, but she was sick. we didn’t have the money for the treatments she needed. i tried everything, loans, work, begging. nothing was enough.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt a pang of unease, the words pulling at a part of you that didn’t want to empathize, didn’t want to understand.

˚ ༘♡ “when i heard about the games, i saw no other choice,” he continued. “i thought… if i could win, i could save her. i convinced myself it was worth it. the blood, the horror, it would all be justified if it meant saving her.” his eyes grew distant, as though he were watching memories play out before him, each one dragging him deeper into a place he didn’t want to go.

˚ ༘♡ “and you won,” you said bitterly, though your voice lacked strength. the image of him standing victorious in those games twisted your stomach, making you sick. “so why are you here? why are you doing this to other people?”

˚ ༘♡ his lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “i won,” he admitted, his tone heavy with something you couldn’t name. “despite my efforts, my win and the prize money came too late. she died, and so did the baby… our baby. nothing i had done mattered, not the lives i’d taken, not the suffering i endured. it was all for nothing.”

˚ ༘♡ the bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, but it was the coldness in his eyes that terrified you. it was as though the memory of that loss had hollowed him out, leaving behind only shards of the man he once was.

˚ ༘♡ “after she died,” he said, “i had nothing. no one. those behind the games saw that. they saw what i had become, angry, empty, ready to do whatever it took to escape the emptiness. they offered me purpose, a chance to rebuild myself in their ideology. and i took it.”

˚ ༘♡ his admission hung in the air, suffocating and heavy. you wanted to scream at him, to ask how he could justify becoming the very thing that destroyed him, but the words wouldn’t leave your lips.

˚ ༘♡ “and you…” his voice mellowed, and for the first time, his mask of stability cracked only slightly. “you remind me of her. not simply for how you look, but… the way you care. the way you fight, even when everything is against you. there’s a tender beauty in you that i haven’t seen in any soul for years.”

˚ ༘♡ his words sent a chill down your spine. notion idea that he saw any part of his late wife in you was unbearable. you stared at him, horrified, searching his face for any sign of deception, but all you saw was the unsettling truth of his sincerity.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you whispered, your voice quivering with rage. “don’t you dare compare me to your dead wife. don’t you dare use her memory to excuse what you’ve done.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t flinch, though something appeared in his expression, regret, perhaps, or something deeper. “i’m not excusing it,” he said quietly. “i know what i’ve become. but it doesn’t change what i see.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his words pressed down on you. the man standing before you wasn’t just a stranger, he was a nightmare, a ghost of the person he once was, and you couldn’t decide which was worse.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t reconcile the man before you with the one who had pulled you out of the fire so many times before. the one who had shielded you, consoled you when you were hurt, and risked his life to save yours. even as he revealed the truth, this sinister, unfathomable truth, a part of you couldn’t forget the way his hands had steadied you in instances of chaos or the way he had spoken to you with warmth when everything else had been so cold.

˚ ༘♡ yet that part of you, small as it was, waged a bitter war with your anger and disgust. you couldn’t ignore what he’d done, what he was. you had seen him kill without hesitation, betray without remorse. yet somehow, despite everything, the memory of his quiet acts of care gnawed at your resolve, complicating the clarity of your rage.

˚ ༘♡ “why?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of everything. “why did you save me if you were just going to do this? why did you act like you cared?”

˚ ༘♡ his expression softened, and for a second, the cold, calculating overseer seemed to fade. in his place was the man who had once held your hand, who had spoken with a gentleness that felt so real you couldn’t dismiss it entirely. “because i do care,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “more than you know.”

˚ ༘♡ you shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “you don’t get to say that,” you whispered, your voice quivering with misery and despair. “not after everything you’ve done. you don’t get to care.”

˚ ༘♡ he stepped closer, the weight of his presence filling the space between you. you wanted to recoil, to push him away, but your body betrayed you, frozen in place. “i know what i am,” he said softly, his tone stable yet tinged with something raw. “i know what i’ve done. but that doesn’t make what i feel for you any less real.”

˚ ༘♡ “don’t,” you murmured, though the word came out weak, your anger faltering under the intensity of his dark gaze. “don’t try to make this about me. you’re just trying to justify…”

˚ ༘♡ “i’m not,” he interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. “i’m not trying to justify anything. i… i couldn’t lose you.”

˚ ༘♡ the confession hung in the air, heavy and morose. you wanted to lash out, to shout at him, to tell him that his words didn’t change anything. but instead, you found yourself searching his face, looking for the lie, the manipulation. and you didn’t find it.

˚ ༘♡ you hated him, but you couldn’t deny that you had trusted him, even cared for him, before the truth came crashing down. those memories, tainted by what you knew now, lingered like ghosts, haunting you in ways you couldn’t escape.

˚ ༘♡ “you don’t get to feel that way about me,” you said, though your voice wavered, lacking the conviction you wanted it to carry.

˚ ༘♡ “i know,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, his closeness almost unbearable. “but i do.”

˚ ༘♡ before you could think, before you could stop it, he leaned in. the world seemed to still as his face drew closer, his presence overwhelming. you hated him, you loathed him, but the confusion, the anger, the lingering warmth of the man you thought you knew muddled everything.

˚ ༘♡ when his lips met yours, it wasn’t soft or careful. it was desperate, a confession in itself, and against your better judgment, against every screaming thought in your head, you didn’t pull away. instead, you let the infatuation consume you, the bitterness, the anger, the ache of betrayal melding together into something raw and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ when it broke, you were left shaking, your breaths uneven as you stared at him, your heart pounding with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name. you hated him, but lord, you hated how much you wanted to understand him even more.

a/n: you all asked for another part so i had to write part four!! i had a cosmetic procedure that requires me to stay home for a few days so if you have any requests, this is the time!! i hope you all loved reading!! 🤍

[daegudrama]

Title: Suck It Part 1

Pairing: Reader/Jung Hoseok

Summary: What starts as lingering glances and offhand touches turns into something neither of you can ignore. You're not supposed to fall for someone on tour, especially not him. But between stolen moments and rising tension, it's only a matter of time before everything changes.

Word Count: 13.1k

Part 2

read on ao3

The room stills as Hoseok walks in, his confident aura palpable. His easy smile and effortless cool seem to draw the air toward him, like gravity bending to his presence. It’s always fascinating to see the way he commands a room without saying a single word. Your breath catches, despite having rehearsed with him and the rest of the dancers for weeks now. That spark of awe hasn’t dimmed. If anything, it's grown, fueled by the moments he’s given you. The encouraging nods,  and the praise he doesn’t usually offer lightly.

Hoseok’s gaze sweeps over the group, and when it lands on you, his grin widens just slightly. “Alright, team. Let’s go hard today. I want the energy up, no holding back,” he says, his voice warm but firm. 

The room bursts into motion, everyone eager to match the energy Hoseok expects. The rehearsal is grueling but electric, every step and every movement carrying weight and purpose. You throw yourself into the choreography, pushing your limits, aware of Hoseok’s eyes occasionally flicking in your direction. The senior dancers seem to notice too, their expressions tight, their movements sharper than usual as if they’re trying to outshine you. Good luck. 

The tension lingers in the air, but you keep your focus. You’ve worked too hard to let their jealousy rattle you now. Every move, every count, is an opportunity to prove yourself, and to everyone else, why you belong here.

By the time Hoseok claps his hands, signaling the end of the rehearsal, your muscles ache, and sweat clings to your skin. “Good work today, everyone,” he says, his voice carrying genuine approval for once. “Let’s keep building on this energy. Get some rest and stay hydrated. We are just a few weeks out now.”

The team disperses, some dancers chatting in low voices while others grab their bags and file out. You linger to stretch, avoiding the sideways glances from the senior dancers as they leave in a cluster. Their whispers trail behind them, but you block it out, focusing instead on your breathing as you pack your things. 

Feeling the need to clear your head, you wander into an empty practice room down the hall. The space is quiet, the mirrors reflecting the stillness. You drop your bag by the wall and start running through a few sections of the choreography on your own. The rhythm grounds you, each movement a reminder of why you’re here. 

“Still working?”

The familiar voice makes you freeze mid-step. You turn to see Hoseok leaning in the doorway, his expression soft but unreadable. He steps inside, letting the door close behind him. 

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here,” you admit, your voice a little shy. 

“I could say the same to you,” he replies with a faint smile. “You already gave everything in rehearsal. What’s keeping you here?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lips. “I guess…I just needed a minute to breathe. To clear my head.”

Hoseok crosses the room, his movements unhurried. “I noticed the way some of them were acting today,” he says, cutting straight to the heart of it. “I wanted to check in with you after rehearsal, but I didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone.”

Your chest tightens, embarrassment and frustration swirling together. The things you overheard earlier reply in your mind, stinging like fresh wounds. You’d walked into the changing room mid-whisper, and though they stopped when they saw you, the smirks and knowing looks said it all. The other dancers' whispers were sharp, accusing you of things so far from the truth they almost felt laughable—if it didn’t hurt so much. They assume you’ve slept with someone, blackmailed staff, or even bribed Hoseok to get the opportunities you’ve earned. None of it is true. You pour everything into this, long nights perfecting choreography, pushing through exhaustion, and showing up with relentless determination. All you want is to be accepted and appreciated. But it doesn’t matter to them. They refuse to see your effort, dismissing it all as underserved favoritism. Now standing in front of Hoseok, the weight of those baseless accusations feels heavier, but the steady warmth in his gaze offers a sliver of relief. Without needing to hear the details, he seems to know exactly what’s on your mind, and the sincerity in his presence alone reminds you why you’ve fought so hard to be here. 

“I’m fine. Really,” you say quickly.

Hoseok’s eyes search yours for a moment, as if trying to gauge how much of that “fine” is genuine. His expression softens, and he steps closer, his tone careful but firm. “You don’t have to say that. I know what it’s like being in the spotlight, having people assume the worst just because they don’t know your story or don’t want to see your talent for what it is. It’s not fair, and it’s not right.”

Your throat tightens, the effort to hold back the emotions you’ve been bottling up threatening to break. You nod, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’ve worked so hard, Hoseok,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. “Every single thing I’ve gotten, I earned. But no matter how hard I push myself, they don’t see that. They don’t want to see it.”

He exhales softly, a look of understanding crossing his face. “They’re threatened,” he says simply. “By your talent, your energy, and the way you carry yourself. That’s not on you, that’s on them.” His voice drops slightly, more serious now. “But I need you to promise me something: don’t let their insecurities dim your light. You’re here because you deserve to be here. Nothing anyone says can take that away.”

You blink, his words settling over you like a warm blanket. For a moment, the weight on your chest eases, and you feel seen. Not just as a dancer, but as someone who’s been fighting for their place. “Thank you,” you whisper, the sincerity in your tone matching his.

Hoseok smiles gently, his hand twitching like he’s considering reaching out but stops himself. “Don’t thank me for telling the truth,” he says with a wink, his tone lightening. “But if you need to talk, about this, about anything. I’m here. You don’t have to shoulder this alone.”

The warmth in his words stays with you as he steps back, giving you space. He gestures to the empty room with a small grin. “Now, let’s see what you’ve been working on. Show me that fire they’re so jealous of.”

The silence in the practice room becomes a melody of its own as you reset to the opening pose, your heart thundering as you meet Hoseok’s gaze in the mirror. You take a steadying breath and let the music in your head guide you. With each movement, you channel everything—the doubts, the whispers, the quiet anger, and the determination that keeps you moving forward. You’ve rehearsed this choreography countless times, but tonight, it feels different. Hoseok’s presence sharpens your focus, pushing you to dance not just for yourself but for the truth of your abilities.

As you finish, your chest heaving from the exertion, you finally look at him. His arms are crossed, his expression unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes tells you everything. He takes a step forward, clapping once, slow and deliberate. “That,” he says, his voice low but filled with certainty, “is exactly why you’re here. No one can take that away from you.”

You don’t trust yourself to respond, simply nodding as you gather your things. Hoseok doesn’t say anything more, giving you a parting glance that lingers just long enough to leave you wondering.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The next rehearsal is nothing short of brutal. The room pulses with intensity as bodies move in perfect synchrony, sweat painting the floor beneath them. Each beat of the music is met with sharp, deliberate motion as the group drills the choreography again and again, the echo of sneakers and stomps filling the mirrored space. You’re dancing like muscle memory has taken over, fluid, focused, determined, barely noticing the burning in your limbs anymore. 

After a full run-through, the choreographer finally calls for a break. Everyone collapses to the floor or grabs their water bottles, panting and grateful. You grab a towel to dab the sweat from your neck, catching your breath when the lead choreographer suddenly steps forwards again. 

“Alright, listen up,” he says, his voice slicing through the hum of low conversation. “J-Hope choreographed a new section that will feature three pairs. He’ll be choosing who gets the spotlight tomorrow. Until then, you’ll be working with assigned partners to learn the duet. Learn quickly and show me you want this.”

You sit up straighter as he begins pairing dancers. There’s a flicker of anxiety in your chest, this section is important. It’s not just about technique anymore. It’s about chemistry, presence, making people feel something. 

Your name is called alongside Heeseung’s, and relief washes over you. He’s one of the few who doesn’t treat you like an outsider. Maybe it’s because he’s newer to the team too, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t get involved in the drama. Either way, you’ll take it. 

The music shifts to something lower, grittier, slower. You both watch as the assistant choreographer demonstrates the duet. It’s bold, sensual, and more intimate than anything you’ve done with this group before. Hands sliding over waists, synchronized steps that pull the dancers close before sending them apart again, dramatic pauses that demand eye contact. It’s not raunchy, it’s electric, and it’s meant to make the audience feel something. 

You glance at Heeseung as the demo ends. He just raises his brows with a quiet smirk and says, “Ready?” And just like that, you fall into step. 

Heeseung matches your energy beat for beat. His movement is clean, sharp, but when the music calls for it, he melts into the flow like honey. His facial expressions are deadly. Confident, teasing, completely in sync with the mood. Rehearsing with him doesn't feel like work; it’s fun, even a little thrilling. For the first time in days, you’re reminded why you love this. 

But not everyone is thriving. You notice Mina and her usual crew struggling to grasp the rhythm and comfort of the pairing. Some of the girls look visibly uncomfortable, hesitating at the close contact or fumbling through transitions. There’s a mean spirited satisfaction in watching the girls who usually whisper about you now floundering under pressure. Maybe it’s petty, but it feels like karma is right on time. 

“YN and Heeseung, come to the front.”

You both step forward, brushing past someone who audibly sighs and rolls their eyes behind you. The choreographer ignores it, gesturing for you two to demonstrate. 

“Watch them,” he says to the rest of the room. “This is what I’m looking for.”

The music kicks in and you lose yourself in it. You give every step your full attention, every beat your best expression, letting the tension and chemistry between you and Heeseung do the work. When the final pose hits and the music fades, the room is quiet before the choreographer claps once, satisfied, but only with you and Heeseung.

“Again,” he says simply. And so you do it again. And again. Until you stop counting.

By the time rehearsal ends, your shirt is sticking to your back and your thighs ache with the effort of hours spent pushing yourself to the limit. You’re grabbing your things when a familiar voice calls your name. 

“Hey!” Yunjin jogs up beside you, practically bouncing. “You killed that duet. Like, seriously—if Hoseok doesn’t pick you tomorrow he’s blind. That section is so good. I love it.”

You try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

Yunjin narrows hers. “Okay. What’s up? You’re not freaking out about Mina again, are you?”

“I’m not freaking out,” you say quickly, but the look on her face tells you she doesn’t buy it. You sigh. “I just…we cannot mess up tomorrow. Hoseok is going to be extra critical. We have to be perfect.”

Yunjin giggles. “You sound like you’re about to audition for the Olympics or something.”

“We kind of are. The duet is a big deal.”

A mocking voice chimes in from behind you. “As if he would pick you.”

You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. Mina.

She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, one hip cocked like she owns the hallway. Her perfectly arched eyebrow is raised, her lips curl into a smug little smirk. There’s no denying she’s talented, probably one of the best dancers in the crew, but her jealousy has always poisoned her shine. 

You turn to face her slowly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “You should focus on your own part before worrying about mine.”

Mina’s smile tightens, but she doesn’t reply right away. Her gaze flicks to Yunjin and then back to you, eyes narrowed. “We’ll see who he picks tomorrow.”

She walks off without another word, her ponytail swinging like a warning behind her. 

Yunjin scoffs beside you. “She’s just mad you were asked to demonstrate. Again.”

“Still,” you murmur, staring down the hallway. “Tomorrow is going to be a war.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The next day, the rehearsal room buzzes with nervous energy before anyone even steps onto the floor. There’s an edge to every voice, a sense that something important is about to happen. You can feel it in your bones. Today matters.

You’re already stretching in the corner when thet door swings open and Hoseok walks in, sunglasses perched on his nose, a cap pulled low, and that unmistakable aura trailing behind him like static electricity. The room seems to exhale all at once, tension morphing into something else. Anticipation, maybe. Respect. He’s calm but focused, nodding a silent greeting to the choreographer and a few dancers he passes on the way in. Then his eyes sweep the room. 

When they land on you, he gives a small smile, barely there, but enough to make your stomach flip for a second before you snap your attention back to your warm up. He’s always been kind, professional, but tough. Hoseok doesn’t hand out praise easily. You have to earn it.

“Alright team,” he says, clapping once, his voice sharper than the last time you heard it. “I’ve seen the footage from yesterday. Some of it was promising. Some of it…needs work.”

A few dancers shift uncomfortably. Mina stiffens beside you.

“We’re going to run all the pair choreo. I want to see full energy, no holding back. Expressions. Intensity. Chemistry. Everything.” He pauses. “At the end of rehearsal, I’ll be choosing three pairs to feature.”

There’s a murmur through the group, some excited, some anxious. Hoseok doesn’t reveal the last part of the plan, but the stakes are already high. The chance to be in a featured pair for a section he choreographed? That’s already enough to make people push past their limits. 

You and Heeseung watch from the sidelines as the first duets go up. Some are good, technically clean, and well rehearsed. Others lack a spark. Mina’s routine is sharp, but her partner feels like an afterthought. You can almost see her trying too hard to win instead of just dance. 

Finally, your names are called.

You move into position with Heeseung, exchanging one quick glance before the music hits.

And then, it’s all instinct. 

You both dive into the choreo like you’ve done this hundreds of times, like you were made to move together. There’s tension, heat, and a boldness to every step. Your hands slide into places like muscle memory, your eyes lock when they need to, and your movements match so seamlessly it barely feels like performance, it feels like connection. 

When the final beat hits and you hold the last pose, the silence in the room feels different. 

Then Hoseok claps. Just once. Crisp and deliberate. 

“That,” Hoseok says, a smile creeping onto his face. “That’s the energy I want.”

You pull back slightly, catching your breath as the music fades. Heeseung subtly bumps your shoulder with his, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. 

“Take five,” Hoseok says. “Then we’ll run it one last time with the final picks.”

You step off to the side, heart still pounding, when Yunjin beelines for you with wide eyes. 

“He clapped,” she hisses, gripping your arm like she might explode. “You know what that means.”

You shrug like it’s no big deal, but you’re still buzzing. Hoseok never claps for the group unless something really hits. The look in his eyes when you're finished…there was something extra there. Something calculating. 

Across the room, Mina stares daggers through your reflection, arms crossed so tightly it looks painful. You ignore her.

When the break ends, everyone regathers, tension thick in the air.

Hoseok stands at the front again. “I’ve made my decisions,” he says. “These three pairs will be featured in the sections.”

He starts calling names—Heeseung and your name first.

Your stomach flips. You don’t look at Mina, but you can practically feel the steam coming off her. 

Hoseok finishes naming the other two pairs, then adds, “One more thing.”

The room stills.

“There’s another slot. Not a pair.” He pauses just long enough for everyone to start glancing around. “One dancer does the duet with me.”

You blink.

A duet with Hoseok? A sharp, electric silence stretches through the room as he scans the group again, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll decide after one final run through,” he says, stepping back. “So if you’re holding back…now’s your last chance.” 

The final run-through feels heavier, like everyone is pushing beyond their limits. The chosen pairs are locked in, but that solo duet spot is still up for grabs.

You give the routine everything. Every movement, every look, every shift of weight is intentional. You know Hoseok is watching—really watching—and there’s no room for mistakes. Heeseung matches your energy, and for a second, you forget about the stakes, about the competition. It’s just you and the music, your body moving like it belongs in this moment.

When the last beat lands, you hold your final pose, breathless, feeling the weight of Hoseok’s stare.

Then, after a long pause, he exhales and nods.

“Alright.” His voice is calm, but the decision is final. “The featured three pairs are set. And for the solo…”

The tension is thick. You swear you hear someone’s breath hitch.

“…YN.”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

There’s a ripple of reaction around you, some hushed murmurs, a sharp intake of breath. Mina stiffens, her arms crossing, jaw tight.

Hoseok continues, his voice steady. “It’s a shame to separate such a strong pair, but YN is the best pick for this.” His eyes flicker to Heeseung for a brief moment before returning to you. “You have the control, the expression, and the versatility this role needs.”

You barely register Yunjin’s hand squeezing yours in excitement before Hoseok speaks again.

“Heeseung, you’ll be with Yunjin.”

Yunjin lets out a tiny squeak, trying, and failing, to keep her composure. Heeseung just grins, giving her an encouraging nod.

That’s it. That’s the final lineup.

You and Hoseok in the front. Three pairs behind.

Mina…nowhere.

The realization sinks in across the room, and you don’t miss the way her hands clench into fists at her sides, but she says nothing. Doesn’t make a scene. Just lifts her chin slightly, as if daring anyone to pity her.

Hoseok claps his hands together. “That’s it. Rehearsal’s over. Get some rest and we run full-out tomorrow.”

You exhale, the adrenaline still pulsing through you.

As the dancers begin filtering out, Yunjin throws an arm around your shoulder, practically bouncing. “Are you kidding me? With Hoseok? Front and center? You’re about to be iconic.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe it.”

She grins. “Believe it. And be ready because if he’s dancing with you, he’s expecting perfection.”

You already know that. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel terrifying.

It feels like a challenge you’re ready to take.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The room empties out slowly, dancers murmuring their goodbyes as they head for the exit. You start to follow Yunjin, but before you can take another step, Hoseok’s voice calls out behind you.

“YN, stay for a minute.” Just beyond the doorway you see Yunjin pause. Hoseok notices and addresses her. “Yunjin, I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

You pause, turning back to face him. He stands in the center of the room, rolling his shoulders out, an easy confidence in his stance. Your heart kicks up slightly. You take a slow breath, stepping back onto the dance floor as the last of the others disappear down the hallway. The door swings shut, leaving just the two of you in the massive rehearsal space.

Hoseok tilts his head, studying you for a beat before speaking. “I wanted to run through a few things. It’s important that we’re comfortable with each other before we start full rehearsals with this.”

You nod, shifting your weight slightly. It makes sense. Dance, especially a duet, is about trust.

“I know you can handle yourself,” Hoseok continues. “You’re an amazing dancer. But I also know it can be intimidating dancing with someone like me.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he raises an eyebrow, and you know he’s right.

It’s not that you doubt your skill. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t good enough. But Hoseok is Hoseok. Years of experience, endless stage presence, and an almost supernatural ability to make every move feel effortless. It’s impossible not to feel the weight of that.

Still, you refuse to let nerves show. “I’ll be fine,” you say.

He grins. “Good. Then let’s start.”

You move into position. The choreography isn’t foreign anymore, but the difference is immediate—this isn’t Heeseung. He is a few inches shorter than your previous partner and Hoseok moves with a fluidity and confidence that makes every step feel like second nature to him.

But when it comes time to place your hands on him, you hesitate. It’s just for a fraction of a second, but he notices.

Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Pretend I’m Heeseung.”

You blink.

“It’s the same thing,” he says easily. “Same hands, same pressure. No difference.”

No difference. Right. You swallow, nodding, and this time, when your hands find their place, you commit to it.

Hoseok hums approvingly. “Better. But—” He shifts, taking your wrists in his hands, adjusting them slightly. His grip is warm, firm but not forceful. “More weight here. Less here. Feel the difference?”

You do. He guides you through it, step by step, his touch light but precise. The smallest corrections, pressure, angles, breath control and as you move, something shifts.

The hesitation melts away, replaced by something new. Tension. Not the bad kind. The kind that makes every movement electric, every glance charged. Hoseok notices it too, but he doesn’t acknowledge it outright. He just meets your eyes for a beat longer than necessary before pulling away.

“Good,” he says simply. “That’s enough for now.”

You exhale, feeling something unravel inside you.

For a while, neither of you says anything. You both just sit on the floor, catching your breath. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable.

Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you say, “I danced from when I was three until I was fifteen. I don’t know how they got the idea I just started a few years ago. Dance was my whole life for most of my life.”

Hoseok turns his head slightly, listening.

“I had to stop because I tore my ACL.” You glance down at your knee, absently tracing a pattern on your leggings. “I recovered pretty fast, but when I tried to come back, my peers had already gotten too far ahead. I felt like I couldn’t compete anymore.”

You don’t look at him, but you can feel him watching you. 

“So I quit.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I didn’t dance at all for years. Until about three years ago.”

Hoseok leans back on his hands. “What changed?”

Your lips curve slightly. “I saw a BTS dance practice.” His eyebrows lift in surprise. “I don’t even remember which one it was,” you admit, shaking your head. “But something about the way you guys moved made me want to move again. I started learning choreography for fun and before I knew it…I was back.”

A beat of silence passes before he speaks again.

“That’s crazy,” he murmurs. Then softer, “In a good way.”

You finally glance at him, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. A flicker of something behind his eyes, like he’s processing more than he’s saying. And then he smiles, slow and knowing. 

“Well,” he says, pushing himself to his feet and offering a hand. “Guess that means this dance is a full-circle moment, huh?”

Your chest tightens just a little. You take his hand.

And as he pulls you up, you think—yeah. Maybe it is. Your hand is still warm from his as you gather your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You expect him to head out first, maybe give a casual “see you tomorrow,” but instead, Hoseok lingers near the door, waiting for you. 

“You ready?” he asks.

You blink. “Uh…yeah.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

You give him a sideways glance. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I said I would,” he cuts in, gentle but firm. “Told Yunjin I’d get you home safe.”

You’re not sure if he’s doing it out of politeness or something else, but you nod anyway. “Okay.”

The night air is cool when you step outside the building, still warm from rehearsal. Hoseok walks beside you, his hood pulled up again, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He doesn’t say much at first, and neither do you. It’s a comfortable kind of quiet, the kind that settles in when something meaningful just happened.

You expect him to point you toward the train or call a staff car to take you home.

Instead, he falls into step beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You don’t have to walk me,” you say gently, glancing over.

He shrugs. “I know.”

You pause. “Then why are you?”

Hoseok doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his gaze forward, but you catch the faintest lift of his lips. “I said I’d make sure you got home safe, didn’t I?”

You smile softly, heart fluttering. “You didn’t have to actually do that. People are gonna talk.”

“They already do,” he says, voice light, teasing. “Might as well make it worth it.”

You laugh, and he grins at the sound.

As you walk, the sharp edges of the professional Hoseok, the perfectionist, the dance leader, the choreographer, start to fade away. Instead, something else emerges. Softer. Warmer. This is the version of him you’ve only seen in clips. The one who makes dumb jokes on Run BTS, laughs with his whole chest, and gets way too into silly games.

“You know,” he says, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets, “you looked like you were gonna pass out the first time I corrected your placement.”

“I was not,” you protest, bumping your shoulder lightly into his. “Okay, maybe a little. You’re kind of a big deal.”

He laughs. “Nah. I’m just a guy who never stops dancing. Kind of annoying, actually.”

You shake your head. “You’re really not.”

There’s a pause, and when you glance over, he’s watching you with that same unreadable look from the studio. It’s not intense or overwhelming, it’s just steady. Thoughtful.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he tells you. “You’re a good dancer and you feel the music. That’s rare.”

Your cheeks warm. “You’re just saying that ‘cause I said you inspired me.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” he replies. “You’ve got something.”

You walk a few more paces in silence before his voice comes again, this time quieter. “And hey…I meant the other thing, too.”

You glance at him.

“If something’s ever messing with your head, whatever it is, you can tell me.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. “You don’t have to hold it all in.”

The memory of that conversation in the empty studio flashes through your mind, the way his voice had softened when he told you he knew what it was like, the way he saw straight through you without prying. You swallow the sudden lump in your throat.

“I’ll remember that,” you say quietly.

He nods like that’s enough. You reach your building quicker than you thought. When you stop in front of the gate, you half expect him to wave you off and leave. Instead, Hoseok lingers.

“This is me,” you say, turning to him.

He nods, taking a step back but not quite leaving. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s gonna be brutal.”

You smile. “Looking forward to it.”

He holds your gaze for a moment longer, then gives a small salute and turns to go. You don’t move until he disappears around the corner.

Inside, the lights are on. Yunjin is waiting, perched on the edge of the couch, a snack bag in her lap and a look of pure, concentrated mischief on her face.

You don’t even get your shoes off before she pounces.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

You blink, taking a step away from her. “I—”

She stands. “Nope. Don’t even try to play it cool. You stayed late with J-Hope. You walked home with J-Hope. And you’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” you mumble, which only makes her laugh harder.

“You so are,” she says, grabbing your arm and dragging you toward the couch. “Spill. Every little detail. Right now.”

And you do. Eventually.

But as you tell her the story, there’s one part you leave out. A moment too small to explain, but impossible to forget:

The way Hoseok looked at you when he said, “You can tell me anything.”

Like he meant it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The studio is quiet now. Most of the dancers have filtered out, the buzz of today’s rehearsal replaced with the faint hum of a speaker left on low volume. You’re sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of you, rolling out your calves with a foam roller. The mirror reflects the tired set of your shoulders, your hair sticking to your neck, and the slightly dazed look in your eyes.

You’re not sure when Hoseok came back in, but you hear the door click shut and the soft shuffle of his steps before he drops onto the floor beside you.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just sits close enough that your arms could brush if you leaned a little to the side. Then he speaks and it’s quiet, but direct.

“You good?”

You glance at him, blinking like you hadn’t expected him to actually sit down.

“Yeah,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired.”

Hoseok doesn’t look convinced. His expression is steady, unreadable like it always is when he’s being careful with his words.

“You danced like you were somewhere else today,” he says, not unkindly. “Still sharp, but…distracted. Off. It wasn’t physical, it was in your head.”

You press your lips together, pretending to focus on the roller beneath your thigh. “It’s nothing serious. Just some…catty stuff.”

He tilts his head. “Catty like ‘someone wore the same shoes as me,’ or catty like ‘people are being assholes behind your back’?”

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. “It doesn’t matter.”

Hoseok shifts his weight, leaning forward a little. His voice softens, but there’s an edge of seriousness under it. “It clearly does matter. If something’s going on that’s affecting how you feel here, I need to know.”

You glance at him. His brows are drawn in concern, not in a nosy way, but in that quiet, careful way of someone who’s watching more closely than he lets on.

You try to smile, but it feels tight. “It’s just some girls being salty. Nothing new.”

“Was it Mina?”

You pause. That alone tells him everything.

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “What did they say?”

You shake your head, grabbing your water bottle and taking a long sip to stall.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, gentler now. “I’m not asking because I want drama. I just don’t like the idea of you being put in a bad spot because of me.”

You blink. “You?”

He meets your gaze, expression open. “I’ve been around long enough to know what people say when they think attention isn’t fair. Especially when it comes from someone like me. I shouldn’t have pulled you aside yesterday without making it clear to the group why. It gave them room to assume things.”

Your chest tightens. “It’s not your fault.”

“But they’re whispering about you, aren’t they?”

You look down. “Yeah,” you admit softly. “They said I must’ve begged for the rehearsal. Or offered something in return. That I don’t deserve the spot.”

There’s a heavy silence. Hoseok doesn't respond right away.

When you glance up, his jaw is tight, eyes unreadable.

“I can talk to them,” he offers.

You shake your head instantly. “No. Please don’t. That would just make it worse. If they think I ran to you, they’ll hate me even more.”

He doesn’t argue, but you can feel the tension in him.

“You shouldn't have to deal with this,” he says finally, quieter than before. “None of this is your fault. You work hard. You earned your spot. And anyone who can’t see that, who chooses not to see it, doesn’t deserve to be taken seriously.”

You nod, barely. He watches you for a moment longer, then shifts slightly, bumping your knee with his.

“You can tell me anything, you know.”

You look over at him.

“I mean it,” he says. “Even if we’re not close or whatever yet. If stuff like this keeps happening, please don’t carry it alone.”

You nod again, this time more sincerely.

“Thanks,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He gives you a small smile, then gets to his feet and holds out a hand.

“C’mon. Show me where you got stuck earlier. Let’s work through it before we call it.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet, and before you can say anything, he’s already stepping back toward the center of the studio gesturing for you to follow.

“Let’s go from the beginning,” he says, sliding his foot across the floor into position. “Just our duet. No pressure…feel it out.”

You nod and move into place, facing him, your heart still a little tight from the conversation, but lighter than before. The music kicks in low from the speaker, just loud enough to hear the rhythm, and you both fall into motion.

You mirror each other for a few counts before stepping into the partnered section, his hands catching yours, the turn, the lift, the slow lean-in that has your breath catching for a reason that has nothing to do with the choreography.

His eyes flick up to meet yours for just a second, the barest glint of mischief in them.

“You sure you’re not mad at me?” he asks mid-spin, voice teasing as you land.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“Your grip is kind of intense,” he jokes, laughing softly.

You scoff and roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush all the same. “Maybe I am mad at you.”

“Damn. I knew it,” he says dramatically, tossing his head back in mock despair before resetting for the next movement. “Guess I’ll go cry in the corner. Alone. With my incredible sense of rhythm.”

You huff a laugh, the tightness in your chest easing just a bit more.

The next run-through goes smoother. Your timing aligns perfectly, and the tension that’s been coiled in your body all morning starts to melt away. Between counts, Hoseok slips into goofy-mode. He’s pulling exaggerated faces during transitions, pretending to wobble like a baby deer when you jump, and fake-swooning when you land a tricky turn.

“You trying to show me up?” he asks between breaths, hands on his hips. “I thought this was a partnership.”

You smirk. “Sounds like someone’s feeling threatened.”

He gasps. “Okay. Wow. I’m being disrespected in my own studio.”

You giggle, covering your mouth. “You started it.”

“Me?” He points to himself with wide eyes. “I’m innocent.”

“You’re literally never innocent.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah, but I’m cute.”

You hesitate just long enough for him to notice, your brain scrambling to process whether that was flirting or just…Hoseok being Hoseok.

He grins like he knows exactly what he’s doing and spins toward the mirror, smoothing back his sweat-damp hair in exaggerated slow-motion. “Okay. Again from the top,” he declares dramatically. “This time with ten percent more flirtation and twenty percent more sass.”

You snort. “Is that the official note?”

“Yes. I’m very professional.”

He catches your eye in the mirror, and you smile without meaning to. He returns it, softer this time, a little more real.

“Seriously,” he says, tone dropping just a bit, “you good now?”

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Hoseok just nods, like he expected nothing less, and lifts a hand toward the speaker. “Then let’s dance.”

And this time, when the music starts again, you really let yourself move.

The music flows around you, the rhythm pulling you back into your body as you and Hoseok move together again. Everything sharpens, the way your hands connect, the heat of exertion building under your skin, the way he smiles when you hit the counts just right.

You’re in the final eight, the part where your bodies come close—close enough that your breath catches and you almost forget you’re supposed to keep moving. Hoseok’s palm slides to the small of your back, guiding you through the turn. His voice is low but playful.

“See?” he says. “Told you we’d get it.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lift. “You’re not always right, you know.”

“I am when it comes to this,” he grins. “And also when it comes to—”

The studio door creaks open with a soft click.

You both freeze.

He’s still close. His hand is still on your waist. Your breath still feels just a little too loud in your throat.

Sana stands in the doorway, blinking like she didn’t expect to see anyone. Her brows lift a fraction as she takes in the scene, your closeness, the music, the fact that you’re both very clearly in the middle of something.

“Oh,” she says, smiling a little too wide. “Didn’t realize there was still rehearsal going on.”

You step back immediately, your body going stiff as you reach for your water bottle, suddenly hyper-aware of how this must look.

Hoseok clears his throat, casual but a little clipped. “Private practice,” he says evenly. “We’re running duet sections.”

Sana’s eyes flick between you two. “Right. Of course.” Her tone is perfectly polite, but there’s something just beneath it. You know she’ll twist this. She doesn’t need evidence, just the image.

She lingers a second longer before turning toward the lockers. “Don’t mind me,” she calls over her shoulder. “Just grabbing my sweatshirt.”

You glance at Hoseok, but he’s already looking at you.

“Ignore her,” he says under his breath. “This is our time. Let her talk if she wants.”

But your chest has already tightened again.

You nod, trying to keep the knot in your stomach from growing. “Let’s just finish the run.”

He hesitates, eyes scanning your face, then gives a soft, reassuring smile. “Okay. From the top. Let’s kill it.”

The music starts again, but it’s harder now to ignore the whispers that you know are coming.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The studio is already humming with quiet chatter and the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor when you walk in the next morning. Your duffel hangs heavy on your shoulder, but not as heavy as the pit in your stomach. The last rehearsal before tour. The final run of the full program. It should feel exciting.

Instead, the energy feels…off.

You’re barely a few steps inside when you catch it. Low whispers, the kind that stop just as quickly as they start. You glance toward the mirrors, where Sana and Mina are stretching with two other girls. One of them, Momo, smirks and leans in closer to Mina, who’s pretending to focus on her split stretch.

“Must’ve been a late night,” Mina says under her breath, not looking at you.

Sana hums thoughtfully. “Mm. Guess some people need the extra help.”

The girls snicker, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks. Yunjin, walking just behind you, hears it too. She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “I swear to god,” but you gently tug on her arm before she can say anything louder.

“Not worth it,” you murmur.

Yunjin shoots you a glare, protective and fiery. “They think they’re slick, but they’re just sad.”

You give her a small smile, but the edge of it wavers.

You take your usual spot on the floor to begin warming up, trying to stay focused, but the tension in the room is palpable. Everyone knows this is a big day. The full run-through. All eyes will be on Hoseok’s final decisions who shines, who doesn’t, and who might get more spotlight once the tour kicks off.

Your nerves were already frayed, but now the added scrutiny. The stares, the fake laughter, the whispered theories about why Hoseok chose you for the duet, it makes your stomach churn.

You stretch in silence, headphones in, trying to block them out. You know you earned your place. You know. But it doesn’t stop the noise.

Hoseok walks in fifteen minutes later, ball cap low over his brow and a coffee in hand. The room shifts instantly. Everyone straightens, energy tightening like a wire pulled taut.

His eyes flick across the studio as he greets everyone with a quick, “Morning,” before his gaze lands briefly on you.

It lingers for just a second.

You don’t smile. You don’t react.

You can’t. Not with every pair of eyes watching.

“Alright,” Hoseok claps his hands together. “Let’s run it top to bottom. No stops. Treat it like a real show. Find your focus and give me everything you’ve got.”

People start moving to their places, but the whispers haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve just gone quieter slinking under the surface like snakes in tall grass.

You swallow hard and exhale through your nose. One more rehearsal. Then the tour begins, and maybe hopefully you’ll finally be too busy proving yourself to hear them at all.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The first few shows in Seoul go off without a hitch. Every cue lands, every formation clicks, and the energy in the KSPO Dome is electric. Hoseok commands the stage like he was born on it, and somehow, being beside him under the lights feels more natural than nerve-wracking. You move in sync, you hit every mark, and the crowd responds with deafening cheers that echo in your chest long after you leave the stage.

But the online reaction? A different story. 

Korean fans aren’t exactly thrilled about the close choreography between you and Hoseok. Some accuse the creative team of pushing too hard for attention, as if this wasn’t his idea. Others aren’t shy about voicing their discomfort, dissecting every interaction between the two of you with brutal intensity.You don’t let it get to you, you’ve worked too hard to be shaken by faceless usernames and half baked speculation.

Brooklyn night one is just as electric. The crowd is louder, rowdier, and when you step off stage soaked in sweat, there’s a fire in your blood that you don’t want to put out.

Then comes night two and the day starts to unravel just a few hours before showtime.

You’re in the dressing room, tying your hair back, when the stage manager walks in looking like she’s carrying a live grenade. “Wardrobe issue. One of the interns hung your outfits in the wrong place and they are ruined,” she says, holding up her phone. “Customs seized the backup costumes when they came into the U.S. The shipment paperwork was flagged.”

You blink. “All of them?”

“Everything. Yours, the duets, even the encore outfits.”

Your stomach sinks. “So…what are we supposed to wear?”

She disappears behind a garment rack and pulls out a hanger. It holds a cropped jersey with the tour logo in silver glitter across the chest. On the back, it reads in huge block letters:

HOPE’S GIRL

You stare. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“They were from a scrapped number. We have a full box of them in the truck. They’re clean, they’re pressed, and they fit the aesthetic.”

You eye the jersey. It’s cute. Actually, it’s really cute. But it’s also really cropped, your stomach will be fully on display. And the name on the back? Way too bold.

“Isn’t this a little…” you gesture vaguely at the lettering. “Much?”

“Do you want to fly to Newark and sweet talk the customs agents yourself?” the manager asks, half-joking, half-panicked. “Because call time’s in thirty.”

You don’t have a choice. You change.

The jersey fits like it was made for you. Snug in all the right places, sleeves cuffed just above the elbow, hem hovering above your waist. You check yourself in the mirror, trying to ignore the lettering burning into your back.

When you step out, conversations stall. A few dancers glance over. One of the stylists lets out a low whistle. Then Hoseok turns, mid-discussion with a crew member, and his eyes land on you.

He freezes.

Then, slowly, he grins. Not the polite stage smile. The real one. The one that makes his eyes crinkle and your stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with the jersey. You glance down, suddenly hyper-aware of just how much skin you’re showing, and the text stretched across your shoulder blades.

Still, the moment passes. The music starts. The show goes on. But the mood sticks with you. A little unsettled, a little unsure. You look amazing. The crowd will scream. The performance will be flawless.

So why do you feel so weird inside?

The lights dim. The roar of the Barclays Center swells around you like a wave, and the opening VCR flickers to life on the screens above the stage. You’re already in place, heart hammering in your chest, fingers twitching at your sides as you wait for the music to drop.

The crowd is louder tonight, maybe it’s the weekend energy, maybe it’s just New York. Maybe it’s the jersey.

Your jersey.

The one that reads HOPE’S GIRL in massive silver letters across your back.

You try to shake it off. Focus. Breathe. You know the routine inside and out, muscle memory will take over. But as the spotlight hits and the opening beats explode through the arena, you can’t help the flare of heat that climbs your neck when you and Hoseok hit your first mark center stage.

He’s already smirking when he looks at you.

You swear it’s a little cockier than usual.

The crowd loses it when he reaches for you during the duet section. His hand grazes your waist, right where the cropped jersey ends, and you hear the collective shriek ripple through the venue like a current. You don't falter, not even for a beat, but your pulse skitters. You wonder if he notices. (He does.)

The chemistry tonight is different. Tighter. Sharper. Every move is crisp, charged, laced with something just below the surface. Hoseok doesn’t break character once, but there’s something extra in the way he watches you, like he’s feeding off the crowd’s energy, and you're the spark.

At one point, he leans in for a choreographed moment—faces close, breaths shared—and you swear you catch him whispering, “They’re gonna riot.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

Instead, you snap into the next move, heart pounding, mind focused, eyes locked.

When the last beat hits and the lights go black, the arena erupts. It’s deafening. Screams echo through your bones as the two of you jog offstage, breathless and slick with sweat. You’re grinning, high on adrenaline, already tugging your in-ear out when Hoseok turns to you in the wings.

“You crushed that,” he says, still breathless. “That jersey…” He whistles, grinning. “Might have started a war.”

You roll your eyes, breath hitching on a laugh. “Don’t even.”

But he just flashes that infuriating smile again. “Hope’s girl, huh?”

You shove his shoulder, but your cheeks burn, and even as the crew moves around you resetting for the next set, he lingers a second longer, eyes lingering like he’s memorizing you all over again.

The show ends in a blur of lights and music, the crowd's cheers still ringing in your ears as you make your way backstage. Your body aches from the intense performance, sweat dripping down your back as you strip off the jersey, feeling the cool air hit your skin. You’re breathing hard, but there’s a high buzzing through you, an energy that doesn’t quite fade yet.

Yunjin is there in an instant, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Okay, first of all,” she starts, eyes wide, “what was that?! You were literally on fire tonight. You looked so hot, I almost couldn’t concentrate! Like, how does that even happen?”

You laugh, wiping your face with a towel. “It was just the jersey, Yunjin.”

“Just the jersey?” She places a hand over her heart dramatically. “You’re telling me you don’t know what you were doing out there? The way it clung to you, the way you moved, if I were in the crowd, I’d be screaming my head off. Hoseok probably had to be holding himself back from jumping off stage just to catch you.”

You try not to grin, but the thought makes your chest tighten. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am not. Babe, I don’t even know how you stayed so calm. I was practically hyperventilating on the sidelines watching you. You’re like…a goddess.”

Before you can reply, the sound of footsteps clicks through the hallway, and you know who it is before you even turn around.

Mina and Sana.

“Well, well,” Sana says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “look who’s enjoying the spotlight.”

Mina crosses her arms, eyes narrowing at the exposed skin of your stomach. “Must be nice. Wearing a jersey with ‘Hope’s Girl’ on it. Subtle.”

You don’t respond immediately, but you feel the tension creeping up your spine. Yunjin, however, isn’t having it.

“Really? That’s what you’re gonna focus on?” she shoots back, eyes flashing. “I think we all know the story behind the jersey, and it’s not like she went around asking for this attention.”

Sana smirks, a little too pleased with herself. “Sure, it’s just a scraped costume item. But only one of us got assigned that particular one, didn’t we?”

Mina’s gaze sharpens, her tone fake-sweet. “Yeah, just be careful. You might get too comfortable being everyone’s center of attention, those things don’t last long.”

Her words sting, but you keep your face neutral. You want to tell them to mind their business, but you hold back, not wanting to make a scene.

Yunjin steps closer, her voice low and cutting. “You guys are real classy, huh? Try not to be so obvious.”

Mina and Sana share a look before walking off, their footsteps echoing down the hall like a statement.

Yunjin exhales sharply, her fists clenched at her sides. “Seriously. Do they ever stop?”

You shrug, trying to shake it off. “Let them talk. They don’t get to decide what’s true.”

“Yeah, but damn, it’s hard not to hear them when they’re that loud,” Yunjin mutters, her eyes still on the retreating figures.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The next few stops of the U.S. leg flow like muscle memory. Rehearsals, shows, after-show hangouts in hotel rooms or wherever you can find food that late. Everyone slips into their own rhythms. Little cliques form, some loud and chaotic, some quieter and tired. You and Yunjin are the latter, always rooming together, always ending the night whispering half-asleep jokes under hotel comforters, letting the adrenaline of performance burn off slowly.

Hoseok is kind to everyone, but there’s something a little softer in how he treats you. Even when he’s obviously exhausted with dark circles under his eyes and a  gravelly voice. He'll still toss you a grin in passing, a warm “good work today,” or a brief shoulder squeeze as he walks by. Nothing intense. Nothing you can’t explain away. But still, it lingers.

Mexico City feels different the moment the plane touches down.

The crowd is electric, louder than anything so far, and the setlist tonight gives the dancers a chance to shine, one particular number puts the girls front and center, a line of you holding onto each other’s hips, all sweat-slick skin and sharp movement, hip thrusts and rhythm pulsing through the floor.

You barely even register it when Mina’s fingers dig into your waist. Not at first.

But then she digs. Sharp nails through the thin fabric of your costume, pressing so hard it feels like they’re carving into you.

You flinch, barely, but your body keeps moving like it’s on autopilot. You smile, you hit every beat, you power through. There’s a camera somewhere. Fans screaming. You don’t miss a step. But when you hit the wings, adrenaline drops all at once, and the pain settles in.

You rush toward the wardrobe first thing, heart thudding in your chest. “Hey, do we—do we have any backup options?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level. “Like...something with more coverage?”

Thankfully, they do now. You swap out the crop top and slip into something looser. The scratches burn, but at least they’re not visible anymore.

You don’t think anyone noticed.

Later, the green room is quiet. Most of the dancers have drifted out, some heading to the hotel, others grabbing food or showering off the performance high. You stay behind to grab a hoodie from the top shelf of the wardrobe racks, reaching up on your toes.

The door creaks open behind you.

“Hey—” Hoseok’s voice cuts off. “Wait.”

You pause mid-reach, glancing over your shoulder.

He’s standing just inside the doorway, brow furrowed, eyes locked on your waist.

You look down.

Your shirt has ridden up just enough to show the angry red scratches along your skin, faint but clearly there. His expression shifts instantly, quiet concern turning sharp.

“What happened?” he asks, stepping closer.

You tug your shirt down quickly. “It’s nothing. Costume just rubbed me the wrong way.”

He gives you a look, one that says he doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Can I see?” he asks gently, his voice low, eyes searching yours.

You hesitate, then nod once, slowly lifting the hem of your shirt just enough to show the marks along your side.

His breath catches. “Jesus,” he mutters, kneeling slightly to get a closer look. “These are from nails.”

You lower your shirt again, already bracing.

“I have to tell management,” he says, voice calm but firm.

“No.” You shake your head. “Hoseok, please. You can’t.”

His jaw clenches. “She drew blood. You don’t do that by accident.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “But if you report her, she’ll know it came from me. She already hates me enough.”

“I don’t care if she hates you. She crossed a line.”

You look down, fists tightening at your sides. “And if she gets reprimanded? Cut? Then every girl on this tour is going to think I’m trying to get people fired just because I’m close to you.”

“You’re not close to me,” he says without thinking, then winces. “I mean—not like that. I just mean, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Exactly,” you say. “So don’t make it worse.”

There’s a long pause. His gaze softens a little, but the tension’s still there, tight in his shoulders.

“I won’t go to management,” he says finally. “But only if you swear to tell me if she touches you again.”

You nod slowly. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

He exhales through his nose, clearly still not thrilled, but lets it go, for now. Then, a little softer, “You didn’t even flinch out there. No one would’ve known.”

You offer a small shrug. “Didn’t want to mess up the show.”

Something flashes behind his eyes—pride, maybe. Or something warmer. He doesn’t say it out loud, but you can feel it settle between you.

“Still,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “you shouldn’t have to bleed for a stage.”

Back at the hotel, it’s just past midnight. You and Yunjin are in your room, both freshly showered, your hair still damp as you sit cross-legged on your bed scrolling through messages. She’s across from you, stretched out on her stomach and picking at a protein bar with barely-contained boredom.

“God, we should order fries or something,” she mumbles into her arms. “I know it’s late, but I’m still wired.”

You laugh softly, about to answer then you stretch.

Your shirt lifts just enough to reveal a faint red line on your side.

Yunjin sits up like she’s been electrocuted.

“What the hell is that?” Her voice is sharp, alarmed. She scrambles over the bed toward you, pushing your arm up before you can react. “Wait—is that a scratch? That’s blood.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, trying to pull your shirt down again. “Seriously.”

She isn’t having it. “Don’t lie to me. Who did that?”

You go quiet.

“Who.” Her voice drops into a dangerous whisper.

You sigh. “It happened during the performance. Mina. She dug her nails in during the line choreo.”

Yunjin is already off the bed.

“Absolutely not.” She’s halfway to the door, hair wild, grabbing her hoodie off the chair. “I’m going to drag her. I’ll knock on her door and rip her fake lashes off one by one—”

“Yunjin!” You scramble up, grabbing her wrist before she reaches the handle. “Please. Don’t.”

“Are you serious right now? She injured you in the middle of a live performance!”

“I know. But if you storm down there, it just gives her what she wants. More drama. More fuel.”

Her jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle twitch. “She wants you humiliated. She’s been whispering garbage since Seoul and now she’s physically hurting you? And you’re the one worried about drama?”

You squeeze her wrist gently. “I’m tired. You’re tired. Just…let it go. For now.”

Yunjin glares at the door like she’s imagining it’s Mina’s face, but finally, finally, she exhales sharply and slumps back against the wall.

“I swear,” she mutters, “if she so much as breathes in your direction wrong again, I’m not stopping at lashes. I’m coming for her extensions too.”

You smile faintly, despite the sting in your side. “Noted.”

She walks back to you and flops down beside you again, grumbling under her breath, “Next tour, we’re getting roommate requests and I’m making sure we’re in a different hotel wing.”

You laugh. “You’d miss me.”

“Shut up and order the fries.”

You reach for your phone. The tension still lingers in the air, but it’s easier now, the weight of it softened by the person next to you who’s always ready to go to war, no matter how small the battlefield.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The fries are gone, Yunjin is out cold, and the hotel room feels too warm, too cramped with everything that happened still buzzing in your head. You need to get out of here. 

You slip on a hoodie, grab your keycard, and make your way up to the rooftop lounge. It’s quiet at this hour, just past 2 a.m., and the Mexico City skyline stretches around you, lights glittering in the distance like stars fallen to earth. You sit down on one of the loungers, tucking your knees up to your chest, letting the night air cool your skin and settle your thoughts.

You don’t expect anyone else to come up.

Which is why your heart jumps a little when the rooftop door creaks open.

Hoseok steps out, hoodie pulled low, hair damp like he just showered. He spots you immediately and pauses, his expression unreadable for a second before he walks over.

“I figured I’d find you up here,” he says softly.

You give a small smile. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” he nods, settling into the lounger beside yours. “Me neither.”

There’s a brief silence, comfortable, somehow. Then he turns his head to look at you, eyes catching faint light from the city below.

“How’s your side?”

You blink, still surprised that he seems to care. “It’s fine.”

“Can I see?”

You hesitate for half a second, then pull the hoodie up just enough to show the bandage, a thin sliver of red peeking out underneath.

His jaw tenses.

“She really did that during the choreo?” He asks again, like he can’t believe that it was true the first time you had this conversation. 

You nod. “It wasn’t that deep. Just enough to be petty.”

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “You didn’t even flinch on stage.”

“Can’t flinch when there’s seventeen thousand people watching.”

He shakes his head. “You’re tougher than most people I know.”

You snort, trying to brush it off. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” he says. “You don’t complain. You just keep working.”

You glance over at him, a little startled by the quiet sincerity in his voice.

“You notice that?”

He looks at you, the edges of his mouth quirking up. “I notice everything.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the heat creeping up your neck. “Smooth.”

“I’m not trying to be smooth,” he says, laughing now. “If I was, I’d say something like you danced so well tonight I almost missed my cue.”

You giggle despite yourself. “That’s terrible.”

“Right? I knew it,” he grins, then leans back against the lounger, staring at the sky. “You know, people ask me the same questions in interviews. Favorite food, dream collaborations, stuff like that. But no one ever asks the weird stuff.”

“Weird stuff like what?”

He hums, making his thinking face where he looks up. “Like the first time I ever forgot choreography on stage. Or the first time I realized I liked dancing more than rapping.”

“You forgot choreo?” you ask, eyes wide. 

He groans. “Yes! 2016 we were in Osaka. I completely blanked. I played it off, but I wanted to die. I still think about it sometimes when I’m in the shower.”

You laugh, and it feels easy, light in a way you haven’t felt since this tour started.

“You ever think about quitting?” you ask, quieter now. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Twice, but I didn’t. I stayed. And then…people like you came along. Reminded me why I loved this in the first place.”

You’re stunned into silence for a beat, and he just smiles, leaning back again like he didn’t just drop a weight into your chest.

The air shifts, warmer now. More charged.

You stay up there with him until the sky starts to tint pink at the edges, trading quiet stories and silly jokes and tiny truths you’re not sure either of you mean to share, but don’t regret. Not even a little.

You and Hoseok sneak in your naps earlier in the day, quick, quiet moments of rest that leave you both looser and lighter. You haven’t spoken since the night before, but when your eyes meet across the green room as everyone starts getting into costume, there’s something wordless exchanged. A kind of mutual grounding.

When it’s time to run the show, everything clicks into place. Mina’s been shifted out of your proximity in all the formations. She’s still there, but now her energy can’t touch you. You don’t have to brace yourself. You can just dance, and you do.

The crowd is louder than night one. They are wild, alive, feeding you energy from the second you step out. Every cheer feels like it’s vibrating in your bones. Your body moves like it’s never known hesitation, hitting every count with precision and power. Every hair toss, every hip hit, every spin. You’re on fire.

The numbers flow one into the next, and soon enough, you’re side-stage again, waiting for the duet. Everyone else clusters on the other side, but Hoseok finds you right where he did the night before. You’re both smiling this time.

“Better night?” he asks with a little raise of his brows, already knowing the answer.

“The best,” you say, and you mean it.

He steps in close, just like yesterday, but there’s no hesitation now, only warmth. His hands come to your face again, thumbs brushing the tops of your cheeks as he leans in until your foreheads touch.

“You were glowing out there,” he says, voice low and playful. “Like, full-on radiant. Crowd’s obsessed.”

You laugh, heart hammering in your chest. “Pretty sure they’re obsessed with you.”

“Nah,” he grins. “Tonight, they’re yours.”

It sends something giddy fluttering in your stomach. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Let’s go own this. I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you too,” you say, and you’re both smiling like you’re about to get away with something.

The cue hits. The lights flare, and then you're dancing together.

This time, everything is free and full. Hoseok’s energy wraps around you, not protective, not careful, just completely in sync. Hoseok dances with the kind of presence that makes people forget to blink. He still avoids the spot where your cut is healing, but it doesn’t feel like he’s pulling back. It feels like he knows you. Like you’ve built something real in all those hours of rehearsal, tension, and trust.

When the duet ends, the crowd goes wild, and as you hold the final pose beside him, Hoseok glances your way with that same dazzling smile. Only now, there’s something a little different in his eyes. Pride. Mischief. Maybe even a spark of something more.

You feel unstoppable.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The post-show adrenaline lingers like glitter on skin. The performance high, the crowd’s roar, the perfect execution, it’s all still pulsing through your veins as you sit with the other dancers and crew at a lively restaurant tucked into a buzzing neighborhood just beyond the venue. The energy’s infectious. Laughter pours from every table, drinks clink, and someone orders another round before you can blink.

Hoseok shows up a little after the rest of you, wearing a baseball cap and a plain white tee, the kind of casual that still somehow makes heads turn. He slides into the seat beside Yunjin, across from you, and when your eyes meet over the rim of your glass, you can’t help the quiet smile that rises.

He toasts you later with a simple, “To killing it two nights in a row.”

Eventually, most of the dancers rally into a louder crowd, talking bar hopping, clubs, “just one more,” and “we’re in Mexico, come on!” But you, comfortably buzzed and warm from the tequila and laughter, decide to head back. Yunjin stays behind, swept into the tide, and you’re happy for her.

Back at the hotel, you take your time. A long, hot shower. Moisturizer. Your favorite oversized tee and soft shorts. Then you pad barefoot down the hallway with a hotel-bar cocktail in hand and head for the rooftop lounge.

The air is cool but gentle, and the view stretches out like a glittering painting. You settle on a lounger, legs tucked under you, drink cradled in both hands as you sip slowly and let yourself feel everything. The ache in your muscles. The thrum of triumph. How far you’ve come.

And then—

“Thought I might find you up here.”

You look over your shoulder. Hoseok steps out onto the rooftop, holding a drink of his own, something dark and neat in a short glass.

He’s changed, too. Into joggers and a hoodie, hair still a little damp from his own shower. He looks tired, but content. You wave him over.

He settles beside you on the same lounger, close but not crowded, and for a while, you just… talk. About nothing. About everything. About how wild this whole thing is: the tour, dancing, fans screaming your name.

And then a song starts playing through the rooftop speakers. Something upbeat and groovy, with a smooth, bouncing rhythm that makes your shoulders sway almost instinctively.

You glance at him.

“Dance with me.”

He chuckles. “Right now?”

You stand, offer your hand. “It’s tradition now, isn’t it?”

Hoseok hesitates for half a second before taking your hand and rising to his feet. “Alright, tradition.”

The two of you fall into rhythm easily, bare feet sliding over the rooftop tile. It’s loose, playful. No choreography, no mirrors. Just movement. Just you and him. You laugh when he tries a silly body roll and laugh even harder when he copies your spin with exaggerated flair.

One song blends into the next, and somewhere along the way, it shifts. You’re still laughing, still dancing, but the space between you shrinks. His hands linger longer. Your breath comes quicker.

Then he twirls you.

Your back presses gently to his chest, one arm wrapped around your waist. He turns you again, catches your hand in his, and dips you.

Time stops. You’re suspended in the moment, his arm strong around your back, your hand resting on his shoulder, and he looks at your lips.

Then, almost guiltily, his eyes flick away. Up, off to the side.

You look at his lips. Then back up at his eyes and you nod. Just once.

He kisses you.

One hand cradles the small of your back, holding you in place as the other comes to your jaw, tilting your chin up just right. The kiss is warm, slow, exploratory. His lips move like he’s learning the shape of you, like he’s been waiting for this longer than he realized. Your heart is slamming against your chest trying to understand what is going on. The kiss ends gently, like a breath, but the moment it does, Hoseok steps back like he’s just come to his senses.

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” he blurts, voice hushed and panicked. His hand flies up, fingers brushing his mouth like the kiss might still be there. “God, I’m so sorry. That was…totally unprofessional. You’re my dancer. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You blink, still half-drunk on the feeling of his lips against yours, your body still tingling from where he touched you.

“I mean—” he keeps going, running a hand through his hair. “You’re just… you’re so pretty. You’re funny, and smart, and you’ve been killing it every single night and then tonight you looked at me like that and I just—” He breaks off with a frustrated groan. “Shit. I let my feelings get ahead of me. I shouldn’t have—God, I’m sorry.”

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Your thoughts are moving like molasses. You’re trying to process what just happened, what he’s saying, how this spiraled so fast from soft rooftop magic to this flurry of regret.

“I just don’t want to make things weird for you,” Hoseok says, already backing away, voice rough with self-recrimination. “You’ve worked so hard to be here and this is your moment to prove yourself. I don’t want to mess it up because I can’t control myself—”

“Hoseok—”

But he keeps rambling, barely hearing you. “Seriously, just forget I did that, okay? I’ll keep everything professional from here on out. You don’t need to worry about me, I swear.”

And before you can even figure out how you feel or how to respond, he’s turning to leave.

“Hobi—” You yell desperately. “Wait!”

He freezes. You’ve never called him that before. His favorite nickname hangs between you delicate and real. He turns just slightly, looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and searching. Now it’s your turn to be breathless. 

You take a deep breath, gathering whatever courage you have left. The tension is thick, the air crackling between you both. You step closer, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying every ounce of confidence you’re trying to muster.

“If they’re going to whisper about me anyway,” you start, “might as well make it true.”

Before he can react, you reach out, catching his wrist in your hand, turning him back toward you. His eyes flash with a mix of surprise and something deeper, but before he can say anything more, you lean in, kissing him again.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t pull away. He melts into it, his lips soft against yours, his breath steadying as he lets the moment wash over him. You can feel the tension leave his body, how he’s relaxing into you, like he’s been holding it all in for far too long.

You tug on the excess fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, your chest pressing against his. You feel the heat between you, the softness of his body as he leans in further, his hands moving to your back, tracing the curve of your spine. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, the world outside disappearing as the music plays softly in the background.

For a moment, there’s no tour, no pressure, no expectations. Just you and him, and everything feels right. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling in the air between you, Hoseok’s eyes are dark, lips parted as if he’s trying to catch his breath.

“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice quiet but filled with the same uncertainty he had before.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If they’re gonna talk anyway…might as well give them something to really talk about.”

Hoseok chuckles, low and breathless, before pulling you in for another kiss. This time, it’s full of quiet promises, no words needed. The rest of the world can wait.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The morning after, sunlight creeps in through the curtains, warm and golden across your sheets, but it doesn't soften the twist in your chest. You wake up slower than usual, almost like you’re trying to delay facing reality. There's no knock at your door. No message. No sign that anything happened last night at all.

You see him in the hallway a little later, just outside the elevators. You weren’t expecting it, so your smile catches you off guard before you can stop it. He’s walking with a couple of stylists, laughing at something someone says. His eyes pass over you like you’re a stranger.

Not even a nod. It stings more than you'd like to admit.

Back in your room, Yunjin is packing up her things, humming softly to herself.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with us today?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder. “San Antonio’s got good food and my college friend’s letting a few of us crash at their place.”

You give her a half-hearted smile and shake your head. “I think I’ll stay behind a little. Be a tourist for a day. Last chance and all.”

“Your loss,” she teases lightly, dragging her suitcase toward the door. “Don’t forget sunscreen.”

She doesn’t press further. She doesn’t notice anything is wrong. No one does. You’re still smiling. Still functioning.

Just…quieter.

You spend the day wandering through the city, letting the sun soak into your skin and the colors of Mexico City blur into a kaleidoscope. You try mezcal at a street-side bar, buy a handmade bracelet from a vendor who compliments your earrings, and stand still in front of a cathedral until the bells chime and make your chest ache.

Hoseok stares at his phone like it might answer all the questions for him.

It doesn’t.

It just glows with the time. Too early for this kind of spiral, too late to sleep it off. He rubs a hand over his face and sighs, reaching for the only contact that might give him something useful.

He hits call. It rings three times before Jin answers, voice still thick with sleep.

“Hyung,” Hoseok says before Jin can even get a proper greeting out. “I messed up.”

Jin groans. “Hello to you too. What did you do?”

“I kissed her.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Who—wait. Her her? YN?”

“Yes.” It’s almost as if Hoseok can hear is hyung silenting judging him.

“Well damn,” Jin says, a little more awake now. “That’s…unexpected, and kind of bold. How’d it go?”

“She kissed me back. It wasn’t like—I don’t know. I didn’t plan it. It just happened and now I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“That checks out,” Jin mutters. “You’ve had a crush on her for a while, haven’t you?”

Hoseok winces. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to anyone with eyes.”

He groans again, collapsing back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. “I didn’t think I’d actually do anything about it.”

“And yet here we are.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t even have her number,” Hoseok admits, his voice small. “I thought about asking someone on staff, but that feels…I don’t know. Weird?”

Jin snorts. “Yeah, kind of creepy. Don't do that.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you get her number last night?”

“I was distracted. I didn’t think—there was this moment, and it felt like everything in the world narrowed to just her, and then it was over.”

“Well,” Jin says, “it’s not over if you don’t let it be.”

“I saw her in the hallway this morning. She smiled at me. I didn’t smile back.”

Jin groans. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“I panicked!” Hoseok snaps. “I don’t know what she’s thinking, and I don’t want her to regret it. I’m her boss. I should’ve never—”

“You already did,” Jin cuts in, firm now. “So the whole ‘I shouldn’t have’ ship? It’s sailed, capsized, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.”

“Thanks for the imagery.”

Jin huffs a laugh. “Look, I get that this is complicated. But you’re allowed to feel things, Hobi. You’re allowed to want something good. If you’re serious about her—really serious—then don’t let protocol be the reason you ruin it.”

Hoseok is quiet for a long time. He watches a crack of sunlight stretch across the floor of his hotel room and thinks about how your smile looked under stage lights. He thinks about how he made you feel like you weren’t alone in it.

“…I am serious,” he says quietly.

“Then find a way to show her.”

🧡part 2🧡

[aleese1111]

hii!! i love the way you write the whc boys so much. can you do something with the eunjang quartet x fem!reader but in a platonic way. like she is there to patch them up and treat them to some food or something after every fight (especially after the last one they had with the union - which she was understandably worried about)

after the storm | eunjang!quartet x fem!reader

summary: after the brutal fight against the union, they show up at her family’s restaurant—bloodied but alive. she worries, she scolds, she patches, she feeds. in between, there's banter, comfort, and something quiet and tender that lingers in the silences.

warnings: [platonic?] canon-typical violence aftermath, light blood/injury description, hurt/comfort .

author's note: this is so wholesome :(( . requests ,,

the familiar scent of frying oil and garlic wafted through the air as she wiped down a table by the window, cloth in one hand, mind far from the rhythms of the restaurant. the neon sign of her family’s fried chicken place buzzed softly behind her, but the usual comfort it brought her felt distant today. she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it—the fight. the one she wasn't supposed to know about, but of course she did. she always did when it came to them.

her hand slowed over the tabletop, worry nesting in her chest. the late afternoon sun spilled golden light through the glass, casting long shadows and warming the wooden floors, but it did little to settle the twist in her stomach. she had checked her phone twice in the last hour, hoping for a message, even just an emoji. nothing.

just as she turned to the next table, she caught a glimpse of movement outside. her breath caught.

the four of them.

yeon sieun, stoic as ever; baku, somehow still smiling even with dried blood on his brow; jung tae, bruised but beaming; and go hyuntak, his arm slung carelessly over sieun’s shoulder, eyes bright with the adrenaline of victory.

she dropped the rag.

"are you serious?!" she half-shouted, half-squeaked, rushing to the front entrance, throwing open the door so fast the bell above it clanged in protest. she stormed outside, arms flying in disbelief.

"what the hell happened to you guys?! look at your faces! jung tae, are you even walking properly?! baku, your lip—! gotak! you're bleeding through your shirt! and sieun—" she stopped at him, heart clenching at the sight of crimson staining his temple. "you too?"

they all looked at her like she was a sight from a better world. baku chuckled, reaching forward to ruffle her hair with a bloodied hand. "missed you too."

she slapped his hand away with a huff, eyes wide with exasperation but soft with relief. "you're all idiots. absolute, complete idiots. come inside before you all faint on the street."

they followed without protest, brushing past the bell once more as she ushered them to the back of the restaurant where it was quieter. her parents peeked in from the kitchen, and she waved quickly. "can you make extra portions? they need food. a lot of it."

"rough day again?" her father asked, already pulling out the pans.

"something like that," she muttered.

she dragged out the first aid kit and moved toward the table where the boys sat—some slouched, some upright, all bruised. gotak was the first she started with, dabbing a cloth gently over his cheek.

"you didn’t even try to block, did you?"

he grinned, his hand naturally resting on her thigh like it always did, no thought to the gesture, and she didn’t mind. "didn’t need to. we won."

"that’s not the point," she said, flicking his forehead.

"ow," he chuckled, his eyes catching hers for just a second longer than usual. her hand lingered a beat longer too, thumb brushing just under his jaw. he didn’t flinch.

she cleared her throat and moved to sieun next. he sat perfectly still, letting her tend to him like he always did. their eyes met—no words exchanged—but he gave the smallest nod. she returned it with a faint smile. he never needed to speak much. he always understood. but something in the way his gaze lingered today made her chest tighten. like he was reading more than he let on.

jung tae winced as she pressed antiseptic onto a scrape on his neck.

"don’t be a baby."

"you’re treating me like one."

"because you are one," she said, patting his cheek. "you’re lucky i don’t swaddle you in bubble wrap."

he flushed, muttering something about being strong as she moved on to baku, who held out his arm with a dramatic sigh.

"you should open a clinic," he teased. "but only for good-looking guys."

she smirked. "so i guess i’ll be closing after today, then."

"ouch. that’s cold."

they bantered easily as she wrapped gauze around his forearm. it was always like this with baku—like talking to a much older friend who still knew how to laugh like a kid. he leaned a bit closer as she tied the final knot in the bandage.

"you’re really good at this, you know?" he said more seriously, his voice low. "you keep everyone stitched up, not just with tape and gauze."

she blinked, taken aback by the sincerity. "you’re just saying that because i’m your free nurse."

"nah. saying it ‘cause it’s true."

food arrived not long after, filling the air with sizzling spices and warmth. plates clinked. drinks poured. for a moment, the chaos of the outside world paused.

gotak’s hand stayed on her thigh as he ate, casual and unthinking, but every so often his pinky tapped against her knee like he wasn’t quite as unaffected as he looked. she leaned slightly into him without thinking. it was just how they were—but tonight, the warmth of him beside her seemed to sink deeper into her skin.

sieun sat across from her, meeting her gaze occasionally with the tiniest of smiles. that was enough. except this time, he didn’t look away as quickly. his eyes lingered. she looked down at her plate, suddenly aware of how warm her ears felt.

jung tae animatedly talked about how he “almost” knocked a guy’s tooth out, while she poked fun at his exaggerated expressions.

"you should’ve seen me! the guy was huge. i mean, hulk huge."

"and you? what, ant-man?" she laughed, nudging his side.

"i’m tall!" he protested.

"you’re adorable."

he groaned, dropping his chopsticks in defeat. "why does everyone call me that?"

"because it’s true," gotak chimed in with a grin, ruffling jung tae’s already messy hair.

and baku, between mouthfuls, reached over to ruffle her hair again.

"you’re good at worrying," he said.

she rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. "and you’re good at making me do it."

as the night wore on and the plates grew emptier, the energy shifted into something slower, softer. gotak leaned back, his shoulder brushing hers, and she didn’t move away. when she yawned, he tilted his head toward her.

"tired?"

"a little. long day."

"want me to carry you upstairs?" he teased.

she rolled her eyes but laughed. "you’d trip over the first step."

"still worth the offer."

across the table, sieun watched quietly, fingers tapping against his drink. their eyes met again, and for a heartbeat, everything felt still.

it was nothing. probably nothing.

but maybe it wasn’t.

the table bubbled with quiet laughter again. they were beaten, bruised, borderline limping—but they were together.

and that made everything feel okay again.

[dakusan]

Under the weather, under their care.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, sick day fluff

🌙 synopsis: you’re sick. your head hurts, your throat’s sore, and your body feels like it’s made of led. lucky for you, the boys don’t take your sick days lightly. from dad-mode chan to chaotic nurse han, here’s how each member would react to you being under the weather.

💌 a/n: I made this upon request, @cybergracie, she's sick, I HOPE U GET WELL BESTIE 🥺. this is a fluff-heavy, comfort-core piece. each member is written with personality accuracy in mind—not just idealized bf fluff, but the actual way they’d show care in their own unique ways. also: please imagine han beatboxing your fever away. thanks. ps. reblogs = love

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Still With You" — Jung Kook

Bang Chan // 방찬

The second he notices something off—your voice a little hoarse, your body a bit sluggish—he’s on it. Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he’s clocked it. You barely get a chance to brush it off before he’s already adjusting his schedule around you. If he's on tour or at the studio, he’ll be checking in constantly with messages like:

“Did you eat anything yet?” “Are you resting properly?” “Don't make me come home early, I will.”

When he is home, though? You’re not lifting a single finger. He’s all over the place—running to the pharmacy, heating soup, fluffing your pillows, and making sure you’ve got water within reach at all times. He’s quiet about it too, not making a big deal, just subtly doing what needs to be done because taking care of the people he loves is second nature to him.

You try to tell him you’re fine, and he just raises an eyebrow.

“You’re literally shivering. Don’t argue with me.”

He doesn't smother, but he's present. Keeps a calming hand on your back while you nap, plays soft music in the background to soothe your headache, and watches over you without making it feel overbearing. He reads the room well—gives you space when you need it, but never strays too far.

If you get emotional or frustrated about being sick, especially if it messes with your routine or makes you feel helpless, he gets it. His voice goes softer. He cups your cheek with a warm hand and murmurs:

“You don’t have to be strong right now, okay? Just rest. Let me take care of you for once.”

He will pull out the dreaded herbal stuff his mom used to make him drink when he was sick—“it tastes like sadness but it works”—and insists on staying up to monitor your fever, even if you beg him to sleep.

He keeps your hair out of your face, wipes your forehead with a cool cloth, and kisses your temple like it's instinct. Being with Chan when you're sick doesn't feel like being a burden—it feels like you're being wrapped in care, in love, in quiet devotion.

He won’t let you thank him too much either.

“You’d do the same for me. And besides, this just means I get extra cuddles when you’re better.”

Lee Know // 리노

He notices immediately. You don’t even have to say anything—just one look at your slightly pale face, the slower blink, the off rhythm of your breathing, and he’s narrowing his eyes like:

“You’re sick, aren’t you?”

When you try to deny it, he just stares you down until you give in with a sigh. You’d think he’d tease you, but no. Lee Know becomes uncharacteristically serious when it comes to your health.

He's not dramatic about it, but he’s efficient.

The moment you admit you’re not feeling well, he’s already on his phone checking what’s in the pantry, planning what you can eat, and quietly adjusting his day to make sure you’re not alone. He doesn’t announce it. He just does it.

He shows care through actions—not babying, but making sure you’re comfortable. Your favourite blanket suddenly appears around your shoulders. The heating pad is already plugged in. He hands you medicine without saying a word and watches to make sure you take it properly.

He cooks for you—but don’t expect anything fancy. You’re getting classic, warm, nourishing meals, exactly the kind of food that won’t upset your stomach. And yes, he’ll roast you a little:

“It tastes bland because you’re sick. What, you want Michelin-star when your nose is running?”

He absolutely will not cuddle you while you’re contagious. He’ll stay close, sure—sitting at the edge of the bed, folding laundry nearby, occasionally brushing his fingers through your hair with a sigh—but full-on snuggles? Nope. Not until your fever’s gone and you're cleared.

But he doesn’t leave the room either.

He stays just far enough to keep from catching whatever you have, but close enough to monitor you. He keeps one earbud in to give you peace but always pulls it out the second you shift or wince.

And when you wake up coughing at 3AM? He’s already by your side, handing you water before you can ask. His voice low and gentle, like:

“Don’t talk. Drink first. Breathe.”

If you start crying or feeling weak, that’s when he gets quiet. He won’t overwhelm you with comfort, but his gaze softens. He tucks you in tighter, hand lingering just a little longer against your forehead.

“You’re allowed to be sick. Stop trying to act like you're okay all the time.”

Later, when you’re getting better and a bit more dramatic than necessary (maybe asking him to fluff your pillow again), he smirks and rolls his eyes.

“You’re milking this. I know you.”

But he still does it. And when you're fully recovered, that's when the affection comes back in full—teasing kisses, long hugs, and a quiet,

“Don’t get sick again. I don’t like seeing you like that.”

(And maybe a whisper when he thinks you’re asleep:

“You scared me a little, you know.”)

Changbin // 창빈

The moment he finds out you’re sick, he goes from 0 to 100. Like, you text him “I think I caught something” and five minutes later he’s blowing up your phone with:

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMETHING??” “How bad is it??” “Do you need me?? Should I come over?? I’m coming over.”

When he does show up, he’s carrying way too much. A full bag of random groceries, multiple drinks (some contradictory—like, why ginger ale and sports drinks and vitamin C packets?), tissues with lotion, and something pink and fluffy that you’re not even sure has a purpose.

And he's breathless, out of breath from rushing, still in his hoodie and slippers like he didn’t even stop to fully change.

“Okay—okay, first things first—do you have a fever? No, wait, let me check—no, you don’t check, I check—”

He's definitely the type to Google your symptoms while sitting next to you, holding your hand like you’re dying. You cough once and he’s already deep into “early signs of pneumonia” and quietly panicking.

But here’s the thing—under all that chaotic energy is someone who really, really cares.

He wipes down surfaces, makes you take medicine on time, and paces while you nap because he can’t sit still when you’re unwell. If you so much as shift in your sleep, he’s immediately next to you.

“Do you need something? Water? Blanket? Me? I mean—I’m here—just say the word.”

He tries to cook. Like really tries. Follows a recipe video step by step, but ends up making the kitchen look like a warzone. The food is edible, and honestly, it tastes way better than you expected—but it comes with a sheepish smile and a “Don’t die, okay? I put my soul in that rice.”

He’s the type to encourage you to laugh through the misery, even if he knows you feel like crap. He’ll pull out his silly voice impressions, make faces, or randomly do aegyo just to get a smile out of you.

And when you’re too tired to respond? He quiets down. Holds your hand gently. Tucks the blanket up to your chin and just stays close.

“Rest, jagi. I’ll stay right here. I promise.”

And if you thank him too much, he gets all bashful and dramatic again:

“Stop being cute when you’re sick! I’m trying to focus on taking care of you, not falling in love all over again!”

Hyunjin // 현진

When you tell Hyunjin you’re sick, he gasps like you just confessed a tragic secret.

“You’re what? Sick? You?!”

He's immediately distraught. Not because he doesn’t know what to do—he actually does—but because he hates seeing you like this. His empathy is through the roof. If you're miserable, he's basically miserable by osmosis.

He shows up in a long coat, scarf, and a tote bag full of oddly curated items: a sketchpad, multiple fancy drinks, a candle he claims will help “cleanse your aura,” and a tiny stuffed animal “to guard your bed.”

But once the theatrics die down, he’s incredibly gentle.

He speaks softly around you, like he’s scared to disturb your peace. Brushes your hair back from your face with his knuckles. Gets you tissues and cool compresses and rubs your back when you cough. He doesn’t make a fuss out of helping—you just look up and he’s already kneeling next to the bed, adjusting your blanket with care.

“I don’t like this. You should always be glowing. You’re supposed to be warm and smiley and annoying me with your weird jokes.”

He doesn’t necessarily cook full meals, but he’ll cut fruit for you like a seasoned Korean mom. Brings you sliced apples and pears with toothpicks and arranges them in little patterns. He lights the candle (of course he does) and hums softly while you rest.

And when you fall asleep, he doesn’t leave.

He curls up at the foot of the bed like a quiet cat, sketchbook in his lap, drawing you as you sleep—not in a weird way, just a soft “I want to remember you like this, even if you’re sick” way. His lines are delicate. Thoughtful. Honest.

If you start crying out of frustration or exhaustion, he immediately drops everything to cradle you, whispering into your hair:

“Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it in. Let me carry it for you.”

He’ll cry too, but quietly. Not to take the attention off you—just because it genuinely hurts to see someone he loves in pain.

And when you finally start to feel a bit better, he brightens like the sun peeking out after rain.

“You’re healing,” he says, brushing his knuckle under your eye, “and when you’re fully better, we’re going to go out and celebrate your immune system.”

Because of course he would.

Han // 한

Han freaks out immediately—but it’s not super helpful at first. You text him something simple like “I’m feeling kinda sick today,” and within ten minutes he’s calling you with a full-blown gasp:

“OH MY GOD YOU’RE DYING—okay no you’re not dying BUT LIKE—ARE YOU OKAY???”

He’s definitely pacing back and forth in his room, still in pyjamas, with a headband holding his hair back and zero plan on what to do. He panics first, then pulls himself together. His love language is chaos-then-action.

He shows up at your place with a bag that makes no sense: two different kinds of ramen, a random juice box, cough drops, chocolate, three stress balls (“in case you’re bored”), and a neck pillow. No medicine. No actual meals. Just vibes.

“Okay okay, hear me out—I panicked. But I brought snacks and love.”

Despite the scattered brain, he pulls it together when it really counts. He’s attentive. He’ll sit next to you while you rest and hold your hand loosely, thumb brushing over your knuckles. He won’t say anything for a while—just watches you with those big, warm eyes full of concern.

If you’re curled up and miserable, he’ll adjust the blanket for you and say in a surprisingly soft voice:

“I don’t like seeing you like this. I’d rather be sick instead.”

(He means it. But also, if he got sick, he'd be 10x more dramatic than you. Bedridden. Needy. Demanding forehead kisses every five minutes.)

He makes you laugh without even trying. The moment your fever breaks a little and you can sit up, he’s already putting on dumb videos, doing weird impressions of your doctor, or lip-syncing to ballads with way too much emotion.

He’ll also say stuff like:

“If you die, can I keep your hoodie collection? Not because I want them, just so no one else gets them.”

Followed by:

“Wait, no, don’t die. You’re the only person who laughs at my weird jokes.”

He’ll write you a freestyle rap while you nap. It’s bad. It’s so bad. But it’s from the heart. And you wake up to him beatboxing quietly next to you, working on rhymes like “She’s sick but she’s slick, with tissues so quick—uh, what rhymes with thermometer?”

And even if he makes light of it, he doesn’t leave. Not until you’ve eaten something. Not until you’re tucked in. Not until he’s made you laugh at least once.

“You’re not allowed to feel gross. You’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen—with or without the sniffles.”

Felix // 필릭스

Felix immediately switches into guardian angel mode the moment you tell him you're sick. His brows knit together with concern, and he softly goes:

“Oh no, darling… Are you okay? What hurts? What do you need?”

His voice somehow gets even softer than usual, and that’s saying a lot. He doesn’t waste time—he’s already got a mental checklist going. He shows up at your place like a quiet storm, arms full of carefully selected things: your favourite tea, fresh fruit, his cosiest hoodie (the one you steal all the time), and a little handwritten note that just says “rest well, lovebug 🤍” tucked into a book.

He moves around your space like he’s done this a thousand times. Lights a soft-scented candle. Makes you tea—ginger, lemon, honey, everything—and hands it to you with both hands like it’s sacred.

“Sip slowly, yeah? It’ll help your throat.”

He speaks in a hush, like he’s scared to be too loud and disturb you. But even more than that, he listens. He watches your cues. If you don’t feel like talking, he sits quietly and rubs your back in slow, rhythmic circles. If you’re cranky or frustrated with how you feel, he’s patient. He doesn’t dismiss it. Just murmurs,

“It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He won’t let you feel guilty for needing help. He doesn’t even think twice about it—it’s just natural to him to care for you. He’ll spoon-feed you porridge if you’re too weak to eat (with a soft, teasing “open up, baby~”), fluff your pillows, and offer to braid your hair to keep it out of your face if it’s long.

And when you’re really out of it, in that floaty feverish state? He hums lullabies to you. Soft, low, breathy melodies while running his fingers through your hair, grounding you like an anchor.

He’s physically affectionate but gentle—he won’t cling if you’re uncomfortable, but he’ll press a kiss to your forehead with reverence when your fever starts to come down.

“You’re getting better already. That’s my strong baby.”

When you start feeling a bit better and try to apologize for being so out of it, he just shakes his head and smiles that soft, dimpled smile:

“I’d take care of you a hundred more times if it meant I get to love you this much.”

Seungmin // 승민

You text him: “I think I’m getting sick.”

His reply:

“Wow. Weak.” “Do you want me to come over or are you going to survive this incredibly tragic cold on your own?”

He teases you endlessly, even when he’s already halfway out the door with a tote bag full of essentials. He’s not the kind to show up flustered or chaotic—he’s cool, collected, and annoyingly prepared. He stops by the pharmacy like it’s a casual errand, picks the right kind of medicine, and shows up at your place with soup containers labelled with the exact heating instructions.

“Because I know you’re going to ignore me when I leave. So I made it idiot-proof.”

Despite the constant roasting, he’s weirdly good at caretaking. Like, scary good. He’s probably done this for the other members a million times. He doesn’t hover, but he keeps you on schedule—meds on time, hydration checked, food warm. He sets timers on his phone like:

“Every 4 hours, you're drinking something. I don’t care if it’s water or juice. Just not coffee. Don’t test me.”

He definitely sits at the edge of your bed or couch with a mug in hand, watching you like a judgmental hawk while you eat something.

“Chew slower. You sound like a vacuum cleaner.”

He’ll bring over one of his own hoodies and act like it’s no big deal when you snuggle into it—but there’s a flicker of fondness in his eyes when you do.

If you’re really sick and end up crying or feeling gross, Seungmin’s whole vibe shifts. His voice softens. His teasing fades out, and he looks at you like you’re fragile—but never in a pitying way. Just... attentively.

“Hey. Don’t do that thing where you bottle everything up and pretend you’re okay. You're sick, not invincible.”

He sits beside you, holding your wrist gently and checking your pulse like he knows what he’s doing (and honestly? He kinda does).

When you’re asleep, he doesn’t leave right away. He stays long enough to make sure you’re breathing evenly, your fever’s down, and that your glass of water is full. He’ll tidy your space a little—nothing crazy, just enough so that you’ll wake up feeling a bit more at ease.

And if you ask him why he’s being so sweet the next day?

“Because I don’t want you to die. Who else would I bully?”

And then under his breath, as he's walking away:

“…Plus, I care about you. Obviously.”

I.N // 아이엔

Jeongin freezes when you tell him you’re sick. Like—deer in headlights, soul leaving his body—kind of freeze.

“You’re… sick?? What do I do?? What am I supposed to do?? Do I call Chan-hyung?? Is there a number for this??”

He genuinely panics at first, not because he doesn’t want to help, but because he doesn’t want to mess anything up. He’s never fully confident in these situations, but the second he realizes you need him, he pulls it together real fast.

He shows up at your door with the most random collection of items: yogurt (he read online it helps), a bag of cough drops (he bought 3 kinds just in case), a warm scarf (that he knitted, sob), and a tiny teddy bear he won at a claw machine a week ago.

“He’s here to keep you company when I can’t. Don’t get attached, though. He’s still mine.”

Once inside, he’s constantly checking with you—nervously, but sweetly.

“Do you want porridge? I can try making it… it might be weird though.” “Do you feel hot? Like fever hot, not hot-hot. Not that you’re not hot—okay never mind—”

He’s flustered. So flustered. But he puts 200% effort into everything. He follows tutorials to make you soup and burns his tongue taste-testing it (“worth it”), tries to fluff your pillows in just the right way, and keeps offering you water every ten minutes.

He might pace a bit when you're napping, muttering to himself like:

“Okay, don’t forget the medicine at 2. And check the temperature. And don’t forget to smile when she wakes up. But not creepy. Calm smile. Natural. Chill. I'm chill.”

If you’re too tired to talk, he’ll just sit nearby, playing quietly on his phone, occasionally peeking over to make sure you’re okay. He doesn’t leave until you force him to rest too. And even then, he sets an alarm so he can wake up and check your temperature in a few hours.

And when you’re finally feeling better, all the tension leaves his body in a big sigh of relief—and he gets shy.

“You’re okay now… That’s good. I didn’t really do much but… I’m glad I was here.”

Then adds with a soft, sheepish smile:

“Next time, let me take care of you before you pass out trying to act fine, okay?”

He’s your little protector in disguise—nervous, thoughtful, and quietly proud of himself for stepping up when it counted.

[back2bluesidex]

Icon - JHS (18+)

Pairing: Idol!Hoseok X Fem, journalist!Reader

Theme: SMUT, PWP - no plot at all. angst if you squint.

Word count: 704

Summary: In which Hoseok fucks you in your hotel room right after the LV show.

Warnings: Explicit sex, unprotected sex (be wiser), creampie, fwb undertones, he calls her slut once.

Minors Do Not Interact!!!!!

A/N: No one can blame me for writing this after the stunts he has been pulling.

“I asked you to stay away.” You whisper-yell with some anger threaded in between the words. But as you move away from the door, making space for him to step in, contradicting your own claim - Hoseok smirks. 

He looks beautiful under the white light of the hotel room. Changed in his casuals, with his bare face for you to see - he looks absolutely breath-taking. 

It’s only natural for you to be unable to push him away. 

“You should have not come here if you wanted me to stay away.” Hoseok enters in your space, closes the door with a loud thud, and backs you up against the nearest wall. 

“I am here to work.” you reason in your firm voice - a failed attempt to prove a false point. 

Hoseok’s lopsided smile stretches further, eyes droop down to your lips, “I am your work.” 

You can’t argue any further. Yes, he is your work. He is the reason you are here. He is an icon - the main event. 

Hoseok touches the side of your face. His thumb lightly brushes against your lower lip, “cat got your tongue?” 

“Are you here to fight?” you attack him, challenging him to take a step, to do what you have been wanting him to do since the moment he asked in which hotel you are staying in. 

“You know what I am here for.” his other hand trails down the path of your collarbones, to the swell of your breasts - he twists one of your perked nipples through the fabric of your tshirt. 

“Then do it.” you throw your next challenge. 

“How about you beg first?” he gropes your tit harshly. A yelp leaves through the parted space of your lips. 

“Hoseok, please fuck me.” you plead. 

Everything happens in a flash after that. 

Hoseok lifts you up and places you on one of his shoulders. Walking to the hotel bed he throws you on the mattress. 

Devil works fast but Jung Hoseok’s fingers work faster. He pulls down your shorts and underwear in one go, wastes no time in slipping your tshirt out of your body. 

Within a few seconds, you are laying down naked on the bed - wetness clinging to your slit. 

“Look at you, such a slut. You are dripping and I have not even touched you yet.” his voice dips an octave lower, smirk takes over his beautiful features.  

Two of his fingers come to run through your folds, gathering some of your arousal. He puts his fingers in his mouth then and hums at the taste, “heavenly..” 

Jung Hoseok is a master in whatever he does. 

So, he fucks you like a master too. His cock drills into you mercilessly. You are already drooling on the pillow but when he starts rubbing figure 8 on your clit with his thumb while simultaneously sucking your nipple as if it’s his first meal in days - you feel like passing out. 

Your walls clench against his girthy shaft. You are close. 

“Hoseok.. Ho-seok- I- I am cl-close.” you manage to utter with great difficulty. Only to earn a slap on your cunt. 

“Don’t cum until I tell you to.” He says in a little breathy but firm voice. His fingers go back to abuse your clit. 

Even though he is fucking you at an inhumane speed, his thrusts are out of rhythm. You know he is close too. But he is a proud and tough nut to crack. 

He pulls his cock out of you and then slams into you again in one swift motion. 

“FUCK!!!” you curse loudly, not giving a damn about your hotel neighbours, who are also your colleagues. 

“Cum” Hoseok orders, you comply by letting yourself go. 

He cums at the same time, shoots his entire disposal inside your greedy hole. 

His forehead lands on the crook of your neck, he rests there for a while. 

“Why do you do this to me?” he asks more to himself, less to you. 

You don’t have an answer to offer. Not when he will vanish from your vicinity within the next few minutes and you will stay here - alone and cold. 

Jung Hoseok is an icon - the main event. 

And you burn in the sidelines.

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[obscurevideogames]

(Altron - Saturn - 1998)

From: Jung Rhythm (じゃんぐリズム)

[faebled-stories]

Wagering Emotions

Kinkvember Day 21: Free Use

GFriend/VIVIZ Eunha (Jung Eunbi) x Male reader

16.8k words

AN: Hi guys! Are you proud of me? This girlie is finally leaving the house for something besides school! 😅 I started this fic right after yesterdays since I knew I had limited time today. Even so It's a bit of a long one, so I hope you're comfy and enjoy! 💖

“Oh, God—harder! Yes, right there!” The sultry cry was followed by a series of sharp, breathless moans that reverberated off the thin apartment walls. “Ugh, you’re so deep in me—don’t stop!” The woman’s voice dripped with exaggerated pleasure, her words climbing louder with each gasp. The rhythmic creaks of a bed frame added to the cacophony, creating a soundscape that was impossible to ignore.

Eunha clenched her pillow over her ears, but it was no use. The noises seemed to seep through the fabric, crawling under her skin like a relentless itch. Each gasp and moan hit her with jarring sharpness, as if mocking her failed attempts at peace. The bedframe’s incessant squeaks provided a rhythm to the chaos, an unrelenting reminder of what was happening mere feet away. She sat rigid on her bed, her teeth gritted so tightly her jaw ached. Her heart pounded in her chest, not from embarrassment but from pure, boiling frustration.

The moans built higher and higher, peaking with a sharp, guttural scream. “Ohhh—yes!” The sound stretched out, lingering in the air as the bedframe gave one final, forceful creak before silence fell.

The stillness that followed should have been a reprieve, but it wasn’t. It only magnified the absurdity of the situation, the weight of her irritation pressing down on her chest. She let the pillow fall from her hands, her gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling as her breath came in uneven bursts. The faint scent of lavender from her diffuser drifted through the room, its calming intention now nothing but a cruel joke.

This was her sanctuary—her home. Or at least, it was supposed to be. Instead, it felt like she was the intruder, an unwelcome guest in her own space.

It wasn’t just the frequency of these escapades, though they had escalated to near-nightly rituals. It was the complete disregard—the audacity to treat their shared apartment like a personal playground, to push her patience to the breaking point without so much as an acknowledgment.

With a sharp inhale, Eunha swung her legs over the side of the bed, the cool wood flooring grounding her as her frustration surged. She shoved herself into her oversized hoodie, the fabric heavy against her skin, and stormed toward the hallway. Each step was deliberate, her bare feet making soft, muted thuds on the worn hardwood. The flickering bathroom light at the far end of the hall cast erratic shadows on the walls, making the narrow space feel both claustrophobic and foreboding. The air was heavy, thick with a lingering warmth that seemed to seep through the apartment from your room.

As she reached the hallway, the muffled murmur of voices caught her ear. A giggle—soft and self-satisfied—floated through the stillness, followed by the unmistakable sound of your door creaking open. Eunha froze, just for a moment, letting her anger sharpen as her gaze fixed on the corner where the hallway turned.

When you appeared, the sight of you leaning casually against the doorframe was almost enough to send her over the edge. The lazy smirk curling at your lips, the easy, unbothered confidence in your posture—it was infuriating. But it wasn’t just you. Draped against your arm, looking equally disheveled, was Umji— one of her closest friends.

Eunha’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze locked onto her. No. No way.

Umji’s hair was a tangled mess, loose strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. Her makeup was smudged, faint streaks of mascara trailing under her eyes, which darted away as soon as they met Eunha’s. A collection of red marks decorated her neck in uneven patterns, stark against her pale skin. Her lips, swollen and trembling slightly, glistened faintly as though they’d just come up for air. The hem of her mini-dress hung unevenly, the fabric wrinkled and askew as though hastily pulled back into place. Most noticeable, though, were her legs—wobbly, hesitant steps that made the sound of her heels on the hardwood uneven. She clutched your arm for support, her fingers curling into your sleeve like a lifeline.

“Hey!” Eunha’s voice sliced through the stillness, sharp and unyielding. The sound echoed down the hallway, and both you and Umji froze.

You turned slowly, clearly unhurried, the smirk on your face deepening as your gaze met Eunha’s. “Something on your mind, Eunha?” you asked, your voice a drawl of mockery. The lazy tone only fanned the flames of her irritation.

But Eunha barely registered you. Her focus was locked on Umji, who flinched under the weight of her glare. Her posture shifted awkwardly, her hands fluttering uselessly at the hem of her dress, as though she could somehow straighten out what had already been done. Her cheeks were flushed a deeper red now, her lips parting as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. Her gaze darted back to the floor.

Eunha’s fists tightened at her sides as she took a step closer, her pulse pounding in her ears. The hallway felt oppressively small now, the dim light casting jagged shadows across the walls and your smug face. The faint scent of Umji’s floral perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the unmistakable musk of sweat, creating a cloying atmosphere that made Eunha’s stomach churn.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Eunha finally said, her voice low and trembling with fury. Her words were directed at Umji, whose trembling hands fidgeted with the hem of her dress.

“Eunha, I—” Umji began, her voice cracking as she looked up, her tearful gaze locking with Eunha’s.

“You what?” Eunha snapped, taking another step closer. “You knew. You knew how much I’ve complained about him—how much he’s driven me insane. Hell, I spent hours venting to you, and you always agreed with me. Told me I was right to hate him. And now you’re just… this?”

“It’s not like that,” Umji said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her shoulders curled inward as though she were trying to make herself smaller. “I didn’t plan—”

“Didn’t plan it?” Eunha interrupted, her voice rising. “That’s all you’ve got? You didn’t plan to hook up with him? Do you realize how screwed up this is?” Her voice wavered, her anger laced with hurt that she couldn’t quite hide.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Umji pleaded, her lips trembling as fresh tears filled her eyes. “It was—it was stupid, okay? I made a mistake.”

Eunha let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “A mistake? That’s what this is to you? A mistake?” Her voice cracked as she gestured at the red marks on Umji’s neck, the uneven dress straps, the swollen lips that spoke of the hours Eunha had unwillingly endured through the walls. “You’ve seen how much he’s made my life hell, and now you’re just another name to add to his list.”

“I know I messed up,” Umji whispered, her tears spilling over now, streaking her smudged mascara further. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m sorry.”

Eunha shook her head, her chest heaving as she fought the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She turned her glare to you, standing there with that smug, satisfied smirk plastered across your face like this was all some kind of twisted joke. “And you,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’re disgusting.”

You shrugged, your smile deepening as you raised your hands in mock innocence. “Hey, don’t blame me for what she wanted.”

The casualness of your response nearly made Eunha snap. Her nails dug into her palms, but she forced herself to take a deep breath, swallowing the venom that threatened to spill over.

“Unbelievable,” Eunha muttered, turning her attention back to Umji. Her voice dropped, quieter now but no less sharp, each word laced with the sting of betrayal. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

Umji opened her mouth, her lips trembling as though she wanted to explain, to apologize, but Eunha didn’t wait to hear it. She spun on her heel, her steps echoing sharply down the hallway as she stormed toward her room. The flickering light overhead illuminated the unshed tears brimming in her eyes, though the heat of her anger kept them from falling. The ache in her chest twisted deeper with every step, but she didn’t dare let it show.

At the threshold of her room, she paused, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the doorframe. She turned, her glare icy and unwavering as it locked onto you. Her voice was curt, sharp enough to cut through the suffocating tension. Enough was enough.

“Look, we need to talk. Now.”

You sighed, the sound heavy with reluctant amusement. “I’ll text you later, okay?” you said smoothly, glancing at Umji as though she wasn’t Eunha’s closest friend, but just another girl in a long string of conquests. Your words carried a deliberate nonchalance, almost as if you’d chosen them specifically to twist the knife deeper.

Umji hesitated, her nervous giggle betraying her unease as she glanced between the two of you. Her hands fluttered to smooth her rumpled dress, but the fabric clung stubbornly to her curves, refusing to cooperate. Her face was still flushed, her tears still wet, and she seemed to shrink under Eunha’s glare. With a small, almost inaudible “sorry,” she wobbled toward the door on unsteady legs, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The sound seemed to echo in the tense silence as the door clicked shut behind her.

The apartment fell into an oppressive quiet, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. Your demeanor shifted slightly, the amused smirk on your lips fading into something more guarded. You leaned casually against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest as you regarded Eunha with a faintly raised eyebrow. “What’s this about?”

Eunha didn’t ease into it. Her voice, trembling with hurt and fury, spilled out before she could stop herself. “You know exactly what this is about.  Maybe I could’ve lived with the random girls. Maybe I could’ve dealt with it. But Umji? My best friend? You knew who she was to me, and you still went ahead and—” She choked on the word, her hands trembling as she gestured toward the now-empty hallway. “You went ahead and made her just another body. Another notch on your bedpost. Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

Your expression didn’t change, but your gaze flickered, just for a moment, something unreadable passing across your face. “It’s not like I forced her into anything,” you replied, your tone calm, detached. “She wanted it. That’s on her, not me.”

Eunha stared at you, stunned into silence for a heartbeat before her anger reignited, hotter and sharper than before. “Are you serious right now? She wanted it? She’s my best friend! She’s not just some random girl you can screw and forget about. She’s—” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “She’s supposed to matter.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” you asked, your voice maddeningly calm. “It happened. It’s done. Are you mad at me for having fun, or at her for making a choice?”

“Both!” Eunha shouted, her voice echoing through the apartment. “But you—you knew better. You knew exactly what this would do to me, and you did it anyway. Like you didn’t care. Like I don’t matter at all.”

Her chest heaved, her glare blazing with all the hurt she hadn’t yet put into words. Her hands shook as she tried to hold herself together, her nails digging into her palms.

“I’m sick of this,” Eunha snapped after a moment, her tone trembling with barely-contained anger. “Every night, it’s some random girl, and I have to hear everything. I live here too, you know.”

You shrugged, your tone light and dismissive. “Can’t help it if they get loud.”

Her jaw dropped, disbelief flashing across her face before anger surged in to replace it. “Oh, please,” she hissed, her cheeks flushing crimson. “Those moans? They’re all fake, and you know it. You’re not that good.”

The familiar smile crept back onto your face, a gleam of amusement dancing in your eyes. You leaned forward slightly, the air between you growing heavy. “Jealous, are we?”

Eunha stiffened, narrowing her eyes as the heat in her face climbed. “Jealous? Of those bimbos you bring home? Hardly.”

Your smirk widened as you took a half-step closer, closing the already narrowing space between you. “Sounds like jealousy to me. Otherwise, why would you care so much about what happens in my room?”

Eunha’s eyes blazed, “Because it’s my apartment too!” Her voice rose, conviction lacing every word. “I have the right to set some ground rules here. This is supposed to be a home, not a dating service. We need to set some ground rules.”

The tension between you hung thick in the air, almost tangible. The faint hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen seemed deafening in the charged silence that followed. Your gazes locked, a silent battle of wills playing out in the dimly lit hallway. This wasn’t just about noise anymore; it was about respect, boundaries, and the collision of two people whose lives were incompatible in ways neither was willing to admit.

“Ground rules, huh?” you said finally, your voice low, almost teasing. Your arms remained crossed, but the mischievous sparkle in your eyes returned. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do you suggest, then?”

Eunha hesitated, her frustration bubbling to the surface in an exasperated huff. “You can’t bring anyone home anymore.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback for a moment, before letting out a bark of laughter that echoed off the walls. “What? You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Eunha replied, her tone firm, her arms crossed tightly in defiance.

You shook your head, the corners of your mouth twitching upward. “That’s not going to happen. I’m human; I have needs.”

“Then take them somewhere else, get a hotel room I don't care,” Eunha shot back, her voice steady but laced with challenge.

You tilted your head slightly, studying her with a curious intensity. The tension between you seemed to thrum louder, like a taut string about to snap. Slowly, a wicked grin spread across your face, your eyes lighting up with an idea.

“How about we make things interesting?” you said, your tone dripping with intrigue.

Eunha’s frown deepened, suspicion coloring her features. “How so?”

“A bet.”

“A bet?” she repeated, her tone steeped in skepticism. Her arms remained folded, her glare unwavering. 

Your grin widened, a wicked gleam dancing in your eyes. “Yeah. Since you think they’re all faking it, how about this—we both go down on each other, and the first one to make the other cum wins.”

Eunha blinked, momentarily taken aback. The air in the hallway seemed to thicken, her breath hitching in her throat as the weight of your audacious proposition settled between you. “You’ve got to be joking,” she said, her voice steady but laced with disbelief.

You shrugged nonchalantly, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background punctuating the charged silence. “You said I wasn’t that good. Prove it. If you win, I’ll stop bringing girls over entirely. But if I win…”

Eunha raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line. “What’s in it for you?” Her voice carried a sharp edge, but there was a flicker of curiosity beneath it, almost imperceptible.

You leaned in slightly, the dim light from the overhead fixture casting a shadow across your face. Your voice dropped to a low, teasing tone, each word dripping with confidence. “You. Anytime, anyplace, for a week.”

Eunha’s breath caught, her pulse quickening as the sheer boldness of your words hit her. Heat crept up her neck, but it wasn’t just anger—it was the challenge, the audacity, the smugness in your tone that fanned the flames of her pride. There was no way you could win, not against her. She was hellbent on the fact that every moan that came out of your room was nothing but an act—girls faking it to stroke your ego because they didn’t know any better. Nothing about you screamed impressive..

“No way we are doing a week; that’s too long,” Eunha countered firmly, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance. Her heart raced, but she kept her tone steady.

You were unfazed, leaning back slightly with an exaggerated shrug, as though victory was already in your grasp. “Okay, what about over the course of a week? Three sessions of use with you, same as before, any time, any place.”

Eunha’s jaw tightened as she considered your alternative, the weight of your words settling like a dare she couldn’t refuse. The light buzz of adrenaline coursing through her veins made her palms feel clammy, but she straightened her spine, meeting your gaze with fire in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, her voice unwavering. “You’re on.”

Your grin widened, the corners of your mouth curling with triumph, as if you’d already won. “Let’s make some ground rules, then.”

The quiet apartment is suddenly alive with the undercurrent of challenge. The faint creak of the floorboards under your steps seemed louder in the silence. The terms were simple—no hands allowed, and the first one to cum would lose. It wasn’t just a game of skill, but of endurance, control, and unspoken stakes that neither of you fully acknowledged.

As the final terms were set, you led Eunha to your room—a space she’d passed by countless times, now feeling alien and charged with a dangerous intimacy. The air hit her first, thick with the unmistakable scent of musk and lingering arousal. The faint trace of Umji’s floral perfume mingled with something far more primal, twisting in Eunha’s stomach like a knot. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t ignore it—the room still carried her best friend’s presence, an unwelcome ghost that clung to the atmosphere and prickled at Eunha’s skin.

She steeled herself, pushing aside the pang of discomfort. She wasn’t here to wallow or falter. She was here to win. Today, this was her game.

The door clicked shut behind, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the still room. You wasted no time, your movements deliberate as you peeled off your shirt with casual confidence, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting sharp shadows across your skin. Anticipation danced in your dark eyes, glinting with amusement as they traced her figure.

Eunha swallowed hard, a swell of nerves rising in her chest as she met your gaze. But she refused to falter. She reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head with a decisive motion, baring herself piece by piece until she stood completely exposed before you—naked and unflinching. The cool air of the room kissed her skin, raising goosebumps that she refused to acknowledge. Her chin tilted up defiantly, her resolve unshaken.

With a playful glint in your eyes, you gestured toward the bed, your lips curling into a smirk. “Ladies first?” you quipped, your voice dripping with amusement.

Eunha shot you a fierce glare, her jaw tightening as she fought the urge to fire back with something sharper. Instead, she climbed onto the bed, her movements purposeful and precise. But the moment her knees hit the mattress, a wave of discomfort washed over her. The dampness beneath her palms was unmistakable, the sheets faintly musky from Umji’s earlier release. A surge of anger flared in her chest, tightening her throat. Her best friend’s ghost clung to this space—this bed—turning what should have been just another challenge into something deeply personal.

You followed her onto the bed, your movements deliberate and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world. You reached out, hands brushing against her hips as you guided her to straddle you. Her legs trembled slightly as she adjusted, the heat of your hands sending a jolt through her body that she stubbornly ignored. You leaned back, your smirk deepening as you settled into the mattress, entirely at ease. The flicker of amusement in your eyes burned against Eunha’s pride, daring her to falter, daring her to lose.

Her breath quickened, her pulse hammering in her ears as she hovered over you. The room seemed to shrink, the space between your bodies charged with a tension that felt almost electric. The scent of musk, sweat, and lingering arousal swirled around them, thick and inescapable, amplifying the intimacy of the moment.

For the first time, as her gaze flickered downward, she noticed something she’d never truly paid attention to before—your length, larger than she had cared to admit. The sheer size of you made her stomach flip, a wave of heat rushing through her so suddenly that it took her breath away. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, as if to stave off the reaction, but the faint ache building within her betrayed her efforts.

Her eyes lingered for a moment too long, tracing the prominent veins and the way you moved with an air of ease that only added to the magnetic pull you exuded. The sight was overwhelming, a reminder of your control, and it sent her mind spinning with thoughts she wasn’t ready to face.

A faint flush crept up her neck, her skin burning with a mixture of embarrassment and something she couldn’t quite name. She swallowed hard, forcing her expression to remain neutral as she tore her gaze away, her heart pounding in her chest. Determination flickered in her eyes as she tried to bury the reaction deep inside her, willing herself to focus on anything else.

This wasn’t about distractions or nerves; this was about her pride. Her chance to make you crumble as so many others before you had. She wasn’t just playing your game; she was going to win it.

As she leaned closer, the warmth of your skin radiated against hers, the proximity amplifying every sensation. The mattress shifted beneath you both, the springs groaning softly as the challenge truly began.

She began her assault slowly, her tongue tracing along your length, savoring the way you twitched beneath her touch. A smirk curled her lips as she realized you were already responding—a thrill of satisfaction coursed through her. He’s already losing, she thought, emboldened by the spark of confidence igniting within her.

Yet, the tables turned as your hands gripped her hips, pulling her down toward your waiting mouth with a deliberate, unyielding strength. The unexpected forwardness startled her, and she couldn’t help but gasp. Your tongue found her folds, teasingly exploring her with excruciating slowness. The touch sent shivers radiating through her core, making her body tense involuntarily.

Stay focused, she reminded herself, though the heat building inside her made it harder to concentrate. She picked up her pace, taking you deeper into her mouth, swirling her tongue with precision. Each low groan that escaped your lips reverberated through her, sending jolts of satisfaction surging through her. She poured every ounce of her determination into conditioning your reactions, her confidence surging with every twitch, every shallow breath you took.

She sensed her victory was close—your breath quickened, and she could feel you throbbing against her tongue. A few more moments, and she’d have you. She could almost taste the win.

But then, without warning, you shifted, your tongue pressing against a hidden, sensitive spot deep within her. The sudden, sharp jolt of pleasure ripped through her, a sensation so intense it stole her breath. A startled gasp escaped her lips before she could stifle it. And then you followed it up, your mouth latching onto her clit, sucking and teasing with just enough pressure to send her spiraling further into a haze of pleasure. Each flick of your tongue and gentle graze of your teeth seemed designed to dismantle her resolve, targeting every weakness she didn’t know she had.

Her body trembled, betraying her will as waves of ecstasy built within her, each one cresting higher than the last. She struggled to focus, to push forward and finish what she started, but it was no use. You were relentless, and her body was betraying her. Every stroke of your tongue felt impossibly perfect, a symphony of sensations that left her teetering on the edge.

And then it hit her.

The orgasm crashed over her like a thunderclap, a shockwave of pleasure so sudden and intense it left her reeling. It wasn’t just unexpected—it was overwhelming. Her breath hitched, a strangled moan escaping her lips as her entire body bowed against her will. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt, a climax so raw and consuming it rivaled her best and obliterated any sense of control she thought she had. Her thighs clamped reflexively around your head, trembling with the force of the pleasure wracking her body. She couldn’t stop herself—the sensation was too much, too all-encompassing to resist.

As the waves of ecstasy reached their peak, you thrust slightly deeper into her mouth, her lips stretched around you as she choked softly on your length. The sensation of being taken so completely sent a fresh jolt of pleasure surging through her, intensifying her climax beyond what she thought was possible. Her body shuddered violently, her muscles tightening as her cries became muffled, the act heightening the overwhelming rush of release.

Every nerve in her body felt electrified, every inch of her skin hypersensitive to the slightest touch. Her heartbeat pounded furiously in her chest, each thrum echoing like a drumbeat in the heavy silence of the room. The way you filled her, the weight of your presence pressing her further into surrender, only amplified the depth of her response, dragging her into a state of pure, unrelenting bliss.

The waves of pleasure seemed endless, each pulse pulling her deeper into the abyss. Her mind blurred, the edges of thought dissolving into a haze of sensation that left her powerless, her breaths coming in shallow, desperate gasps. Time stretched and warped, the peak of ecstasy feeling like an eternity as it consumed her completely.

When the tremors finally subsided, she collapsed against the mattress, her body limp and her mind clouded with disbelief. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath, her limbs heavy as if weighed down by the aftershocks of her release. The room felt distant, blurred by the haze of ecstasy still humming through her body.

Her lips remained around you, the weight of you resting on her tongue unnoticed at first as her mind buzzed with the intensity of what she had just experienced. Slowly, instinctively, her tongue began to move, tracing along your length in lazy, absent circles. It was almost reflexive, her body responding without thought, as if it craved the connection even as her mind struggled to process the reality of it all.

For a moment, she was lost in the act, her senses dulled and her body still pulsing with residual pleasure. But as clarity returned, the realization struck her like a cold wave. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as her senses snapped back into focus, and she quickly pulled back, her lips parting as she released you.

Her heart pounded as she shifted away, her hands trembling as she tried to gather herself. How could this have happened? The thought lingered, sharp and insistent, as she struggled to reconcile the overwhelming pleasure with the reality that it had been your tongue—and her own instincts—that unraveled her so completely.

Eunha’s frustration boiled as you chuckled beneath her, your low, smug laughter sending waves of embarrassment coursing through her. Pulling back, you rose to a sitting position, your dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Looks like I won,” you said, your voice dripping with self-assured confidence.

A mix of humiliation and indignation simmered in her chest. “No! You… you cheated!” she blurted, scrambling off you in a frantic attempt to reclaim some semblance of dignity. Her movements were hurried and awkward, betraying her flustered state as she tugged at the rumpled sheets to cover herself.

You arched an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curling into a smirk that only deepened her frustration. “Cheated?” you repeated, your tone light, teasing. “Sounds like a sore loser to me.”

Eunha’s jaw tightened as she glared at you, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You… did something! I don’t know what, but there’s no way! That wasn’t—it doesn’t count!” Her voice wavered as she scrambled for excuses, her mind racing to rewrite what had just happened. “I didn’t even cum—so you didn’t win,” she mumbled, her words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to shift the narrative, even as her own body betrayed her.

Your smirk widened, and you leaned forward, the playful glint in your eyes sparking a fresh wave of heat in her cheeks. “Didn’t cum, huh?” you asked, your voice low and taunting, the kind of tone that made her heart pound in equal parts irritation and something else she refused to name.

Before she could retort, you moved swiftly. Your fingers brushed against her slick folds, gathering the unmistakable evidence of her release. She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her body jolted at the unexpected touch. You brought your fingers to your lips, savoring the taste with a deliberate, slow flick of your tongue.

Then, closing the distance between you, you captured her lips in a searing kiss, your hands firm against her waist. The taste of herself lingered on your lips, undeniable proof of what had just transpired. “Doesn’t it taste just like cum?” you teased, your words a whispered challenge against her lips.

Eunha froze, her mind spinning as the truth crashed down on her. The heat of your mouth, the unmistakable taste, the trembling in her thighs—there was no denying it. She had climaxed, and you had won.

But she wasn’t ready to admit it.

“That doesn’t mean anything!” she snapped, her voice sharp, though it wavered slightly at the edges. She pulled back, her hands trembling as she gestured wildly, trying to regain control of the situation. “You… you probably did something weird—something dirty! I wasn’t even ready! It’s not fair!” Her excuses came out in a rush, desperate and unconvincing even to her own ears.

Your chuckle deepened, rich and mocking, as you watched her unravel. “Face it, Eunha,” you said, your tone dripping with amusement. “I won, fair and square.”

Without any more options, she stumbled to her feet, her movements hurried and frantic as she reached for her discarded clothes. “Whatever,” she muttered, her voice thick with humiliation as she avoided your gaze. “This was a stupid bet anyway.”

But before she could make her escape, a sharp smack echoed through the room as your hand connected playfully with her rear. The stinging heat made her yelp, and she spun around, glaring at you with wide, furious eyes. Her face burned crimson, the mixture of anger and lingering embarrassment practically radiating off her.

“Deal’s a deal,” you said, your voice low and teasing, the grin on your face infuriatingly smug. “I’ll be collecting my prize soon.”

Eunha’s heart pounded, your words settling deep in her chest and sending a strange, unsettling mix of dread and anticipation coursing through her. She couldn’t bring herself to respond, her mouth opening and closing uselessly as she scrambled for a comeback that refused to come.

Without another word, she stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing sharply down the hallway. The slam of her door reverberated through the apartment, a sharp punctuation to the moment. Alone in her room, Eunha pressed her back against the door, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as her emotions swirled in chaotic waves—anger, embarrassment, and something she refused to name.

-----

The next day, the morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Eunha's room, casting delicate golden patterns that danced across the floorboards like restless shadows. The warmth of daylight touched her skin, but it did little to temper the knot of discomfort and anticipation twisting in her stomach. She lay face down on her bed, her laptop propped in front of her, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She typed half-heartedly, forcing herself to focus on the screen. Yet, the weight of your presence in the room made it impossible.

Your quiet breathing behind her felt louder than it should, filling the air with a tension she couldn’t escape. She bit her lip, her body prickling with awareness against her will. This was her sanctuary, her room. A place where she was supposed to feel safe and in control. Yet now, under your gaze, it felt different. Oppressive. Confusing. The line between intrusion and something else entirely blurred in ways she wasn’t ready to face.

“Ready for your first session?” Your voice, low and deliberate, broke through the quiet. The words cut through her thoughts, making her body tense instinctively. She froze, her breath catching, unsure whether it was defiance or dread keeping her silent.  

The bed dipped under your weight, and suddenly, you were there, behind her. She stiffened as your hands brushed over her hips, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. The soft rustle of fabric was deafening in the quiet room. 

She wanted to protest, to tell you she wasn’t enjoying this, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, her breath hitched as your fingers trailed lightly over the curve of her back. Your touch sent tingles racing across her skin, her body responding even as her mind recoiled. It wasn’t fair. She hated how her body betrayed her, how it melted under your hands like it had been waiting for this.

You started slowly, your lips brushing featherlight kisses along her shoulders. She clenched her fists, burying her face into the pillow as you worked your way lower. Each kiss left a trail of heat in its wake, your mouth moving with maddening patience down the length of her back. When your teeth grazed her skin, she let out a muffled gasp, her body jerking slightly before settling back into place.

Eunha squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sensations overwhelming her. I can't believe this is happening, she thought desperately, her cheeks burning as your lips pressed against the small of her back. She wanted to hate it, hate you, but the way her body responded made it impossible to ignore. Each touch, each teasing bite, only deepened the confusion swirling inside her.

When your lips brushed against the curve of her plump cheeks, she trembled. Her skin tingled as you lingered, planting slow, deliberate kisses before giving a playful nip that sent a jolt through her. She buried her face deeper into the pillow, her breath ragged, her resolve crumbling.

“You’re already reacting so much,” you teased, your voice soft but smug. “I haven’t even touched you.”

Her heart raced at your words, embarrassment and arousal mingling in a way that made her stomach twist. She hated how much she wanted you to keep going, how her body leaned into your touch even as her mind screamed at her to pull away.

Your hands slid down her thighs, coaxing them apart as your fingers finally brushed over her folds. She gasped, the heat pooling in her core undeniable. Why does this feel so good? she thought, biting her lip as you teased her, never quite giving her what she wanted.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your tone laced with amusement. “Soaking through your sheets, just like your friend.”

Her body trembled as your fingers continued their slow, agonizing exploration. Her breath hitched when you finally slid her shorts down, exposing her fully. She felt vulnerable, raw, and yet… exhilarated.

You gripped her hips, lifting them slightly so her chest remained pressed to the bed. Her back arched naturally, and her cheeks flushed with heat as you adjusted her position, leaving her most sensitive areas exposed. The vulnerability made her heart race, her breath catching in her throat as she felt your presence so close behind her.

Your hands moved deliberately, spreading her cheeks wide. The cool air of the room kissed her exposed skin, making her shiver as the contrast of warmth and chill heightened her awareness. Her breath hitched when she felt the faintest, deliberate puff of air against her sex. The sensation sent a jolt through her, her body clenching instinctively as a soft whimper escaped her lips. Her folds quivered under the sensation, and even the tight ring behind them pulsed faintly in response, betraying her heightened sensitivity.

You chuckled softly, watching as her body reacted under your control. “So sensitive,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. The way her body responded to even the gentlest stimulation was intoxicating. Leaning closer, you let your breath wash over her again, this time more deliberate, the warm puff grazing her slick skin.

The tremble of her folds deepened, her body betraying her completely as the light air teased her again. Her tight ring pulsated under your gaze, the reaction mesmerizing as you held her there, savoring every flicker of her submission. You’re so sexy,” you said softly, your tone filled with admiration. “Your body loves every second of this.”

She whimpered again, burying her face into the mattress as the sensations overwhelmed her. The deliberate teasing left her trembling, her body attuned to every movement, every breath. You watched her, enthralled by the way she surrendered to the moment, her reactions igniting a fire that neither of you could resist.

When your tongue flicked out, finally meeting her folds, she let out a muffled cry, the pillow swallowing her voice. The first touch stole what little resolve she had left, her hips jerking slightly before your firm grip steadied her in place. The heat of your mouth and the coolness lingering from the air created a dizzying contrast that left her gasping.

As your tongue delved deeper, teasing her sensitive nub, her entire body jolted with the intensity of the sensation. You alternated between soft, teasing licks and firm strokes, your hands gripping her hips tightly to keep her exactly where you wanted her. Her legs trembled, her mind a whirlwind of contradictions—she hated this, hated how you were making her feel, and yet, she couldn’t get enough.

“You like this, don’t you?” you murmured between strokes, your breath warm against her slick skin. “You don’t want to admit it, but your body’s already told me everything I need to know.”

Eunha whimpered, her chest pressing harder into the mattress as she fought against the overwhelming sensations. The way you spoke, the confidence in your voice, sent shivers racing down her spine. She hated that you were right. No matter how much her mind resisted, her body had already surrendered completely.

The safety of her room, once her refuge, now felt foreign. The air was heavy, charged with arousal that clung to every surface. She couldn’t escape it—the pull of her own body responding to you, the way her most vulnerable self was laid bare for your enjoyment. It was maddening. It was exhilarating. And she couldn’t stop it.

Then, to her surprise, you added a finger. The digit entered with no resistance, sliding into her warmth effortlessly as her slickness coated you. When you curled it just right, a sharp cry tore from her lips, muffled by the pillow beneath her. Her body tightened around you, a jolt of pleasure surging through her as her hips rocked back instinctively.

The combination of your tongue, tracing deliberate strokes over her sensitive nub, and the rhythmic motion of your finger inside her sent her spiraling. Her mind became a haze, her thoughts scattering as the sensations grew overwhelming. The tension in her core tightened with every flick, every stroke, building to a crescendo she couldn’t escape.

Her body arched off the bed as the climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with a force that made her gasp and scream into the pillow. The sound was raw, filled with a mix of ecstasy and disbelief. Warm liquid hit your tongue as her release washed over her, her body responding with an intensity she hadn’t anticipated. It was as if her body moved entirely on its own, separate from her mind, completely out of her control.

Her legs shook violently, her thighs trembling against your face as you held her steady. Every nerve in her body felt electrified, the waves of pleasure rolling through her like an unstoppable tide. Her hands clutched at the sheets beneath her, twisting them until the once perfectly made bed was a disheveled mess. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as the aftershocks left her weak and trembling.

As her body began to calm, her mind reeled from the intensity of it all. She had never experienced anything so raw, so all-consuming. It felt like her body wasn’t even hers anymore, like it had betrayed her completely. The humiliation of that realization mixed with the undeniable satisfaction thrumming through her veins, creating a cocktail of emotions that left her dizzy.

You pulled back slowly, savoring the sight of her undone beneath you. Your lips brushed one last kiss against her inner thigh, a soft, deliberate reminder of the control you held over her. “One down,” you murmured, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction.

Eunha collapsed fully against the bed, her body melting into the mattress as her limbs refused to move. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her skin flushed and slick with sweat. She buried her face into the pillow, her mind scrambling to process what had just happened. Shame flickered in the back of her thoughts, but it was drowned out by the lingering heat of her arousal.

She hated herself for how much she’d wanted it, for how completely she had surrendered to you. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push away the memory of your touch. The echo of your lips, your fingers, and the way her body had responded to you replayed in her mind like a vivid dream she couldn’t shake.

Even as she lay there, trembling and spent, a part of her was terrified by how much she craved more. She wasn’t fully yours yet—but the seed had been planted. And deep down, she knew that resisting you would only get harder from here.

-----

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m fine,” Eunha said softly, her voice light but tinged with just enough warmth to reassure her mother. She leaned back against the couch, the phone pressed firmly to her ear. Her mother’s concern was a comforting constant, a tether to the normalcy Eunha was trying desperately to cling to.

“Are you sure? You’ve sounded tired lately,” her mother said, the familiar tone of worry pulling a faint smile from Eunha despite the storm brewing within her.

“I’m just busy, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” she replied, her words practiced, as if they could steady her own wavering thoughts.

Her mother’s warm laugh filtered through the line, wrapping around her like a blanket. “You always say that. Don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise,” Eunha said, her chest tightening at the kindness in her mother’s voice. She focused on the conversation, trying to lose herself in its comfort, but the weight of your presence was impossible to ignore.

You were there, lounging beside her on the couch, your energy filling the room like a storm cloud. When her gaze flicked to you, her heart stuttered. The lazy grin on your lips, the mischievous sparkle in your eyes—it was enough to send a rush of heat coursing through her. She swallowed hard, her voice catching slightly as her mother spoke again.

“Have you been eating properly? You tend to forget when you get busy,” her mother said, concern softening her words.

“I’m eating just fine,” Eunha replied quickly, her tone betraying the distraction tugging at her. She gripped the phone tighter, forcing herself to focus on her mother’s voice even as your hand brushed lightly against her thigh.

Her body jolted at the touch, her breath hitching, though she tried to disguise it with a soft laugh. “Really, Mom, everything’s fine,” she said, the words feeling hollow as her pulse raced.

Her heart skipped a beat as your hand moved up her thigh, warm and commanding. Your fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over her skin, igniting a storm of sensations that made it nearly impossible for her to focus on her mother’s words. The phone trembled slightly in her hand as you leaned closer, your breath ghosting against her ear. “Ready for round two?” you murmured, your voice low and teasing.

Before she could process the words, you acted. With a swift, practiced motion, you pulled her into your lap, your hands firm yet gentle as they guided her into place. Her breath hitched as her body pressed against yours, her mind spinning from the sheer audacity of it all. The world outside—her mother’s voice on the line, the faint hum of the city beyond the window—faded into a muted blur as you moved with ease.

The hem of her shirt lifted in your hands, your fingers brushing her bare skin as you removed it with an insouciance that sent shivers through her. Her cheeks burned as the air touched her exposed skin, but her body betrayed her resolve.

A breathy moan escaped her lips when you shifted below her, the sound of your movements mixing with her moms voice. Her breath hitched as you reached down, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts. Her body tensed, her head turning slightly as if she wanted to see, but she stopped herself, the anticipation overwhelming. The moment was thick with tension as you freed your length, the weight and heat of it brushing against her skin briefly, sending a shiver racing up her spine.

Eunha swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as the reality of what was about to happen set in. For the first time, she realized just how much she had underestimated you. Her mind raced, but her body stayed still, her breath shallow and uneven as you positioned yourself 

Eunha swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as the reality of what was about to happen set in. For the first time, she realized just how much she had underestimated you. Her mind raced, but her body stayed still, her breath shallow and uneven as you positioned yourself beneath her. The weight of your hands on her hips steadied her, though the heat radiating between you only heightened her anticipation.

She hovered above you, her entrance brushing against the head of your length, and a sharp intake of breath escaped her lips. The first press of you against her made her thighs tremble slightly, the stretch unfamiliar yet electrifying. Slowly, you guided her downward, the head of your length pushing into her with deliberate, measured pressure.

Her walls tightened instinctively, gripping you as her body adjusted to your size. A gasp broke free from her lips, her head tilting back as the sensation overwhelmed her. Inch by inch, you filled her, the stretch igniting her nerves as her body accommodated the fullness. It wasn’t just the physicality—it was the sheer intensity of the moment, the raw connection that sent her senses spiraling.

Eunha bit down on her lower lip, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh in a desperate attempt to stifle the sounds rising in her throat. The effort was futile. Each movement sent a wave of pleasure radiating through her, the heat pooling in her core intensifying with every passing second. Her breath hitched as you bottomed out, the depth leaving her trembling in your lap.

You paused, letting her adjust, your hands firm on her hips as you held her steady. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, her body caught between the sharp stretch and the intoxicating pleasure. Her nails dug lightly into your shoulders, a wordless reaction to the overwhelming sensation of being completely taken.

Her mother’s voice on the other end of the phone became a distant murmur, a faint and meaningless thread lost in the overwhelming symphony of sensations coursing through her body.

Each deep, measured thrust sent shockwaves rippling through her, igniting every nerve as though you’d found a secret, untouched place within her. Your hips snapped upward with precision, each motion deliberate and unhurried, as though you were savoring every reaction. At the same time, your hands pulled her down, controlling her movements to ensure that every thrust hit its mark, driving her closer to the edge. The friction was intoxicating, the way her body yielded to yours making her thighs tremble as the pleasure intensified.

Her breath hitched as you shifted your focus, your lips trailing over the curve of her neck before descending to her chest. Your tongue traced a path over her skin before taking one of her breasts into your mouth, your tongue flicking expertly over her hardened nipple. Her free hand flew to her mouth, muffling the moan that threatened to escape as waves of pleasure surged through her. The warmth of your mouth and the deliberate pace of your movements ignited a fire that spread through her like molten lava, leaving no part of her untouched.

Her thighs quivered as she fought to stay silent, her nails digging into your shoulders as if clinging to the last thread of her composure. But it was a losing battle. Each thrust, each flick of your tongue, and every teasing bite pushed her further into a realm of bliss that shattered her carefully constructed facade. The conversation with her mother became meaningless—a forgotten backdrop to the intensity of what was happening between you.

You pressed deeper, your movements deliberate, each one unraveling her defenses layer by layer. Her breath hitched as you shifted slightly, your fingers tightening on her hips. Her mind swam in a haze of pleasure as you grazed your teeth lightly against the sensitive bud. The sharpness of the sensation sent a shockwave through her, her entire body jerking against you.

And then you slipped a finger into her tight ring, the unexpected intrusion sending her over the edge. Her back arched violently, her head tilting back as her body trembled uncontrollably. The combination of sensations—the fullness of your length inside her, the teasing graze of your teeth, and the pressure of your finger—coalesced into an overwhelming wave of pleasure that consumed her completely.

The crescendo hit her like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from her lungs as her orgasm crashed over her with ferocious intensity. Her thighs clamped tightly around your hips as the pleasure tore through her, her moans growing louder despite her efforts to hold them back. In a panic, she fumbled to mute the call with her mother, but the moment she did, a loud scream burst from her lips, unrestrained and raw.

Her body quivered against you, every muscle tensing and relaxing in rhythm with the pulsating pleasure coursing through her. Her nails raked down your back, leaving trails of fire in their wake as she rode the waves of her climax. Her forehead pressed against your shoulder, her gasps ragged and desperate as the aftershocks rippled through her.

And then she felt it.

The warmth bloomed deep inside her as you finished, your release spilling into her in long, deliberate pulses. The sensation sent a fresh jolt through her already trembling body, her walls clenching around you involuntarily as if to hold you in place. The heat filled her completely, leaving her both stunned and overwhelmed. Her mind reeled, trying to process the depth of the intimacy while her body betrayed her, savoring the connection.

As her breathing slowed, her thoughts darkened. Images of the countless one-night stands you had brought home flashed through her mind—the strangers whose laughter and moans had echoed through these walls, the women she had heard but never seen. Now, she was one of them. Claimed, used, another conquest to add to your list.

Her chest tightened at the thought, but her body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure, betraying the conflict swirling within her. She couldn’t deny how incredible it had felt, how consuming and raw the experience was. But the realization of what she had become—just one of the many—sent a pang of shame through her, mixed with an undeniable longing for more.

For a moment, the world dissolved into nothing but sensation. Her body was a trembling, overwhelmed mess in your grasp, and all she could feel was the heat of your skin, the pressure of your hands holding her, and the lingering pleasure that left her utterly spent. The room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, a visceral reminder of the line she had crossed.

“Two down,” you murmured against her neck, your voice low and teasing, each word sending another shiver down her spine. The words hung in the air, heavy and electric, as you pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. The intensity in your eyes made her heart race all over again, her body igniting anew despite the exhaustion flooding her limbs.

Her hands shook as she scrambled to end the call, stammering a breathless goodbye to her mother before collapsing against you. Her cheek rested against your chest, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as her mind spun with disbelief.

How had she allowed herself to get here? How had she unraveled so completely, lost so thoroughly in sensations she had once sworn she could resist? Yet, even as she wrestled with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her, a part of her couldn’t deny the truth. Deep down, beneath the lingering embarrassment and self-reproach, there was a flicker of anticipation.

She wanted more.

-----

After two consecutive days of passion and intensity, the abrupt break that followed was a mixed blessing for Eunha. On one hand, her body welcomed the respite—the soreness in her thighs and the dull ache in her hips lingered like an intimate reminder of the fervent connection you shared. On the other hand, the absence of scheduled sessions left her restless. Her mind became a storm, every stray thought spiraling back to you.

Each moment apart felt like an eternity. Her memories replayed like a fevered dream—the way your hands had explored her body with unerring precision, the intoxicating sound of your voice murmuring against her skin, the way you pulled her under your spell with every electrifying touch. She couldn’t escape the lingering echoes of your presence, the phantom feeling of your fingers tracing her curves. The ache of longing bloomed inside her chest, a dull, throbbing need that refused to be ignored.

She hated how much she craved you. Her body, once entirely her own, now seemed attuned to the thought of you, as though it anticipated your every move. Her breath would hitch at the memory of your thrusts, stirring a deep, primal hunger that sent shivers through her spine when she let her mind linger too long. How did it come to this? She couldn’t decide whether it was desire or dependency, but whatever it was, it consumed her.

As the days stretched on, the tension between you became almost unbearable. Eunha caught herself stealing glances at you in the shared spaces of your lives. You moved with infuriating ease, your calm confidence a stark contrast to the chaos roiling inside her. Every fleeting look you gave her, every shared smile or casual brush of your hand against hers, felt like a spark threatening to ignite the tightly coiled tension between you. Her pulse would quicken whenever your eyes met, her breath catching as the air thickened with an unspoken promise.

And yet, you kept your distance. Aloof but ever-present, your quiet self-assurance was a maddening reminder of her own unraveling. Each encounter left her nerves frayed, her thoughts tangled in a web of anticipation and longing.

In the quiet hours, Eunha’s thoughts betrayed her. She would sip her morning coffee and imagine your lips brushing hers, your hands gripping her waist. She would read under the warm glow of sunlight, only to find herself yearning for the warmth of your body pressed against hers. The ache of your absence seeped into her dreams, your touch haunting her even there. When she thought of the inevitable final session, her heart would race, her mind spinning with fantasies of how it might feel. The thought was intoxicating—and utterly crushing in its reminder of the emptiness that filled the spaces between your meetings.

Finally, on the last day of the week, Eunha sat at her desk, her laptop glowing faintly in the dimly lit room. The document on the screen was an empty void, the blinking cursor a silent accusation. She stared at it, fingers hovering over the keyboard, willing herself to type something—anything—but her mind was a chaotic swirl, and the still-blank page spoke volumes. No words came. No work was done.

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, anticipation coiling tight in her stomach. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know you were there. Your presence was magnetic, filling the air with a weight that pressed against her like a physical force. The faint rhythm of your footsteps approached, each step resonating like a heartbeat in the otherwise silent room.

The air grew charged, humming with unspoken words and unresolved tension. It was an invisible thread connecting the two of you, tightening with each passing moment. Eunha’s fingers twitched over the keyboard, a futile attempt to pretend she hadn’t already surrendered to the moment before it even began.

You came up behind her without a word, your hands sliding over her shoulders with deliberate ease. The heat of your touch sent a ripple through her, her body responding instantly. Her breath hitched as a shiver raced down her spine, her concentration on the empty screen obliterated in an instant.

Your fingers kneaded her tense muscles with just enough pressure to make her melt against the chair. Each movement was slow, confident, deliberate. She could feel the warmth of your body close to hers, the faint scent of your cologne mingling with the sterile hum of the office air. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, torn between surrender and resistance, her thoughts spinning as she tried to reconcile the electric pull of your presence.

“It’s time for the last session,” you whispered, your breath warm against the shell of her ear. Your voice was low, rich, each word wrapping around her like a caress. The syllables lingered, thick with promise and urgency, igniting a spark deep within her.

Her body tensed under your touch, caught between the intoxicating pull of your words and the anticipation coursing through her veins. She turned her head slightly, her lips parting as if to speak, but the words died in her throat. The moment hung suspended, taut and electric, as though the air itself awaited her next move.

Before Eunha could find her voice, you effortlessly pulled her up from her chair. Her laptop screen dimmed, forgotten, as you turned her toward the desk in one fluid motion. Her breath hitched as you bent her over the cool surface, the sensation of the hard edge pressing against her chest grounding and thrilling all at once. She gasped softly when your hands slid down her sides, warm and deliberate, moving with practiced ease.

You worked methodically, your fingers grazing her skin as you peeled away her clothes. Each layer fell away like petals from a flower, leaving her bare and vulnerable under your touch. The chill of the air kissed her exposed skin, sending goosebumps rippling across her body, and the heat of your hands against her only deepened the contrast. She gripped the edge of the desk, her fingers curling tightly around it as anticipation built in her chest.

Her skin tingled with anticipation, every nerve alive and sensitive as you positioned yourself behind her. This dance, though familiar, felt new each time—each touch, each shared breath igniting a fire that burned brighter than the last. The air between you was thick, charged with the tension of the moment, and the faint scrape of fabric as you removed the last barrier between you only heightened the anticipation.

Your hands gripped her hips firmly, steadying her as you align yourself with her entrance. The heat of your length brushed against her folds, eliciting a sharp inhale as her body quivered beneath you. But instead of easing inside, you teased her—grazing her entrance with just the tip, almost like a kiss.

Her breath came in uneven gasps, her fingers curling tightly against the edge of the desk. Each deliberate nudge, each tantalizing brush of your head against her, sent jolts of pleasure through her, teasing her already heightened senses. Her body reacted instinctively, her hips rolling back in an effort to meet you, seeking the fullness you held just out of reach. But just as she pushed against you, you pulled away, your teasing smirk audible in the low chuckle that escaped your lips.

Her thighs trembled, her body caught in the maddening limbo between anticipation and relief. You continued the game, pressing just enough to stretch her slightly, letting her feel the promise of you, before retreating again. The sound of her labored breathing filled the room, punctuated by the soft creak of the desk beneath her. The tension built like a coiled spring, her body humming with need, every nerve screaming for release.

Finally, you gripped her hips tighter and pressed forward, the slow, deliberate stretch as you entered her drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. Her back arched instinctively as she adjusted to your size, her fingers digging into the desk for support. The moment was raw and electric, her body trembling as the fullness consumed her.

As you began to move, you shifted your grip, one hand trailing down to deliver a sharp, stinging slap to her bare cheek. The sound cracked through the air, followed by a jolt of heat that made her gasp. Her body tensed under your touch, a mix of surprise and exhilaration coursing through her. Another slap followed, the sting sending ripples of pleasure racing through her as she clenched around you.

“You like that,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you rubbed the reddened skin, soothing it before delivering another sharp smack. Each impact sent her higher, her body responding to every combination of pain and pleasure as you set a rhythm that left her breathless.

Your thrusts grew deeper, more deliberate, each movement precise and commanding as you drove her closer to the edge. The heat of your body pressed against her, the cool surface of the desk beneath her, and the lingering sting of your spanks combined to heighten her senses, leaving her utterly at your mercy. Her hips rocked back to meet your thrusts now, her movements instinctive and desperate, as though her body had been made to follow your lead.

Eunha clung to the desk, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her mind spiraled into the haze of passion. Rational thought dissolved into nothingness, replaced by the primal need to surrender completely. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of heat and desire that left her trembling and undone.

Before Eunha could steady herself, your hand slid up her back, tracing her spine with deliberate slowness before gripping the base of her ponytail. The sharp tug tilted her head back, arching her spine and forcing her to press closer against you. The motion was commanding, almost primal, and paired with the rhythmic slap of your hips against hers, it sent a new wave of shivers coursing through her body.

The sting of your earlier spanks lingered, the heat radiating from her reddened skin intensifying the contrast between pleasure and pain. Your grip on her ponytail tightened, using it as leverage to drive yourself deeper. Each thrust was deliberate, precise, and powerful, eliciting soft cries from her that grew louder with every movement. You felt her clenching around you, her body gripping you tighter with each spank and every commanding tug of her hair.

“You’re squeezing me so hard,” you murmured, your voice dripping with teasing satisfaction. Another sharp slap landed on her cheek, and she cried out, the sound breaking into a breathless moan as her body trembled under you. “You like this, don’t you? Being bent over your desk like this, letting me take you however I want.”

Eunha could barely form a coherent thought, let alone respond. The mixture of pleasure and domination was overwhelming, her body instinctively rocking back to meet you. Her hips moved in time with yours, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure spiraling through her as her nails scraped against the desk, seeking any semblance of grounding in the storm you were creating.

Suddenly, your eyes flicked to her laptop, the screen darkened from inactivity. With a curious smirk, you reached over her, pressing on the trackpad to awaken it. The screen lit up, revealing a blank document, the cursor blinking idly as if mocking her attempt to focus.

You leaned forward slightly, your chest pressing lightly against her back, your lips brushing her ear as you murmured, “You were just waiting for me, weren’t you? Faking work just so I could come and interrupt.”

The words struck her like a lightning bolt, their truth sending her already racing heart into overdrive. She let out a shaky breath, her throat tightening as her mind reeled from the vulnerability you so effortlessly exposed. Yet, it only heightened the sensations coursing through her, the mix of humiliation and desire spiraling into something she could no longer resist.

Your pace quickened, each thrust driving deeper as the sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with her ragged gasps and breathless moans. The steady pull of her ponytail guided her body into perfect alignment, each movement drawing you closer to her deepest, most sensitive spots. Her walls clenched tighter around you, her body reacting instinctively to the rhythm you commanded.

“You’re so tight,” you groaned, your voice tinged with both exertion and satisfaction. The grip on her ponytail tightened again as your free hand traced down her back, gripping her waist to hold her steady. The push and pull of your motions became a dance of raw intensity, every movement calculated to pull her further into the abyss of pleasure.

Eunha’s breaths turned to sharp cries, her voice rising in pitch as her body betrayed her, hurtling toward release. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, the tension within her building to an unbearable crescendo. Each thrust, each slap, each tug of her ponytail sent her spiraling closer to the edge, her body arching as if begging for the final push.

And then it came. A powerful thrust paired with the sting of another spank tipped her over, the orgasm crashing through her like a tidal wave. She let out a scream, her body quaking violently as every fiber of her being surrendered to the ecstasy you’d drawn out of her. Her walls pulsed around you, gripping you with a ferocity that only amplified your own pleasure.

Her forehead pressed against the desk as her moans softened into shaky breaths, her body trembling beneath you as aftershocks rippled through her. Your pace slowed but remained deliberate, drawing out every last ounce of her pleasure as you admired the way she clung to you, utterly spent.

“Look at you,” you murmured, releasing her ponytail and running your hand down her back, soothing the reddened marks left by your grip. “Completely undone.”

Eunha could barely form a reply, her breath still coming in uneven gasps as she slowly emerged from the haze of her climax. Her fingers flexed weakly against the desk, her legs quivering as she struggled to regain her footing.

But even in her exhaustion, a flicker of anticipation lingered in her chest. The intensity of what she’d just experienced wasn’t just overwhelming—it was addictive. And as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t wait to see what came next.

As the tremors of her orgasm subsided, you pulled out, her walls gripping you one last time before reluctantly releasing you. The slickness of her release coated your length, gleaming in the dim light as you admired the way her body trembled beneath you, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

With a swift yet deliberate motion, your hand came down on her ass with a sharp spank, the sound cracking through the room like a whip. She let out a startled gasp, her body jolting slightly as the sting spread across her reddened cheek. Your hand lingered, kneading the warm, tender flesh as you smirked, savoring the sight of her arching beneath your touch.

“I just love your ass,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. Your fingers traced the curve of her cheek, your tone dripping with admiration as you added, “So perfect. I could play with it all day.”

You punctuated your words by gripping both cheeks firmly, your thumbs sinking into the soft flesh before giving them a playful jiggle. The motion sent another wave of heat through her already oversensitized body, drawing a soft whimper from her lips as her legs quivered beneath her.

“You’re amazing,” you continued, your hands continuing to explore her, alternating between gentle squeezes and sharp slaps. The way her skin bounced under your touch captivated you, and you couldn’t resist watching her reactions—the way she trembled, the way her breath hitched with each motion.

Her body arched slightly, the mix of tenderness and dominance in your touch making her head spin. Every squeeze, every jiggle, every deliberate spank reminded her of how utterly at your mercy she was—and how much she relished it.

Your hand lingered, kneading the tender flesh, your fingers digging in just enough to draw another shiver from her. The mix of dominance and care made her head spin, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip as you leaned down to murmur against her ear, “We’re not done yet.”

A flicker of protest flashed in her hazy mind, and she opened her mouth to speak, her voice weak and breathless. “I… I don’t think…” she began, her words trailing off as the weight of your presence pressed against her. But even as her mind tried to form a coherent objection, her body betrayed her, arching instinctively into your touch.

“Shhh,” you murmured softly, your tone soothing yet unyielding. “I know you can take it.”

You stepped away briefly, leaving her bent over the desk, her body still trembling as she tried to collect herself. The sound of a drawer opening and the faint rustle of movement sent a thrill of anticipation racing through her. She bit her lip, her nails digging into the desk as her body tensed with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. When you returned, the cool sensation of lube on your fingers as you coated your length made her breath hitch, a fresh wave of nervous energy coursing through her.

With practiced ease, you spread her cheeks, revealing her tight, puckered hole. She let out a shaky breath, her voice catching as she whispered, “Wait… I’m not sure about this.”

Her words were feeble, lacking conviction, and you simply chuckled, low and teasing. “Trust me,” you said, your tone filled with quiet confidence. 

Her breath hitched as she felt a cold drop of lube land directly on her hole, the sensation startling yet oddly thrilling. Her body tensed, and she squirmed slightly beneath your hands, but the warmth of your palms steadying her hips kept her grounded. You positioned yourself, the tip of your length pressing lightly against her ring. You didn’t push in yet, letting her feel the pressure, making her hyper-aware of what was about to happen.

You stayed there, your presence a quiet, commanding force as she processed the moment. Her heart raced, her breath shallow, as the reality of her vulnerable position washed over her. The heat of your length against her and the weight of your hands on her body sent conflicting waves of tension and anticipation coursing through her.

“Anywhere I want,” you reminded her, your voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down her spine.

You began to press forward, the tight ring of muscle yielding slowly as you eased in. The stretch was intense, her gasp sharp and unrestrained as she clutched the edge of the desk. “I—wait, it’s too much,” she stammered, her voice shaky, her body trembling under you as her nerves warred with the raw, growing pleasure.

“You can take it,” you murmured, your hand stroking her back in reassurance even as you pushed further. Her protests faltered, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the sensation overwhelmed her. She could feel every ridge, every vein along your length as you pushed deeper, her body adjusting inch by inch. The mix of discomfort and raw pleasure left her dizzy, her legs quivering as she struggled to hold herself steady.

Halfway in, you paused, your hands steadying her hips. Her breathing was ragged, her body adjusting to the fullness. You reached down with one hand, your fingers finding her clit, circling it gently. The sensation made her cry out, her body clenching around you as the pleasure collided with the stretch of your entry. Her walls pulsed with every deliberate flick of your fingers, sending ripples of sensation through her core and tightening her grip on your length.

“Breathe,” you murmured, your tone firm but reassuring as you let her adjust.

You then proceeded and when you finally bottomed out, you held the position, the sensation of her tightness surrounding you utterly consuming. She was warm and slick, her body trembling as she adjusted to the new fullness. Her breathing came in shaky gasps, her body betraying her as the mix of pain and pleasure exhilarated her in ways she hadn’t expected.

She felt incredible—nothing like she had ever experienced before—and it ignited something deep within her. Her hips began to shift, pressing back against you in tentative movements. The message was clear, and you smirked, taking it as your cue to start.

Your thrusts began slowly, deliberate and deep, each one drawing a soft cry from her lips as the rhythm built. Your hand remained between her legs, teasing her folds and circling her clit, amplifying the sensations that coursed through her. Every motion was calculated, every thrust designed to send her higher, to push her further into the haze of ecstasy that clouded her mind.

Her body responded instinctively, her hips rocking back to meet you as the rhythm quickened. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with her gasps and moans. You felt her clenching around you, her body tightening with every stroke, every flick of your fingers against her sensitive nub.

“Admit it,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, the words brushing against her ear like a caress. “You love being used by me. I unlocked something for you, didn’t I, Eunha?”

Her breath hitched at your words, her body trembling beneath you as she struggled to reply. Her voice came out in broken gasps, her words tumbling free before she could stop them. “Yes… yes… it feels so good,” she cried, her voice trembling with raw need. “I’m so full with you…”

A wicked grin spreads across your face as you tighten  your grip on her hips, driving into her with renewed intensity. Her cries grew louder, her body writhing beneath you as you pushed her closer to the edge. The pressure of your fingers on her clit, the heat of your body against hers, the stretch of every deliberate thrust—it was overwhelming, consuming her completely.

The build-up was relentless, her cries becoming more desperate, her body trembling as she teetered on the brink. The room echoed with her sounds—moans, gasps, and finally, a scream that tore from her throat as her climax hit. It was raw, unrestrained, the kind of sound she had once dismissed as fake when it came from the women you brought home before her. But now, those same sounds were spilling from her lips, unbidden, as the waves of pleasure ripped through her.

Her ring clenched tightly around you, her body convulsing as the orgasm consumed her. Every nerve in her body felt electrified, her cries piercing the air as she lost herself completely to the sensation. You didn’t stop, your hands gripping her hips with a firm intensity as you thrust deeper, chasing your own release.

When you finally spilled into her, the heat of your release filling her tightest depths, it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The warmth spread through her, a sensation so alien and overwhelming it triggered another wave of pleasure that slammed into her like a tidal wave. Her back arched sharply, her thighs quivering as the combined sensation of fullness and release sent her spiraling into an even more powerful climax.

Her entire body trembled violently, her ring pulsing around you in rhythm with the aftershocks of her ecstasy. She was lost in the overwhelming sensations, unable to distinguish where her pleasure ended and yours began. Her voice broke into gasps and sobs of pleasure, the intensity leaving her breathless and lightheaded.

You leaned over her, your breath warm against her ear as your hands steadied her trembling form. Your fingers pinched her clit once more, a teasing stroke that sent her collapsing against the desk as the aftershocks rippled through her again. Her mind was a haze, her body slick with sweat, and all she could feel was the lingering, overwhelming sensation of being utterly claimed.

As her breathing slowed, her mind began to catch up to what her body had just experienced. The heat of your release still lingered deep inside her, a visceral reminder of how completely she had surrendered to the moment. For a fleeting second, she felt a rush of pride—this was hers now, the pleasure, the intensity, the connection. And yet, a part of her couldn’t shake the realization that this sensation, so intimate and raw, had once been shared with others before her.

But none of that mattered at this moment. All she could do was gasp for air, her body trembling against yours as the room spun around her, the aftermath of your shared ecstasy leaving her utterly undone.

“Such a good girl,” you murmured, your tone filled with satisfaction as you felt her body quiver beneath you. “All done. I knew you had it in you.”

Her legs gave out as the aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her limp and utterly spent. You held her close for a moment, letting her catch her breath, before you began to pull back. Slowly, deliberately, you exited her, and the sensation left her gasping softly. The emptiness hit her like a sudden void, her body instinctively clenching as if to draw you back in, but you were already gone.

Her eyes fluttered shut as the cool air brushed over her now-gaping ring, the absence of your presence making her feel incomplete. A strange, hollow ache settled deep within her, as though a part of her was missing. She bit her lip, suppressing the odd sense of longing that threatened to bubble up, her mind torn between shame and the raw need still thrumming through her veins.

You stepped back, letting your gaze linger for a moment on the sight of her. She was utterly undone, her body slack and trembling, her skin glistening with sweat. The way she looked—spent and marked—sent a surge of satisfaction through you. Before leaving her entirely, you raised a hand and delivered one last sharp smack to her reddened cheeks, the sound cracking through the room.

Eunha flinched at the sudden sting, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her body shivered in response, her cheeks burning with a fresh wave of heat as the mark of your control lingered on her skin. The smack felt like a punctuation to everything that had just happened, a reminder of the claim you had staked on her.

As you stepped away, she remained draped over the desk, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her mind swirled with disbelief and exhilaration as the realization of what had just happened fully hit her. She had never felt anything like this—never thought it was even possible. Her body still tingled, every nerve hypersensitive, and yet the absence of you left her feeling unmoored, yearning for something more. She leaned against the desk, spent and vulnerable, the weight of the moment settling over her like a warm yet haunting blanket.

-----

By the end of the week, Eunha had stopped fighting the inevitable. She had surrendered to your connection, letting you take what you wanted, each encounter intensifying the bond that tethered you together. Every touch, every glance, every whispered word deepened the intimacy between you. And in the quiet aftermath, when your breathing had steadied and her body still buzzed with the memory of your touch, she found herself wanting more. Not just the physical connection, but the unspoken exclusivity that seemed to linger in the air between you.

She wanted to be the only one you touched, the only one you claimed, the only one you used.

But then the week ended, and reality came crashing down.

You walked through the door with another girl, your laughter ringing out like a cruel reminder of everything she wasn’t. The sight hit Eunha like a blow, sharp and unforgiving. Her heart sank as she froze in the doorway of her room, her fingers gripping the frame as if to steady herself. SinB. Of all people, it had to be SinB.

Her mind raced as she watched you chat effortlessly, your hand brushing SinB’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way you smiled at her, leaned in just slightly as you spoke, set Eunha’s blood boiling. This wasn’t just disrespect—this felt personal. Jealousy burned hot inside her, laced with a bitter sting of betrayal. After everything you’d shared, how could you act so indifferent? And with her friend, no less.

SinB giggled at something you said, the sound twisting in Eunha’s stomach like a knife. Her jaw clenched as she watched the two of you move down the hall, your casual smirk cutting through her like a dagger. Her stomach churned as you opened your bedroom door, ushering SinB inside like this was just another meaningless encounter.

The door clicked shut, and something inside her snapped.

Before she could think twice, Eunha’s feet carried her down the hall, her heart pounding in her chest as rage surged through her. Without hesitation, she shoved the door open, the force of it startling both you and SinB.

“Eunha!” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with surprise as you turned to face her.

“Get out,” she spat, her voice trembling with fury as her gaze locked onto SinB.

SinB blinked, confusion etched across her face as she looked between you and Eunha. “Uh… excuse me?”

“I said, get out,” Eunha repeated, her tone sharp and unyielding. Her eyes burned with a fire that left no room for argument.

“Eunha, what is going on?” SinB asked, her voice rising in disbelief. “Why are you acting like this?”

“You know exactly why,” Eunha snapped, her voice cutting through the tension. “Just go.”

SinB hesitated, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance, before grabbing her purse and muttering something under her breath. She glanced at you as if for an explanation, but you said nothing, your calm gaze fixed on Eunha instead. SinB huffed, brushing past Eunha as she left the room. The sound of the front door closing was loud in the ensuing silence.

Eunha’s hands clenched into fists at her sides as she took a step closer, her anger spilling over. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You tilted your head slightly, your expression infuriatingly casual. “Care to elaborate?”

“SinB?” she hissed, her voice low but trembling with emotion. “Are you just making the rounds of my friends now? Is that it? First Umji, and now this?”

Your smirk deepened, but there was a flicker of something else in your eyes—curiosity, perhaps. “I didn’t realize I needed your approval.”

“You don’t,” she shot back, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “But I trusted you, and you… You’re doing this on purpose. You’re trying to—” She cut herself off, her chest heaving as she struggled to find the words. “Are you trying to humiliate me? To make me feel like nothing?”

You stepped closer, your voice calm, almost soothing. “You’re taking this awfully personally, Eunha.”

“Of course I am!” she snapped, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You used me, and now you’re—what? Moving on to the next? Except it’s not just anyone, is it? You’re picking my friends. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

The tension in the room was thick, the air crackling with the weight of unspoken emotions. You studied her carefully, your gaze steady as you leaned back slightly. “And why does it bother you so much? Why does it matter who I bring here?”

Eunha’s breath hitched, her anger faltering for a moment as the question hung between you. She swallowed hard, her fists loosening at her sides. “Because it’s not just about them,” she admitted, her voice softer now but no less raw. “It’s about me. It’s about what I thought we had.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the distance between you feeling both too much and not enough. For the first time, Eunha’s vulnerability was laid bare, and the weight of her words hung in the air like a challenge.

Eunha’s hands trembled as she stood in the center of your room, her chest heaving with the effort to keep her emotions in check. The silence between you was deafening, her words hanging in the air as she tried to make sense of everything she was feeling. The betrayal, the anger, the jealousy—all of it swirled inside her like a storm, but underneath it all was a need she couldn’t deny. A need for you to understand what this had done to her.

You raised a brow, completely unfazed by her confession. “What’s your problem?”

Eunha’s chest tightened, her heart pounding as she struggled to find the right words. “After everything… after this whole week, you just go back to bringing some other girl home like it was nothing?”

Your expression darkened slightly, though your tone remained calm. “Our deal’s over, Eunha. I didn’t think it was a big deal anymore.”

“It is a big deal!” she shot back, her voice cracking with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. Her eyes burned as she stared at you, willing you to see how much this mattered to her. “You used me all week. You touched me like I was yours, like I was the only one. And now you just… move on like none of it mattered?”

You stepped closer, your movements deliberate and measured, the space between you shrinking as your voice dropped. “What did you expect? It was a bet, Eunha. You lost. That’s all there was to it.”

Her breath hitched at your words, the weight of them landing like a blow to her chest. She shook her head, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. “No. You can’t tell me it didn’t mean something. You can’t just act like I’m the same as the rest.”

Your gaze softened for a fleeting moment, though your casual demeanor didn’t falter entirely. “And what if you’re not?” you asked, your tone quieter now, almost teasing. “What are you trying to say, Eunha?”

Her hands trembled at her sides as the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “I want to be the only one. The only one you… use.”

The air between you grew heavy with the weight of her admission. Her chest heaved as she looked up at you, her eyes burning with emotion. For the first time, her vulnerability was laid bare, her need for you undeniable.

You stepped closer, the distance between you almost nonexistent now. “That’s what you want?” you murmured, your voice low and deliberate. “You want to be mine?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling but firm.

Your hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face as your lips curled into a smirk. “Prove it.”

She blinked, her breath hitching at the challenge in your voice. “How?” she asked softly.

Without answering, you stepped back, gesturing toward the floor in front of the couch. “Kneel,” you commanded, your tone calm but firm.

Eunha hesitated for only a moment before sinking to her knees, the plush carpet soft beneath her as her hands rested awkwardly at her sides. Her body trembled under the weight of your gaze, her heart racing as she obeyed. The silence between you was deafening, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as you pulled your phone from your pocket.

She watched with a mix of curiosity and apprehension as your fingers moved across the screen. You sent a quick text before sliding the phone back into your pocket, your smirk deepening as you took a seat on the couch in front of her.

You leaned back, your posture casual, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “Don’t move,” you said simply, your voice carrying an edge of command that made her heart skip a beat.

Eunha nodded, her eyes flickering with uncertainty as she knelt there, her body tense under your unyielding stare. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the weight of the moment pressing down on her as she fought to keep still. She wanted to ask what you had done, what would come next, but the intensity in your gaze kept her silent.

Minutes later, a knock echoed through the apartment, and her stomach twisted with nerves. Her eyes darted toward the door, but she didn’t dare move. She could hear your footsteps as you stood and made your way to the door, opening it with ease.

“Hey,” came Umji’s voice, her tone curious. “You texted me to come over? What’s going on?”

“Come in,” you said smoothly, stepping aside to let her enter. Eunha’s breath hitched as she heard the door close, her body frozen in place. Umji’s eyes landed on her almost immediately, confusion flickering across her face as she took in the scene.

“What is this?” Umji asked, her voice filled with disbelief as she glanced between you and Eunha.

You moved to stand behind Eunha, your hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “She wanted to prove something,” you said casually, your tone laced with amusement. “So I thought you might want to see.”

Eunha’s cheeks burned under Umji’s gaze, her body trembling with a mix of humiliation and anticipation. She felt your fingers trail down her arm, your touch both grounding and electrifying as you leaned down to murmur in her ear.

“Don’t make me wait,” you said softly, the words sending a shiver through her. “Start.”

Her hands moved to the hem of her shirt, her movements slow and hesitant as she began to undress. Piece by piece, her clothing fell away, leaving her bare and exposed under the sharp contrast of your commanding presence and Umji’s incredulous stare.

“What the hell is going on?” Umji demanded, her voice rising slightly, but she didn’t look away.

Eunha’s breath came in shallow gasps as you guided her closer to the couch, your hand tangling in her hair as you brought her face to your length. “Just watch,” you said simply, your voice calm yet commanding.

Eunha’s lips brushed against you, her movements tentative at first as she began to please you, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. Her warm breath ghosted over your length as her tongue flicked out, testing and teasing before she grew bolder. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around you, her head lowering as she took you into her mouth. Her hands gripped your thighs for balance, her touch light but steady as she worked to find her rhythm.

Her efforts were cautious but deliberate, each stroke of her tongue a mix of careful exploration and mounting determination. The sound of her soft, wet movements filled the room, a symphony of submission that drew your attention back to her. Occasionally, you reached down, your hand tangling in her hair to guide her movements, pushing her head down further. Each time, she responded with a muffled gasp, her body tensing momentarily before she adjusted, taking you deeper.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing, your praise making her cheeks burn brighter. The words sent a surge of motivation through her, and she worked harder, her lips gliding smoothly along your length, her tongue swirling expertly around you.

For Eunha, this was the biggest test. Every motion, every flick of her tongue was charged with the weight of proving herself. She knew this was more than just an act of submission—it was a declaration of her place, her claim on you. A small, unexpected part of her stirred with arousal at the thought of Umji watching. Showing her friend who was truly yours, who had earned this, awakened a pride she didn’t know she possessed. It was intoxicating, this mixture of vulnerability and power, and it drove her further.

You leaned back against the couch, letting her set the pace for a moment before gripping the back of her head firmly and pressing her down. Her eyes widened as she took you deeper, her throat constricting slightly as she adjusted to your command. She let out a muffled sound, a mix of effort and surrender, before pulling back just enough to catch her breath. You allowed her a brief reprieve before guiding her again, her lips tightening around you as she resumed her work with even greater intensity.

Across the room, Umji stood frozen, her arms crossed tightly as she watched the scene unfold. Her gaze remained locked on Eunha, her expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. There was curiosity too, evident in the way her lips parted slightly as though to speak, only to remain silent. The sight of Eunha—once brimming with disdain for you—now fully submitting to your control was nothing short of a revelation.

“You’re really putting on a show, aren’t you?” you remarked, your voice dripping with amusement as your hand rested lightly on the back of Eunha’s head. “Keep going. Show her why you’re the only one.”

Eunha’s eyes flickered upward, meeting yours for the briefest moment before closing again. She redoubled her efforts, her movements growing faster, more fluid as her arousal fueled her determination. The wet sounds of her work filled the room, punctuated by her soft hums and the occasional gasp when you pushed her deeper.

Your breathing quickened as she found her rhythm, her technique honed with every passing second. Her lips tightened around you, her tongue pressing firmly against the sensitive underside as she bobbed her head. You groaned softly, the sound spurring her on as she worked to bring you closer to the edge.

When your climax hit, it was with a sharp exhale and a tightening of your grip on her hair. You pressed her down, holding her in place as you released, feeling her throat constrict as she swallowed without hesitation. Her cheeks hollowed as she took everything you gave, her obedience absolute.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, you leaned forward slightly, your hand loosening in her hair. “Tilt your head back,” you commanded, your tone low and firm. Eunha obeyed, tilting her head until her face was angled perfectly toward you. “Open,” you added, and her lips parted slowly, her breath coming in soft pants as you inspected her.

Your release pooled at the back of her throat, glistening under the dim light. The sight sent a surge of satisfaction through you, and you allowed yourself a moment to admire her submission before leaning forward slightly.

“Hold it,” you murmured. With one hand steadying her chin, you spat lightly into her mouth, the act deliberate and possessive—a seal of her surrender. “Now swallow.”

Eunha’s throat bobbed as she complied, her lips closing around the mix of sensations with no hesitation. Her eyes flickered upward, meeting yours briefly before darting away, her cheeks flushed with a mix of humiliation and pride.

“Good girl,” you said, your voice tinged with satisfaction as you wiped a thumb across her chin, catching a stray drop before it fell. You pulled her back slightly, your member still glistening as you began to tap it lightly against her lips, the soft, wet sounds drawing a faint blush to her already heated skin.

Your hand shifted to her cheek, guiding her head as you tapped her face twice, the subtle smack sending a shiver through her. The sound was muted yet deliberate, a reminder of her place and the power you held over her. Her lips parted instinctively, and you pressed the tip of your length against her once more, smirking as her breath hitched.

As you pulled back, your gaze flickered to Umji, who had remained rooted in place, her arms crossed tightly as she watched the entire scene unfold. Her expression was a mix of shock and disbelief, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, though no words came.

“I think we’re done here,” you said, your tone casual as though nothing unusual had just occurred. You gestured lazily toward the door, your attention still focused on Eunha’s flushed face. “We can’t meet up anymore.”

“What?” Umji managed, her voice rising slightly with disbelief.

You shrugged, the smirk on your lips unfaltering. “You see how it is. Eunha’s the one who belongs here now.”

Umji blinked, her gaze flickering between you and Eunha, still kneeling at your feet. Eunha’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, her hair disheveled and her cheeks still stained red from exertion and submission. Yet her eyes remained fixed on you, a silent devotion radiating from her as she knelt motionless, her body awaiting your next command.

Umji shifted on her feet, crossing her arms tighter as she glanced down at Eunha. “Eunha,” she said, her tone softer now, tinged with disbelief, “are you really okay with this? With him?”

Eunha didn’t respond. She didn’t move. Her gaze remained unwaveringly on you, as though Umji wasn’t even in the room. The lack of acknowledgement was as loud as any reply, leaving Umji stunned into silence.

“Well,” Umji said after a moment, her voice quieter. “I guess… I guess that’s that.” She hesitated, her gaze lingering on Eunha one last time before she turned toward the door. “Goodbye.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and the apartment fell into silence. You exhaled softly, leaning back against the couch as your hand slid through Eunha’s hair, the gentle motion drawing her gaze upward to meet yours.

“You’ve earned it,” you murmured, your voice low and approving. “You’re mine.”

Eunha’s lips parted slightly as a faint blush spread across her cheeks, her eyes shining with unspoken emotion. Slowly, she moved forward, her knees brushing against the carpet as she climbed into your lap, her arms wrapping around your neck with surprising tenderness. Her lips found yours in a soft, lingering kiss, her body melting against yours as if she belonged there—because she did.

Her breath was warm against your skin as she nestled against your chest, her head resting on your shoulder. The tension from moments before dissolved into something quieter, softer, as she clung to you. Her fingers traced absent patterns along your collarbone, her voice a soft whisper in the stillness.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her words carrying a weight that hinted at something deeper—a surrender not just of her body, but of her trust, her heart, and her place by your side.

You rested a hand on her back, the other threading lazily through her hair as you held her close. The silence between you wasn’t empty; it was full of an unspoken understanding, a bond forged through everything you had shared. At that moment, there was no doubt. Eunha was yours, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🎸 [ Rock my World. ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

[ Now we gon' be winning like that.. ]

Summary : Each member of the famous Rock Band Ateez has his own little romantic (or not so romantic) life, let me take you to experienece a whole other universe and Ateez than you know.

Warnings ➵ In every One Shot

Genre : Angst, Smut, Fluff, Slow Burn

Status : Coming Soon

《 Minors DNI 》

❝ Chapter Overview ᵕ̈

Kim Hongjoong -> Lead Singer

Park Seonghwa -> Lead Guitarist

Jeong Yunho -> Keyboarder

Kang Yeosang -> Keytar

Choi San -> Singer

Song Mingi -> Rhythm Guitarist

Jung Wooyoung -> Drummer

Choi Jongho -> Guitarist

[insidekatmind]

Hate?~Berlin (Song jung- ho)

Wearning: +18,smut,tension.

Request: yes!

You are Spain, a former elite thief with a talent for impossible locks and a razor-sharp tongue. The Professor recruited you for the heist of the century at the Korean Mint, and from the first moment you knew there was a problem: Berlin.

He, with his contemptuous smile and his ostentatious elegance, made you want to throw the first thing you could reach at him. He, with his mellifluous voice and his superior gaze, seemed to enjoy always finding your raw nerve.

"Look who deigned to show up. Our Spain, always with that fallen queen's stride." Berlin says, provoking you.

"And you always with that cheap aristocratic air, Berlin." You say, snorting.

It was a constant back and forth. He provoked you, you responded in kind. During meetings, during guard duty, even when the rest of the gang was trying to maintain a modicum of professionalism. Yet beneath all that venom, there was something more.

The glances you exchanged were not just defiant. The tension between you was a tight wire ready to snap. One night, during an inspection at the mint, you were alone. He looked at you, his lips curled into that hateful smile.

"You know, Spain… I wonder if hating me turns you on as much as it does me." Berlin whispers.

You didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. But when you passed by him, you barely touched his arm, enough for him to know that the game wasn't over yet.He grabbed your wrist, pulling you close to him.

"You're not as subtle as you think, darling," he grinned.

His grip was firm, but not painful. It was a gesture that said 'I can control you if I want.' In any other circumstance, it would have only made you angrier. But there was something about his proximity, the scent of his cologne and the heat of his body against yours that made your heart race.

“Stop acting like an asshole,” you whisper.

He chuckled, tilting your face up to look at him.

"But I'm so good at being an ass," he smirked.

His grip on your wrist loosened, his forefinger tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was electric, sending a shiver through you despite the tension between you.

"You're so tense, darling. I wonder why that is," he continued, his voice low and smooth.

His eyes roamed over your face, studying every little expression. He knew exactly how he was affecting you, and he was reveling in it.

You look at him from head to toe, he was attractive you couldn't lie and the fact that he was an arrogant asshole made him even more attractive. He noticed the way you were looking at him, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

"Like what you see?" he teased.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer. His touch was confident, possessive.

"No, not even a little bit." You muttered, looking at him as if you wanted to eat him. His smirk widened at your denial, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Oh, really? Then why are you so close to me?" he inquired, enjoying your denial. His hand moved from your waist to your back, his fingers tracing circles on your spine, his touch making you shiver.

“I hate you so much” You whispered as you moved closer to him. He leaned in, his face mere inches from yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath.

"And I hate you too," he murmured, his words a contradiction to the way his hand was still roaming your back, his touch anything but hateful.

He was playing the game, teasing you with his words while his body betrayed the truth.

You wanted to pull away, to break free from his grip, but you couldn't. Your body was betraying you, reacting to his proximity like it was a drug. His gaze held yours captive, those dark eyes filled with a dangerous mix of arrogance and desire.The tension between you was palatable as you two stood there, mere inches apart. You could feel his heart beating fast against your chest, the rhythm matching your own. He moved even closer, his lips hovering just above your ear.

"I wonder what would happen if I kissed you right now," he whispered, teasing you further.

Your breath hitched, your mind racing at the thought. His lips were so close, so inviting. But you couldn't give in to the desire, not yet. You tried to steady your voice, to keep the venom in your words.

"I'd probably knee you in the groin," you replied, half-serious.He laughed, a sound that was both charming and infuriating.

"Oh, I have no doubt your first instinct would be violence," he said, his tone amused. "But then again, I do love a challenge."

His hand moved from your back to your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, tilting your head back just enough to expose your throat.

His lips grazed the sensitive skin of your neck, his touch barely there, yet it sent electric currents through your entire body. A soft gasp escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't hold back. He chuckled, enjoying the effect he had on you.

"Oh, I knew it," he murmured, his breath hot on your skin. "You can pretend to hate me all you want, but your body betrays your true feelings.""I do hate you," you protested weakly, finding it hard to think straight with his lips on your neck.

He nipped at your pulse point, his teeth grazing your skin, just hard enough to make you shiver.

"That's what you say, but your little gasps say something else," he teased, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

His thumb traced your lower lip, his gaze fixed on your face.

"You know, darling, I find your denial so adorable," he said, his voice low and smooth. "But I wonder how far I can push until that wall of yours collapses completely."You look at him longingly as he touches your lip, you were trying so hard not to suck his thumb.

He could see the struggle in your eyes, the way you were fighting against the desire that was clearly etched on your face. He pressed his thumb against your lip, demanding entrance.

"One way or another," he said, his tone lowering to a sinful growl, "I'll break through that stubborn resistance of yours."

You suck his thumb and closed your eyes enjoying the feeling of his finger in your mouth. His breath hitched at the sudden sensation of your mouth on his thumb, his grip on you tightening.

"Oh, darling, what a talented mouth you have," he murmured, his voice dripping with approval.

He pushed his thumb in deeper, your tongue swirling around it of its own accord. His eyes darkened, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips.He removed his thumb from your mouth, replacing it with his index finger, tracing the line of your lower lip.

"You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he purred, his gaze locked on your mouth.

He suddenly backed you against a nearby wall, trapping you between the cold surface and the heat of his body.

His leg slotted between yours, pinning you in place. His chest was pressed flush against yours, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes. His hand was back in your hair, tilting your head up to look at him. His eyes were burning with desire, but there was something else there too. Something almost possessive.He leaned in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

"I have to admit, I admire your stubbornness," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "But it's also driving me insane."

He pressed his body even closer to yours, the hardness of his arousal evident through his robber suit . He moved his leg slightly, applying just enough pressure to draw a soft moan from your lips.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he continued, his hand roaming down your sides, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "This constant battle between us, it's maddening. And yet, I can't get enough of it."

He bit your earlobe, his teeth grazing your skin, before his lips moved to your jawline, leaving a trail of light kisses.

“I hate you so much,” you mutter between moans.

"That's not what your body is telling me," he replied, his lips now on your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, nipping gently, his breath hot and heavy against your ear.

"You can deny it all you want, darling, but we both know the truth."

His hand moved underneath your robber's suit unbuttoned, his fingers tracing the edge of your bra.

You look at him longingly and bring your shaking hands to his face and kiss him. He let out a soft groan as your lips met his, the contact sending a surge of desire through his body. For a moment, the tension between you melted away, replaced by a need that was almost primal.

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body with a possessive fervor. He pulled you closer, pinning you against the wall with his body, his tongue seeking entry to your mouth. The kiss was greedy, hungry, both of you desperate for more.

"Finally," he grated as he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. "I've wanted to do this since the first time I laid eyes on you."

He pressed his body even closer, his hips grinding against yours, the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against your thigh. He captured your lips again, kissing you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours.

You moaned into the kiss and clung to him, pulling his hair. He let out a guttural growl, his hands roaming your body, claiming every inch he could touch. His teeth nipped at your neck, his tongue soothing the sting. He moved down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of hot kisses on your skin.

"You drive me insane," he repeated, his voice rough. "And I'm going to make sure you can't deny it any longer."

His hand gripped your hip, pressing you even harder against him. You could feel his growing need, his body trembling with desire.

"Look what you do to me," he murmured against your skin, his hand moving down to your thigh, pushing up the fabric of your robber's suit. His thumb traced circles on the sensitive skin, teasing and exploring.

His kisses became more urgent, his teeth nipping harder at your flesh. He was driving you wild, his touch both gentle and possessive. His fingers toyed with the edge of your bra, teasing but never crossing the line.

"I want you," he groaned, his voice low and dark. "I want you so badly it hurts."You try to undress him with your hands shaking with desire.

He chuckled softly, his lips moving to your ear.

"Eager, are we?" he teased.

He took your hands, stilling their trembling, holding them against his chest. His heart was pounding, its rhythm matching the wild beat of your own.

"Patience, darling," he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. "I intend to savor this moment."

He slowly undid the buttons of his robber's suit, his gaze never leaving your face. With every button, more of his chest was revealed, the smooth expanse of muscle and tanned skin making your mouth water. His eyes tracked your reaction, his smirk growing wider as your desire became even more evident."You like what you see, darling?" he asked, his voice now a purred challenge.

He let his suit fall to the ground, leaving him in nothing but boxer briefs that left little to your imagination. His body was like a work of art, sculpted and toned, the muscles of his abdomen rippling with subtle power.

You moaned and brought your hand to his boxer and you touch it His breath hitched as your hand made contact with the thin fabric, a groan escaping his lips. He captured your wrist, pulling your hand away from him with a smirk.

"Not so fast," he teased, his voice low and gravelly. "You forget who's in charge here, darling."His hand moved to your hair, tugging gently. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"And I plan on taking my time with you," he whispered, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

He guided you to a nearby table, backing you against it. His hands roamed over your body, his touch both gentle and possessive.

"I've been dreaming about this moment," he murmured, his lips trailing kisses down your throat.

His fingers traced the line of your bra once again, this time lingering at the clasp.

"I've been imagining your moans, the way you'll feel when I touch you..."His hand moved to the strap of your bra, slowly sliding it down your shoulder. His lips grazed the exposed skin, his tongue darting out to taste your flesh.

"Every stolen glance, every taunting word, it's all been leading to this."

He flicked his fingers against the fastening of your bra, the sound of the clasp releasing like music to his ears. He withdrew your bra, the fabric sliding over your heated skin, leaving you bare before him.He took a step back, his gaze roving over your body. He looked at you like you were an exquisite piece of art, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body.

"You are even more beautiful than I imagined," he murmured, his voice dripping with desire.

He stepped forward again, trapping you against the table with his body. His hands roamed over your bare chest, fingertips tracing patterns on your skin.

"And I plan on worshipping every inch of this body," he continued, his lips brushing against your collarbone.He moved upwards, his lips blazing a trail of kisses up your neck. He nipped and sucked at your skin, leaving marks that would surely bloom into bruises come tomorrow. You were writhing beneath him, helpless to resist the onslaught of sensation he was igniting within you.Berlin kissed all over your body until he reached your panties and took them off. "Look at you, so desperate to get fucked by the person you hate" Berlin whispered.

He was right. Despite your words and actions, your body was betraying you. You hated him, but your body couldn't help responding to his touch. You were so desperate for him, so needy, that all your defenses had crumbled, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

"You're... a jerk..." you managed to gasp out, your breath ragged with desire.He chuckled, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh.

"Maybe I am," he admitted. "But I'm the jerk you can't resist."

He ran his fingertips over your sensitive skin, teasingly close to where you needed him most.

"You can deny it all you want, darling, but your body betrays your true feelings."You bit your lip to suppress a moan, your hips involuntarily lifting towards his touch. This was wrong, so wrong, but it felt so good. His hands were like magic, coaxing pleasure from you with every touch.

He adds two fingers inside you making you moan. He chuckled, a low, sinister sound that sent shivers down your skin.You were helpless beneath him, a slave to the pleasure he was giving you. You didn't know how you'd let it get to this point, how the man you had hated for months could be the one to reduce you to this quivering mess. But you couldn't think straight anymore, your mind clouded with desire and need."So good" you groan.

He smirked, his fingers working you expertly.

"You like that, darling?" he asked, his voice laced with arrogance.

He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he was enjoying every second of it.You couldn't think, you just groaned in response. Your body was on fire, every nerve ending sparking with pleasure. His touch was both soft and rough, leaving you dizzy and weak."Yes,so bad" you groan.

He increased the pace of his fingers, your gasps and moans the only sounds in the room. He was relentless, his goal to bring you to the brink of climax and keep you there. Your back arched, your fingers gripping the edge of the table."Mmm,Berlin" you moaned arching your body.

He leaned over you, his voice low in your ear.

"That's right, darling," he murmured, "say my name. Let me hear how much you need me."

He increased the pressure of his fingers, driving you closer to the edge.

"Berlin... I need... " you gasp out words, feeling his body close to yours.He chuckled darkly, his body pressed against you.

"You need what, darling?" he whispered, nipping at your earlobe. "Use your words."

His fingers were relentless, leaving you a writhing mess.

"I...I need you" you finally manage to gasp out between moans. There was no denying it anymore, no more pretending. You needed him, and he knew it.

"That's what I want to hear," he purred, his free hand gripping your hip, his lips finding your neck. "Say it again."

"I need you," you repeated, your voice strained and needy. "Please."You couldn't believe the words that were coming out of your mouth, but you couldn't help it. You needed him, and your body was making it painfully obvious.

"Please what?" he asked, his lips moving to your jawline. "You have to be specific, darling."

He added another finger, the stretch making you gasp. He had you completely at his mercy, and he loved it.

"Please Berlin, I need you" you say begging for him, you feel like you are going to explodeBerlin giggles and moves his fingers more making you come. "Beava girl" he whispered and takes your fingers off sucking them and giggles. "you taste so good" You moaned and he slapped your pussy making you squirm and Berlin giggles taking off his boxers. You watched and he gets on top of you.

He looks into your eyes.

"Say you hate me" he murmurs with a smirk.

You try to say you hate him between moans, but the words won't come out, they are stuck in your throat.He chuckles darkly, knowing he has you completely at his mercy.

"That's what I thought," he purrs, his hand trailing down your body. "You can pretend to hate me all you want, but your body betrays the truth."

You look at him and finally you say the words.

“I.. I don’t.. I don’t hate you” you say with your shaky voiceHe smiles at your words, his gaze satisfied.

"Finally, some honesty," he says, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "I knew you couldn't resist me for long."

He grabs your thighs and enters you in one fell swoop, making you moan. He groans as he enters you, his body shaking with desire.

"That's it, darling," he murmured, his voice rough. "You feel so good" you groan.

You scratched Berlin's back as you felt his cock slide in and out of you. "Berlin" you moaned. He groaned in response, his body shuddering as you dug your fingers into his flesh.

"Say my name again," he commanded, his breath hot against your neck.

"Berlin" I moan while looking into his eyes.Berlin fucks you hard making you scream while he grunts. "Fucking tight" He was relentless, his body moving against yours in a rhythm that left you breathless. His hands were everywhere - gripping your hips, grasping your hair, exploring every inch of your body. He was completely feral, consumed by desire and hunger."You're mine,"

You whimpered and clung to him more, scratching his back. "Berlin" You continued to whimper. He growled in response, his hand tangling in your hair and tugging your head back, exposing your neck to his lips.

"That's right, darling," he murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your flesh. "Say my name, let everyone know who owns you."

"I'm yours" you whimper out with ragged breaths.

He chuckles slightly "Say it again" he says.

"I'm yours" you repeated, your voice a breathy whisper.

"Louder" he ordered, a possessive edge to his voice.

You scream as you feel his thrusts getting harder, hitting your g-spot. “Yours” You screamed. He grins, satisfaction clear on his face.

"That's more like it," he purrs, his hand moving down to your hip, pulling you even closer to him.

"Mine" he repeated, his breath hot against your neck. "All. Mine."You captured his face and kissed him.

He returned the kiss hungrily, his body pressing against yours. His lips were demanding, his tongue exploring your mouth with an intensity that made your head spin. It was almost as if he was marking you, claiming you as his own, and you couldn't find it in yourself to resist."I'll never let you go," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. "You're mine, darling. Mine forever."

You moaned and came triggering his orgasm too. Berlin came inside you and sighs biting your neck. "Now you're full of me baby" he whispered. You were both panting, your bodies slick with sweat and exertion. He pulled you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you. You could feel the possessive edge to his touch, the way he held you as if he was afraid you would escape.

"Mine," he repeated, his voice a low grow. "You're mine now."

You were too tired to resist, even if you'd wanted to. You just leaned into him, your head resting on his chest. His heart was still pounding, a steady rhythm that soothed you.

"I hate you," you mumbled weakly, the words lacking any real malice.He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath you.

"I know," he said, his tone almost fond. "You always say that, but I think we both know it's not true anymore."

"Shut up," you muttered, too exhausted to argue.

He laughed softly, his hand coming up to stroke your hair.

"You're so stubborn, darling," he murmured, his touch gentle and possessive at the same time. "But you can't deny how good this feels."

You nod and hide in his chest. He held you close, his arms a tight cocoon around you.

"Just admit it, you've grown fond of me," he teased, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

"Never," you mumbled into his chest, but there was no real conviction in your voice.

He chuckled, obviously not fooled by your weak protest.

"You're a terrible liar," he said softly, his hand coming up to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him.

You smiled sweetly. He smiled back, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of your face.

"There it is," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lips. "That beautiful smile."

You blushed under his stare, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Stop it," you mumbled, but he just chuckled and tightened his grip on you.

"No," he said, his voice a low growl. "I don't think I will. I like seeing you like this - blushing, bashful, and all mine."You rolled your eyes but couldn't help feeling a flutter in your stomach at his words. It was infuriating how he could make you feel so vulnerable and yet so desired at the same time.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"You can deny it all you want, but I know the truth," he whispered. "You crave me just as much as I crave you. You may hate me, but you also want me."You closed your eyes and let his words wash over you. His voice was like a drug, intoxicating and addictive. You couldn't help but surrender to the way he spoke, the way he made you feel.

"That's it, darling," he murmured. "Just give in to me. Let me make you feel good."

You nodded slightly, your body completely boneless in his arms. You couldn't fight it anymore. You needed him, in every way imaginable.

He chuckled softly, obviously pleased with your surrender.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hands roaming over your body again, taking full advantage of your willingness.He kissed you deeply, his touch both soft and demanding at the same time. You responded eagerly, eagerly returning his kisses and touches. It was like a switch had been flipped, and you were now completely at his mercy.He took his time, exploring your body with his hands and mouth, learning every inch of you. He knew exactly what buttons to push, what soft spots to kiss, what words would make you squirm and shiver.

You were completely lost in him, your mind fuzzy with pleasure and need. All your hatred and animosity towards him had disappeared, replaced by an overwhelming desire."Look at you," he murmured, his voice a low growl as he looked down at you. "So beautiful, so eager for me. You're mine, darling. Mine and no one else's."

You nodded, your eyes wide and needy, silently begging for more.

He chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your surrender.

"So obedient," he teased, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

He lowered his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. "I love seeing you like this," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "All flushed and panting for me."You groaned softly, your body arching towards him, seeking more of his touch.

He chuckled again, obviously enjoying how responsive you were.

"You're so easy to rile up, darling," he whispered. "It's like your body was made for me. Made to be teased and played with."

"Only you" you admitted. He grinned and captured your face and kisses you deeply

[zeighost]

Still, my favourite headcanon in tcf is that Cale has learned the morse code in his life as KRS- and now that Choi Han has Jung Soo's memories, he also definitely now knows it and the two of them talk sometimes w it! Yk, just short messages here and there, Cale tapping on the table is nothing new so the others most likely won't catch it- unless ofc he's doing longer messages and they catch onto the rhythm of his tapping (too deliberate to be a song melody, surely), and out dear golden retriever (Choi Han) isn't a very good liar lololo

I have read a fic where the two of them spoke in morse code and I still go back to re-read it sometimes cus it was funny as hell (tho the ending was lwk sad)

Also, I NEED more fics of them just randomly speaking Korean after the big battle- sweet but also could have an interesting turn!!

"What the hell are these two punks mumbling" I can already hear (read) it lmaooo

Even funnier, I remember seeing a video like few years back that when people hear a language that is vastly different than their native one- it's too fast to understand and sort of similiar to random mumbling sounds to them (or something similar to that!! Can't remember exact words)

[2i1han]

Slowly, Then All at Once

1 : before it all began , slowly

pairing: classmate!leehan x fem!reader │word count: 8k

genre: slow-burn , young adult, coming-of-age , romcom

tags: boynextdoor , non-idol au, high school/college au , first love , neighbor!leehan , extrovert!leehan , cold!leehan , extrovert!reader

characters mentioned : kim leehan , kim woonhak , sakai moka , kim minji , han taesan , park minju , jung wooyoung , ham jinsik

warnings: no warnings! sfw

synopsis : you and leehan have always known each other—classmates since ninth grade, always familiar but never really close due to leehan's indifference. but when his brother enters the picture, and you ending up in the same building as him, everything starts to change. unresolved situation that were once buried begin to surface, and leehan must decide: let go or finally take a chance.

a/n : hi, everyone! this is my first fanfic on tumblr, and i’m still getting used to the platform. this story will be divided into five full parts, so if you enjoy it, i’d really appreciate your support! i’ll be updating regularly, usually every 2 days. enjoy!

♪ playlist : midnight fiction/illit , so let's go see the stars/boynextdoor , serenade/boynextdoor , but i like you/boynextdoor , so tender/say sue me , bad/wte , light/wte , chocolate/bol4 , some/soyou , would you love me/stella jang , everyday/haebin , star drawing/yuziii , apple cider/beabadoobee

middle school

the morning was still young, and the sun had barely risen. the classroom remained dim, the fluorescent bulbs providing the only source of light while the first rays of sunlight had yet to seep in. the room was silent, occupied only by two students minding their own business-and a brunette boy sitting by the window, lost in thought.

"hey! kim leehan!"

a loud, enthusiastic voice called from the doorway, instantly breaking the quiet.

before leehan could even turn to see who it was, a familiar presence loomed over him. his friend was already there, grinning and scratching his head.

"stop it!" leehan chuckled, standing up to pull his friend in for a quick dap.

"it's the first day of your last year as a middle schooler. how does that feel, hyung?"

woonhak, ever the energetic one, nudged leehan's arm before plopping down in the seat beside him, a wide grin on his face.

leehan smirked, leaning back in his chair. "nothing out of the ordinary. school is still school," he said, voice hinting with indifference as he shifted slightly to face woonhak more comfortably.

woonhak let out an exaggerated sigh. "nothing to say about missing me? you'll leave again for high school next year." he rolled his eyes, sulking. "it's just like when i was in fifth grade, and you moved here for middle school."

leehan huffed out a small laugh at his friend's dramatic antics.

they had been best friends since their early years in elementary school. leehan, ten at the time, and woonhak, eight. being two years apart, but that never stood in the way of their friendship. if anything, their differences made them an even better match, with leehan's matured, and calm-extroverted appeal balancing out woonhak's childish and loud aura.

school didn't excite leehan much, not that it did for his friend either. but while kim why would i even need algebra in a performing arts university woonhak, treated school like a never-ending chore, leehan simply went through the flow, doing what was necessary without getting too caught up in it. outside of class, his world was split between two passions: music, and nature.

he spent hours in his room, practicing vocals and perfecting dance moves in front of his mirror, losing himself in the rhythm of the music. whether it was a slow ballad or an intense choreography, he found an escape in the way his body moved to the beat, in the way his voice carried emotion that words alone couldn't. performing gave him a sense of control, a rush of energy that school never did. but when he wasn't singing or dancing, he sought quiet comfort in his other hobbies, raising fish and tending to his plants.

his aquariums, filled with different species, were his personal oasis. he could watch them for hours, mesmerized by the way they glided through the water, unbothered by anything beyond their glass world. his room smelled of greenery, lined with potted plants he carefully nurtured. he liked the balance of it all. music filled him with energy, while his fish and plants gave him peace.

occasionally, he'd swing by woonhak's place to make music together, testing out harmonies or working on choreography late into the night. woonhak, ever the extrovert, always had something new planned, dragging leehan into whatever wild idea he had. not that leehan is the biggest introvert, nor minded, he loved performing just as much. he just didn't show it as openly as woonhak did.

despite his mixed feelings about school, his grades weren't bad. he was smart enough to keep up without trying too hard, unlike woonhak, who barely scraped by with last-minute cramming and a whole lot of luck.

"of course, i'll miss you." leehan sighed, shaking his head. "but the high school I'm going to is just near hongik. i'll visit you after classes. it's not like i'm moving overseas." he rolled his eyes before chuckling. "you're so dramatic."

woonhak let out a whine, slumping onto his desk. "well, can you blame me? this is my first year finally being in the same middle school as you, and it'll also be our last. i barely survived sixth grade without your help in elementary." he pressed his palms against his forehead, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "i have to lock in, hyung."

leehan chuckled "yeah, you should. you'll be on your own again next year." he leaned back, arms crossed. "let's just enjoy this one while it lasts, woon. save the worrying for later."

his friend peeked up from his hands, lips tugging into a small smile. "fine. but you better not forget about me when you're off being a cool high schooler."

leehan rolled his eyes again, but there was also brotherly warmth in his eyes. "as if i ever could. also, call me leehan-sunbaenim from now on," he said, completely straight-faced while pretending to look at his phone

woonhak just dramatically turned his head to leehan and let out an aish, throwing him an unimpressed look. leehan, however, burst into laughter, clearly enjoying his friend's reaction.

"that was cringe," woonhak muttered.

"how is calling your senior by a proper title cringe? hey, kim woonhak, where are your manners?" leehan teased in an exaggeratedly authoritative tone, crossing his arms like a disappointed teacher.

woonhak rolled his eyes but is chuckling. "you're still a year away from being a highschooler. i will not obey you."

leehan just rolled his eyes barely able to finish a sentence between chuckles.

they spent the rest of their free time chatting, catching up on summer, mostly woonhak complaining about how fast it ended and leehan roasting him for his questionable choices.

as time ticked on, leehan glanced at the clock and raised a brow. "woonhak, are you seriously still here? your class is in the other building."

his friend just waved off his concern like he was swatting away a fly. "oh, no, it's still early. it's not like the bell's gonna ring any sec-"

ring

the school bell blared through the hallways, as if it heard woonhak talking.

"you've got to be kidding me," he groaned, lazily scrambling to grab his bag.

leehan who's already gasping for air, tapped him on the back. "kim woonhak, good luck today," he teased.

woonhak shot him a glare as he rushed toward the door, waving over his shoulder. "catch you later, peace!"

the minute slipped away like a gust of wind, and before leehan knew it, their teacher was already standing at the front of the classroom.

"good morning, teacher," the students greeted in unison, rising briefly before settling back into their seats.

"good morning, everyone. settle down," the teacher instructed, adjusting his glasses as he placed a stack of papers on his desk. "now, before we begin, i'd like to introduce a new student who will be joining us for the school year."

then, the classroom stirred. students exchanged whispers, some craning their necks to get a better view of the doorway. the air buzzed with curiosity and the murmurs resembled a beehive.

with a subtle glance from the teacher, the new student, you, stepped in. you had a short hair that barely reached your neck, neatly parted to the side, wispy bangs, and pair of round glasses sat comfortably on your tall nose, framing your soft and slightly chubby cheeks. unlike most new students who fidgeted or hesitated, you walked in with an effortless calm.

"hello, everyone! my name is y/n. i'm 15 years old and just moved into the neighborhood down the street. i hope we can all be friends!" you bowed lightly with a voice that's bright and confident. you had a natural ease, as if introducing yourself to a room full of strangers was something you did every day.

a few students nodded approvingly, while others leaned in to whisper among themselves. you can see other students already smiling at you, while others just talked to each other.

meanwhile, the teacher scanned the room for a vacant seat. his eyes landed on leehan and the empty chair beside him. as if you're also following your teacher's vision, you see the quiet boy who seems lost in his own little world.

"you can sit there, next to that boy by the window," he said, gesturing toward leehan's row.

you nodded, and just as you're about to move, a student behind leehan raised a hand.

"sir, han taesan sits there. he's just absent today." and you're stopped to your track, standing there. though, you admit that it felt awkward, at least for yourself.

the teacher paused, nodding in acknowledgment, then began eyeing around the class again. after a brief scan, his gaze landed on a seat in the second row.

"alright, you can take that seat instead."

you nodded again, and made your way to your new spot, and within moments, you had already struck up a conversation with your seatmate, you always had this welcoming demeanor that contrasts the usual stiffness of first-day introductions. even as a kid, your parents would already describe you as a social charmer and a people person. extroverted, but balanced.

the first few periods blurred together in a haze of just few introductions for the start of the school year. the morning sun had crept higher, casting beams of light through the windows, and shining dust particles that swirled in the air. you sat comfortably listening to each hellos and my name is your classmates presented. even though the entire class you're new at already knew each other since the beginning of middle school, the new teachers are still yet to know them, and so do you.

when the bell finally rang for break, students wasted no time swarming out the door, dying to stretch their legs and escape the classroom, and you are no exception.

you had no trouble blending in. you'd already found a group to sit with, chatting easily as they made their way toward the school café.

and just as you're about to leave, your eyes caught sight of leehan, who unlike the rest of the class that had scattered in pairs or groups, remained at his desk. his left elbow rested against the desk supporting his chin, while his right hand moved lazily over a notebook, jotting something like it's straight out of an ancient manuscript with his illegible handwriting.

you admit. leehan's expression was unreadable. as a person who's good with people, scanning through people's thoughts or emotion by their body language is a piece of cake to you, but leehan? he's neither focused nor completely absent, as if his mind is hovered somewhere between a coherent thought or nothingness.

curious, and being the social butterfly ever, you adjusted your glasses and approached him.

"hello, i'm y/n. what's your name?" you said with a wave.

leehan didn't react immediately, and for a second, you thought he'll ignore you. instead, he finished the last stroke of his writing before slowly lifting his gaze. his eyes flickered towards you, scanning your face with little to no recognition, as if you're someone he sees daily.

"leehan. kim leehan," he replied flatly. his voice was low and unamused, giving the smallest head nod. his lips curved into an almost nonexistent smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

the contrast between you and him was almost like seeing black and pastel colors from the point of view of a third person. you, with your bright, welcoming energy, stood opposite leehan, whose presence seemed more like muted, but not completely colorless either.

still, you were unfazed. but you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel a tinge of awkwardness, or maybe even concern.

not everyone you met responded positively to your friendly nature, and that was fine. but something about leehan felt strange. he didn't seem uncomfortable around you, nor did he try to avoid the conversation. yet, at the same time, there wasn't even a hint of enthusiasm in his words and actions. it was as if he existed in a space between acknowledgment and indifference.

"are you not going to grab a snack with a friend? you can sit with us!" you offered in a warm and inviting tone.

leehan barely hesitated before pressing his lips together. "no, i'll be out. thank you," he said in the same monotone, standing up, and nodding his head subtly as he slung his jacket over his shoulders.

without waiting for a response, he walked past you heading toward the door, most likely in search of woonhak.

you just tilted your head slightly looking back at the door watching him go. if you're bothered by his lack of interest, you didn't show it. instead, you just shrugged it off deciding that leehan was probably just the reserved, introverted type.

that thought lingered in your mind for a moment before you went off with a quiet sigh. whatever it was, you figured you'd understand him better with time. with that, you turned away and made your way toward the café, where your new friends were waiting.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

"class dismissed."

and just like that, the first day of classes in your new school comes to an end. the ring of the bell echoes through the hallways, and the classroom instantly bursts into motion. students scrambling to shove books into their bags, some reapplying makeup, others fixing their hair, and chatting away about everything and nothing.

you stand from your seat, adjusting the strap of your bag as you turn to face minji, your newly made friend. "where are you headed after class?" you ask, casually stuffing your things inside your bag.

minji, in the middle of combing her sleek black hair, tilts her head in thought. "hmm, i don't know. ask moka. i'll just tag along wherever you guys go."

moka, seated beside you, stops fussing with her hair long enough to glance up. "it's only 4:40 pm. how about karaoke?" she suggests.

you nod in agreement, and minji hums in approval. "okay, well then, hurry your butts up," moka adds, snapping her compact mirror shut.

you lean toward the small mirror in her hand giving yourself a quick once-over. with just a simple tuck of your hair behind your ears, a few pats to settle your bangs into place, and a slight nudge to adjust your thick-framed glasses, you're good to go.

"alright, done. let's go?" moka asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

you and minji nod in sync, stepping out into the busy hallway. but just as you're about to walk away, your gaze drifts back into the classroom, landing on the seat across the room.

leehan is still there, quietly packing up. alone.

there's something about him that makes you hesitate. it's not pity, not exactly. you've always had this habit of noticing people who seem isolated, of wanting to make them feel included. but over time, you hated it. you've realized that not everyone who sits alone is lonely. and not everyone who is quiet is sad.

still, the thought didn't stop you as you take a step forward, considering approaching him-

"kim leehan, work your slowass up, we got a gig to waaaaatch!"

a voice booms through the doorway like a bomb being dropped, so loud it cuts through the noise of the corridor crowd. you nearly jump at the volume. turning your head, you see a boy bolting into the classroom, all energy and mischief.

leehan looks up at the source of the noise. he saw you standing on the doorframe, and woonhak approaching him. but his whole attention seemed to be only towards his friend. and that's when you see it— his entire demeanor shifts. his lips curve into a genuine smile, his eyes scrunching up with amusement as he watches woonhak walk towards his desk.

the sight catches you off guard.

that smile, it's real, and bright, almost like there's a light shining behind him.

you realize then that leehan isn't some tragic, brooding loner. he's not an outcast, not sad, not lost. he has a friend. a good one, by the looks of it.

a quiet chuckle escapes you as you shake your head, cringing at your own assumptions.

i misinterpreted people again, you think, making a mental note to quit assuming stories to strangers before actually knowing them.

with that, you turn back to moka and minji, linking arms with them as the three of you make your way down the hallway.

as leehan and woonhak followed towards the door and to the hallway, the latter nudged him with a mischievous grin. "so, how was your day?"

leehan exhaled through his nose. "it was fine. there's a new student."

"ooooh." woonhak's eyes lit up. "is it a girl?"

leehan gave him a look and chuckled. "why is your first instinct always to ask if it's a girl?"

"because that's the important part, duh," woonhak shot back. "so? spill."

leehan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah, it's a girl. she's... nice, but weird."

woonhak practically bounced in excitement. "weird how? like, quirky weird or talks-to-ghosts weird?"

leehan squinted in thought. "more like... i'm the weird one. i kind of left her hanging when she tried to talk to me. i felt bad but, i just can't."

"oh? that's not a classic kim leehan behavior. you're pretty friendly."

"and my hands went cold. it was like i was getting an illness." he flexed his fingers in mild concern.

woonhak stopped in his tracks. "hyung," he pointed an accusing finger. "are you sure you don't like her?"

leehan let out a dry laugh. "nonsense, that's ridiculous. i just don't wanna talk to her kinda."

"right, right," woonhak smirked, but his mischievous grin stayed.

"enough of that," leehan grumbled, picking up his pace. "let's just go."

woonhak, of course, didn't let it go. he kept teasing, making dramatic heart gestures and batting his eyelashes.

"shut up before i leave you behind."

"say it with feeling, hyung. your voice is shaking~"

leehan rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the amused grin tugging at his lips. woonhak was insufferable, but at least he made the day less dull.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝

now walking down the busy streets of hongdae, just a few minutes from your school, the scent of street food and the buzz of students unwinding after classes fill the air. the neon lights flicker even though the sun hasn't fully set yet, giving the streets that signature youthful energy.

as you walk, you turn to moka, who's sandwiched between you and minji, and ask, "moka, is leehan really that introverted?"

both of your friends glance at you at the same time, puzzled.

"kim leehan? the leehan from our class?" moka asks, raising an eyebrow.

you nod. "yeah, he barely spoke. he just seemed cold."

moka and minji exchange a knowing look before minji giggles. "cold? leehan? are we talking about the same guy? he's pretty social, y'know."

moka nods in agreement. "yeah, i mean, he's not the most talkative person ever, but he interacts well. he's fairly outgoing. everyone likes and knows him."

"not to mention he's good-looking and talented too," minji adds with a cheeky grin.

moka gasps dramatically, shoving minji's shoulder. "oh? not as handsome as taesan though, right?" she said with a teasing smirk on her face.

minji's ears turn bright red, and she immediately hissed in annoyance "ah, this is about leehan! can you stop?"

the two of them burst into laughter, teasing each other while you zone out, lost in thought.

good-looking? you never really thought about it. leehan just seemed strange. but what's even stranger is hearing that he's supposedly social.

"but he barely interacted with anyone," you point out. "aside from his friend earlier."

"oh yeah, that loud guy. what was his name again?" moka snaps her fingers, trying to recall.

"woonhak, seventh grader." minji supplies. "they're close, huh?"

"how do you even know that? well, anyways" moka shrugs. "i noticed that too. maybe leehan just wasn't in the mood today. it happens. you know, some days you just wanna shut the world out and listen to sad music while staring dramatically out the window."

you scoff. "that's... oddly specific."

minji laughs. "she's speaking from experience."

"ya!" moka glares playfully. "i'm just saying, don't take it personally. give him time. he's nice."

their words settle in your mind, giving you a bit more confidence. they knew leehan longer than you do. maybe he didn't dislike you for no reason. maybe it really was just a bad day.

as you reach the karaoke bar, the bright led lights reflect off your glasses, and moka swings open the door. the entire evening had been fun with your new friends. although, you miss your old friends back in busan, you're still keeping in touch with them all while establishing new relationships.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

as soon as you got back to your brother's apartment where you're living. the familiar aroma of spicy ramyeon fills the air, instantly making your stomach grumble. your brother, wooyoung, is at the stove, stirring the noodles in the bubbling pot.

"you're finally home," he says, not even turning around. "it's already 7 pm. how was the first day?"

tossing your bag onto the sofa across the room, you plop down onto a dining chair and immediately reach for the cookie jar, popping one into your mouth. "it was great me and my friends went to karaoke after classes, so i got home a bit late."

wooyoung lets out an amused "ohh," lifting the pot to pour the steaming noodles into a large bowl at the center of the table. "karaoke, huh? and you didn't bother to tell me you'd be late?"

you roll your eyes, still munching. "i messaged you. you didn't answer."

wooyoung pauses, then shrugs. "oh, yeah. i was at the studio all day. just got home like, thirty minutes before you." he grabs his phone from the counter, flips it over, and sees the unread notification. "ah, whoops. my bad. haven't checked my phone."

"figured," you say, watching as he sets the table, placing down the kimchi and chopsticks before settling into the chair across from you.

then, suddenly, his face shifts into amusement. "wait, friends?"

you sigh, already regretting bringing it up. "mhm, friends from my new school," you say, trying to sound as casual as possible.

wooyoung leans forward, resting his chin on his hand like he's about to hear the most exciting gossip of his life. "and here i thought you'd spend the first month brooding in the corner."

you groan. "why do you act like i'm some kind of hermit? i do talk to people, you know."

"mhm, am i surprised, though? you've always been good at making friends. mom used to brag about how easygoing you are," wooyoung says, setting his bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

you smirk at the mention of your mom. "you're louder than me. why would she even brag about that?"

"mhm, and not just louder. i'm also cooler," he says, smoldering.

you rolled your eyes, and scoffed "right. 'cooler.'"

"glad we agree." he grins, then leans forward slightly, sneering "so... any special friends?"

you swerved a chopstick at him. "stop."

he laughs, dodging it. you sigh, knowing full well he won't let it go. "alright, alright," he says, finally getting serious. "so, what's the deal? someone already giving you a hard time?"

you hesitate. if you tell him, he's not going to leave you alone for the next thirty minutes straight. but the thought is already out in the open, and now he's just waiting for a word, watching you expectantly.

you twirl your noodles around your chopsticks, avoiding eye contact. "not really. it's just, there's this guy in my class. i tried talking to him today, and he was just, i don't know. cold? kinda distant."

wooyoung pauses mid-bite, then slowly sets his chopsticks down, his grin creeping back. "oh, he likes you."

you nearly choke on your food hearing that. "that's stupid."

"classic," he says, shaking his head. "a guy being cold to you? that's just a poorly disguised crush."

you scrunched your nose and cringed, squinting at him. "that's the worst logic i've ever heard. is that how you're supposed to act around the person you like? sounds pretty dumb to me."

wooyoung waggles his finger. "ah, you still have much to learn. sometimes, guys get all awkward when they like someone. you know, trying to play it cool and mysterious."

you make a face, just proceeding to slurp on the ramen. "right, and that's why you're single."

wooyoung gasps dramatically, clutching his pearls. "wow, that hurts."

you roll your eyes, and he finally drops the teasing, getting serious. "but honestly, maybe he's just not in the mood. or maybe he's not a super social guy. it's literally the first day. give it at least a week. or a month, even."

you think back to what moka and minji said, and now your brother too. maybe you really were just overthinking it.

"yeah... you're probably right," you admit, taking another bite.

"of course i am," he says, smug. "older sibling wisdom."

"you literally just told me some fake dating psychology."

"hey, it works for some people," he says, laughing.

you shake your head, but you're smiling now, too.

as you finish up dinner, the conversation drifts to other things— his work at the studio, how living in seoul is going so far, and what ridiculous thing he plans to waste money on next. (apparently, it's a limited-edition plushie he claims is an investment.)

you're now in your bed, freshly showered, hair still slightly damp against your pillow. staring at the ceiling, you replay the day in your head- you having fun with your new friends, the laughter at karaoke, and the small, nagging thought of leehan's. you just don't know why you wanted to be friends with him so bad. the day had felt both so long and short. sighing, you turn onto your side, reaching for the lamp beside you, and clicking it off.

the next few weeks and months follow the same routine. you've settled into your new school, growing comfortable with your routine. minji and moka have become your closest friends, the kind you can joke around with, text random topics to in ungodly hours, and count on to save you a seat during lunch. you've even managed to branch out a bit, making casual friends in other classes, effortlessly slipping into conversations and forming easy connections.

but the case with leehan? still the same. frozen.

you're still stuck in the same frustrating loop of forced interactions, half-hearted conversations, and long silences. you've been paired up with him for projects multiple times, and each time, it's a painfully dull experience. he never speaks unless spoken to, and even then, his responses are as dry as toast-short, flat, and uninteresting. if he ever does talk, it's out of necessity, like asking how to blend a color for an art project (since, unlike you, he's not exactly gifted in that league). and that's it. no banter, no effort to make things less awkward. it's not like you expect him to be a chatterbox, but come on, a little effort wouldn't kill him.

"hey, what do you think about adding some shadows here?" you ask during one of your art projects, pointing at a part of the sketch.

he shrugs. "looks fine."

you stare at him, waiting for more. anything more. but he just keeps painting, completely unbothered.

"okay, well... do you think we should use blue or purple for the background?"

"blue," he says simply, not even looking up.

he isn't rude, but not nice either. you sigh, dragging your brush across the palette. working with leehan is like texting someone who only replies with k. It's frustrating, and more than that, awkward.

it's not just during projects, either. whenever it's just the two of you left in the classroom, the silence is so heavy it feels like an actual thing, pressing against you, urging you to break it. and when you do, when you attempt small talk, ask about his hobbies, his music taste, just anything to spark a conversation, you always get the same dead responses.

"you know, i have a brother, and we liked watching basketball together. do you like any sports?"

"no."

"mhm, i see. well, do you have any pets? i have a pet goldfish in our house."

"yes."

"really? what is it?"

"the same. fish."

"what type of fish?"

"corydoras,"

at least he's honest, you cope.

that's how every conversation goes. it's like he's allergic to words longer than three syllables. and at first, you think, okay, maybe he's just like this with everyone. maybe he's one of those people who just doesn't like talking.

but you see stuffs, like how he laughs when he's with other people. how he's actually talking, laughing, contributing more than just a robotic "okay." he's not this indifferent with them. just with you.

and that's when it really starts to sink in.

it's not that leehan is quiet, or shy, or socially awkward.

he just does NOT want to talk to you.

that realization hits harder than you'd like to admit. you try to brush it off, tell yourself that not everyone has to like you, that it's fine, really. but the more you see him laughing with others, joking around, talking normally, the harder it becomes to ignore.

it's not that he struggles to make friends. he's just choosing not to be friends with you. and that affected you. not because it's leehan. it's because you had thing about being left hanging.

still, over time, you learn to accept it. some people just don't click, and leehan is clearly one of them. it's not like you need his approval. you have minji, moka, and a handful of other friends.

so you stop trying. stop initiating conversations. stop going out of your way to talk to him. and for a while, that worked.

then, something shifts

it's subtle at first, so subtle that you don't even notice it. but then minji nudges you during lunch, her voice dropping to a whisper

"hey," she says, leaning in. "i think leehan's staring at you."

you snort, not even bothering to look up. "yeah, right."

"no, really. he's been looking over here for, like, a solid minute."

you roll your eyes, but curiosity gets the better of you. when you glance up, leehan's gaze flicks away so fast it's almost unnoticeable.

you think about it for a second but ultimately shrug it off. it's not like it changes anything. he still doesn't talk to you. ye still keeps his distance. and you certainly aren't going to waste energy trying to break through his icy exterior again.

but you start to notice things, like how he stiffens whenever you walk past, his posture going unnaturally rigid. how he deliberately avoids eye contact, like meeting seeing your eyes might physically kill him. how, no matter what, he always seems aware of where you are in the room, never too close, but never completely out of reach.

it's weird. and, honestly, you're starting to think that maybe he just really hates you that much.

minji and moka notice it too.

"i swear, leehan is straight-up ignoring you," moka mutters one afternoon, barely paying attention to the notes she's supposed to be copying. "it's like you don't even exist to him."

you sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook. "whatever. it's not like it matters. as long as he cooperates when we have to work together, i couldn't care less."

minji hums thoughtfully. "or maybe... he likes you?"

you blink. "what?"

minji nods, looking more convinced by the second. "think about it, he's only like this with you. everyone else gets normal responses, but with you, it's like he forgets that he's a human being."

you stare at her, then at moka, waiting for her to back you up. but instead, she tilts her head, considering.

"actually... i don't think so." she suddenly snaps her fingers. "ah! remember park minju? that pretty girl from the next class?"

you frown. "what about her?"

"well, leehan had the biggest crush on her back in eighth grade. and when I say biggest, i mean biggest. he was, like, ridiculously obvious about it. everyone knew."

minji's eyes widen. "oh my god, you're right. he was so dramatic about it."

the two of them burst into laughter while you sit there, entirely unimpressed.

"wow," you deadpan. "so, basically, leehan just really, really doesn't like me."

moka smirks. "yeah, to the point where it's almost impressive. like, what did you do to him in a past life? he avoids you like a virus."

minji swats her playfully, but you just shake your head. "but yeah, if he likes you he'll be obvious about it."

confirmed. leehan hates your guts, for god knows what reason.

and with that, you decide you're done thinking about him. if he wants to pretend you don't exist, then fine.

the next few months, you ignored leehan completely. and, of course, he noticed.

at first, he didn't seem to mind, or at least, he pretended not to. but it didn't take long for moka and minji to catch on. from across the room, they could see it, the way leehan would glance at you when he thought no one was looking, his expression unreadable.

and then there were the times when you two ended up in the same group for another never-ending project. you would talk to everyone except him. it wasn't that you were mean about it, you were perfectly civil, but you just didn't acknowledge his presence. no eye contact. no small talk. nothing.

but leehan wasn't stupid. he could tell the difference between indifference and avoidance.

at some point, it must've started bothering him too, because moka and minji began whispering to each other every time they caught him hesitating, fidgeting like he was debating whether or not to approach you.

and, he almost did.

it was homeroom, and the teacher hadn't shown up. the class was in full chaos-desks rearranged, chairs turned backwards, students perched on tables, chatting and laughing. you sat comfortably in your usual spot with moka, sipping on jelly, while minji sat comfortably on moka's desk, the three of you bantering about something completely ridiculous.

you felt a presence behind you.

moka stopped mid-sentence, her eyes flickering up. minji did the same. then, she discreetly nudged your knee under the desk, her silent way of saying look behind you.

you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of leehan standing there.

your posture straightened instinctively, but you kept your expression neutral as you turned fully to face him.

his hands fidgeted at his sides, his lips parted slightly like he was rehearsing his words in his head. swallowing hard before speaking

"y/n, i just wanted to say tha-"

"HELLO, Y/N!"

a voice suddenly interrupted, cutting straight through the moment.

you blinked, turning your attention to the source, ham jinsik.

jinsik was, by all definitions, the classic popular guy. tall for his age, charming, effortlessly good-looking. he was the type of guy who never seemed to take anything too seriously, which was probably why he was grinning at you like he'd just won the lottery.

as leehan shifted, glancing over his shoulder, your eyes flicked from jinsik back to him, just in time to catch the way his expression dropped, just for a split second before he quickly looked away. retreating before he could even finish his sentence.

but before you could say anything, jinsik was already speaking.

"jinsik, hi! what's up?" you smiled, brushing aside the awkwardness of the moment.

behind you, moka and minji were losing their minds. they weren't even trying to be subtle, nudging each other aggressively while failing to hold back their giggles.

jinsik flashed you a sheepish grin. "i was wondering if you're free later? i mean..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "we're in the same group, right? and, uh, i could really use some help with the topic we're working on."

moka and minji's snickering worsened "sure, help".

you shot them a quick glare, swatting their knees in warning before nodding at the boy in front of you "of course, i'm down."

jinsik visibly relaxed, a small little yes slipping past his lips before he cleared his throat and tried to play it cool. "great! we can walk together after class. don't worry, i won't keep you out too late."

you laughed lightly. "alright."

as jinsik walked back to his group, who immediately started hyping him up, you finally turned back toward your own friends, rolling your eyes at moka and minji's exaggerated expressions.

but then you remembered.

leehan

you glanced back at him, half-expecting him to be looking in your direction, but he wasn't. he was sitting at his desk, chatting with the student in front of him like nothing had happened.

you exhaled, excused yourself, and walked toward his desk. "hey." you stopped beside him. "sorry about earlier. you were saying?"

leehan turned to you, blankly

whatever light that had been on his face while talking to his classmate disappeared, replaced by something colder. his lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders tensing slightly.

"i forgot," he said flatly.

you blinked. "oh, okay then."

you didn't want to waste energy overthinking it, so you just hummed, nodded, and walked back to your seat.

what you didn't see, however, was leehan's gaze following you. nor did you notice the way his eyes flickered toward jinsik, his jaw tightening slightly, fingers clenching into a fist on his desk.

just like that, the days blurred together, and everything fell back into the usual routine.

middle school came to an end faster than you expected.

one moment, you were stressing over exams, avoiding unnecessary drama, and pretending not to notice the way leehan had stopped trying to talk to you. and the next? you were standing in a packed auditorium, surrounded by classmates who were buzzing with excitement and nerves.

the school hall was chaotic, students darting between friends, taking photos, and exchanging yearbooks filled with scribbled messages they'd probably cringe at in a few years. the air smelled like fresh paper, perfume, and faint traces of cafeteria food.

you were standing with moka and minji near the entrance, your neat uniform geeling slightly too tight but strangely comforting.

"so... where are you guys going for high school?" minji suddenly asked, fiddling with the hem of her blazer that she only wore properly today.

"seoul high school," you answered, adjusting your ribbon. "it's nearer to my place."

moka gasped dramatically, clutching your arm. "no way! that's where i'm going too!"

minji's eyes widened before she broke into a grin. "me too! do you think we'll end up in the same classes again?"

"i don't know,"you chuckled, feeling lighter than you had in months. "but at least we'll be at the same school. that's what matters."

moka sighed in relief. "good. i don't think i can handle high school alone."

"you? alone?" minji snorted. "you'd make friends in five minutes."

"that's not the point! you guys are my friends."

your heart warmed at that. as much as you teased each other, you knew moka meant it. and truthfully, so did you.

before you could respond, the speakers crackled to on, signaling the start of the ceremony. the noise in the hall gradually died down as students shuffled toward their assigned seats.

you exhaled, turning back to moka and minji with a smile. "i'll catch you guys around there."

and as you took your seat, listening to the opening speech, everything suddenly felt light. you glanced around the room, taking it all in.

you caught glimpses of familiar faces, some you'd just known this year, and some you barely spoke to but still felt a sense of connection with.

and then there was leehan.

he was a few rows ahead, sitting with his group of friends. he laughed at something one of them said, his usual easygoing smile in place. you preferred him like that, a human.

he didn't look in your direction.

you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not. but you pushed the thought aside. today wasn't about old tensions or unanswered what-ifs. it was about new beginnings. and, you'll leave hongik to a new school, a fresh start, and the comfort of knowing moka and minji would be there with you without leehan's heavy and contagious aura creeping around the corner.

because really, what were the odds that he would end up at the same high school as you?

at least, that's what you thought when 10th grade began.

seoul high school

you arrived at your new classroom earlier than most students, enjoying the quiet hum of the morning. the sun and streamed through the windows, reflecting soft lights against the wooden desks. the wind gusted from the open pane and slightly blew your now slightly longer hair that reached your shoulder. everything felt light and promising. as usual, you struck up conversations with a few early classmates, effortlessly easing into small talk. it was a good day. nothing could ruin it.

or so you thought.

because then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of someone standing at the doorway. and with how the room temperature suddenly dropped, you already knew.

kim leehan.

no way.

yes, kim leehan.

his hair was a lighter shade of brown now, and he'd grown taller, noticeably so. a lot can change in a year, but somehow, he hadn't. you found yourself staring at him, completely unaware that your gaze was practically burning a hole through his forehead already.

and yet, leehan barely reacted.

he met your eyes in a blink, nodding slightly before walking past you. bot a single change in expression. no surprise. no recognition beyond what seemed like just common courtesy.

and, of course, he settled into a seat at the very back of the classroom. a mile away from you. predictable.

your shoulders tensed as you quickly looked away, patting your hair into place as if that would somehow steady your thoughts.

"what the hell is he doing here?" you hissed under your breath.

a million possibilities ran through your mind. had he always planned to come to seoul high? did he know you'd be here? or was this some dumb fate?

it didn't matter.

you hesitated for a second. maybe this time would be different? maybe he'd actually talk to you? but the way he acted, or rather, his complete lack of one was all too familiar. it's still the same stern leehan from middle school, at least when it came to you.

you swallowed back whatever words had formed in your throat, pushing away the disappointment, and turned back to your desk.

you don't know what it is with you desperately wanting to figure leehan out, maybe because you're still left hanging without knowing why.

the classroom had started filling up, students pouring in with laughter and chatter, and you forced yourself to join in.

the girl sitting next to you introduced herself, and you made an effort to be friendly, though it didn't come as naturally as it did with moka and minji. speaking of them, they were five classrooms away down the hall, which meant you'd be sitting through long, exhausting classes alone, at least for now.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"WHAT?!"

moka's shriek echoed through the cafeteria, loud enough to make half the students turn in your direction.

panicked, you lunged forward, clamping a hand over her mouth. "shut up," you hissed, glancing around as a few nosy students tried to eavesdrop.

moka peeled your hand off, her eyes still wide with pure disbelief. she leaned in, this time whispering harshly. "what?!"

you sighed, rubbing your temple. "yeah, he's in my class."

moka blinked at you, then at the ceiling, as if trying to process some kind of divine punishment. "no freaking way. out of all the high schools in seoul, and out of all the students... kim leehan?!" she shook her head. "that's terrifying."

"i know." you exhaled dramatically, slumping onto the table. "i didn't expect him to be here either."

moka crossed her arms. "and you're telling me we got separated, but you got stuck with him? this is the worst trade deal in history."

before you could respond, minji arrived, setting her tray of food down. "what are you guys talking about?"

moka wasted no time. "leehan is in y/n's class."

minji blinked. then-

"WHAT?!"

you and moka immediately reached over, swatting at her arms. "hey, shut up!" you whispered aggressively.

minji lowered her voice, but her eyes were just as wide. "wait, deadass? is this real?"

you sighed and nodded.

she hummed in thought. "ah, that explains it. i thought i saw a familiar back earlier, but i figured i was just hallucinating." she stabbed her food with a fork. "turns out, my nightmares are real."

moka shook her head in disbelief. "i mean, him being in the same high school? fine. but in the same class as y/n? that's like a match made in hell."

"a horror movie in the making," minji added.

"that time severus snape reincarnated as my classmate." moka laughed, as minji was enjoying it too. you rolled your eyes, reaching over to steal a chip from your friend's tray. "ha ha funny. let's not talk about it." but you admit, that was actually funny.

"we are talking about it," minji said, smacking your hand away from her chips. "how is he?"

you made a face. "what do you mean, how is he? he's the same leehan. acts like i carry the plague."

minji let out a long, unimpressed sigh. "figures."

"ugh, boooring." moka leaned back in her chair.

they both waved off the topic like it was a failed drama plot twist, swiftly moving on to minji's latest tragic news: taesan transferring to another school. minji whined about it for ten minutes straight while moka wordlessly devoured half her tray of food.

for a moment, you let yourself relax. laughing at their gossips, listening to minji's endless whining, watching moka inhale her meal like it was her last. everything felt normal.

then the bell rang, and just like that, it was back to reality.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

the days blurred into a familiar cycle: class, break time, dismissal, repeat. you sat through lectures, quietly counting the minutes until you could meet up with minji and moka.

and leehan still existed like some kind of background npc with an unskippable quest. he sat at the farthest corner of the room, never spoke to you, never looked at you, never acknowledged you unless absolutely necessary. his coldness was almost unreal at this point. good ol' days

it was still bothering you at first. the way he moved through the world like you were invisible. the way he nodded politely to everyone else but barely glanced in your direction.

then, you just stopped caring, like, for real this time.

you weren't enemies. you weren't friends. just civil. yet, you made little to no efforts to ask leehan what's wrong. maybe that was your mistake.

somewhere along the way, the irritation faded into indifference. the tension between you two solidified into an invisible wall neither of you had any intention of breaking.

this went on until the end of 12th grade.

to be continued ..

[thequeenofneverland1]

Hwang In-ho/Frontman////secrets in the Dark

Anonymous request: could I request where the players thinks that you and Young-il are enemies, but in reality you and him are married

Warnings, Violence, Death, Psychological Tension, Manipulation and Betrayal, Conflict and Arguments, Survival Situations, Trauma, Emotions Distress, Isolation, Morally Ambiguous choices

The players were sitting on ground, some sitting in small groups, others keeping to themselves and You, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee were sitting together, engaged in a lively conversation. The group had been discussing something animatedly, laughing at jokes and tossing opinions back and forth. The energy was good, a natural flow that had everyone feeling at ease. Gi-hun had just finished making a joke when Young-il suddenly walked up, inserting himself into the circle without much hesitation. His interruption was abrupt, cutting through the thread of what someone was saying. You turned toward him, caught off guard by the interruption.

“Uh, excuse me, Young-il, but we’re in the middle of something here,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, but the words were already out. There was a brief, charged silence as everyone processed the shift in mood. Young-il’s face tightened, and it was clear he was about to respond. Maybe a retort, maybe an explanation and his lips parted, but before he could say anything, Dae-ho cut in.

“Yeah, she’s right,” Dae-ho said, his tone calm but firm. He leaned slightly forward as if to emphasize his point. “We didn’t invite you into this conversation.” His words hung in the air, direct but not aggressive. The way he said it made it clear that it wasn’t personal, just a boundary.

Jun-hee glanced between you and Young-il, looking uncomfortable but not saying anything. Jung-bae shifted his weight slightly, crossing his arms, while Gi-hun avoided eye contact altogether, clearly trying to avoid getting involved.

Young-il’s expression hardened further, his eyes flicking to each person in the group as though weighing whether to push back or leave it alone. For a moment, it looked like he might say something else, but instead, he scoffed under his breath.

“Fine,” Young-il said, stepping back with an exaggerated shrug. “Didn’t realize this was some exclusive club or whatever.” He turned on his heel and walked away, his frustration evident in the stiff set of his shoulders.

The group watched him go, the air thick with an awkward tension. After a beat, Jun-hee sighed. “That was… a bit much,” she murmured, her voice soft.

“Maybe,” Dae-ho replied, running a hand through his hair, “but he really shouldn’t have just barged in like that.”

“Still,” Gi-hun added hesitantly, “it probably could’ve been handled a little… nicer.”

Everyone looked at you, waiting to see if you’d say anything else. The moment lingered, the silence a little too loud, before someone finally steered the conversation back to something else. But the mood had shifted, and it would take some time to ease back into the easy rhythm the group had before Young-il showed up.

The group had settled on the ground, forming a loose circle as you ate together. The atmosphere had lightened considerably since earlier, and laughter rippled through the group. Dae-ho was in the middle of telling a story about something ridiculous that happened back at home, and even the quieter ones like Jung-bae and Jun-hee were chiming in with jokes and reactions. It was comfortable just your group, relaxed and at ease. The food wasn’t much, but it was enough, and right now, that sense of camaraderie was more filling than the meal itself.

You were leaning back on your hands, half listening as Gi-hun tried to argue with Dae-ho over some small, inconsequential detail. Everyone was smiling, even you, when a shadow fell over the group.

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Young-il stood there, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he glanced around, seemingly oblivious to the subtle shift in energy. Without a word, he crouched down and then sat near you, sliding into the space that was barely big enough to accommodate him.

You didn’t try to hide your reaction. With an exaggerated sigh, you rolled your eyes and turned your head slightly toward him, your voice dripping with annoyance as you spoke. “We didn’t invite you to come and sit with us, old man.” The words came out sharper than you’d intended again. but you weren’t about to backpedal. You glanced at him as you said it, your expression making it clear you weren’t joking.

The group went silent. Dae-ho’s eyes darted between you and Young-il, his usual easygoing demeanor faltering as he seemed unsure whether to jump in. Jun-hee looked down at her food, clearly uncomfortable, while Gi-hun raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Jung-bae simply chewed his food, his face blank, as if trying to stay out of whatever was about to happen.

Young-il froze for a moment, his jaw tightening as he looked at you. “Seriously?” he said, his tone somewhere between disbelief and irritation. He let out a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You really just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“You can’t help but barge in where you’re not wanted,” you shot back, sitting up straighter now. The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp, cutting through the fragile peace that had been holding the group together.

Dae-ho raised his hand, trying to diffuse the tension. “Hey, come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s not turn this into a thing, all right? We’re just trying to eat.”

Young-il gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Because I’m the one turning this into a thing.” He stood up abruptly, brushing off his hands as he glanced around at the group. “Enjoy your meal, then,” he said curtly, before walking off, his back stiff with frustration.

The silence that followed was deafening. Nobody seemed to know what to say, and the easy camaraderie from before felt like a distant memory. Finally, Jun-hee broke the silence with a soft sigh. “You didn’t have to say it like that, you know,” she said, glancing at you cautiously.

You shrugged, reaching for another bite of food. “He wasn’t invited. Simple as that.”

Gi-hun shifted uncomfortably. “Still, it feels like this is getting… worse.”

Dae-ho leaned back on his hands, staring at the ground for a moment before speaking. “We’ve got bigger problems to deal with than this,” he said quietly, his tone unusually serious. “Let’s not waste energy fighting with each other.”

The group nodded, albeit reluctantly, and eventually the conversation picked up again. But the tension lingered, hanging over the circle like a cloud. Even as the group tried to move on, the encounter with Young-il left a mark, a reminder of how easily things could unravel.

The tension between you and Young-il had been building all day, and now it was on full display for everyone to see. The players were all gathered in the dormitory area, some sitting on the ground, others laying on the beds, each trying to make the best of the little time they had to rest before the next round. Conversations buzzed here and there, but the center of attention quickly shifted to you and Young-il as your voices began to rise.

“You’ve got a real attitude problem, you know that?” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. He wasn’t looking directly at you, but it was clear who he was talking to.

The group immediately perked up, sensing the brewing argument. Gi-hun winced, glancing between the two of you, while Dae-ho muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Here we go again.”

You scoffed, leaning forward and narrowing your eyes at him. “Oh, I have an attitude problem? Says the guy who can’t take a hint and leave people alone.”

Young-il turned to face you now, his expression sharp. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy acting like the queen of everything, people wouldn’t have a problem being around you.”

A few players sitting nearby started to murmur, exchanging amused glances. Gi-hun, who had been sitting quietly, watching the exchange with his usual laid-back demeanor, leaned forward slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. Dae-ho and Jung-bae, meanwhile, were exchanging wide-eyed looks, caught between wanting to intervene and letting the argument run its course.

“Oh, give me a break,” you shot back. “The only reason people have a problem is because you keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You can’t just walk into every conversation and expect people to welcome you with open arms.”

Young-il laughed, a bitter sound that only seemed to fuel the fire. “You’re unbelievable. You think everything revolves around you, don’t you? Newsflash: not everyone cares about what you think.”

Before you could respond, Jun-hee raised her hands in a weak attempt to intervene. “Okay, can we not do this right now? Seriously, this is getting old.”

But neither of you was listening. “At least I don’t go around acting like I know better than everyone else,” you snapped. “You think just because you’re older, you’re entitled to respect? Respect is earned.”

“Earning respect from you is like trying to squeeze water from a stone,” Young-il retorted. “You wouldn’t recognize decency if it hit you in the face.”

By now, nearly every player in the room had turned to watch the argument. Some looked uncomfortable, others entertained, while a few clearly enjoyed the spectacle. The tension was thick, but before either of you could say another word, someone broke the silence.

“You two really need to get a room,” one of the players called out, laughing. It was a guy from another group, leaning casually against the wall with a wide grin on his face. “Seriously, you argue like a married couple. I bet that if we weren’t all stuck in this hellhole, you two would probably get married.”

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, breaking the tension for everyone except you and Young-il. You froze, blinking in disbelief at the comment, while Young-il’s face twisted into a scowl.

“Married?” you repeated, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “With him? I’d rather die in the next game, thank you very much.”

“Oh, please,” Young-il shot back, rolling his eyes. “As if I’d ever even consider it. You’d drive me insane within a day.”

“That’s funny,” you said with a mocking smile. “Because you already drive me insane just by existing.”

The laughter in the room grew louder, and Gi-hun finally chimed in, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, let’s calm down before this turns into a full-blown lovers’ quarrel. We’ve got enough stress without adding romantic drama to the mix.”

Dae-ho smirked, leaning toward you and whispering just loud enough for everyone to hear, “You know, he’s got a point. You two do bicker like an old married couple.”

Jun-hee stifled a laugh, trying to maintain some level of composure, but her shoulders shook as she struggled to keep it in. “Maybe we should just leave them alone and let them work it out,” she teased, her voice light.

You groaned, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Unbelievable. You’re all ridiculous.” Turning back to Young-il, you pointed a finger at him. “For the record, this ‘married couple’ nonsense is never happening. Ever.”

“Trust me,” Young-il said, shaking his head. “The feeling is mutual.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Gi-hun leaned back, casually throwing out his suggestion that Young-il should join the group. Gi-hun’s face was calm, almost too calm, as if he hadn’t just dropped a verbal bomb into the middle of your circle.

“Are you serious?” you said, your voice sharp with disbelief. “You want him in our group? After everything?”

Gi-hun shrugged, his usual easygoing demeanor infuriating in the moment. “Look, it’s not like we’re overflowing with allies here. Having one more person might help us later on. We’re all just trying to survive, right?”

You glared at him, your frustration boiling just below the surface. “Yeah, we’re trying to survive, not babysit someone who spends more time causing problems than being useful. Have you already forgotten what happened earlier?”

Before Gi-hun could respond, Young-il, who had been standing just on the edge of the circle, stepped forward with an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. “Well, it looks like I’m part of the group now,” he said, his tone smug as he glanced around at the others before turning his gaze to you. “Which means I’m allowed to talk. Guess you’ll have to get used to it.”

You stood up, not even trying to hide your irritation. “Don’t get too excited, old man,” you shot back, your voice cold and cutting. “Just because Gi-hun decided to take pity on you doesn’t mean I’m going to talk to you. And it definitely doesn’t mean you can butt into my conversations like you own the place. So stay out of my line, understand?”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your outburst. “You really think you can tell me what to do? Hate to break it to you, princess, but if I’m part of the group, I can sit wherever I want, talk whenever I want, and do whatever I want. You don’t get to make the rules.”

You took a step closer to him, your fists clenched at your sides. “You think this is a joke? This isn’t about rules. it’s about respect. Something you clearly don’t understand. If you want to stay in this group, fine, but don’t think for one second that I’ll put up with your crap. Step out of line, and you’re on your own.”

The rest of the group watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and unease. Dae-ho leaned back, his arms crossed as he glanced between you and Young-il. “Well, this is going to be fun,” he muttered under his breath, earning a stifled laugh from Jun-hee.

Gi-hun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, can we all just calm down? Look, I get that this isn’t ideal, but we’re stuck in this situation together. The last thing we need is to turn on each other.”

“Tell that to him,” you said, jerking your thumb in Young-il’s direction.

Young-il smirked, his confidence unwavering. “Oh, I’m calm. She’s the one making a scene.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but before you could, Jung-bae interjected. “Alright, enough,” he said, his tone firm. “We get it, you two can’t stand each other. But let’s be real none of us want to deal with this drama every time we sit down to eat and talk If you two can’t get along, then at least figure out how to ignore each other. The rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer because you two like to argue.”

You crossed your arms, still glaring at Young-il, but you knew Jung-bae had a point. With a frustrated sigh, you stepped back and sat down, though your eyes stayed locked on Young-il. “Fine. I’ll ignore him. But don’t blame me when he screws up.”

Young-il chuckled, taking a seat across from you with that same infuriating smirk. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way. Wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect little world.”

You clenched your jaw but forced yourself to look away, focusing on your food instead. The tension lingered, but the group slowly began to settle back into their conversations, though it was clear the dynamic had shifted.

As the chatter resumed, Jun-hee leaned over and whispered, “You know, you’re going to have to deal with him eventually.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Not if I can help it.”

The group had finally settled into an uneasy rhythm, with conversations drifting back and forth among the players. You sat with your arms crossed, still stewing over the earlier argument with Young-il. Though most of the group had moved on, you couldn’t shake the irritation gnawing at you. Every time you glanced at him, sitting there like he belonged, that smug look on his face only made your blood boil more.

As the conversation shifted to the earlier games, you couldn’t help but notice how quiet Young-il was. He wasn’t chiming in or offering any insight, which was unusual considering how much he seemed to enjoy running his mouth. That’s when it hit you, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

Hey, old man,” you said sharply, your voice cutting through the murmured chatter. “I’ve got a question for you.”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk as if he already knew you were about to accuse him of something. “Oh, here we go,” he said, his tone mocking. “What now? Didn’t I already promise to stay out of your ‘line’?”

You ignored his sarcasm, narrowing your eyes at him. “Where were you during the first game?” you asked, your voice steady but pointed.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their curiosity piqued. Even Dae-ho, who usually tried to stay out of conflicts, looked intrigued.

“What are you talking about?” Young-il replied, his expression turning defensive.

“You heard me,” you said, sitting up straighter. “Where were you during the first game? Because I don’t remember seeing you there. None of us do. You showed up out of nowhere during the second game, acting like you’d been here all along. So tell me any care to explain, old man?”

Young-il’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a hardened expression. He sat up slightly, clearly caught off guard by the question but trying not to show it. “What, you’ve been keeping tabs on everyone here?” he shot back. “I didn’t realize I needed to check in with you to exist.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” you snapped. “Everyone else here went through hell in that first game. We all barely survived. But you? You just magically appeared when the second game started, looking perfectly fine. So either you skipped the first game, or you’re hiding something.”

Jung-bae shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the others. “She’s kind of got a point,” he said softly, though he immediately regretted saying anything when Young-il shot him a look.

Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, clearly torn between wanting to diffuse the situation and his own curiosity. “Yeah, now that you mention it… I don’t remember seeing you during the first game either,” he said carefully.

Gi-hun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So? What’s the deal, Young-il?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.

Young-il let out a sharp exhale, rubbing his temples as if trying to compose himself. “Look, I didn’t skip anything, all right?” he said, his voice defensive. “I was there. You probably just didn’t notice me because I wasn’t making a scene, unlike some people.”

“Convenient excuse,” you said, your tone dripping with skepticism. “But I don’t buy it. We would’ve noticed you, especially since you seem to love getting involved in things that don’t concern you.”

Young-il’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “What do you want me to say? That I hid like a coward? Fine. That’s what I did. I stayed out of sight and out of trouble because I wasn’t about to risk my life for some stupid game.”

The group stared at him, the tension thickening as his words sank in.

“At least I’m still here,” Young-il continued, his voice rising slightly. “Maybe I didn’t charge in headfirst like the rest of you, but I survived. Isn’t that the point?”

You crossed your arms, your expression unimpressed. “Survived by hiding while the rest of us fought to stay alive. How noble of you.”

“Enough!” Gi-hun suddenly interjected, raising his voice. “We’re all here now, aren’t we? What’s the point of fighting about what already happened?”

Dae-ho sighed, nodding reluctantly. “He’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, arguing about the past won’t help us survive what’s coming next.”

You clenched your jaw, wanting to push further but realizing you weren’t going to get any more answers at least, not now. “Fine,” you muttered, leaning back and crossing your arms. “But don’t think this means I trust you.”

Young-il chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “The feeling’s mutual, kid,” he said, his voice low.

The group sat in uneasy silence, the earlier camaraderie completely dissolved. Even as the conversation moved on, the lingering suspicion between you and Young-il remained like a crack in the foundation of the group, threatening to break everything apart.

“The air in the group had grown heavy over the past few days. Ever since the argument about Young-il’s mysterious absence during the first game, the tension between you two had only worsened. It was like a storm cloud hovering above, threatening to unleash at any moment. Everyone else in the group was walking on eggshells, trying to avoid setting either of you off.

But today, it finally exploded.

The group was sitting on the floor and everyone was quietly going about their business some eating, some resting, others just staring off into space, lost in thought. You were seated with your arms crossed, trying to focus on the situation at hand, but your annoyance with Young-il was bubbling just beneath the surface.

It started small, like it always did. Young-il, who had been leaning against a wall, made an offhanded comment about the group’s decision-making.

“Maybe if we stopped wasting time arguing about every little thing, we’d actually get somewhere,” he said, his tone sharp.

You didn’t even look at him at first, but the irritation was immediate. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” you shot back, your voice laced with sarcasm. “The guy who spent the first game hiding like a coward suddenly has opinions about how we should do things.”

Young-il straightened up, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face you. “You’re still hung up on that?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m still here, aren’t I? Unlike some of the people who didn’t make it.”

Your head snapped toward him now, glaring. “Don’t you dare talk about them like that,” you said, your voice low and dangerous. “They fought to survive. They didn’t hide in the shadows and hope someone else would do the dirty work for them.”

“And look where that got them,” Young-il snapped, his voice rising. “Dead. You act like you’re some kind of hero because you played along with their little games, but all it did was get people killed. I did what I had to do to survive. You can hate me all you want for it, but at least I’m still breathing.”

By now, the rest of the group had gone silent, their eyes darting nervously between the two of you. Gi-hun sighed heavily, already regretting that he hadn’t stepped in sooner.

“Okay, can we not do this again?” he said, raising his hands in a weak attempt to mediate. “We’re all tired, and this isn’t helping.”

But you weren’t listening. You stood up now, pointing a finger at Young-il as you stepped closer. “You don’t get to lecture me about survival,” you said, your voice rising with every word. “You’ve done nothing but leech off this group since you showed up. You don’t contribute, you don’t help, and the second things get tough, you’ll probably run and hide again.”

Young-il took a step toward you, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing. “You think you’re better than me?” he shot back. “Because you bark orders and act like you’re in charge? Newsflash: no one here made you the leader. You’re just as scared as the rest of us, but instead of admitting it, you take it out on everyone else.”

“Scared?” you repeated, your voice practically a shout now. “I’m not scared I’m angry! Angry that someone like you has the nerve to act like you belong here when you’ve done nothing to earn it!”

Dae-ho, who had been sitting quietly, finally stood up, placing himself between you and Young-il. “All right, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the heated exchange. “This isn’t going anywhere. You’re both just yelling for the sake of yelling.”

Young-il ignored him, his focus still on you. “You want to talk about earning things?” he said, his voice lower now but no less intense. “How about you start by earning some respect? You don’t know anything about me, but you’ve been running your mouth since the second we met. Maybe if you spent less time pointing fingers, you’d actually see that I’m trying to help.”

“Help?” you scoffed, stepping around Dae-ho to get closer to him. “You call criticizing everything we do and refusing to pull your weight ‘help’? You’re nothing but dead weight, old man. And we’d be better off without you.”

Young-il’s expression hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Say that again,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

“I said, we’d be better off without—”

“Enough!” Jun-hee’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip. She stood now, her small frame trembling slightly as she glared at both of you. “This is insane. We’re supposed to be working together, and all you two do is fight. If you hate each other so much, fine, but save it for when we’re out of here. Because right now, you’re putting all of us in danger.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, no one said anything. You and Young-il were still glaring at each other, but Jun-hee’s outburst had at least forced a pause.

Gi-hun sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “She’s right,” he said wearily. “We don’t have time for this. Save your grudges for later, or we’re all going to end up dead.”

You took a step back, your breathing still heavy, but you didn’t say anything else. Young-il relaxed slightly too, though his eyes were still locked on yours.

“This isn’t over,” you muttered, turning away and sitting back down.

“Not by a long shot,” Young-il replied, his voice cold.

The group remained tense after that, the silence almost suffocating. And even though the fight had ended for now, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before it flared up again.

After the chaos of the Mingle game, your group had grown. More players had joined, desperate for the safety of numbers, and while it was a relief to have more hands, the weight of the competition hung heavy over everyone’s heads. Trust was still a rare commodity, and tensions simmered just beneath the surface.

You and Jung-bae sat off to the side, away from the main group. The others were busy eating, tending to injuries, or silently staring into the distance, too drained to speak. The two of you had started talking quietly, reflecting on how brutal things had become, when Jung-bae suddenly grew quiet.

You noticed the shift immediately. His usual composed expression faltered, replaced by a troubled look. He rubbed his hands together, glancing over at Young-il, who was sitting on the far side of the group, talking to Gi-hun.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, leaning closer.

Jung-bae hesitated, his eyes flickering back to you. “There’s… something you should know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About Young-il,” he said, his tone heavy. “Something I saw during the last game.”

Your body tensed at the mention of Young-il. After everything that had happened, you were already wary of him, but hearing Jung-bae bring him up with such a serious expression made your stomach knot. “Go on,” you urged.

Jung-bae took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. “During the Mingle game,” he began, “when it got down to only two players in each room, it was me and Young-il. We managed to find a room just before time ran out.”

You nodded, motioning for him to continue.

“When we got inside, we saw another player already in there,” Jung-bae said, his voice dropping even lower. “Young-il told him to leave, said the room was ours now. But the player refused. He was desperate, just like the rest of us.”

Your brow furrowed as you listened, a sinking feeling settling in your chest.

“I didn’t think much of it at first,” Jung-bae continued, his expression darkening. “I shut the door quickly before any other players could get in. I figured we’d deal with the guy once we were safe, maybe try to reason with him or something. I turned my back to them for just a second… maybe less.”

He paused, swallowing hard. “Then I heard it a noise, like a sharp crack. When I turned around…” He trailed off, his eyes distant as if he was replaying the moment in his mind.

“What did you see?” you asked, though you already had a horrible feeling about what he was going to say.

Jung-bae looked at you, his voice shaking slightly. “I saw Young-il snapping that player’s neck.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, to say it was a bad joke, but his face was deadly serious.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I froze,” Jung-bae admitted, his hands trembling slightly. “I didn’t know what to do. One second, the guy was alive, arguing with Young-il, and the next… he was just gone. Young-il didn’t even hesitate. He just… did it. Like it was nothing.”

You felt a cold chill run down your spine as you processed what Jung-bae was telling you. You glanced over at Young-il, who was still sitting with the others, laughing about something like nothing had happened.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, your voice tight.

“What was I supposed to say?” Jung-bae shot back, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with frustration. “If I called him out, he could’ve turned on me next. And if I told anyone, how do you think they’d react? Everyone’s already on edge. You think they’d believe me, or worse, you think they’d just kill him outright and start turning on each other?”

You clenched your fists, your mind racing. “So what, we just let him get away with it? Pretend like nothing happened?”

Jung-bae sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I thought you should know. You and Gi-hun are the only people here that I trust to do something about it.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. Young-il had always rubbed you the wrong way, but this… this was something else entirely. You didn’t know whether to confront him, tell the group, or keep quiet and wait for the right moment.

“Thanks for telling me,” you said finally, your voice grim.

Jung-bae nodded, though he still looked uneasy. “Just… be careful,” he warned. “If he could do that to a stranger, who knows what he’d do to us if he felt cornered.”

You didn’t respond, your eyes fixed on Young-il as a sense of dread settled over you. Whatever trust or tolerance you’d managed to muster for him was gone. And now, more than ever, you knew he was a threat that couldn’t be ignored.

The group had gathered in a loose circle, with Gi-hun standing in the center, talking to a few players who had managed to survive the chaos of the Mingle game. Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Gyeong-seok, Yong-sik, Myung-gi, and Min-su were all listening attentively as Gi-hun explained the group’s dynamics, how decisions were made, and the importance of sticking together.

You were seated off to the side, leaning against a wall, watching the scene unfold. It wasn’t often that Gi-hun took the lead like this, and you had to admit, he was doing a decent job of it. The players looked nervous but seemed reassured by his calm demeanor.

The moment was interrupted, however, when Young-il wandered over, his presence as unwelcome to you as ever. He strode into the circle without hesitation, his hands in his pockets, and looked around with a vaguely annoyed expression.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone carrying that same irritating mix of mockery and authority that always grated on your nerves.

Before anyone else could respond, you rolled your eyes and sat up straighter. “Are you too blind to see, old man?” you said sharply, your voice cutting through the group like a whip.

Young-il turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” he said, his tone challenging.

You ignored his feigned innocence, gesturing toward Gi-hun and the others. “Can you not see what’s happening? Or is your eyesight finally giving out on you?” you snapped. “Gi-hun is talking to them explaining things to the people who are about to join our group. Not that it’s any of your business.”

A few of the players exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure of how to react to the tension between you and Young-il. Gi-hun sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we not start this right now?” he said, looking at you with a mix of exasperation and pleading.

“I’m not starting anything,” you said defensively, though your tone was still sharp. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. If Young-il had half a brain, he wouldn’t need to interrupt to figure out what’s going on.”

Young-il smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I see what’s going on,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re adding more people to the group. obviously more people to slow us down.”

The players bristled at his words, their faces falling as uncertainty crept in. Gi-hun frowned, stepping forward to address them. “Don’t listen to him,” he said firmly. “This group is about survival, and survival means sticking together. The more of us there are, the better chance we have of making it through this.”

“You really think that?” Young-il scoffed. “The more people we have, the more targets we become. And when things get tough, who’s going to take the fall? The players. They’re dead weight, and you know it.”

Your patience snapped. You stood up, glaring at Young-il with barely restrained anger. “Why don’t you just keep your opinions to yourself for once?” you said, your voice low but deadly. “These people are just as desperate to survive as the rest of us. They deserve a chance, and if you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”

Young-il chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I’ve made it this far, and I’m not about to throw it all away because you want to play babysitter.”

Gi-hun held up a hand, stepping between the two of you before the argument could escalate further. “Enough,” he said firmly, looking at both of you in turn. “We’re not doing this here. If you’ve got a problem with the group, Young-il, then take it up with me later. Right now, we’re focusing on keeping everyone alive, and that includes these new players. Got it?”

Young-il narrowed his eyes but didn’t argue further. He turned and walked away, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back down and crossing your arms. Gi-hun gave you a look, part scolding, part understanding. “You didn’t have to go that hard on him,” he said quietly.

“Someone has to,” you muttered. “I’m not letting him scare these people off before they even get a chance.”

The players looked at you with a mix of gratitude and nervousness. Geum-ja, the boldest among them, stepped forward and gave you a small nod. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

You nodded back, though your eyes lingered on Young-il’s retreating figure. The tension in the group was getting worse, and you had a sinking feeling that things were only going to get harder from here.

The group sat in a loose circle around a small, makeshift campfire. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that had been brewing ever since Young-il joined the group. Everyone was still on edge after the Mingle game and the influx of players, and the constant bickering between you and Young-il had only made things worse.

Gi-hun, ever the reluctant leader, rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around at everyone. He had been trying to keep the group together, trying to keep the peace, but even he was starting to show signs of strain. Finally, he let out a long sigh, breaking the silence.

“All right, let’s just address the elephant in the room,” Gi-hun said, his voice firm but calm as he glanced between you and Young-il. “As you guys are all painfully aware by now, Y/N and Young-il don’t get along.”

A few of the players exchanged glances, while others shifted uncomfortably. Hyun-ju, who had been quietly sitting near the edge of the group, raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Geum-ja crossed her arms, her expression cautious, while Jung-bae looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against a crate. “Oh, come on, Gi-hun,” you said, your tone sharp. “That’s putting it mildly. I can’t stand him, and for good reason.”

Young-il, who was seated across from you with his usual air of indifference, let out a low chuckle. “The feeling’s mutual,” he said, smirking. “But at least I don’t make it my life’s mission to announce it every five minutes.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you sat forward, ready to fire back, but Gi-hun held up his hand to stop you. “Enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. The two of you are constantly at each other’s throats, and it’s making things harder for everyone else.”

Geum-ja cleared her throat, speaking up hesitantly. “It’s… definitely been a little uncomfortable,” she admitted. “I mean, we just got here, and it feels like we walked into the middle of a war.”

“Uncomfortable?” Yong-sik muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Geum-ja.

“Look,” Gi-hun continued, ignoring the side chatter. “I get that this situation is stressful. It’s stressful for all of us. But we’re not going to survive if we’re constantly fighting each other. We need to be united, and that means figuring out how to work together, even if you don’t like each other.”

You crossed your arms, your jaw tightening. “I don’t trust him,” you said bluntly, pointing at Young-il. “He’s a liability. And if we’re going to talk about things that are making it harder for everyone else, maybe we should start with him.”

Young-il’s smirk faded, and his expression hardened. “A liability?” he repeated, his voice low. “That’s funny coming from someone who spends more time complaining than actually contributing.”

“I contribute just fine,” you shot back. “The difference is, I don’t leave people to die or—”

“Enough!” Gi-hun snapped, his voice louder now, silencing both of you. Everyone went still, the weight of his frustration hanging in the air.

“I didn’t bring this up so you two could start another fight,” Gi-hun said, his tone heavy with disappointment. “I brought it up because we’re running out of time. The games are only going to get harder, and if we keep tearing each other apart, we’re going to lose. All of us.”

Jun-hee, who had been quiet until now, spoke up softly. “He’s right,” she said, looking at you and Young-il in turn. “We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to survive. And the only way to do that is if we stick together.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. You avoided looking at Young-il, your fists clenched in your lap, while he sat back with an expression that was unreadable.

Finally, Gi-hun sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not asking you two to be best friends,” he said. “I’m asking you to set this aside for now, at least. For the sake of everyone else.”

You hesitated, glancing at Jung-bae, who gave you a small, encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, you finally muttered, “Fine. But don’t expect me to trust him.”

Young-il shrugged, his tone casual but with an edge of sarcasm. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

Gi-hun looked between the two of you, his expression weary but relieved. “That’s a start,” he said. “Let’s just hope it’s enough.”

The group slowly began to relax, the tension easing slightly, but the unease lingered. You knew this truce was fragile at best, and with each passing game, the cracks in the group were only going to grow deeper.

The boat rocked gently on the waves as it cut through the dark waters, the group seated in tense silence as they made their way toward their dangerous destination. The air was cool, carrying the faint smell of salt and seaweed, and the sound of the motor hummed in the background. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting an eerie glow over the scene.

Jun-ho, Woo-seok, Y/S/N, Captain Park, and two others sat scattered across the deck, each lost in their thoughts. The mission they had undertaken was dangerous, perhaps suicidal, but for everyone on board, it was worth the risk.

Woo-seok glanced at Y/S/N, who was sitting near the edge of the boat, staring out at the open sea. After a moment, he cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Hey,” he said, his voice carrying over the hum of the motor. “I just wanted to say… I appreciate that you accepted our offer to help us find the island. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, especially with… well, trying to find your sister and all.”

she turned to him, offering a faint but sincere smile. “Yeah, it’s been years,” she said, her voice soft, tinged with a quiet determination. “But I haven’t lost hope. Not yet.”

Jun-ho, who had been leaning against the side of the boat, straightened up slightly at the mention of a missing sister. His sharp eyes studied her or a moment before he spoke. “You have a sister that you lost?” he asked, his tone calm but curious.

she hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” she said, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Actually, I’m a twin. She’s my other half. It’s been years since she went missing, but… part of me thinks she’s still alive.”

The group fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them like a heavy blanket. Even the sound of the motor seemed to fade into the background as everyone absorbed the revelation.

Jun-ho tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “A twin,” he repeated, as if the concept carried a special significance to him. “ I understand the feeling of Losing someone so close to you.”

she nodded, her jaw tightening as she stared out at the waves. “It is,” she admitted. “Sometimes it feels like a piece of me is missing. But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s out there somewhere, waiting for me to find her.”

Captain Park, who had been silent until now, let out a thoughtful hum. “That kind of bond,” he said, his gruff voice cutting through the silence, “it’s not something that just goes away. If you feel like she’s alive, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

she looked at him, her expression softening. “I hope so,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what I’ll find when I get to the end of this, but I have to try. I can’t give up on her.”

Woo-seok nodded, his usual bravado replaced by a rare moment of sincerity. “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you,” he said. “You’ve already made it this far. That’s more than most people could handle.”

Jun-ho leaned back against the side of the boat, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the conversation. “You’re stronger than most,” he said finally, his tone neutral but with a hint of respect. “But be careful. Hope is a double-edged sword. It can drive you forward, but it can also destroy you if you’re not careful.”

She met his gaze, her eyes steady. “I know,” she said. “But I’d rather hold onto hope than give in to despair. If there’s even the slightest chance that she’s alive, I’ll do whatever it takes to find her.”

Jun-ho studied her for a moment longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied with her resolve. The boat fell silent again, the conversation leaving a lingering sense of gravity among the group.

As the waves lapped against the sides of the boat and the island loomed somewhere in the distance, each person found themselves lost in their own thoughts. But for her, one thought remained clear: no matter what lay ahead, she would never stop searching for you.

The eerie melody echoed softly through the dimly lit dormitory, casting an unsettling calm over the room. Most of the players were fast asleep, sprawled across their bunks, exhausted from the day’s chaos. The faint hum of the music blended with the sound of slow, rhythmic breathing, masking the quiet rustle of footsteps.

You carefully slipped out of your bunk, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. The dim light from the surveillance cameras hung heavy over the room, but you’d memorized their blind spots by now. Moving swiftly, you navigated your way to the bathroom, the door creaking faintly as you pushed it open and slipped inside.

Once there, you leaned against the cool tile wall, taking a deep breath. The silence in the bathroom was a stark contrast to the noise of the dormitory, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax.

Minutes later, the door creaked again, and you immediately tensed, preparing for an intrusion. But when you turned to look, your guard dropped as a familiar figure stepped inside. Young-il moved with practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the space before settling on you.

“You’re doing well, jagiya,” he murmured, his voice low and almost teasing. “Playing your part like a professional.”

You smirked, your expression equal parts smug and amused. “Of course I am,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the wall. “Everyone thinks we hate each other. They think we’re just players like the rest of them, desperate to survive.”

Young-il chuckled, stepping closer to you. His usual air of arrogance seemed softer here, more intimate, as if the walls around him only came down in these stolen moments. “And in reality,” he said, his tone quiet but charged, “we’re married. Partners in every sense of the word. They don’t know who we really are.”

A sly smile spread across your face as you tilted your head, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And they don’t know that you’re the Front Man,” you said, emphasizing the title, “or, as Gi-hun so dramatically calls you, ‘the leader of the mask.’ And me?” You shrugged lightly, your smirk widening. “I’m the loving wife, hidden in plain sight.”

Young-il’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and affection as he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve always been good at this,” he said softly. “Better than anyone else. No one even suspects that you’re working with me, let alone who you really are.”

You laughed quietly, the sound low and bitter. “They’re too busy fighting amongst themselves,” you said. “All it takes is a little tension, a few carefully placed words, and they’re ready to rip each other apart. It’s almost too easy.”

Young-il nodded, his expression growing serious. “But don’t get too comfortable,” he warned. “The games are only going to get harder from here. And we can’t afford any mistakes.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smirk didn’t falter. “I know,” you said. “But don’t forget I’m the one keeping them distracted while you run the show behind the scenes. If anyone’s going to slip up, it won’t be me.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of your shared secret hanging in the air. Despite the danger, despite the lies, there was an undeniable connection between you, a bond forged in the fire of shared ambition and unshakable trust.

Young-il reached for your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Just remember,” he said, his voice low and steady, “no matter what happens, we’re in this together.”

You squeezed his hand, your gaze meeting his. “Always,” you said.

The moment was brief but electric, a stolen flicker of truth in a sea of deception. And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Young-il released your hand and stepped back, his expression hardening as he slipped back into his role.

“I’ll go first,” he said, glancing toward the door. “Wait a few minutes before you head back.”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps silent against the tile. Once he was gone, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself before stepping back into the world of lies you had so carefully crafted.

As you made your way back to your bunk, the music continued to play, its haunting melody a fitting backdrop to the dangerous game you were playing. No one in the dormitory stirred as you climbed into bed, your face a mask of calm as you prepared for whatever the next day would bring. The truth remained hidden, and the game went on.

The next morning, the dormitory was alive with the sound of shuffling footsteps and low murmurs as players begrudgingly pulled themselves from their bunks. The tension from the previous day lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable, as everyone moved through their morning routine with quiet efficiency.

Breakfast was a simple, tasteless affair some sort of watery porridge ladled into bowls, accompanied by stale bread. The players sat scattered across the large dining area, eating in relative silence, the weight of the games making small talk feel almost impossible.

You sat with your group, slowly poking at your food with your spoon. The others chatted quietly, trying to keep their spirits up despite the grim atmosphere, but you remained quiet, lost in your own thoughts.

That was, until you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye.

From across the room, you saw Young-il approaching with his tray, his expression as cool and unreadable as ever. He didn’t bother asking if the seat next to you was free he simply placed his tray down and sat, his presence as commanding as always.

You didn’t bother hiding your irritation. Letting out a dramatic sigh, you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Seriously?” you muttered, not even looking at him as you shoved your spoon into the mushy porridge. “Of all the places you could sit, you chose here?”

Young-il smirked, clearly unfazed by your tone. “Good morning to you too,” he said smoothly, picking up his spoon and taking a deliberate bite of his food. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time noticing where I sit.”

Your eyes snapped to his, narrowing in annoyance. “Noticing?” you shot back. “You’re impossible to miss, old man. You loom like a shadow, always showing up where you’re not wanted.”

A couple of the other players sitting by Gi-hun and Jung-bae, in particular exchanged uneasy glances, clearly bracing themselves for another round of bickering.

Jung-bae leaned over slightly, trying to diffuse the tension with a forced chuckle. “Uh, maybe we could focus on eating instead of, you know, arguing?” he suggested hesitantly.

Young-il ignored him, his smirk widening as he leaned back in his seat. “It’s funny,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “You say you don’t want me around, but here I am, sitting right next to you. Almost as if… you enjoy my company.”

You scoffed, turning your attention back to your food with a look of pure disgust. “Keep telling yourself that,” you muttered. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Hyun-ju, who was seated across from you, tried to suppress a giggle but failed, her laugh coming out as a soft snort. “You two are like oil and water,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you haven’t torn each other apart yet.”

“Give it time,” you muttered, stabbing your spoon into your porridge with more force than necessary.

Young-il, ever the picture of calm, leaned forward slightly, his smirk still firmly in place. “Oh, I think we’ve found a good balance,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “After all, every group needs a little… tension to keep things interesting.”

You glared at him, opening your mouth to retort, but Gi-hun quickly held up his hand, cutting you off. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said firmly, looking between the two of you. “Can we please just get through one meal without the two of you going at it? We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

You huffed, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Fine,” you muttered, though your eyes still flicked toward Young-il with a look of disdain.

Young-il, for his part, simply chuckled and went back to his food, his calm demeanor only fueling your irritation.

As the group settled into an uneasy silence, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. For all his arrogance and infuriating smugness, there was something about the way he carried himself. calm, unshaken, and always two steps ahead. that made it impossible to completely ignore him.

The rest of the meal passed in strained silence, the tension between you and Young-il hanging heavy in the air. But for the other players in their group, it was just another morning in the dormitory. another day of trying to survive the games.

The din of conversation filled the room as the players sat scattered in small groups, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony. Everyone was busy strategizing, bonding, or simply trying to make sense of their grim reality. The tension from the impending rebellion hung heavy in the air, but it seemed to energize the group rather than dampen their spirits.

Amidst the noise and chatter, no one noticed the quiet exchange happening between you and Young-il in a corner of the room. Leaning in slightly, you kept your voice low, your tone sharp and calculated as you spoke.

“Jung-bae told me what you did to that player during the Mingle game,” you began, your words laced with accusation and urgency. “Snapping his neck like that. He’s already starting to put pieces together, and if he decides to run his mouth to Gi-hun especially during the rebellion they’ll all turn on you.”

Young-il leaned back slightly, his expression calm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of annoyance. “He won’t,” he said, his voice measured. “Jung-bae knows better than to cross me.”

You shook your head, your lips curling into a smirk. “Don’t underestimate him,” you warned. “He’s already suspicious, and once the rebellion kicks off, he’ll have the perfect opportunity to expose you. If I were you, I’d take care of him before he gets the chance.”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Take care of him?” he echoed, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “And what do you suggest, jagiya? Should I just walk up to him and slit his throat in front of everyone?”

You rolled your eyes, your smirk widening. “Don’t be stupid,” you said. “You’re not going to do it as yourself. You’ll do it as the Front Man. Once everything goes down, you’ll have the perfect cover.”

Leaning closer, you spoke in a hushed tone, outlining your plan with ruthless precision. “Here’s what you’re going to do. When the rebellion starts, Gi-hun is going to split everyone into smaller groups, right? Jung-bae and Gi-hun will take the lead in one group while you’re left with two other players and tasked with taking out some of the soldiers.”

Young-il’s eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, his mind already working through the logistics of your suggestion.

“You’re going to kill those two players,” you continued, your voice cold and unrelenting. “Make it look like an accident or pin it on the soldiers doesn’t matter how you do it, just make sure they’re out of the way. Once that’s done, you’ll switch into your stulk and mask. No one will know it’s you.”

You paused for a moment, letting your words sink in before delivering the final piece of your plan. “When everything is under control and the chaos dies down, you’ll track down Jung-bae. He’ll probably be with Gi-hun. Once you do take him out, and make it clean.”

Young-il studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he leaned forward, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve thought this through,” he said, his voice low and amused. “Almost like you’ve been planning this for a while.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just looking out for us,” you said. “Jung-bae’s a liability, and liabilities have no place in this game. Besides, once he’s gone, Gi-hun will be too heartbroken and stop the rebellion.”

Young-il chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re ruthless, you know that?” he said, his tone tinged with admiration.

You smirked, your eyes gleaming with cold determination. “Ruthless keeps us alive,” you replied. “And if you want to stay alive, you’ll do exactly what I’ve told you.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the hum of conversation around you masking the weight of your words. Finally, Young-il nodded, a hint of resolve flashing in his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “Now, act normal. The last thing we need is anyone noticing we’re talking.”

Young-il smirked, his usual air of confidence returning as he leaned back and picked at his food. To anyone watching, it would seem like the two of you had simply exchanged a few words before going back to your meal.

But beneath the surface, the wheels were already in motion. As the rebellion loomed closer, so too did the shadows of betrayal and bloodshed. And in this game, only the ruthless would survive.

Later that day, the tension in the dormitory had eased slightly, and small groups of players were scattered around, talking in hushed tones or making plans for the Special Game. In one corner, Young-il sat with Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and a few of the others, his usually stoic expression marred by a rare look of irritation.

He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, and let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand how any of you can deal with her,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “She’s insufferable. Every time I so much as breathe in her direction, she’s rolling her eyes or making some snide comment.”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, glancing up from where he was sharpening a makeshift weapon. “You’re talking about Y/N, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Of course I’m talking about her,” Young-il snapped, his voice rising slightly before he forced himself to calm down. “Who else could make someone this irritated? She’s constantly on my case, acting like she owns the place.”

Jung-bae chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, to be fair, you don’t exactly make it easy,” he said. “You always manage to get under her skin. It’s like you’re trying to start a fight every time you two are in the same room.”

Young-il scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “I don’t try to start anything,” he insisted. “She just has a problem with me, and she doesn’t bother hiding it. The way she talks to me like I’m some kind of nuisance it’s infuriating.”

Gi-hun smirked, exchanging a knowing glance with Jung-bae. “You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “the way you’re going on about her, it almost sounds like you care what she thinks.”

Young-il shot him a sharp look, his expression darkening. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said firmly. “I couldn’t care less what she thinks of me. I’m just saying it’s exhausting dealing with someone who seems to hate me for no reason.”

Dae-ho who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “You sure it’s no reason?” he asked. “Maybe there’s more to it than you realize.”

Young-il frowned, his jaw tightening. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone defensive.

Dae-ho hrugged, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Sometimes people lash out because they’re hiding something,” he said. “Maybe she’s got her own reasons for acting the way she does. You ever think about that?”

Young-il opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself, his expression shifting into one of contemplation. For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, but he quickly shook it off, scowling. “Whatever her reasons are, they don’t justify her behavior,” he said firmly. “She’s rude, she’s disrespectful, and she’s impossible to work with.”

Gi-hun chuckled, shaking his head as he set his weapon aside. “You sound like an old married couple,” he said, grinning.

Young-il groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t even joke about that,” he said. “The thought alone is enough to make my blood boil.”

The group laughed, their voices echoing through the room, but Young-il’s irritation lingered. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he glanced toward where you were sitting with Hyun-ju and Min-su on the other side of the dormitory. You were laughing at something Min-su had said, completely oblivious to the conversation happening about you.

“I just don’t get it,” Young-il muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s her problem with me?”

Gi-hun patted him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Who knows?” he said. “Maybe one day you’ll figure it out. Until then, you’re just going to have to deal with it like the rest of us.”

Young-il let out another sigh, leaning back against the wall as the group returned to their conversation. But even as the laughter and chatter continued around him, his gaze lingered on you, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

The quiet hum of the boat's engine filled the air as your twin sat on the deck, staring out at the endless stretch of water. The faint scent of salt hung in the breeze, but the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken thoughts and shared determination. Jun-ho approached, holding a cup of water, and settled into a seat beside your twin.

For a while, they sat in silence, watching the waves ripple and crash against the boat. Finally, Jun-ho broke the quiet, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. “It seems to me,” he began, “that you and I have something in common.”

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Jun-ho offered a small smile, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. “I also have a lost sibling,” he said softly. “Except… it’s my brother.”

Her expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing her face. “Your brother?” She echoed.

Jun-ho nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. It’s been years since I last saw him. He disappeared without a trace, and I’ve been searching ever since. Sometimes it feels like I’m chasing a ghost, but… I can’t bring myself to stop. Not until I know the truth.”

She leaned back slightly, her arms resting on the edge of the boat as she studied him. “I get that,” she said quietly. “When someone you care about vanishes, it’s like a part of you goes missing too. You can’t move on because there’s always that question. what if? What if they’re out there, waiting for you? What if you’re the only one who can find them?”

Jun-ho nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Exactly,” he said. “Sometimes people tell me to let it go, that it’s been too long, but… I can’t. He’s my brother. If there’s even the smallest chance he’s still alive, I have to keep looking.”

She glanced down at her hands, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wooden deck. “I feel the same way about my sister,” she admitted. “We’re twins, so it’s even harder. It’s like… a piece of me has been missing all this time. No matter how much I try to focus on other things, there’s always this emptiness. This feeling that she’s out there somewhere, and she needs me.”

Jun-ho looked at her, his expression softening. “That must be hard,” he said. “Being a twin means you share a bond that most people can’t even begin to understand. Losing that… it must feel like losing a part of yourself.”

She nodded, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “It does,”she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I wonder if she even remembers me. If she’s alive, if she’s safe, if she’s happy… I’d give anything to know the answers.”

Jun-ho placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said. “And I know how hard it is to keep hoping when it feels like the whole world is against you. But you’re not alone in this. We’re going to find that island, and maybe just maybe we’ll find some answers along the way. For both of us.”

She looked at him, her expression softening as a flicker of gratitude appeared in their eyes. “Thanks,” she said. “It helps, knowing someone else understands.”

Jun-ho offered a small smile, his hand falling back to his side as he leaned against the railing. “We’ll find them,” he said with quiet determination. “Your sister, my brother… we’ll figure it out. One way or another.”

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence again, the weight of their shared loss hanging between them. But amidst the sorrow, there was also a sense of quiet resolve a determination to keep going, no matter how impossible the odds seemed.

As the boat continued to cut through the water, she glanced at Jun-ho, their expression thoughtful. “You know,” she said, “for someone I just met, you’re pretty easy to talk to.”

Jun-ho chuckled, the sound light but genuine. “Likewise,” he said. “Maybe it’s because we’ve both been through the same kind of pain. Makes it easier to understand each other.”

She smiled faintly, her gaze returning to the horizon. “Maybe,”she said. “But either way… thanks.”

Jun-ho nodded, his own gaze following hers. “Anytime,” he said simply.

And with that, the two of them fell into a companionable silence, the sound of the waves filling the air as the boat carried them closer to the answers they both so desperately sought.

The dim light of the dormitory flickered faintly as the night wore on, the murmur of conversation dwindling as exhaustion began to settle over the players. You glanced around, noting how most of them were either dozing off or too preoccupied to notice you slipping away. Smoothing down your expression to hide any suspicion, you stood up casually and muttered something about needing the bathroom.

No one paid you much attention as you made your way towards the door, your footsteps quiet against the cold floor. Once inside the bathroom, you took a deep breath, the air thick with the faint scent of bleach. You leaned against the sink for a moment, your reflection staring back at you in the cracked mirror.

Moments later, the faint creak of the bathroom door opening made you straighten up, your muscles instinctively tensing. Before you could turn around, a familiar hand grasped your wrist, pulling you away from the sink and back against a solid chest.

“Couldn’t wait, could you?” Young-il’s voice was low and teasing, his breath warm against your ear.

You smirked, your pulse quickening as you glanced up at him. “Took you long enough,” you replied, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

He chuckled softly, his other hand coming to rest on your waist as he leaned in closer. “You should know by now I’m not one to leave you waiting.”

Before you could retort, his lips crashed against yours, his kiss urgent and possessive. Your back hit the cool tiles of the wall as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you closer. The world outside the bathroom faded away, the tension and chaos of the games momentarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the moment.

Your hands found their way to his shirt, clutching the fabric as if anchoring yourself. There was something electric about the way his lips moved against yours, a mix of frustration, passion, and unspoken promises in every movement. It was a stark contrast to the way you had to act around each other in front of the others hostile, distant, like sworn enemies.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy but steady. “You’re playing your part really well,” he murmured, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Making them think that we’re at each other’s throats.”

You tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “That’s because we are,” you said lightly, though your fingers still lingered on his chest. “At least, that’s what they think.”

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let them think that,” he said. “It keeps them off our trail. No one suspects a thing.”

You nodded, your expression growing more serious. “Good. Because if they did, everything we’ve worked for would fall apart. You’ve got your role to play, and so do I. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

Young-il’s smile softened, and he pressed a brief kiss to your forehead. “No mistakes,” he agreed. “We’ve come too far for that.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the quiet of the bathroom offering a rare sense of intimacy amidst the chaos. But all too soon, the weight of reality began to press down on you again. You straightened up, smoothing down your clothes as you stepped away from him.

“We should go back before anyone notices,” you said, your voice steady but laced with reluctance.

He nodded, his usual stoic expression slipping back into place as he adjusted his shirt. “You first,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

You smirked, giving him a playful glance over your shoulder as you opened the door. “Don’t take too long, old man,” you teased before slipping out into the hallway.

As you walked back to the dormitory, your heart still racing, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. No one would ever suspect the truth. that the constant bickering and hostility between you and Young-il was nothing more than a carefully crafted façade.

And as you took your seat among the other players, acting as if nothing had happened, you felt a strange sense of satisfaction. In this deadly game where alliances shifted like sand, the bond you shared with Young-il was your greatest secret and your greatest weapon.

The tension in the dormitory was palpable as Gi-hun gathered the group to discuss the rebellion. The players sat in a loose circle, their faces marked with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The dim, flickering light cast long shadows on the walls, adding to the somber atmosphere.

Gi-hun stood in the center, his arms crossed as he addressed the group. “Alright,” he began, his voice firm but calm, “we’ve all agreed that we can’t keep playing their twisted games. If we don’t take a stand now, we might never get another chance. So, we need a solid plan for the rebellion.”

The group murmured in agreement, nodding along as Gi-hun laid out the basics of his idea. He spoke about timing, positioning, and how they’d need to use the chaos of the next game to their advantage. Everyone listened intently, some adding their own thoughts or suggestions.

Then, as Gi-hun paused to let the group absorb the information, Young-il, who had been leaning casually against the wall, cleared his throat. “I’ve got a suggestion,” he said, pushing off the wall and stepping into the circle.

You raised an eyebrow, already bracing yourself for whatever nonsense he was about to say.

Young-il crossed his arms, his tone calm but confident. “Instead of focusing on spreading ourselves thin across the dormitory or the arena, we could just use brute force. If we overpower a few guards early on, we could take their weapons and use them to control the situation. It’s straightforward and doesn’t require much coordination.”

For a moment, the group was silent, processing his words. Then you let out a scoff, your arms crossing over your chest as you fixed him with a sharp glare. “That’s… that’s a dumb plan,” you said bluntly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just like you.”

A few chuckles rippled through the group, but Young-il didn’t flinch, his jaw tightening as he looked at you.

“I’m serious,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with irritation. “It could work if we all commit to it.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, leaning back on your hands. “Oh, sure,” you said, your voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Let’s all risk everything on your ‘brute force’ strategy and hope the guards just magically hand over their weapons. Brilliant idea, genius.”

Young-il narrowed his eyes, clearly growing more annoyed, but before he could retort, you leaned forward, your tone sharp and cutting. “Actually, I’ve got a better plan,” you said, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “We could sacrifice you.”

The room went silent for a moment, the tension thick as the group processed your words. Gi-hun let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, while a few others exchanged awkward glances.

“Sacrifice me?” Young-il repeated, his tone incredulous.

You shrugged, your smirk widening. “Think about it,” you said, your voice light but laced with venom. “You’re big and loud. perfect distraction material. While the guards are busy dealing with you, the rest of us could slip away or take control of the situation. It’s actually the first useful thing you’d contribute to this group.”

A few stifled laughs broke out among the group, and even Gi-hun couldn’t help but crack a small smile despite himself.

Young-il stepped closer to you, his expression darkening. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“And you’ve got a lot of bad ideas,” you shot back, meeting his glare without flinching.

Gi-hun quickly stepped between the two of you, holding up his hands to keep the peace. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “We don’t have time for this. We need to work together if we want this rebellion to succeed.”

You huffed, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Fine,” you muttered, though the annoyance in your tone was clear.

Young-il gave you one last glare before stepping back, his jaw clenched as he returned to his spot by the wall.

Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair as he addressed the group again. “We need a plan that doesn’t rely on brute force or unnecessary risks,” he said. “Let’s focus on strategy and coordination. If we work together, we can pull this off.”

The group nodded, slowly returning their focus to the task at hand. But even as the discussion continued, the tension between you and Young-il lingered, an unspoken reminder of the complicated dynamics within the group.

The waves crashed gently against the hull of the boat, a rhythmic sound that matched the faint sway of the vessel as it cut through the water. The night sky stretched endlessly above, filled with stars that seemed to twinkle with quiet indifference to the turmoil brewing below. Your twin leaned against the railing, staring out at the horizon with a mix of determination and unease.

Jun-ho approached, his footsteps light but purposeful. He carried a thermos in one hand and two tin cups in the other. “I figured you could use something warm,” he said, his tone casual but carrying a hint of understanding.

She glanced over her shoulder and offered a faint smile. “Thanks,” she said, taking one of the cups as he poured some tea into it.

The two stood in silence for a moment, sipping from their cups and listening to the sound of the waves. There was a heaviness in the air, an unspoken weight they both carried, though neither seemed ready to address it outright.

“You know,” Jun-ho said finally, his voice quiet, “this feels like a never-ending circle. The searching, the questioning, the dead ends… sometimes it feels like no matter how far I get, I always end up right back where I started.”

She nodded, her grip tightening slightly on the cup. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It’s like every lead brings more questions than answers. I keep thinking I’m getting closer, but then something happens, and it all falls apart again. It’s exhausting.”

Jun-ho leaned against the railing beside you, his gaze fixed on the dark expanse of water. ”How long has it been since your sister went missing?” he said, more a statement than a question.

She nodded,her expression softening as a flicker of vulnerability crossed her face. “It’s been years ago,” she said quietly. “It was like she just vanished into thin air. No clues, no trace… nothing. A part of me wonders if I’ll ever find her, but I can’t bring myself to stop looking. It’s like… if I give up, then I’m admitting she’s gone.”

Jun-ho’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he listened. “I get that,” he said, his voice low. “I’m searching for my brother. It’s been years, but I can’t let it go. I’ve uncovered bits and pieces. just enough to keep me going, but not enough to find him. And every time I think I’m getting close, something or someone gets in my way.”

She turned to look at him, her brows furrowing. “Someone?”

Jun-ho hesitated, his gaze flicking to the deck as if debating how much to say. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’ve been on this trail for a while now, and there’s always been this… shadow. People who seem determined to keep me from finding the truth. At first, I thought it was just bad luck, but now I’m starting to think it’s deliberate.”

Her expression hardened, her free hand gripping the railing. “You think someone’s trying to stop you?”

Jun-ho nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t just think it. I know it. Someone doesn’t want me getting close to the island. And I can’t shake the feeling that whoever it is, they know more about my brother’s disappearance than they’re letting on.”

The two of them exchanged a tense look, the weight of their shared suspicions settling over them.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Captain Park stood below deck, his sharp eyes scanning over a map spread out on the table. He traced a line with his finger, marking the boat’s course. In his other hand, he held a small, black device a secure line to the Front Man.

The distorted voice of the Front Man came through the receiver. “Report.”

Captain Park’s jaw tightened as he spoke. “We’re en route to the island,” he said. “Everything’s proceeding as planned. But there’s a complication.”

The voice on the other end was cold and unyielding. “Explain.”

Captain Park glanced at the staircase leading up to the deck, his expression dark. “One of the passengers. Jun-ho. he’s been asking too many questions. He’s getting closer to the truth.”

There was a pause, and then the voice replied, “Keep him away from the island. Whatever it takes. Do not let him uncover anything. Understood?”

“Yes,” Captain Park said, his tone flat. “Understood.”

As he ended the call, his gaze hardened, and he turned back to the map. For years, he had been following orders, playing his part in the larger scheme. His loyalty to the Front Man was unwavering, but there were moments brief, fleeting moments when he questioned the morality of his actions.

Above deck, Your twin and Jun-ho continued to talk, oblivious to the storm brewing below.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said firmly, her determination cutting through the doubt. “Whatever it takes, we’ll find them. Your brother, my sister… we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Jun-ho nodded, a faint but genuine smile breaking through his usually guarded expression. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We will.”

But even as the two of them reaffirmed their resolve, Captain Park stood in the shadows, his loyalty to the Front Man ensuring that their journey would be anything but smooth.

The group had gathered once again in the corner of the dormitory, their voices low as Gi-hun laid out the next steps for the rebellion. The plan was delicate balancing timing, coordination, and the element of surprise. Everyone leaned in, listening intently, their expressions tense as they hung onto every word.

Young-il, standing with his arms crossed and an air of confidence that didn’t match the room’s energy, suddenly spoke up. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice cutting through the conversation, “what if instead of splitting up like Gi-hun said, we all rush the guards at once? Overwhelm them with numbers. They won’t expect us to come at them head-on.”

The room went quiet for a beat, everyone glancing around to gauge the reaction. You let out a loud, exasperated groan, throwing your head back dramatically before fixing Young-il with a pointed glare.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice heavy with annoyance. “That’s your brilliant plan? Rushing the guards like a bunch of idiots?” You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. “It’s like you’re trying to find the fastest way to get us all killed. Do you even think before you open your mouth?”

Young-il’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he stared you down. “I’m just trying to contribute,” he snapped.

You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Contribute? The only thing you’re contributing is a higher body count for their side. Do you ever stop to consider how stupid some of your ideas are? It’s better if you just keep your mouth shut, honestly.”

The group exchanged awkward glances, unsure whether to intervene or let the two of you go at it. Even Gi-hun seemed at a loss, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to keep the discussion on track.

Young-il took a step closer to you, his voice rising. “And what’s your plan, then? Since you’re so much smarter than everyone else.”

“Oh, I have a plan,” you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “And it doesn’t involve running into gunfire like a lunatic. But hey, if you’re so eager to play hero, we could always sacrifice you instead.”

That earned a few stifled chuckles from the group, though most of them quickly looked away when Young-il’s glare swept over them.

“Why Sacrifice me?” he repeated, his tone incredulous.

You smirked, leaning forward slightly as if daring him to argue. “Yeah, why not? Think about it, you’re loud, stubborn, and completely disposable. Perfect for drawing attention while the rest of us get actual work done. The only thing you’re good at is when you’re eating, so unless you plan on shoving food into the guards’ mouths to slow them down, I don’t see how you’re useful.”

A ripple of laughter broke through the tension this time, though Gi-hun quickly raised his hand to quiet the group. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, stepping between you and Young-il before things could escalate further.

You huffed, crossing your arms again as you leaned back against the wall. “I’m just saying,” you muttered under your breath, “some of us are trying to survive this, not get everyone killed.”

Young-il glared at you one last time before retreating to his corner, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite hear.

Gi-hun sighed, rubbing his temples as he turned back to the group. “Can we focus, please?” he said, his tone exasperated. “We don’t have time for this. We need a plan that’s smart, coordinated, and gives us the best chance of surviving. If anyone has constructive suggestions, now’s the time to share them.”

The group murmured their agreement, shifting uncomfortably as they tried to refocus on the task at hand. You glanced at Young-il out of the corner of your eye, catching the frustration etched into his face.

“Good talk,” you muttered sarcastically under your breath, earning a few stifled smiles from the group.

Despite the tension, the conversation moved forward, though the air between you and Young-il remained thick with unspoken animosity. And as Gi-hun continued to lay out the rebellion’s details, you couldn’t help but wonder if Young-il’s presence in the group would end up being more trouble than it was worth.

The group was gathered in the dimly lit corner of the dormitory once again, the tension thick in the air as the weight of the upcoming rebellion loomed over everyone. Gi-hun had been explaining some of the risks they might face, but you could tell the group’s morale was shaky. Everyone knew the next game dubbed the “Special Game” was going to be brutal. If they wanted to stand a chance at survival, they needed a strategy, and they needed it fast.

You leaned forward, sitting cross-legged on the floor, your sharp eyes scanning the group. “Alright, listen up,” you said, your voice cutting through the hushed murmurs. “I’ve got an idea.”

Everyone turned to you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and desperation. Even Young-il, leaning against the wall with his usual smug look, seemed mildly interested, though his arms remained crossed in defiance.

You took a deep breath and began laying out your plan, your voice steady and confident. “When the Special Game begins, we already know what’s going to happen. ‘Team O’ are going to trying to eliminate us. Which is known as ‘weeding out the weakest,’ or whatever twisted logic they call it i. But we’re not going to play into their hands.”

The group leaned in closer, hanging on your every word. Even Gi-hun looked impressed by how quickly you’d taken control of the conversation.

“We’ll start by hiding under the beds,” you continued, gesturing around the room. “It’s not about being scared or weak. it’s about strategy. If we stay out in the open, we’re sitting ducks. Hiding under the beds, we’ll have the element of surprise. The soldiers will come in, guns blazing, stopping special game. and checking if the players are dead, But that’s when we make our move.”

A ripple of understanding passed through the group as they began nodding, murmuring in agreement.

“When they start shooting at the players, we’ll spring out and catch them off guard,” you said, your tone sharp and determined. “We’ll fight back, disarm them, and take their guns. Once we’ve got their weapons, it’s game over for them. They’ll realize they’re outnumbered, and most of them will retreat.”

You paused, letting your words sink in before adding, “But there’ll always be one one soldier who refuses to give up, who thinks he can be a hero. That’s the one we’ll corner. We’ll force him to cooperate, make him take us to the control room. And that’s where we’ll find the leader of the mask.”

The room was silent for a moment, everyone processing the boldness of your plan. Then, one by one, they began nodding, murmuring their approval. Even Gi-hun gave you a small, approving smile.

“That’s a solid plan,” Geum-ja said, her voice steady.

“Yeah, it could actually work,” Yong-sik agreed, his expression brightening with hope.

The murmurs grew louder as more players voiced their agreement, a newfound sense of determination spreading through the group.

You smirked, leaning back slightly and crossing your arms. Your eyes landed on Young-il, who was glaring at you from his spot against the wall. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect, though he clearly wasn’t ready to admit it.

“See?” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Everyone loves my idea better than yours. That’s what you call woman power.” You gave him a pointed look, your smirk widening. “And be happy, Young-il. That I didn’t sacrifice you.”

A few members of the group chuckled at your jab, though they quickly stifled their laughter when Young-il’s glare swept over them.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Young-il muttered, his tone low and defensive.

You shrugged, unbothered by his reaction. “I’m just saying,” you replied, your voice light but laced with sarcasm. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before suggesting one of your dumb plans.”

Gi-hun stepped in before things could escalate, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “Alright, let’s not waste energy arguing,” he said, his voice firm. “Y/N’s plan is solid, and if we stick to it, we have a real chance of turning the tide. Let’s focus on preparing and making sure everyone knows their role.”

The group nodded, their focus returning to the task at hand. Even Young-il seemed to begrudgingly accept the plan, though the tension between you two remained palpable.

As the meeting continued, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. For once, the group was united, and your plan had given them a glimmer of hope. You just hoped that when the time came, they’d all be ready to act and that Young-il wouldn’t find a way to screw it up.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink as your twin and Jun-ho stood at the edge of the boat, the waves crashing gently against the hull. The conversation between them had grown more personal over the past few hours, their shared goal of finding their missing siblings acting as an unspoken bond that pulled them closer.

She leaned against the railing, staring out at the water, her expression distant. “You know,”she began softly, “it’s been years, but I’ve never stopped looking. Every day, I wake up thinking that today could be the day I find her. My twin… my other half.”

Jun-ho, standing beside her, nodded in quiet understanding. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his voice low. “When my brother went missing, it felt like a part of me disappeared with him. I’ve spent every waking moment since trying to figure out what happened to him. It’s like… until I find him, I can’t let myself move on.”

She glanced over at Jun-ho, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone’s absence can take up so much space in your life.”

Jun-ho returned the smile, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Yeah. It’s like everything else fades into the background, and all that matters is finding them.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of the ocean filling the space between them. Then Jun-ho spoke again, his tone lighter this time. “You know, once we find the island and you find your twin and I find my brother maybe we should celebrate.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jun-ho with a curious look. “Celebrate how?”

Jun-ho grinned, a rare flash of playfulness breaking through his usually serious demeanor. “How about dinner? You and me, somewhere far away from all this madness. A real meal, no rations, no guards, no games. Just good food, good company, and no stress for once.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “You’re already planning dinner, huh? We haven’t even found the island yet.”

“Hey,” Jun-ho said with a shrug, his grin widening. “It’s called optimism. You can’t survive something like this without a little bit of hope.”

She smiled, her gaze softening as she looked back at the horizon. “You’ve got a point,” she admitted. “And honestly? A real meal does sound nice. Something to remind us that there’s still life outside of all this.”

Jun-ho nodded, his expression turning more serious. “Exactly. Once this is over, we deserve to have something to look forward to. Something to remind us why we’re fighting so hard to get through this.”

She glanced at him, a hint of gratitude in her eyes. “You’re not bad at this whole motivational speech thing, you know that?”

Jun-ho laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t get used to it. I’m usually more of a ‘keep to myself’ kind of guy.”

“Well,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips, “I’ll hold you to that dinner, then. But only if we both make it out of this alive.”

Jun-ho extended his hand, his expression serious but with a glimmer of determination. “Deal. We both make it out, and dinner’s on me.”

She took his hand, shaking it firmly. “Deal.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the boat in shadows, the two of them stood side by side, their shared resolve strengthening their bond. Though the journey ahead was uncertain and fraught with danger, the promise of a simple dinner a moment of normalcy in a world of chaos gave them both a sliver of hope to hold onto.

The dormitory had fallen into a heavy silence as everyone began settling in for the night. The faint sound of the guards’ footsteps echoed in the distance, blending with the rhythmic hum of the facility’s ventilation system. Players shuffled to their assigned areas, whispering final words to each other before pulling up their thin blankets. Despite the stillness, there was an undercurrent of tension a quiet storm brewing as everyone braced themselves for what was to come.

You sat on your bed, leaning against the cold wall as you absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread on your sleeve. The rebellion was so close now, the plans coming together perfectly. But the weight of everything your role, the deception, the risks hung heavy on your chest. You couldn’t afford any slip-ups. Not now.

As you were lost in thought, you noticed a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Moments later, Young-il appeared beside you, his expression smug as he casually leaned against the edge of the bed.

“Marriage power,” he murmured with a sly smirk, his voice low enough that no one else would hear.

You glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“That’s what I’m calling it,” he said, his smirk widening. “You called it ‘woman power’ earlier, but let’s be real—our teamwork, our strategy… that’s what’s really keeping this rebellion together. It’s marriage power.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Young-il chuckled softly, lowering his voice even further. “Do you think one of the soldiers is going to reveal themselves during the rebellion?”

You sighed, leaning forward slightly as you considered the question. “You know it’s happened before,” you said quietly. “It’s happened multiple times. And if it happens again, you know what we do.” Your eyes locked with his, a steely determination in your gaze. “We take them out, no hesitation. But we also need to be smart about it. We have to make sure that we have soldiers securing the control rooms and all of the places.”

Young-il nodded, his expression serious now as he listened intently. You continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking… during the rebellion, you could fake your death. It’ll throw everyone off, especially Gi-hun and his team. They won’t see it coming.”

A spark of intrigue flickered in Young-il’s eyes. “Faking my death, huh?”

You nodded, leaning closer. “Once everyone thinks you’re gone, you’ll slip away and change into your normal clothing and wear the mask. Then you’ll have the perfect opportunity to get to Jung-bae. You can eliminate him as the Frontman, and no one will suspect a thing.”

Young-il’s smirk returned, a dark glint in his eyes. “And Gi-hun?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Gi-hun will be heartbroken,” you said without hesitation, your tone cold and calculated. “Jung-bae is his best friend. When Jung-bae dies, the guilt is going to eat him alive just like it did when he first joined the games back in 2020.”

Young-il let out a low chuckle, his smirk widening. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

You shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “It’s not about being ruthless. It’s about surviving. And if Gi-hun’s guilt can be used against him, we’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.”

Young-il’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “I wish I could kiss you,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost drowned out by the hum of the room. “I miss kissing you.”

Your expression softened for a brief moment, and you glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Don’t worry,” you said softly. “Soon, this will all be over. And when it is, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

Young-il nodded, his smirk returning as a hint of mischief danced in his eyes. “Gi-hun and his little team will regret ever messing with us,” he said, his voice dark. “The Frontman and his wife aren’t just players. they’re the real architects of this game. And the games will continue. No one else is stronger, smarter, or more cunning than us.”

You allowed yourself a small, conspiratorial smile, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. And when this is over, no one will even remember Gi-hun or his rebellion. The games will stay, and we’ll be the ones pulling the strings.”

Young-il straightened up, his confidence radiating from him as he cast one final glance around the room. “Soon,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Very soon.”

With that, he slipped away into his bed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The rebellion was coming, and so was the final act of your carefully crafted plan. All that was left now was to wait for the perfect moment to strike.