#skilled silent deadly

[kaiijo]

ok. bllk and jealousy rate. how jealous can they get over their gf and what do they do to cope lmao

HOW JEALOUS IS HE? — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kunigami rensuke, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, oliver aiku content: gn! reader (request says gf but reader is gender neutral) notes: some of these are lowkey toxic, minor spoilers for kunigami’s character arc, nagi is taller than reader

most jealous: bachira, rin, reo 

bachira meguru ✶

bachira has many, many insecurities. growing up isolated and without many friends, he is more possessive of those he’s close to, which obviously includes you. he just doesn’t want to lose you, which manifests itself in jealousy over anyone he perceives as a threat to your relationship

bachira gets really clingy when he’s jealous. he thinks that inserting himself into the situation, sometimes literally wedging himself between you and the other person. he usually chooses to drape himself over you, nuzzling into your neck and speaking low enough that only you hear, trying his best to divert your attention. third-wheeling is pretty uncomfortable for the other person, especially with the smiling sneer bachira’s shooting at them, so they make a quick irish exit 

itoshi rin ✶

an egoist to his very core, rin can get very jealous. while he’s very sure of himself in nearly every other part of his life, he knows that he is not an ideal partner a lot of the time, though he’ll never admit it. he’s not the most expressive or the most patient, and he’s sure that there are better partners for you out there. 

when rin’s jealous, it’s a silent but deadly thing. like when he’s locked in on the ball in a game, his focus you and his ‘competitor’ is unwavering. he stalks over to stand behind you, his chest bumping right up against your back, and he snarls, “what the hell do you want, you mediocrity?” usually the other person backs off after seeing rin’s bone-chilling glare but if they’re bold enough to answer back, rin bares his teeth and is poised to strike. it’s probably best if you diffuse the situation quickly before it gets uglier  

mikage reo ✶

we already know how jealous reo was over nagi so it’s safe to say that he’s definitely very jealous. having been bored with the world and other people for so long, he’s thrilled when you two get together. it makes his very protective of you and he wants to be one of the most, if not the most, special person in your life. 

reo can go a couple of ways when he feels jealous over someone else but it think his primary response is to tear down the person methodically. he tilts his head a little, looks the person up and down, and notes everything about their appearance — hair, skin, clothes (including brand and cost) and criticizes every little thing. it’s a strategic move in his opinion, using observational skills and knowledge he had given his upbringing to pick apart the other person. he also might make some underhanded comment that includes that he has a black card 

less jealous: isagi, kunigami, sae 

isagi yoichi ✶

he definitely gets jealous from time to time but he doesn’t feel the need to act on it a lot. he’s pretty mature and for the most part level-headed (plus his ability to piece together future events helps him keep his cool a lot). this doesn’t mean that he isn’t jealous 

when isagi is jealous, he’s sulky. he won’t take immediate action and watch from afar, arms crossed and a little pouty. he tries to look as dejected and as ‘wet-cat pathetic’ as possible to make you feel bad and come over to comfort him. when you inevitably do, looping your arm through his and kissing his cheek, he can’t help but smirk at the other person like a cat who go the cream 

kunigami rensuke ✶

i debated where to put kunigami since there are ‘two sides’ to him — pre- and post-wildcard. pre-wild card kunigami is definitely a lot less bothered; he trusts you 100% and is 100% confident and secure in your relationship and himself. post-wild card kunigami is less chill and more forceful. he’s not a hero anymore but even as he plays a more ‘villainous’ role in soccer, he won’t cross that line in your relationship. he’s still very secure in you and himself, but he’s more protective of your relationship. definitely a ‘i trust you/us but it’s other people i’m worried about’ kind of guy

when pre-wild card kunigami got jealous, he won’t act in the moment and will talk to you about it afterwards, in a private setting. open lines of communication were important to him and working out problems like this. post-wildcard kunigami is all stormy looks and intimidation. like rin, he also stands behind you but in less actively aggressive way and more just to be threatening. it’s 95% effective and the 5% of times it doesn’t work, kunigami is not above muscling the other person away 

itoshi sae ✶

i thought about putting sae in the ‘most jealous’ section but i just think that he is someone whose jealousy simmer just beneath his apathetic surface. he sees most other people as beneath him and believes that they are not worthy of speaking to you, let alone hitting on you, but because he’s sees them as so beneath him, he can’t be bothered half the time to do anything since they’re simply not worth it. he gets the most jealous when it’s people who he can potentially view as equals, like other professional athletes 

when he’s jealous, sae literally just pretends they don’t exist, only talking to you. if the other person tries to interject, he sends them a sideways glare — the only acknowledgment of their existence — and then turns away to continue whatever conversation, suggesting that you both get away from the other person as quickly as possible. if ignoring the person doesn’t work, sae doesn’t shy away from spewing vitriol at the other person

least jealous: nagi, oliver, michael

nagi seishiro ✶

simply put, being jealous is a hassle to nagi. it makes him too hot and too annoyed for him to want to feel it so he suppresses the feeling a lot. nagi’s height is already intimidating enough for most people so they don’t approach you when they see you two together but that isn’t a deterrent to everyone

when nagi gets jealous, he does one of two things: just gives a thousand-yard stare that freaks people out or he gets whiny and clingy. his stare is eerie and silent, and the lightness of his eyes doesn’t help it. he towers over you like some cryptid companion. when he gets whiny and clingy, nagi tugs at your sleeve and asks drily, “can we go yet? why are you still talking to them?”

oliver aiku ✶

sigh… oliver is undoubtedly someone who thinks and knows he’s the shit. with so many women and men alike fawning over everything about him, his ego is through the roof. he has very little worry about you leaving him for someone else. honestly, he finds it amusing most of the time when someone attempt to draw you away from him, and let’s it play out a lot for his own entertainment. of course, he’ll intervene if it’s making you uncomfortable but he also believes you can handle yourself 

when oliver gets jealous, he acts as casual as possible. he’s friendly towards the other person and but it’s not hard to uncover that it’s all fake, whether it’s from the glint in his eye or the way his smile is stiff and forced. common tells when he gets jealous is that he pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek or he clenches his teeth and inhales softly but sharply.  he employs the good old tactic of calling the other person the wrong name and making all kind of underhanded comments that slowly chip at their nerves. (“haruya? haruki? oh! you’re haruto! right, right, you know, they’ve never mentioned you before! crazy, huh?”) 

michael kaiser ✶

kaiser in german literally means ‘emperor,’ and it’s no secret that kaiser views himself as one. similar to sae, he see himself as so above others that he’s not even bothered by other people hitting on you. it displeases him greatly, sure, but these cockroaches will never be able to steal you from him so why should an emperor deal with the plebians? the only time that ever happens is when a peasant is particularly forceful and then, kaiser intervenes

when he gets jealous, kaiser puts on a show. if there’s one thing about him, he’s a bit of a drama queen. he will absolutely posture and puff out his chest at the offending person, looking down his nose arrogantly and smirking. he makes a big display of wrapping himself around you, gripping firmly at your hips and saying, “liebling, you’re very charitable to entertain this insect, but it’s time to end this ruse.”

[wqnsho]

crossroads | hwang in-ho x fem! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after losing his wife, hwang in-ho buried his emotions. but when he meets you, a player in his deadly games, his carefully guarded walls begin to crumble, forcing him to confront feelings he thought he’d left behind. *.✧ word count: 20.3k (i'm deadass) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, mentions of exploitation and abduction, implied suicide, additional character (player 143 - hanni) , usage korean words and suffixes, angst, fluff. reader has no canon age but has a kid. backstory is inspired by acrobatic silky from dandadan. your number will be 132. *.✧ note: requests are open! (please). I wrote this to the entirety of squidgame season 2, so it's gonna be long. (from the second game till the end). i wanted to add an oc decided to add my baby hanni instead so i hope it doesn't come off as cringe. part 2 will be posted once season 3 comes out :D i love in-ho so much he's so yummy. masterlist | request here

As everyone shuffled into the area for the second game, Hwang In-ho smirked beneath his mask, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. Among the players, Gi-hun stood out, his gaze darting around the unfamiliar room. Instead of the playground with shapes on the walls that promised, the players were met with two gigantic circles on the floor. Discontent quickly erupted as the crowd realized they’d been tricked. Voices rose in anger, some calling him a fraud, others voicing their disappointment. Most dispersed in frustration, but In-ho, ever the calculated observer, comforted his "friend" with feigned concern. Inside, however, he was ecstatic.

In-ho, operating undercover as "Young-il," watched Gi-hun carefully. He observed the way his mind worked, his expressions shifting as he processed the situation. Every movement and every decision captivated him. This “hero” was an enigma In-ho couldn’t stop studying.

The guards began dictating the rules of the second game. Instead of the anticipated Dalgona candy challenge, players were introduced to the Six-Legged Pentathlon. Teams of five would have their legs tied together and had to complete a pentathlon on a circular path within five minutes. Failure meant elimination.

The scramble to form teams began. In-ho found himself grouped with Gi-hun and two others, players 388 and 390. They needed one more member, and player 388 eagerly volunteered to recruit. Soon, he returned with player 096. Before they could finalize, a loud yet nervous voice interrupted them.

"Excuse me, can she join your group?"

All eyes turned to you and another woman, player 222. Your determined gaze contrasted with 222’s startled expression.

In-ho’s eyes scanned you, noting the [hair characteristic] [hair color] hair framing your tired but kind [eye color] eyes. Your presence radiated something unusual for this cutthroat environment. As 222 tugged at your arm, whispering protests, you stood firm, making it clear your decision was final.

"I'm sorry, but we're already—" In-ho began, only to be cut off.

"Please," you pleaded, your voice steady. "She's pregnant."

The words hung in the air, silencing any objections. Reluctantly, they agreed, replacing 096 with 222. You bowed deeply in gratitude, offering an apologetic smile to 096 before turning to leave.

"I'm really sorry about that," you said earnestly. "But if you'd like, can you team up with me? I'm very skilled at gonggi. I promise! Cross my heart!"

Player 096 hesitated before nodding, following you to form a new team. As you and 096 walked away, two pairs of eyes lingered on you—In-ho’s, as he silently praised your selflessness, and 222’s, her expression a mix of guilt, gratitude, and betrayal.

In-ho couldn’t shake his fascination. Your kindness, despite in a setting like this, reminded him of someone dear, slowly stirring feelings he thought long buried.

Luck favored In-ho’s team; they were the last to compete. This allowed ample time to strategize as they observed the others. Your team’s turn came, and In-ho found himself unexpectedly invested. You and your teammates executed the challenges flawlessly, clearing the first four games in under three minutes. As your team moved on to the final station, In-ho couldn’t suppress a small sigh of relief. But that relief quickly turned to tension when the last player started messing up.

In-ho’s gaze never wavered from you. He knew your team was skilled, but with only 30 seconds left, the stakes were higher now. His heart raced, the pressure mounting as the seconds ticked down. Would they pull it off? The jegi soared into the air, and In-ho held his breath, watching with bated anticipation. The first kick, then the second, the third… each landing perfectly, and still, there was no room for error. It was the final kick that would determine everything. His pulse quickened as your teammate sent the jegi flying, and with one flawless strike after another, they nailed the fifth and final kick.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but all In-ho could hear was the pounding of his own heart. The relief that washed over him felt far too intense. He paused. Why was he cheering so loudly? Why was he worried? His eyes lingered on you as your team crossed the finish line, your victory adding warmth to his chest that he couldn’t explain.

His mind raced, trying to shake off the strange emotions. But then—[eye color] clashed with his black ones, and the world around him seemed to stop for a brief, breathless moment. There was no game, no betrayals, no stakes. It was just the two of you, alone in your own world. You gave him a small wave, and his chest tightened. He waved back, but the gesture felt like a lifetime of unspoken words.

As you were escorted away, the warmth lingered, and In-ho stood there, rooted to the spot, wondering why his chest felt so heavy and yet so alive.

Back in the main area, you found yourself bonding with a cheerful teen, Player 143. Since the first game, you, 143, and 222 had found a quiet camaraderie. You found 143 comforting 222 at the corner at the finish line and decided that you’ll protect those two with all your might. 143 had a bubbly energy that reminded you of home. Her lighthearted teasing about your "crush" on 001 made you laugh, despite the grim circumstances.

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, you little rascal," you replied, ruffling her hair. Her youthful spirit was a balm in this harsh environment, offering a welcome distraction from the tension of the games.

The conversation shifted as she shared bits of her past. Hanni, as she revealed, told you that her debt stemmed from an exploitative contract with her peers, which promised fame and opportunities but left her and her friends in the dark about everything. Despite the weight of her story, she kept her optimism, her dreams still burning brightly. You couldn't help but wonder how someone so young had ended up in such a terrible game, but something was inspiring about her ability to hold onto hope in such a hopeless place.

When she asked about you, you hesitated for a moment but then decided to share. "My name’s [Name]," you began. "I’m a fashion designer and a part-time preschool teacher. I also… have a talent for guns."

Hanni’s eyes widened in surprise. "Guns? How does that fit into designing clothes and teaching kids?"

You chuckled softly. "It’s a long story. Let’s just say I’ve always been drawn to shooting ranges. It started as a hobby, and somehow, it turned into something I’m pretty good at."

You paused, feeling the weight of the conversation shift. The topic of your debt hung in the air. You faltered, not sure whether to open up, but the teen’s unassuming curiosity made you want to share more.

However, before you could speak, the last group of players returned, signifying the end of the game. Hanni immediately perked up, her attention shifting to Player 001 and their group as they found a place to sit together, which was conveniently located just a few steps from your bed. She gave you a sly grin before playfully pointing toward him with her eyebrows.

"Hey, hey, unnie! Look, it’s your man!" she whispered-yelled, clearly enjoying playing matchmaker.

You chuckled before waving her off with a signal to be quiet. The last thing you needed was for word to get out about your little crush, especially in the middle of a deadly game.

As you shushed Hanni, she had other plans. With rapid hand gestures, she invited Player 222 over to your small corner. The unsuspecting woman gave the two of you a confused look before excusing herself from her group of men and heading your way.

When she reached you, you both greeted her gently, concern evident in your voices.

“Welcome back unnie! Congrats on finishing the game, I knew you could do it!”

"How are you feeling? Is the baby alright? Are you in any pain?"

Player 222, shook her head and waived off your concerns, giving a small smile. "I’m alright. Thank you for asking."

Hanni, the chatterbox, didn’t waste a moment. "By the way, unnie, can we know your name? I really don’t know what to call you other than 222. You don’t have to tell us if you’re not comfortable, though!"

Player 222 chuckled softly at the teen's eagerness. "Well, I suppose I could introduce myself." She smiled and then shared her name—Kim Jun-hee. She explained how she had been scammed, abandoned by her boyfriend, and now found herself here, in this deadly game, pregnant and alone.

You offered her your sympathy, relating to her pain. You’d been in similar situations, dealing with your own painful experiences with men over the years. "Unfortunately, we all have our stories," you said, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. "We just have to keep going, don’t we?"

The three of you sat there for a while, chatting about your pasts, your dreams, and your shared longing for a life outside of this twisted game.

"When I get out and get justice, I’ll become a popular idol with my friends!" Hanni declared excitedly, her eyes shining with ambition.

You and Jun-hee exchanged surprised glances, both of you impressed by her optimism despite everything. "You’ll definitely make it, Hanni. You have the spirit for it," Jun-hee encouraged her with a smile.

"Of course we will! And when you’re on TV, you better send us some VIP tickets for your show!" you added, making Hanni beam.

"You better pose cutely for those photocards, okay?" Jun-hee teased.

Hanni shot her a playful look. "Of course! Will this pose be enough?" She asked as she gave a dramatic pose, and you all laughed.

"Hey!" Hanni looked at the two of you with an exaggerated pout. "You’re not doubting me, right?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "No, no, I’m sure you’ll make it. Just don’t forget us when you're famous, alright?"

As Hanni and Jun-hee bickered over the finer details of idol life, you couldn’t help but smile with a bittersweet feeling in your chest. These two didn’t deserve the cards they’d been dealt, and they certainly didn’t belong in this twisted game. But at least for a brief moment, you all found comfort in each other’s company.

You silently prayed for them—no, for all of you. For everyone here who didn’t deserve to be part of this nightmare. You hoped you could all make it out alive and live better lives. But deep down, you knew the path ahead would be treacherous, and the price of survival would be steep.

The conversation ended when the pink guards entered the room. Everyone watched in anticipation as the guards displayed the updated prize pool: 20.1 billion won, or 78,823,530 won per person, with 255 players still alive. The room was suddenly filled with murmurs. Most were in disbelief that the money per person was still under 100 million, some even demanded a recount. The guards paid no attention to the chatter and continued speaking.

"We always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. Therefore, you will take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not. Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here, please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner."

Once the guard finished speaking, Jun-hee ushered the two of you to join their group. Hanni nodded with a smirk before standing up. You rolled your eyes, hoping she won't cause a scene once she made her way down. "The two of you go first. I'll follow you shortly," you said, making hand gestures for them to go ahead. Thankfully, the two of them followed without question, although you were sure Hanni whispered something to Jun-hee as they walked down the stairs.

With the girls out of sight, your gaze drifted back to the piggy bank hanging from the ceiling. ‘78 Million won...’ The number flashed in your mind, but instead of the excitement you’d hoped for, a deep sense of emptiness settled within you. Your hand unconsciously rubbed your stomach as memories of what was lost surged into your thoughts.

A pained expression flickered across your face as you stared at the money. It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough to make up for everything you had sacrificed, everything you had lost.

“Just one more game...” You whispered to no one in particular.

The moment you made your way down to the others, the group welcomed you warmly. You offered a polite smile and greeted them back. As was customary, you bowed to the familiar men you had met earlier.

"Thank you again for accepting Jun-hee into your group earlier. I’m glad you all got out safely," you said, your voice sincere.

"Ah! No, no, don’t worry about that, it’s all fine!" Player 390 immediately replied, his voice light and reassuring. He waved his hand dismissively. "If anything, we should thank you! That girl quickly finished her game, gave us much more room to breathe."

You smiled at his words, feeling a small spark of warmth. "Really? Well, I’m glad. Before we found you, she kept boasting about her skills in ddjaki and how she won multiple times with the salesman. Glad to know she wasn’t lying."

Jun-hee rolled her eyes at your comment before giving you a playful shove. You laughed, brushing it off before turning your attention back to the group.

"My name’s [Name] by the way. [Last name], [Name]. I’d rather you call me that rather than this stupid number," you said with a teasing grin.

The rest of the group followed suit, introducing themselves in turn. Player 456 was Gi-hun, Player 390 was Jung-bae, Player 388 was Dae-ho, and last but not least, Player 001 was Young-Il—whose name, when revealed, earned an unexpected pinch from Hanni. You tried not to show any discomfort at the gesture, but you couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. Who were you to ruin a teenager’s fun, though?

As everyone continued to chat, the conversation quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm. It was just nice to talk with someone, anyone, who wasn’t a threat to your survival.

“Woah, ex-marines, huh? I don’t tell this to anyone, but I have a collection of guns at home…” you mentioned, trying to make light of the situation.

“That so?” Jung-bae remarked, his tone casual, as if discussing firearms was just another part of his day.

“Woah, that’s so cool! When did you start collecting?” Dae-ho chimed in with enthusiasm, genuinely interested.

“Let’s see... maybe when I was 19? That’s when I got introduced to shooting ranges, and that’s where my addiction started,” you replied with a nostalgic smile. The conversation felt like a brief escape from the madness of the games.

But then, just as quickly as it began, the conversation slowed. You couldn’t help but notice that, in the midst of it all, everyone was still acutely aware of the situation—life or death hung over every word. You looked up once more at the piggy bank. The money glinted in the low light, but it didn’t comfort you. It only served as a reminder of how far you had come and how much you had lost.

You stared at it for a while, lost in thought. The weight of everything—the game, the choices, the people who would never make it out—pressed down on you, and it was hard to escape the ache in your chest. Your mind wandered, consumed by memories and questions, as you stood frozen in place. Too engrossed in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice familiar black eyes fixed on you. In-ho watched your every move intently, shamelessly staring as you absentmindedly stared into oblivion. His gaze was steady, silently studying you from where he stood. But you were too lost in your thoughts to feel it. There was something about you, something he couldn’t quite place, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It wasn’t the same as before—his cold indifference slowly shifting into something else he didn’t know how to name.

Maybe it was the way you carried yourself despite everything. Or maybe it was the faint sadness he saw in your eyes, something that mirrored his own. But as he continued to watch, something unfamiliar stirred inside him—an unsettling warmth that didn’t make sense, something that he thought he stopped feeling a long time ago. He quickly turned his attention away, pretending to focus on the group.

But that warmth lingered, an ache in his chest that refused to fade. What was it about you?

Hanni gave you a playful shove, snapping you out of your trance. Her bright smile flickered for a moment, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You could feel her gaze linger on you, a slight shift in her expression that suggested she noticed something was off. You returned a hesitant smile, one that you hoped would mask the swirl of thoughts in your mind.

As the group huddled up, you quickly placed your hand on top of the pile, trying to shake off the discomfort despite the underlying tension. Hanni’s smile faded as she watched you, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Something in her seemed to pause, a flicker of doubt creeping into her gaze as if she was starting to see through the facade you were putting up.

It was as if she could tell that there was more to looks, something that wasn’t quite aligned with what you let on. But, instead of pressing, Hanni gave a soft shrug, her playful demeanor returning. Yet, the doubt lingered in her eyes, like she wasn’t fully convinced of the person she found comfort in.

"In one, two, three... Victory at all costs!" Hanni and Dae-ho shouted, their voice full of energy despite the dark atmosphere.

"Victory at all costs!"

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

Young-il's gaze swept over the six of you, his eyes calm, but with an unwavering trust and determination in them. He nodded subtly at Gi-hun, as he began to move forward without hesitation. As he stepped up to cast his vote, you exchanged a brief, fleeting moment of eye contact with Young-il. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, but there was something else there too. You couldn't quite place it, but it made your chest tighten. The moment passed quickly, and you looked away, focusing on the task at hand.

When it was finally your time to vote, you felt the weight of everyone's eyes on you, but you didn’t allow yourself to meet anyone’s gaze. You couldn’t stomach the judgment, the disappointment that would be there. Instead, you stepped forward, heart pounding, and pressed the "O" button, committing to the choice you knew you had to make. A cold knot formed in your stomach as you did, but your mind remained focused. You weren’t about to back down now, no matter what the others thought.

As you turned and walked back to your side, you kept your head low, trying to hide the turmoil brewing inside. You heard some murmurs around you, a mix of disbelief and anger from your teammates, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. The guilt gnawed at you but so did the hope that this one last game would be enough. You glanced at the piggy bank hanging overhead, feeling the weight of the prize pool, but also the weight of your decision.

The voting ended with 140 votes for “O” and 117 for “X,” meaning the third game would proceed tomorrow. Some players cheered, relieved that they could move forward, while others were disappointed, worried for their survival. You stood frozen as the room around you buzzed with varying reactions. You could feel the stares of your team members who clearly weren’t happy with your decision. You couldn’t meet their eyes, couldn’t bear to see the betrayal there.

Jung-bae’s hand suddenly clapped on your shoulder, pulling you out of your reverie. You looked at him, searching his face for some sign of judgment. Your eyes went down and stared at the "O" patch on his tracksuit. His gaze was full of understanding, a silent comfort that you couldn’t quite put into words. He gave you a quick nod before turning his back, signaling the two of you to move forward, away from the team.

You ignored the whispers, and the betrayed looks from Dae-ho and Hanni. You couldn’t let it matter now. Call it selfish, call it greed, but 78 million won was not enough. Just one more game, and then maybe, just maybe you could end this.

Once the guard handed you your food, you took it mechanically, your hands numb as you walked back to your bed. You couldn’t face anyone—not Hanni, not Jun-hee, and especially not the ones who still believed in you. The weight of their disappointment was more than you could bear. Before you could even sit down, a loud voice called out for you.

"Hey! [Name]ya!" The sudden intrusion startled you. You turned, your heart racing in your chest, and saw Jun-hee and Hanni behind you. The former’s concern was written clearly across her face.

“Why?” she asked softly, her voice trembling.

You avoided her gaze, not trusting yourself to speak. “I... I have my reasons,” you said, your voice cracking just a little, even though you tried to sound convincing.

Hanni, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, muttered under her breath, "I hope it’s worth it." Her words were heavy with something you couldn’t quite define—was it disappointment? Concern? Either way, it cut deeper than you expected. You wanted to say something, anything, to make her understand, but you couldn’t. Not now. Not when everything felt so fragile.

Before you could open your mouth, two sets of hands grabbed each of your arms, forcing you to stand up. With a startled yelp, you asked, "What are you doing?" in a nervous tone. The two remained silent, their grip firm as they dragged you toward where the group was sitting. You quickly noticed that Jung-bae was also being pulled along by Dae-ho, confusion and tension radiating from him. It wasn’t until you reached the group that the weight of everyone’s gaze settled on you. You couldn’t escape the questioning looks from your teammates.

You and Jung-bae exchanged guilty glances before finally looking your teammates in the eye. “I… I’m very sorry, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, Young-il,” you started. Jung-bae hesitated for a moment before following your lead, offering a quick bow. “I’m sorry too, Hanni, Jun-hee, Young-il… Gi-hun, I’m sorry.”

When nobody acknowledged your apologies, Jung-bae went on to explain his reasoning, his voice faltering slightly. “You see, I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and kid. If I play one more game, I think I’ll be able to settle my debt. So—”

“Jung-bae.” Young-il cut him off sharply. His tone was cold, his expression unreadable, as if disappointment weighed heavy on his words. “You of all people shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t righteous, not twice, not even once.”

The words stung more than Jung-bae expected, and the silence between them grew thick. Without waiting for Jung-bae to respond, Young-il turned to you, his gaze steady and searching. “And you,” he began, his voice quieter but no less firm, “You’ve made your own choice,” He continued, his voice measured, “but don’t try to justify it as something you had no control over.”

You looked at him one more time before looking down, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest, tightening your throat. Your mind raced, but there was no way to explain it—not to them, not to yourself.

“I know…” you whispered, the guilt rising like a tide, swallowing your words. “And I’m truly sorry…”

The sincerity in your apology felt hollow. You had made the decision. No one had forced you, but the pull of the money, of the chance to end it all, had made it feel like a necessity. And yet, as you stood there, with their disappointed gazes burning into you, it felt more like a betrayal than a choice.

“But looking at the results, even if you two voted against it, we would still have been outvoted,” Young-il said, his voice calm, like he had already made peace with it.

“Right? So it’s not really our fault,” Jung-bae added quickly, trying to make light of the situation.

Dae-ho, who had been quietly observing, scratched his head and gave Jung-bae a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Honestly, I get why you did it. Even for me, ¥78 million isn’t enough. So when I went to vote, I really thought about going for ‘O’ too.”

Hanni and Jun-hee didn’t say much. They nodded, agreeing in silence but not wanting to add anything more. Everyone was feeling the pressure. The reality of it all was sinking in too fast.

Jung-bae, still holding on to hope, added, “Next game, I promise. I’ll—”

“Next game?” Gi-hun’s voice cut through the air, sharp and honest. “Next game, we might have to kill each other.”

The room went still at his words. Everyone seemed to freeze. Gi-hun was right, and his words hit harder than anyone expected. No one spoke right away; the thought of what might happen in the next game was too much to face. The quiet grew heavy as the reality of what they were really up against settled in.

You opened your mouth to say something but stopped when Young-il spoke up. “Gi-hun, that’s a bit much. We all know there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s just stay focused. We need to eat, get ourselves together, and prepare for the next round.”

With that, he handed his milk carton to Jun-hee, saying he didn’t drink plain milk. Jung-bae did the same, offering his bread to Hanni, saying he didn’t deserve to eat. Everyone’s gestures, though small, felt like they were all trying to comfort each other in their own way, but it only made the situation more real.

Dae-ho, trying to lighten the mood, asked for Jung-bae's milk carton, but when the male shot him a glare, he stayed quiet, not wanting to argue.

A soft laugh slipped out of you, and without thinking, you handed your milk to Dae-ho. He immediately accepted it with a soft, grateful smile and mumbled a quiet thanks. 

You found yourself sitting next to Young-il, feeling more tired than you’d ever felt before, the mental and physical exhaustion had settled into your bones, dragging you down. The male was silent beside you, his presence heavy yet comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel his gaze on you. It wasn’t intrusive, just there—steady, unyielding, like a silent support.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice low and steady. “You did what you had to do.”

You blinked at him, not sure whether to be relieved or uncomfortable. “Did I?” you asked softly. “I voted to keep going. I went against you all. I wanted to believe it would be worth it, but I’m not sure anymore.”

“You can’t change it now,” he said, his tone gentle, almost comforting. “We all made our choices. It’s over. What matters now is what we do next.”

For a moment, you felt a knot in your chest loosen. He turned to you, his gaze unwavering, “You made a choice,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And no one else can tell you whether it was right or wrong.”

The simplicity of his words hung in the air. You couldn’t fix what had been done, but hearing those words from him somehow made it feel a little less like you were alone in your decision. The guilt that had gnawed at you seemed to quiet, even if just for a brief moment.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. There was a quiet sincerity in it, more than you realized. It was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t known you were craving.

He nodded once, acknowledging your thanks with a slight tilt of his head. “Don’t mind what Gi-hun and I said earlier,” he murmured, his voice steady but softer now. “In a place like this, it’s hard not to be on edge. Everyone’s just trying to survive.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. “Yeah… I get it. It’s just hard to not feel like the bad guy sometimes.”

“You’re not,” he said simply, his gaze meeting yours for a moment before shifting away. “We all made our choices. Doesn’t make anyone better or worse. Just… human.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and before you knew it, the two of you had slipped into an easy conversation. It wasn’t much, shared observations about the others, light teasing about Dae-ho being comparable to a golden retriever, favorite movies and hobbies, but it felt like a break from the weight pressing down on you both.

At one point, you let out a genuine laugh, surprising even yourself. Young-il turned his head, his gaze curious as he asked, “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, a small smile still lingering on your lips. “I don’t know,” you admitted, brushing a hand over your face as if to hide the slight flush there. “Maybe it’s just everything… or nothing. Maybe I just needed to.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening slightly, though he still didn’t smile. “Laughing over nothing, huh? Guess there’s worse ways to handle this mess.”

“You should try it,” you said lightly, teasing just enough to test the waters.

He huffed, not quite a laugh but close, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe one day.”

For a little while, it was just the two of you, sharing quiet moments and fleeting bits of lightness in the shadow of everything else. The sound of quiet conversations and muted movements surrounded you, but it all felt distant, like you and Young-il existed in a world apart from everyone else. Eventually, the men began excusing themselves to head toward the bathroom. Young-il stayed seated a moment longer, his reluctance obvious in the way he lingered.

“You’re stalling,” you teased softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

He huffed, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Go. They’re waiting for you, and if you stay any longer Dae-ho might wet the floor.”

He chuckled. For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze meeting yours. “Fine,” he said, shaking his head as he stood slowly, there was a flicker of something—playful or thoughtful, you couldn’t quite tell. As he walked away, you watched him join the others, the soft smile still lingering on your face.

Once the coast was clear, Hanni slid over almost immediately, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Jun-hee joined her just as quickly, both of them zeroing in on you like a pair of mischievous siblings ready to pounce. “You’re smiling,” Hanni said, a teasing tone lacing her words.

Jun-hee, tilted her head, her expression somewhere between amused and curious. “We’ve been with you since the first game and that’s not like you. Care to explain?”

You blinked, immediately feeling awkward. “Really? Now? In a place like this?”

Hanni leaned closer, her expression turning more playful. “C’mon, we’re not gonna bite. Just curious.”

With a chuckle, you let out a dramatic sigh before rubbing your temples. “This isn’t the time for that. We’re stuck in a death game, not a dating show.”

“So, what you’re saying is if we are in a dating show you would totally go for him?”

You raised an eyebrow at Hanni, a smirk tugging at your lips. "I never said that," you replied, shaking your head in disbelief.

Jun-hee joined in, her voice teasing but not unkind. “Come on, don’t play coy with us. You have to admit, something’s up.”

You let out a sigh, but this time it was more amused than anything. “You two are unbelievable.” You leaned back, trying to shift the mood. “Look, it’s not like that. We’re just… having a conversation. It's not that deep.”

But they didn’t back off. Hanni gave you a knowing look, her eyes twinkling. “Having a conversation my ass! You’re out here giggling like a highschooler!”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

You crossed your arms, trying to hide the smile creeping onto your face. “I’m not giggling, I’m just—” you paused, trying to find the right words, “I’m just… enjoying the conversation, alright?”

Jun-hee leaned in, her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. “Uh-huh. Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help yourself from laughing again. “Just so you know, we’re stuck in a life-and-death situation, and I’m way past the age of having crushes and all that nonsense.”

Hanni leaned back with a satisfied grin, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Sure, whatever you say! We’ll let you off the hook for now, but don’t think we’ve forgotten.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. Despite the playful banter, the weight in your chest lightened. The tension between you all had shifted, and for the first time in a while, things didn’t feel so heavy. The teasing was light, comforting, and in the middle of everything that was going on, it was exactly what you needed.

You gave her a half-smile. “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?”

Jun-hee joined in with a gentle laugh. “Probably not. But it’s good to see you smile for once, even if we’re making fun of you.”

“You two are such troublemakers, you know that?”

Hanni shrugged innocently. “What can we say unnie? We just like seeing you flustered!”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed on your face. “Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Lights out in ten minutes. Please prepare for bedtime.”

Currently, you and the group were passing out mattresses, following Gi-hun’s insistence that all of you sleep on the floor together, huddled under one of the bed frames with someone keeping watch. While the rest of you questioned whether such precautions were necessary, none dared to speak up, not wanting to provoke Gi-hun’s temper.

As you handed a mattress to Dae-ho, who passed it to Jung-bae, the latter decided to voice what everyone else was thinking. “Hey, is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there.”

Gi-hun didn’t look up as he smoothed a blanket onto the floor. “Once the lights go out, someone might attack us.”

That caught everyone’s attention. Kneeling down to sort through pillows and blankets, You, Dae-ho, Jun-hee and Hanni paused, curiosity piqued. “Why would anyone do that?” Dae-ho asked cautiously.

Gi-hun let out a humorless chuckle. “The prize money goes up every time someone dies. It’s part of the game they designed.”

You frowned, giving his words some thought. At first, his claim seemed far-fetched, but the more you considered the desperation you’d seen in yourself and in others—the way some eyes lingered too long on the prize board—it started to make an unsettling kind of sense.

“That’s insane,” Jung-bae muttered, shaking his head. “Nobody’s that cold. Nobody’s gonna—”

“Nope, Gi-hun is right. You shouldn’t be so sure,” you cut in, your tone sharper than usual. All eyes turned to you. “We’re lucky to have each other, but outside of this group? Desperation changes people. If someone thinks they have a better chance alone, or if they’re blinded by that kind of money, they won’t hesitate.”

Young-il narrowed his eyes at you, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “You’re saying we should expect someone to try and kill us tonight?”

You shrugged, your expression grim. “I’m saying we’d be stupid not to prepare for it.”

The weight of your words settled over the group like a heavy blanket. Even Hanni and Jun-hee, who usually tried to keep things light, exchanged uneasy glances. Gi-hun nodded as if your words confirmed everything he’d been thinking.

“Well,” Dae-ho said after a moment, his voice forced and upbeat, “at least we have each other, right?”

“Exactly,” Gi-hun said, setting down the last mattress. “We stick together, we’ll make it through. Now, everyone settle in. And keep your eyes open.”

Reluctantly, the group followed his lead, arranging themselves in a tight circle under the frame. You caught Young-il’s eye as he sat down across from you, his expression unreadable but his gaze steady.

Morning arrived faster than you expected, and soon, the guards were leading you to the next game.

The circular room you entered was unsettling. Bright, white walls surrounded a massive platform in the center, and atop it stood three eerie carousel horses, their painted eyes glossy and cold. Around the perimeter of the room were several doors, painted with plain colors.

You stared in quiet dread, trying to piece together what this setup might mean. The atmosphere was heavy, the air almost suffocating.

A light shove jolted you back to reality.

“You okay?”

Young-il stood beside you, his hand brushing your arm. His face, though calm, held a trace of worry as he took in your frozen stance.

“Stay close to me,” he said firmly. “And don’t freeze up now. I know it’s hard, but mistakes…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Just don’t make any. Not here.”

You nodded, swallowing hard, and forced your legs to move as the guards directed everyone to the platform.

The rules were announced in the same monotone voice you’d grown to fear. This game wasn’t just a test of strength or skill—it was a race against time. Mingle. A game where players had to form groups according to the number that appeared and enter a room within 30 seconds. Failure to do so meant death.

The tension in the room became unbearable as the platform filled with nervous shuffling.

Hanni, standing beside you, clutched at your jacket with trembling hands. Her grip was tight and desperate, her pale face mirrored the fear you felt but tried to bury.

You placed a steadying hand over hers. “Stay close to us okay?” you murmured, glancing at her wide, frightened eyes. “We’ll figure this out.”

The platform began to spin, the movement disorienting as the room blurred around you. An eerie, childlike song played from unseen speakers, the melody jarring in its mockery of innocence.

Just as nausea began to creep in, the platform screeched to a halt.

12

Panic erupted immediately. Players screamed and shoved, desperate to find others to form a group.

“We need two more!”

“Who has five?”

Gi-hun moved quickly, scanning the chaos. He approached a nearby cluster of players, tapping one on the shoulder. “How many are you?”

“Four,” Player 120 replied.

“That makes us eleven,” Jung-bae said, pulling the rest of you closer into a huddle.

Before you could fully regroup, others swarmed around, shouting over one another in frantic bids for survival.

“Join us! We’re five!”

“No, come with us! We’re seven!”

The crowd was chaos. People were being pulled apart and dragged into groups as the countdown loomed. Hanni clung tighter to you, her breathing uneven. Suddenly, Player 120 ran off and dragged a woman toward your group. Her face was pale, and her steps stumbled as if she could barely keep up with the force pulling her forward.

“Here! This makes twelve!” Player 120 shouted, shoving the woman into your group before anyone could react.

“Come on,” you urged, grabbing Jun-hee and Hanni by the arms. “Let’s go. Stick close to me.”

Gi-hun directed your group to room 44. One by one, you made sure everyone got through the door, your eyes scanning for anyone falling behind. Once inside, Young-il slammed the door shut.

The locks clicked as the timer hit zero.

A chilling silence followed before the sound of gunfire tore through the room. Cries of desperation from players left behind filled the air, only to be abruptly silenced.

Hanni trembled violently, her hands covering her ears. You knelt beside her, brushing her hair back in an attempt to soothe her. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” you said, though your own hands weren’t quite steady.

The tense quiet was broken by a sudden, sharp voice.

“You are all alive thanks to me!”

The outburst came from the woman 120 dragged, her wild eyes scanning the group. She began to approach Jun-hee with a strange intensity, her smile twisted and unsettling.

You immediately stepped in front of the girl, blocking her from view. Your movements were calm, but your heart pounded as the woman’s gaze landed on you instead.

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “There’s a reason you’ve lived this long,” she said, her tone cryptic. “A reason you were brought here.”

Her words hung heavy in the air as she looked past you, her focus shifting to Gi-hun.

Before she could say more, the announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, listing the eliminated players. The doors unlocked. Everyone returned to the platform.

Another round began.

4

All seven of you froze, exchanging frantic glances. The tension in the room was suffocating, everyone hyper-aware of the seconds slipping away.

"I'll find one more," you said abruptly, already moving before anyone could protest.

Gi-hun called after you, his voice strained with alarm, but you were already lost in the chaos.

"Wait—!" Hanni started to follow, but Gi-hun grabbed her arm.

"No!" she yelled, pulling against him. "You go! I’ll wait for [Name]-nim!"

"But—"

Young-il stepped in, placing a firm hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder. "Go, Gi-hun. She won’t move unless [Name] is back. I’ll stay with her."

Gi-hun hesitated, his jaw clenched. He looked between them and the dwindling time before nodding sharply. "Take care of them."

Without another word, he ushered Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and Jung-bae into a room. Once inside, Gi-hun hesitated to shut the room, opting to keep it open for a bit as he watched over your group.

Meanwhile, Young-il stayed by Hanni's side, his sharp gaze darting through the chaos, searching for any sign of you. The noise of panicked shouts and pounding footsteps filled the air, but he barely noticed. Instead, his attention was fixed on the spinning platform and the frenzied crowd.

Hanni clung to his arm, her small frame trembling against his. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, her grip tightening with each second that passed. Young-il glanced down at her, his usually stern expression softening for a moment.

"You’ll be okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm around them. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, giving her a firm yet gentle pat.

Hanni didn’t seem to hear him. Her lips moved in a near-silent mantra, repeating over and over, "Please come back. Please come back."

Her words hung heavy in the air, a fragile plea against the backdrop of chaos. Young-il’s jaw tightened as he turned his focus back to the crowd. He had to believe you would return, not just for Hanni's sake—but for all of theirs.

Inside the room, Dae-ho’s voice broke the silence. "Will they make it?" he asked, his tone trembling. Gi-hun didn’t respond, his gaze fixed outside, searching for any sign of you. With ten seconds left, hope began to waver—until a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Hey! I found someone! Let’s go!"

Bursting into sight, you ran towards an empty room with Player 256 in tow. Without hesitation, you grabbed Young-il’s outstretched hand, pulling everyone toward the door. The locks clicked shut just as the timer hit zero.

Inside, your legs gave out, but before you hit the ground, you felt a strong pair of arms catch you. Young-il steadied you, his worried face inches from yours.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low but urgent.

You nodded quickly, pulling yourself upright. "Thanks," you said, flashing a weak smile before turning to Player 256, who looked pale and shaken.

"Are you alright? Sorry for dragging you like that. I just saw you on the floor and didn’t think twice."

The young man gave you a pained smile, his breaths still uneven. "I’m fine. Thank you—really. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead."

You patted his shoulder gently, suppressing a sigh. "What’s with young people getting into so much debt these days?"

Before you could say more, a small figure collided with you, wrapping their arms tightly around your waist.

"Don’t ever leave me again, unnie." Hanni sobbed, her voice muffled against your shirt. Warm tears soaked through the fabric as she clung to you.

Your heart twisted at her desperation. "I can’t promise you that, Hanni. But Jun-hee’s always there when I’m not okay?" you murmured, gently running your hand through her hair, trying to soothe her.

Her grip on you loosened a little, but her wide eyes stayed locked on you. “I know… but I still need you two with me,” she whispered, her voice shaky but full of that same hope she always had.

You gave her a soft smile, brushing away a tear that had fallen down her cheek. “We’re not going anywhere,” you said, holding her just a little tighter.

The announcer’s voice suddenly boomed through the speakers, listing the names of the eliminated players. The stark reminder of the game’s stakes sent a chill through the room.

As the list ended, you glanced toward Young-il. His eyes betrayed the fear he had been holding back, relief washing over his face as he met your gaze. For a brief moment, it felt like the world had paused, the chaos outside fading into the background.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He gave a small nod, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The sound of the doors unlocking snapped you both back to reality. Player 256 bowed deeply to you before sprinting off, murmuring another hurried "thank you" as he disappeared into the crowd.

Taking Hanni’s hand, you and Young-il moved quickly to find the rest of your group. Voices called your names, and you followed the sound until you spotted them.

"There they are!" Jung-bae shouted, relief evident in his tone.

Young-il barely had time to react before Jung-bae threw his arms around him in a tight hug. Meanwhile, Jun-hee rushed toward you and Hanni.

The three of you broke into a tangle of hugs, clutching each other tightly, the fear and relief of survival intertwining in an unspoken bond.

“I knew you were gonna be okay!” Jung-bae exclaimed in relief, pulling Young-il into a tight hug. Jun-hee did the same with you, and you returned the hug, pressing a few affectionate forehead kisses on her before patting her head gently. Gi-hun looked at you and Young-il, his face breaking into a relieved smile. “I was so worried. I’m glad you all made it.”

“Luckily, [Name] found someone in time. If she stayed with us a little longer, she might’ve had a hard time,” Young-il chuckled, praising you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “If anything, I was lucky. I found the guy on the ground. I hope he’s okay.”

The two of you then turned to Jun-hee, asking if she was alright. She reassured you, telling you how glad she was that the three of you came back safely.

“Wait a minute.” Young-il’s voice cut through the conversation. Suddenly, all eyes were on him. “If the next number is eighth, then we won’t need anyone else, right?”

Everyone looked at him with confused expressions. “Why?” Dae-ho asked, genuinely curious. Young-il didn’t respond immediately; instead, he just nodded, thinking.

Jung-bae snapped his fingers, pointing at Jun-hee’s stomach. “Ah, it’s in her tummy.”

A sudden realization spread across Dae-ho’s face as he finally understood. “Ohh, that’s right. That makes eight.” The group shared a lighthearted laugh, while Hanni rolled her eyes, quietly laughing to herself. She muttered something about how corny the joke was. You couldn’t help but laugh, pinching her cheek and telling her to just go with the flow.

“What if it’s twins? Triplets?” you joked.

Amid the laughter, a pair of lingering eyes belonging to Player 333 was watching the group with an unreadable look on his face.

The atmosphere shifted slightly before you were all instructed to return to the platform. The tension in the air was palpable. Another round started.

3

“You three, go–” Gi-hun began, but Young-il cut him off.

“No. I’ll go. You stay with them.”

You all looked at him in surprise, not wanting to leave him behind. However, there was no time to waste. With a determined nod, you immediately grabbed Jun-hee and Hanni before running toward the nearest room. Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and Dae-ho followed closely behind, while Young-il ran off to find two other players.

You three finally approached the only vacant room near you. As you opened it, your blood ran cold. A figure was curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, its stillness unnerving— as if they had already given up already. You glanced at the timer—20 seconds. Your heart raced. Grabbing Jun-hee and Hanni’s arms, you yelled for the curled up figure.

"Hey!" you shouted. The person stirred and looked up at you, confusion in their eyes. You raised the arms you were holding, signaling clearly. The person understood, standing up and moving toward the door. You pushed Jun-hee and Hanni toward the player, making sure they would be safe with her. Once inside, Player 380 quickly closed the door. As you ran away, you heard their voices calling out to you.

“Hey unnie! Come back!”

“[Name]nim!”

You cursed your heart for being soft and getting attached, you cursed your mind for wanting to be a hero. With 13 seconds left, you turned and ran as fast as you could, hoping to find a room, or maybe even Young-il.

10 seconds.

You frantically scanned the area, but there was almost nothing. No sign of Young-il. No sign of anyone else making their way to a room. No group of two finding their last member.

8 seconds.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed your arm. You were shocked but didn’t hesitate. You had no time for hesitation now. You kept your pace, determined to survive.

6 seconds.

You spotted someone standing idly, diagonally to you. Wasting no time, you shouted to them. Together, you ran toward the person, desperate to find the last empty room.

4 seconds.

The two of you reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her toward the nearest open door.

2 seconds.

The three of you rushed inside.

1 second.

The doors slammed shut behind you.

The timer rang. 0 seconds.

Back in room 27, Hanni and Jun-hee peeked anxiously through the window, watching the chaos unfold outside. As the announcer listed the eliminated players, they held their breath, waiting. The second your number wasn’t called, they exhaled in relief.

Inside your room, you collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. This was the consequence of playing the hero. You were too old for this, yet here you were again, caught in the madness. Once your breath steadied, you looked at the player you had dragged in. You froze in shock. It was Player 149—the mother of Player 007. The two were peas in a pod, but you hoped nothing bad would happen now that they were separated.

Deciding not to disturb her, you let her have some space and turned to the person who had saved you. Standing up, you immediately bowed in their direction. When they didn’t make a sound or movement, you slowly lifted your head.

To your shock, you were met with Young-il’s face.

Your shocked face clashed with his angry one, but before you could process it, you leapt at him and wrapped him in a tight, warm hug. His initial surprise faded as he returned the embrace, his anger melting away. As he gently patted your hair, he quietly asked, “What happened?”

“The room we entered was already filled with someone. I wanted to stay with Jun-hee and Hanni, but there were no more rooms nearby. I couldn’t let Jun-hee run anymore, so I left them there and ran,” you explained, your voice muffled against his shirt.

He patted your head again before slightly pushing you away to look at your face. Still holding you, the two of you locked eyes. “You’re lucky I was there to save you like a superhero.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “Thanks, superhero.”

You gave him a sweet smile before pulling away and knelt in front of the older woman. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

She snapped out of her thoughts and bowed, immediately responding, “Yes, yes. I am. Thank you so much for saving me.”

“Where’s your son?”

“Sorry?”

“Weren’t you with him?” Young-il asked, his concern growing for their safety. You watched her closely, hoping nothing bad had happened. Her eyes bounced between you and Young-il as she tried to formulate an answer. “Oh, well, I lost him. He told me to wait while he brought one more person, but in all the chaos, I lost him.”

“He didn’t come back?” Young-il’s question made her stand up abruptly.

“My son isn’t that kind of person!” she said, standing defensively. “We may be poor, but he has a good heart. He’d rather be bullied than hurt another person. He’ll never harm anyone, so watch what you say about him!”

You stood up quickly and gently placed your hands on her shoulders, trying to ease the tension. “Ah, it’s nothing like that, ma’am. It’s just that the two of you have been together from the start, so we were worried when we saw you alone. We didn’t mean to upset you.”

She looked at you for a moment before averting her gaze, calming down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Young-il added, apologizing as well.

The doors opened then, signaling it was time to move on. With a bow, you grabbed Young-il’s hand, pulling him toward Jun-hee and Hanni’s room. When you saw the two of them, your eyes met, and without hesitation, you let go of Young-il’s hand and hugged them both tightly. You whispered your apologies as they cried into your neck. Young-il watched the scene with a bittersweet smile, the sight of you and the others reminding him painfully of his late wife. It felt like a love he could never return to, yet he couldn't look away.

Once they stopped crying, you gently pulled away and pointed them toward Young-il. Without hesitation, they ran to him, wrapping their arms around him and thanking him.

The four of you then returned to the platform, where you met the rest of your group. A silent understanding passed between your team and player 120’s team, as you all stood next to each other, ready for the next round. The music started. The platform began to rotate. 

6

“Three women and three men, go!” Gi-hun shouted. Luckily, you all had enough members so only finding the room was the problem, Jun-hee and Hanni stuck close to you as you followed Young-il, Gi-hun, and Jung-bae to a room. 

When you returned to the platform, you immediately noticed the lonely figure of player 120, with player 095 nowhere near, you assumed the worst. Standing close next to her, you offer comfort by rubbing her back. “It’s gonna be hard but please stay strong, she now lives through you.” She gives you a pained nod as you placed yourself between Hanni and Young-il. 

“What do you think will be the next number?” Jung-bae asked you all.

It was quiet for a moment as everyone contemplated the answer. Without hesitation, Hanni spoke up. "Two."

Gi-hun looked at her, silently asking her to explain her answer. Instead of her, Young-il’s voice broke through the tension. "Yeah, she's correct. It's two. There are 50 rooms, and 156 people are still alive. Everyone will have a pair, but there won't be enough rooms. That's how they conduct these games."

Everyone else looked at him, some expressions confused, others with a hint of surprise, as if they hadn’t expected him to be the one explaining. And they were right.

2

The group stood in silence for a second, each person wondering who would pair with whom. The fear of the rooms being occupied quickly spread so without a second thought, Young-il grabbed your hand and hurried you away. Hanni called your name, and the others followed suit. Dae-ho grabbed Hanni, Jung-bae grabbed Gi-hun, and Player 333 grabbed Jun-hee as they all ran to secure an empty room.

You and Young-il reached the open door of an empty room, but before you could step inside, another player tackled you to the ground. As Young-il rushed to help you up, the player bolted for the room you had been eyeing. Without hesitation, Young-il grabbed the man, yanking him away and throwing him outside with unexpected force.

"Go in!" Young-il shouted at you, as he held the player in his grip.

Your heart was racing, adrenaline flooding your system. You scrambled to recover and quickly glanced around, making sure the coast was clear. With urgency, you rushed inside, positioning yourself near the door, ready to barricade it in case someone tried to steal the room from you. You signaled for Young-il to come in, and as he rushed in after you, you slammed the door behind him, using your body to hold it shut while the player left outside shouted curses at you.

Suddenly, Young-il pulled you into his arms, his hands gentle but firm, as he placed your head against his shoulder. You melted into him, the brief respite giving you both a moment of peace. But that moment quickly shattered when your eyes caught a figure in the corner of the room.

Your breath hitched. In a panic, you pushed away from Young-il and shouted at the figure, your voice trembling, "Leave! Get out!"

The timer was ticking down, and every second felt like an eternity. Panic surged within you as you watched the figure not move—your heart raced. The seconds were slipping away.

12 seconds.

"No way, we got here first," the man argued, his voice laced with defiance.

“Well your partner is not here isn’t he?! Get out!”  you demanded, your voice firm despite the tension.

11 seconds.

“Shut your tramp whore! We got here first! Make yourself useful and get out of the room!” he spat back, growing angrier.

10 seconds.

Without a word, Young-il lunged at the man, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him toward the door, his strength overpowering the man’s resistance. You watched in horror, your eyes flickering between the timer and the brutal scene unfolding before you. With only three seconds left and the man still struggling. Young-il didn’t hesitate. His actions were swift and decisive, final and cold. With one swift move, the room fell silent, and the door locked.

0 seconds.

Young-il stood over the lifeless man, his face distant, his expression hollow. It was a look that didn’t belong on him. In the short time you’d known him, he’d always had this warm, protective energy, this quiet tenderness that made you feel safe. But now, his usual caring nature seemed clouded by something else.

Without thinking, you crossed the room to him, gently taking his hands in yours. You could feel his tension, his unwillingness to meet your gaze. Your heart ached to see him like this, and you whispered softly, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice barely above a whisper, as though he was apologizing for something you hadn’t even asked him to do.

“What for?” you asked, trying to meet his gaze. He avoided it, looking down at the body in the room, his face shadowed with regret.

“You did what you had to do, Young-il. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here. We’d be dead. So, thank you.” You squeezed his hands, trying to convey the depth of your gratitude, even if the words felt too small.

“But—” he started, voice faltering.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” You could feel his fear—fear that you might look at him differently now. You could see it in his eyes, that vulnerability he tried to hide. You slowly reached up, your hand finding his cheek, your touch gentle and comforting. His eyes closed as he leaned into it, the tension melting from his body for just a moment. "Murder is something I’m used to, Young-il. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine… as long as you’re here."

The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken words. The closeness, the way your fingers lingered on his skin, the way your breaths synced together—it felt like everything was leading to this moment. Slowly, instinctively, you both leaned in, drawn to each other like magnets.

But just as your lips were about to meet, the loud sound of the doors unlocking shattered the moment. You both froze, hearts pounding in your chests, reality crashing back in. You pulled away quickly, your face flushing with embarrassment.

You stepped back, flustered, and gave a quick bow, mumbling, “I—I should check on Hanni and Jun-hee.” You turned to leave, nearly tripping over your shoes in the rush. That shared moment lingered in the air, and even as you fled, your heart still raced with what almost happened, you could feel the warmth of his gaze lingering on your back, the connection between you stronger than ever.

After the third game, you found yourself back in the fort Gi-hun had organized. The group was scattered, tending to their own thoughts or conversations. Across the room, Jun-hee was deep in conversation with Player 333, the man you now knew was her ex-fiancé—the one who’d abandoned her. Hanni stood by your side, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern as the two exchanged words that seemed both loaded and cautious.

Meanwhile, Gi-hun instructed the others to count the remaining players and determine how many wanted to continue playing.

“There are 55 players who voted in favor of continuing,” Jung-bae reported as he returned.

“Are you sure?” Gi-hun asked, his voice tense.

“I counted twice.”

Dae-ho pointed to the “O” patch on Jung-bae’s uniform. “Did you count yourself?”

Jung-bae glanced at the “O” patch on his chest, pausing before muttering, “Fifty-six.”

“Fifty-seven,” you added, raising your hand while still keeping an eye on Jun-hee and her conversation.

Dae-ho exhaled heavily, frustration evident. “We have forty-five on our side. We’re outnumbered by twelve.”

The weight of the statement settled over the group like a cloud of despair.

Young-il stood up, breaking the silence. “It may seem like a big gap, but if six of them change their minds, it’s tied. Seven, and we win.”

“But what if some of the X votes switch to O?” Dae-ho countered.

“They likely won’t,” Young-il replied evenly. “Those who voted X wanted out even when the prize was smaller. Now they can leave with even more money. Why risk their lives again?”

You joined in. “Me, and Jung-bae will definitely vote X. That’s two already. If four more switch sides, it’s a tie. Five more, and we win.”

Gi-hun nodded decisively. “Then let’s go try to convince them.” 

“No,” Young-il said firmly. “That’s too risky. Most of them want to continue playing. If we start making moves, they won’t sit back and let us sway their votes.”

Gi-hun’s frustration boiled over. “So we just stand here and pray they change their minds? What if we lose again? Are we supposed to march into another game like sheep?”

Hanni hesitated before speaking, her voice soft but steady. “Gi-hunnim, I don’t think it’s wise to provoke them. They might do the same to us, and they have the upper hand. People are here for money. If we start something, it could lead to a fight before we even vote.”

Her words calmed the rising tension, and the group fell into silence as guards entered the room, signaling the start of the next vote.

After the third game, only 100 players remained. The prize money now totaled 35.6 billion won, meaning each player will earn 356 million won if they would go home now. Jung-bae approached Gi-hun, his face grim yet determined. “With that kind of money,” he began, his voice low but certain, “some might change their minds. If we can convince six more people to vote X, we’ll tie. Seven, and we win.” His words hung in the air, filling the room with a fragile sense of hope.

The guards soon interrupted, announcing that the voting would proceed in reverse order of player numbers. The tension thickened as Gi-hun approached the booth, the echo of his footsteps amplifying the silence. “Player 456, please cast your vote,” one guard intoned, his monotone voice chilling in its detachment.

One by one, players approached the booth, many clinging to their original decisions. The scoreboard slowly reflected the changes. When it was Jung-bae’s turn, he strode forward with purpose, slamming his hand on the X button. As he returned to Gi-hun’s side, he showed off his X patch and declared, “Seven more to win,” his voice carrying the first flicker of confidence the group had heard in hours.

Player 380 voted X. Relief swept through your group—six more to go.

Player 185. X. Five more.

Your turn came, and you didn’t hesitate. X. Four more.

Player 125. X. Three.

Player 120 followed, then Player 015. Each X vote brought you closer to the tie. When Player 007 slammed the X button, he shouted, “Let’s go home!” and tore off his O patch triumphantly.

“That’s seven!” Jung-bae yelled, grinning in excitement. “We did it!”

The celebration was short-lived. The next player, an elderly woman, calmly voted O. The room fell silent as her choice appeared on the scoreboard: 49 for X, 50 for O.

Everyone turned toward the last player, Player 001. The atmosphere shifted, the tension nearly suffocating. The air felt heavy with anticipation as he slowly made his way to the booth. Young-il’s slow steps toward the voting booth felt endless. Every step seemed deliberate, as though he were savoring the weight of the moment.

Hanni, looking at Young-il, quietly gripped Jun-hee’s arm, her face pale. “What’s wrong?” Jun-hee asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

Hanni hesitated before speaking, her words barely audible. “Young-ilnim... he scares me sometimes.”

Jun-hee frowned. “Why? Did something happen?”

“When we were waiting for [Name]nim during the third game, I thought I saw him making eye contact with the guards,” Hanni murmured. “It was like... like they knew him. I don’t know, maybe I imagined it, but it didn’t feel right.”

Jun-hee’s brows furrowed, her protective instincts kicking in. “We should tell [Name]nim.”

“No!” Hanni shook her head rapidly. “I don’t want to ruin what they have. [Name]nim deserves to be happy. If I’m wrong, I don’t want to mess things up.”

Jun-hee looked at her with a mix of worry and understanding, her hand coming to rest on Hanni’s shoulder. Before either could say more, the sharp sound of Player 001’s vote echoed through the room.

X.

A stunned silence followed before the scoreboard updated, displaying an even 50 for X and 50 for O. Young-il turned to the group, a smile on his face as he raised his hand in an okay sign. Your side erupted into quiet cheers, exchanging looks of disbelief and relief.

“It’s a tie. We did it!” Dae-ho exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders in excitement. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking him back as a rush of emotion coursed through you.

Relief swept through the room, but a palpable tension lingered as everyone waited to hear the outcome of the tie.

"Wait, since it’s a tie, what does it mean?" Player 100 asked.

The guard responded flatly, "Clause Three: If the voting ends in a tie, players will vote again. To give you time to think, the vote will be conducted tomorrow." He glanced around the room, his gaze cold and impassive. "Until then, please consider your future carefully."

As dinner commenced, your team welcomed new members—Players 120, 149, 007, and 246. The mood was a bit lighter, though tinged with underlying anxiety. Small talk carried the group through the meal, with some making half-hearted jokes to distract from the harsh reality of their situation.

“I’m surprised by the food today,” Hanni remarked, biting eagerly into her roll of gimbap. “I thought it would be bread and milk until the end.” You gently nudged her to slow down, worried she might choke.

Jun-hee, chewing thoughtfully, leaned closer to Hanni. “I was so scared earlier, especially with Young-ilnim. I thought for sure he’d vote O like the first time.” She hesitated, then whispered, “Hey, we really should tell her—”

“Tell me what?” you interjected, raising a brow.

“N-nothing!” Hanni stammered, her cheeks coloring as she avoided your gaze.

“Hmm, I’m watching you two,” you teased, making a gesture before turning your attention to Dae-ho, who was animatedly chatting with Jung-bae.

“I really thought you were going to vote O, like on day one,” Dae-ho admitted, glancing at Young-il. Jung-bae, clearly done with the male's rambling, stuffed a piece of gimbap into his mouth before addressing Young-il directly. “Thank you, Young-il. You gave us another chance.”

Young-il shook his head slightly, his expression neutral. “I just want to stay alive. The money’s enough now, so I need to get out of here. Alive.” His eyes flickered briefly to Gi-hun as he emphasized the last word, the intensity of his gaze sending a chill through the group.

The moment was interrupted by Player 246, who spoke up, his voice laced with apprehension. “Do you think we’ll be able to win the second vote?”

Reality hit like a blow, extinguishing the fragile flicker of hope that had momentarily lit the group. A somber silence followed until Young-il broke it. “We’ll have to go for broke,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “Like Gi-hun said earlier, we should try to convince some of them to change their minds before the second vote.”

“Will they, though?” Player 007 asked, his skepticism clear. “Most of them are blinded by the money now.”

“My son,” his mother chimed in with an oddly cheerful tone, “When you’re hungry, you start to miss home. All we have is this good roll of gimbap, and everyone will feel the pangs of hunger tomorrow.” Her logic was far-fetched, but no one dared contradict her.

007 stood and tried to address the opposing team, using the oll of gimbap as leverage. However, instead of having the result he expected to get, he got the total opposite. The men shouted over each other, their voices rising to a chaotic crescendo. Gi-hun, visibly conflicted, stared at his gimbap before unrolling it. Inside was a fork, its sharp prongs gleaming ominously. A weapon.

Unbeknownst to most, a fight had broken out in the bathroom. The announcement of eliminated players startled everyone into silence. Gasps and murmurs filled the room as the piggy bank suddenly rang. With 95 players remaining, the prize money now stood at 36.1 billion won, increasing each player’s worth to 380 million won.

“What’s happening?” Jung-bae whispered, his voice trembling with unease. His question hung unanswered as the bathroom doors opened. Players emerged, bloodied and bruised, their faces marked by fear and rage.

Player 124 from Team O stumbled into the middle of the room, his voice shaking with anger. “Listen, Team O!” he shouted. “When we were in the bathroom, these X bastards tried to kill us! They killed some of us, including my friend—”

“Bullshit!” Player 047 from Team X shouted back, cutting him off. “You’re the ones who started it!” He gestured toward where Team X sat, his voice rising with fury. “They threatened one of our people! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

The room erupted in chaos. People were shouting, pointing fingers, and some even started pushing and shoving. The tension in the air was thick, and it felt like everyone was on edge, afraid of what might happen next. You could feel the anxiety creeping in as everyone seemed to turn on each other.

In the midst of the chaos, Player 100 quickly rounded up the O team, ordering a headcount. Player 047 did the same with the X team, trying to keep control. The numbers were close, with 47 players on the O team and 48 on the X team. The X team now had the advantage in the voting.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said, sitting down. “That means we lost three, and now they have the upper hand.” A player on their team pointed out, “We still have a better chance. We’re one vote ahead now.”

Jung-bae, trying to stay positive, spoke up. “As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote tomorrow.” The room quieted down as everyone whispered amongst themselves, the weight of the upcoming vote heavy on their minds.

Suddenly, the announcement broke the silence. “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up, trying to rally his team. “Listen, no one can change their mind, okay? We’ll win tomorrow. Stay strong, we’ll make it through.” His words were filled with determination, and the room filled with a low hum of agreement from his team.

Once everyone started to settle down, Dae-ho leaned in, speaking in a low voice to your group. “Those guys are acting really suspicious. They’re planning something, I can feel it.”

Jung-bae, not paying much attention to the others, just waved him off. “Whatever. Once we win tomorrow’s vote, it’ll all be over.” He sounded confident, but you could tell he was just trying to keep the morale up.

You turned your gaze to Gi-hun, his face unreadable. You knew he was thinking about the situation carefully. After everything that had happened, you weren’t sure what he was planning. But something about the way the O team had been looking at you all, with a certain malice in their eyes, told you that there was more to this than just a vote.

Finally, Gi-hun spoke, his voice calm but filled with tension. “Once the lights go out, they’ll attack us.” The group went silent at his words, the weight of his statement sinking in. 007’s eyes widened in disbelief as he asked, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” You replied this time, everyone looked at you waiting for your explanation. “These people, they didn’t vote O because they wanted to play. They voted O to get more money. And now that they know killing increases the prize, they’ll do whatever it takes to do it.” 

Young-il, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up. “Then we should attack first. We need to take them by surprise.” His suggestion was met with agreement from Player 047, who nodded, adding, “We have the women and elderly on our side. If they attack first, we’ll be at a huge disadvantage.”

But Gi-hun wasn’t on board with the idea. “No. We can’t start a fight like that.” Everyone looked at him, confused. “We need to stay calm. If we kill each other, that’s exactly what they want.”

Jung-bae frowned, clearly not understanding. “Who are they? Who are you talking about?”

“The makers of the game,” Gi-hun said bitterly, his eyes burning with anger. “They’re the ones who want us to kill each other. They’re watching us right now.”

The room fell silent as the others absorbed this revelation. You felt a chill run down your spine. “Where are they?” Dae-ho asked, his voice tight. You could hear the fear in his words, even if he was trying to hide it.

Gi-hun didn’t flinch. He simply looked up at the ceiling, his gaze steady. “Up there,” He murmured, his voice barely audible but filled with conviction. Slowly, everyone looked up at the ceiling, following his gaze. Gi-hun’s eyes were fixed on the higher levels. “The control rooms are above us. Their leader wears a black mask. If we capture him, we’ll have leverage.”

Young-il’s skepticism was evident. “How are you going to fight them? They’ve got guns.”

“We’ll take their guns,” Gi-hun answered plainly, locking eyes with Young-il. His words weren’t a suggestion—they were a plan.

“From the masked men?” Player 246 asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Gi-hun nodded resolutely. “Yes. We’ll catch them off guard. They won’t expect it.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Young-il said, shaking his head. “Even if we manage to steal their guns, we’ll be outnumbered.”

Gi-hun’s eyes hardened. “What’s your plan, then? Sit around and wait to die? Watch as they pick us off, one by one? Is that your idea of survival?” His voice was harsh, the desperation in his words cutting through the tension.

The silence that followed was thick, as everyone contemplated the harsh reality they faced.

120 spoke up, her voice uncertain but full of fear. “Do we even stand a chance?”

“We do,” Gi-hun said, his voice unwavering. “If we strike first, we catch them off guard. They’ll never see it coming. The people running this game think we’re powerless, but we have the upper hand now. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“How do you plan to take their guns?” Young-il asked again, his skepticism still evident.

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate, as if he had already thought it through.  “Once the lights go out, we’ll have our chance.”

Lights out in 5 minutes.

As everyone made their way to their beds, Jun-hee excused herself, telling you she needed to talk to someone. You offered to go with her, but she waved you off, saying she’d be quick.

You turned to Hanni, who had a distant, absent look in her eyes. She wasn’t fully there, trapped in her own thoughts. You rubbed her back gently to snap her out of it. Poor Hanni. She was so young, and she didn’t deserve any of this. She shouldn’t have been thrown into this nightmare.

She deserved a future, a chance to grow and live, not this. It pained you to see her face filled with confusion and fear. There was so much darkness surrounding her, and she was so small, so vulnerable. It made your heart heavy.

“Stick close to me, okay?” you whispered, your voice soft but firm as you brushed her hair behind her ear. “If you can’t find me, go to Jun-hee, okay?”

Hanni nodded, but her expression didn’t fully match her words. You could see the uncertainty in her eyes. You gave her a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead, trying to offer what little comfort you could. Rocking her gently, you tucked her in, smoothing the blanket around her, and gave her one last kiss before heading to your own bed.

Lights out in 10.

The countdown echoed. You lay down, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. The seconds felt like hours.

9. What if this is the night? The thought couldn’t help but cross your mind, but you pushed it aside. You couldn’t afford to think that way now. You had to stay focused.

8.

7. The sound of your heartbeat in your ears was almost deafening, the pressure of the countdown like a vice around your chest.

6.

5. Keep it together. You told yourself. Focus. You had to be ready.

4. You thought about Hanni, about Jun-hee. What would happen to them if you didn’t make it? The thought alone made your chest tighten.

3. You forcefully removed them from your thoughts. This was not the time to think about them, they'll be fine, they'll be safe. They'll get out of here alive.

2. The darkness was getting closer. The room was quiet, but you could feel the tension, the electricity in the air. Everyone was waiting, bracing themselves.

1.

The lights flickered and then went off, plunging the room into darkness. Your mind immediately went to Gi-hun’s words: Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quickly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us.

It was quiet.

Then it was loud.

The sounds of screams and footsteps filling the air as people were attacked and killed left and right. You could hear the unmistakable sounds of struggles, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. Panic rippled through the room. You prayed silently, hoping that Young-il, Hanni, Jun-hee, and everyone else would make it through the night. You clung to the hope that you would survive, that you wouldn’t be one of the unlucky ones who wouldn’t make it to the morning.

After minutes of waiting, the sound of doors opening signaled the end of the wait. You immediately crawled out from under the bottom bed following phase 2 of Gi-hun's plan.

Playing dead, you stayed as still as possible, listening for the guard’s footsteps. When you heard one approach, you tensed. As the guard scanned your ID, you reached out and grabbed them, pulling them into a headlock. They struggled, fighting to break free, but you tightened your grip, whispering a soft apology. With one swift movement, you snapped their neck. The familiar crack echoed in your ears. Without hesitation, you grabbed their gun, firing at nearby guards, taking them down one by one.

Quickly, you crawled under another bed, planning your next move. The guards on the upper beds were your next target. You fired a shot at an unsuspecting guard, laughing quietly as they looked around, confused. Before they could react, you shot again, taking them out.

From bed to bed, you moved stealthily, inching closer to the stage. Hidden in the shadows, you waited, watching the guards’ every move. You knew patience was key—waiting until they were close enough. When the retreat announcement echoed through the room, you sprang into action. Leaping from your hiding spot, you unleashed a spray of bullets, taking down the remaining guards one by one. Even as they tried to retreat into the gate, you kept firing, not giving them a chance to escape.

But just as the last guard made it to the gate, you pulled the trigger, only to hear a click. You were out of bullets. Panic surged through you. You needed to reload, but before you could, you heard Gi-hun shout, "Hold fire!" You stopped, nodding as you obeyed his command.

Jung-bae and Player 246 rushed forward and forced the last guard to his knees, making him raise his hands in surrender. Slinging your empty gun over your shoulder, you quickly ran to the back, where Hanni and Jun-hee were waiting for you.

“Unnie!” Hanni whispered-yelled as you came into view, her eyes lighting up in relief. Jun-hee was right behind her, giving you a big smile and waving you over with an expression full of warmth. You didn’t hesitate, pulling both of them into a tight hug. The moment felt comforting, but the danger still lingered in the air. You held their faces gently, searching for any signs of injury.

“Are you both hurt?” you asked, voice steady but filled with concern.

In the background, you could hear Gi-hun telling everyone to come out, reassuring them that you wouldn’t hurt them. His voice was low but commanding, a sense of authority settling over the group.

Jun-hee and Hanni shook their heads before telling you they were okay. You exhaled softly, a sigh of relief escaping you as the weight in your chest lifted slightly. You gave them a small smile.

“When you mentioned collecting guns and gunmanship, I really thought you meant some online FPS game,” Hanni said, trying to lighten the mood, a playful glint in her eyes. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Really now? Well, I might be old, but not that old. I’m still strong enough to do these things,” you said, flexing your arms with an exaggerated grunt. Your muscles were hardly impressive, but the action was enough to make the three of you laugh. It felt good—too good for the situation you were all in.

You continued to smile as the laughter settled, but your thoughts flickered back to the reality. “Alright, you two, go ahead. I’ll catch up with you soon. I need to collect the guns and ammo from the guards first,” you said, your tone firm but affectionate. You ushered them toward the center before you set about your task.

As you moved toward the fallen guards, your hands quickly went to work, collecting the weapons and ammo. You moved with precision, and were so in the zone that you barely noticed a figure following you.

“Are you alright?”

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you jerked your head toward the sound. In an instant, your fingers gripped the handle of your gun, and you pointed it at the source of the voice. When you saw who it was, your tension loosened, but only slightly. Your breath came out in a shaky exhale as you lowered the gun.

“Young-il, you scared me!” you said, pressing a hand to your chest, heart still racing from the sudden scare.

“Ah? That so?” he replied, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m very sorry then.”

“Oh, shut up. That’s not the look of someone who’s sorry,” you shot back, though a smile tugged at your own lips.

The two of you shared a brief laugh before the tension in your bodies dissipated enough for you to focus on the task at hand again. “Help me out with these, will you?” you asked, gesturing to the weapons scattered on the ground. He didn’t hesitate, moving to gather the magazines and guns.

The two of you worked in relative silence, the only sounds the shifting of metal and the occasional clink of ammunition being loaded. Despite everything, the atmosphere between you felt strangely light. It was as if, for a moment, the world outside was forgotten and it was just the two of you working together. You didn’t know why, but it was oddly comforting.

“May I ask how you’re so familiar with guns?” he asked, genuinely curious now. He hadn’t expected you to be the type, but he wasn’t in a position to judge anymore.

You hesitated for a moment before replying, your voice softening. “Well, I used to have an aunt who was really into guns. She married a fellow gun enthusiast, and together they opened up a shooting range near our home. At first, I wasn’t that interested. Guns weren’t my thing, really.” You paused, remembering the past. “But then I started noticing someone—someone I had a crush on. He was always reading about guns, and I thought maybe I could get him to teach me. I thought it’d be a way to connect, you know?”

Young-il nodded as he stayed quiet, finding comfort in your voice as you talked him away. You took a deep breath before continuing, the words spilling out freely.

“When I asked him about it, he just brushed me off. Told me that girls like me should stick to cooking and cleaning and that guns were for ‘big boys’ like him. Some bullshit like that.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “I didn’t take it well. It pissed me off, actually. And from that day on, I got serious about guns—just to prove I could be as good as any guy.” You let out a bitter chuckle. “Now, I’ve got a collection at home.”

The air around you seemed to shift. The lightheartedness had drained from the conversation, and you felt the past creeping up on you. Young-il must’ve noticed the change in your mood, because he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he gave you space, knowing you needed it.

A few moments passed before you spoke again, your voice distant. “A few years after we met again, things just... happened. One thing led to another, and I ended up having a beautiful baby girl.” You smiled softly, but it quickly faded. “You should meet her. I think she’d like you.”

Young-il’s face softened for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. You felt the smile fade completely as you continued. “I’m happy to have her, I really am... But it wasn’t supposed to happen that way. The guy... he wasn’t in it for the right reasons. He just wanted to drain me dry and disappear. He never told me about his debt. And the collectors...”

You trailed off, the heaviness of the past taking over. Young-il stayed quiet, giving you the space you needed to process everything.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Young-il said gently, his voice softer than before.

You shook your head, offering him a reassuring smile. “No, no… it’s okay. You deserve to know.” A brief silence passed between you two before you started explaining, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air.

“When the collectors came to my house, I found out that he had put my name and address down as the guarantor. In their eyes, I owed them around 1 billion won, but that was far from the truth. They told me that since I was their ‘favorite’ debtee, they struck up a deal. They’d lower the debt to 800 million... and another form of payment to cover the remaining 200 million…” You paused, your breath catching in your throat. “In return... they’d keep my kid hostage until I paid them every last cent.”

Young-il looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and sympathy. He didn’t know what to say, but his expression was enough. He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it, opting for silence. After a while, he let his mouth open. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to tell me, especially to someone you’ve only just met.”

Grabbing the last available gun, you smiled back at him, but it was a smile tinged with sadness. “It’s alright, Young-il,” you said, your voice steady despite the heaviness in your heart. “I know this is not the right time for these things, but you’re definitely more than just someone I’ve only just met.”

Young-il froze, your words sinking into him like a knife he hadn’t seen coming. He kept his face neutral, but inside, a storm raged. He had tried to suppress it—whatever it was that made his chest tighten whenever you spoke to him, that made his thoughts drift to you in moments of quiet. But now, hearing you say those words, the feelings he had buried clawed their way to the surface.

His gaze flickered to you, trying to gauge if you understood what you had just done. But your eyes met his with a casual earnestness, as if you hadn’t realized the impact of your words. Of course, you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You didn’t know that every small interaction with you chipped away at the walls he had built around himself. That every glance, every word, every fleeting moment made it harder for him to maintain the facade of indifference he had perfected over the years.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his jaw tightening. What was he supposed to say? That you were right? That you were more than just someone he’d met in the chaos of the games? That you had become something he didn’t know how to handle?

No. He couldn’t say any of that. Not now. Not ever.

So instead, he said nothing.

“Are you ready?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, completely unaware of the turmoil brewing inside him.

He nodded once, stiffly, as if the motion required more effort than it should. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low and even.

As you turned away, he lingered for a moment, watching you. His chest ached with a mix of emotions he didn’t want to name—ones he thought he had locked away when he lost the love of his life. He had told himself there was no room for them, especially not now, especially not with you.

And yet, here they were, threatening to unravel him.

He shook his head, forcing himself to follow after you, his steps heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. He couldn’t afford to let himself feel—not here, not in this place where feelings were a liability.

But as much as he tried to bury it, he knew it was too late. He had already let you in, even if you didn’t know it.

You stood beside Young-il, both of you observing the remaining players, the silent anticipation thick in the air. The guns and ammo laid before you, the weight of the upcoming mission pressing down on everyone. Gi-hun, at the front of the group, finally broke the silence, his voice steady yet resolute.

“We will capture those who captured us, putting an end to this game, and making them pay.”

The weight of his words hit hard, but there was no turning back now. Everyone knew what was at stake. Beside Jun-hee, Hanni's gaze lingered on Young-il, watching him carefully. There was something off about him, something she couldn’t quite place, but she was determined to figure it out. She was always one to notice the little things.

Gi-hun’s voice rang out again, more direct this time. “Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward.”

For a long moment, no one moved. Fear was a suffocating blanket that kept them frozen in place. Then, Jung-bae stepped forward, his presence almost a defiance against the tension in the room.

“I know you’re scared,” he said, his voice firm, though tinged with his own nervousness. “We’re scared too. But this might be our last chance to make it out of here alive.” A beat of silence followed, heavy and thick. Then, with a quiet resolve, Jung-bae continued, “Fight with us, so we can go home together.”

One by one, four men stepped up, their faces a mix of fear and determination. They grabbed their guns and ammo, preparing for the fight ahead. Gi-hun began instructing everyone to check their ammo, his eyes scanning the group for any sign of hesitation. Jung-bae handed out radios, the weight of their importance not lost on anyone.

“We’ll be using channel 7, the lucky number,” he announced. Everyone nodded in unison, following his instructions.

Gi-hun turned to Young-il, who was checking his ammo with meticulous care. “Thank you for earlier,” He said, his voice quieter than usual. Young-il didn’t look up, his focus still on the gun in his hands. “You can buy me soju when we get out,” he muttered, his voice gruff but carrying a faint hint of amusement.

You overheard their exchange and couldn’t resist the urge to tease. “What about me? Where’s my thanks?” You pushed the ammo back into its place, a smirk playing at your lips as both men glanced at you in surprise. Your chuckle filled the tense air, lightening the mood for a brief moment. “I’m just messing with you. Good luck out there, Captain. Get us out of here.”

Gi-hun smiled back at you, nodding before turning to check the rest of the team.

Meanwhile, Player 120, noticing Player 246 struggling with his ammo, stepped forward without hesitation. She called for everyone’s attention, and the group grew silent as she began to demonstrate how to operate the gun in her hands.

“This is the MP5, a submachine gun,” she said with a confident grin, her hands moving smoothly as she demonstrated how to load, unload, and switch the mode of the weapon.

You couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated by the fluidity of her movements. There was something almost hypnotic about the way she handled the weapon, and you felt a rush of excitement. You exchanged a glance with Young-il, catching his teasing look. Your eyes narrowed playfully in return.

“What?” you said, your voice light, but with a hint of a challenge. “It’s not every day you find another girl with the same interest as me.”

“Well, I didn’t say anything,” Young-il replied, his tone nonchalant, but there was a subtle spark of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you. His lips quirked slightly, as if he was trying to suppress a smile but failing just a little.

You shot him a playful glare, your eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "Just saying, it's rare to find someone who gets it." You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly as you met his gaze, your voice teasing but with a quiet warmth.

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his smirk lingering. "I get it, trust me," he said, his voice a lot softer.

As player 120 returned to her spot, You and Player 246, who seemed just as curious as you, looked at her in astonishment. “Where did you learn so much about guns?” 246 asked, his tone a mix of awe and genuine interest. You were itching to ask the same thing, and when Player 120 answered, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Ah, I was a sergeant first class in the ROK Special Forces,” she said, her tone casual but proud.

You practically beamed at her answer. “Wow,” you muttered, feeling a newfound respect for the woman who had so confidently shared her experience. You turned to the male beside you, ready to share your thoughts, but as your gaze flickered over to Young-il, you noticed something you hadn’t seen before—a distance in his expression, something off. The familiarity of his stoic face was still there, but there was a coldness behind it now that you couldn’t place. You felt your chest tighten, and for a moment, your confidence faltered. The words you wanted to say got stuck in your throat. Was there something bothering him?

You hesitated for a second before turning your attention back to Player 120, deciding not to press. You wanted to focus on the task ahead, but that nagging feeling in your chest refused to subside.

Gi-hun’s voice broke through the quiet, cutting through your thoughts. He pointed a revolver at the guard on the ground, demanding that he remove his mask. You felt your stomach turn as the young guard’s face was revealed. He looked no older than 25, his eyes wide with fear. Jung-bae’s reaction mirrored your own—he was visibly disturbed by the sight. He approached the guard, his voice filled with genuine concern. “Do your parents know what you’re doing?”

Before the guard could answer, Gi-hun cocked the revolver, silencing the room in an instant. The tension in the air was almost unbearable, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

His voice was low, almost a growl, but it carried with an unyielding edge. “Take us to your captain.” His words hung in the air, final and unwavering.

You followed the group, positioning yourself toward the back of the line just in front of Player 120. Before stepping through the door, you cast a glance back and saw Hanni and Jun-hee's worried faces. You offered them a warm, comforting smile, trying to reassure them, even if you weren’t sure how much comfort you could offer in that moment.

As you stepped through, you seized the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the other woman in the group.

“Hey, uh… my name’s [Lastname] [Name]. I just wanted to say, I really admire how fearless and knowledgeable you are with guns, especially for a girl. Not that it means much, I’m a girl too. It's just... the only other woman I knew who was into guns was my aunt,” you said, trying to keep the tone casual despite the nerves gnawing at you.

Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju, gave you a surprised but warm smile. “Nice to meet you, [Name]. I didn’t expect you to be so open, especially with how tense everything is.”

Before you could respond, the sound of Gi-hun’s revolver firing cut through the air. The loud shot echoed, silencing the recorded announcement urging everyone to return to their beds. “Down!” Gi-hun barked. Your eyes snapped up, spotting the movement of pink guards approaching from the corner.

"At one o'clock!" Gi-hun yelled, his voice urgent. You quickly ducked, instinctively reaching for your weapon. Hyun-ju, without hesitation, took cover and began firing.

“Cover me!” she shouted as she moved, using the new position to get a better shot. You returned fire, covering her as she positioned herself to pick off the guards. Every few moments, you switched between ducking for cover and popping up to fire. The rhythm became second nature, the cacophony of gunfire almost drowning out your thoughts. Bang, cover. Bang, cover.

“Cease fire!” Gi-hun ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos. You dropped behind cover, a sharp breath escaping you as the last of the guards fell. Gi-hun quickly checked in with everyone. You gave him a thumbs-up, signaling you were good.

"Alright, we move up," he said, his voice steady as always. You nodded, scanning your surroundings. Your eyes flicked to the CCTV camera near you. With a quick movement, you raised your gun and fired, taking out the lens. You saw Hyun-ju doing the same on her end. The two of you exchanged a brief nod, silently acknowledging the trust that had formed in the chaos.

Gi-hun led the group forward, signaling everyone to check corners as you moved.

Suddenly, you all halted as Gi-hun interrogated a guard. Gun to his face, the guard meekly pointed ahead. “The entrance to the management area is around the corner. The control room is right above it,” he said, fear evident in his voice.

“Move it then,” Gi-hun ordered, pushing the guard forward.

The guard hesitated, then started to reach for his mask.

“What are you doing?” Gi-hun demanded.

“I need to get my mask to bypass security,” the guard replied quickly. Gi-hun hesitated but allowed the guard to move, sensing no immediate threat.

But then, the unexpected happened. The guard froze, staring blankly ahead, paralyzed. Before you could react, a bullet pierced his skull, sending him crumpling to the ground. Chaos erupted immediately as the sound of rapid gunfire filled the air. Guards flooded in, and you scrambled for cover, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

The gunfire was relentless. You moved, ducking and shooting, ducking and shooting, covering every angle as you fought for your life. The intensity of the moment was blinding, but you couldn't afford to lose focus.

“I’ll go for the management area!” Gi-hun yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Will you be able to find it? Should I come with you?” Young-il called after him, a note of concern in his voice.

“No,” Gi-hun responded sharply. “I’ll go with Jung-bae. You need to buy us some time.”

Young-il nodded, his gaze sharp. Gi-hun and Jung-bae moved off in one direction, leaving the rest of you to handle the remaining guards.

Noticing two of your friends had bolted, you immediately motioned for cover, weaving between Young-il and Dae-ho. You glanced at Young-il, asking where they were going and what their instructions were. Young-il quickly relayed their plan, his voice steady despite the urgency.

With a firm nod, you raised your gun, ready to provide the cover fire needed. The next few moments were a blur of bullets and evasive maneuvers as you helped keep the guards at bay. You could only hope that Gi-hun and Jung-bae would find what they needed before it was too late.

As you continued to fight off the guards, you noticed Dae-ho's frantic movements. He was wasting bullets, shooting wildly without even aiming. The gunfire echoed around you, but his shots were going wide, not hitting anyone. You could tell he was struggling.

When he ran out of ammo, you placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him. “You good there, Dae-ho? Do you have some extra ammo?”

His eyes were wide, panicked, and full of fear. You could see the signs of someone who had experienced more than they should have, someone who had been pushed to the edge. His reaction was familiar to you—too familiar. He was struggling with some kind of trauma, possibly PTSD. Despite his fear of gunshots, he had still volunteered to fight, a true marine in spirit, but the weight of it was starting to break him.

Young-il noticed the exchange, his gaze shifting between you and Dae-ho. You handed Dae-ho some of your extra ammo, keeping your voice calm as you tried to keep him grounded. “You have to be resourceful. It’s okay to take a breather. I’m here to cover you.”

Dae-ho gulped, nodding shakily as he began to reload. You took the moment to shoot a few guards, hiding behind cover to keep your position steady.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere!” Player 047 shouted, his frustration evident. “Let’s follow them up to the upper level!”

You immediately shook your head, disagreeing with the idea. “We might get surrounded if you don’t have a plan! We need to wait for Gi-hun and Jung-bae’s signal!”

Young-il nodded, agreeing with your assessment. “Let’s wait until they find the control room.”

You were about to reposition when a bullet grazed your cheek, the sharp sting making you flinch. Blood seeped out, but thankfully it wasn’t anything fatal. Still, the pain was enough to remind you of how dangerous the situation was. You cursed under your breath as you pressed a hand to your face, trying to stop the bleeding.

Young-il noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he shot the guard who had fired at you, his sharp eyes never leaving your form as he checked on you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… thanks, ah shit, that hurts!” you winced, but you quickly resumed your position, peeking out to shoot, then ducking back into cover. Peak, shoot, hide. Peak, shoot, hide.

But then came the dreaded sound of an empty magazine clicking. Shit, you were out of ammo. You reached for your pockets, frantically searching for spare magazines when Hyun-ju’s voice rang through the hall. “Everyone, check your magazines!”

The tension in the air grew as you all checked your remaining rounds. It was bad for everyone—almost all of you were running on fumes, ammo running dangerously low. Even Young-il was out.

Just as you were about to panic, the radio crackled to life.

“Young-il, Dae-ho, [Name], can you hear me?” Jung-bae’s voice came through, sounding strained.

Young-il looked at you, signaling for you to cover while he responded. You nodded, raising your gun to keep the guards in check.

“Yeah, we hear you. What’s the status?” Young-il replied, his voice steady despite the chaos around you.

Jung-bae’s voice came back quickly. “I think we’re below the control room now! But we need backup and more ammo!”

“We’re running low on ammo too!” Young-il yelled.

“There should be spare magazines in the soldier’s pockets in our quarters. Go get them!” Gi-hun ordered.

“Got it!” Young-il responded immediately, turning to the group. “Did you hear that? They need backup! Four of us will go, and the rest will stay here. Join us once you’ve gotten more magazines.”

“Who wants to go with me?” Young-il asked, looking around. Without hesitation, you raised your hand, determination in your eyes. “I’ll go!”

Young-il looked at you with a troubled expression, about to argue, but before he could stop you, two other voices spoke up in agreement. Player 047 and Player 015 both volunteered to join, and Young-il, after a final look at your determined face, gave a resigned nod. “Alright, follow me.”

The four of you moved cautiously, alert as you made your way toward the stairs. The hallways were dimly lit, bathed in an eerie purple hue that made everything seem surreal, almost as though you were walking through some twisted version of reality. The stairs seemed endless, twisting upward in the haze of the purple glow.

Young-il gave the order for you three to go ahead of him, signaling you to take the lead. Without hesitation, you followed. What you didn’t notice however, was Young-il making eye contact with the CCTV camera, and silently ordering the guards—through hand signals—not to shoot you.

As you turned the corner, your eyes immediately locked onto Gi-hun and Jung-bae. Relief surged through you for a second before you remembered the danger. “Did you find the control room?” you asked, your voice a mix of urgency and hope.

“I think it's right up there, but we can’t go this way,” Gi-hun said, his voice tense. “I want you to find another way.”

“I did a scan of the layout here,” Young-il said, sounding calm, but there was a quiet determination in his voice. “I’m sure there’s a way to go around them.” He turned to you, his gaze steady but full of unspoken concern. “You stay here with Jung-bae and Gi-hun. You still have more ammo, so guard them, okay?”

You blinked, feeling your heart tighten in your chest. “What?” you asked, surprise creeping into your voice. “Are you sure about that?”

Before you could press further, Young-il’s voice softened but carried an edge of finality. “I want you guys to keep their focus on you. We’ll hit them from behind.” He paused, his gaze meeting yours for a long moment, his eyes betraying just how much this weighed on him. There was tenderness there in his look, desipte that, there was no room for argument.

You saw the worry in his eyes, but also something else—a protective instinct that almost made your heart skip a beat. You knew there was no way to change his mind so you just nodded, pushing down the tightness in your chest and grabbed your last magazine. “Take this, Young-il, and be safe.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on you. “You sure?”

You nodded firmly, despite the fear gnawing at your insides. “Dae-ho will be back with more.”

His hand brushed yours as he took the magazine from you, and for a split second, it felt like time slowed down. The touch, however brief, left a lingering warmth in your palm, and when his gaze lingered on you, there was an almost imperceptible softness in his expression that made your heart flutter, even if only for a moment.

With a final, decisive nod, Young-il, 047, and 015 ran as you peeked out from the wall, your pulse racing as you provided cover for him and his team. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the familiar sting of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

After a while you heard Young-il’s voice crackle over the radio: “We found it. Start attacking and draw their attention. Then we will hit them from behind.” Gi-hun’s voice followed shortly after, giving you the go signal. There was no turning back now.

Your grip on the gun tightened, and as you moved into position, you didn’t hesitate. With one last glance at Gi-hun and Jung-bae, you stepped out from your cover and opened fire, the rapid succession of shots echoing off the walls. You kept your aim steady, focusing on their movements, keeping them distracted. Each shot rang out, but the weight of the situation pressed heavily on you—your mind was focused, but there was a constant undercurrent of worry, the feeling that you were too far from where you needed to be.

It had been a few minutes since you saw Young-il. The soldiers were still there, and a tightness formed in your chest. Something wasn’t right. You pushed the thought away, staying focused on the fight at hand, but you couldn’t ignore the nagging worry. Every time the radio buzzed, your heart skipped a beat, hoping to hear something from him.

And then, your prayers were answered. Hope rushed through as your radio buzzed to life. However, everything came crashing down when heard his voice. Weak. “Gi-hun… Jung-bae… [Name]… I’m sorry…”

Your stomach dropped. You could barely breathe as the world seemed to slow around you. You grabbed for your radio with shaking hands, putting it up to your mouth as your heart raced. “S-stay where you are, Young-il. I’m coming.” The words barely left your mouth before you were already running, ignoring the shouts from Gi-hun and Jung-bae as you pushed forward.

Your feet pounded against the ground as you ran, the urgency flooding your veins. You couldn’t think. Your focus was a single thought—get to him, and get to him now. The radio fell silent as it slipped off your hands, and you were left with nothing but the sound of your breathing and your footsteps echoing in the halls.

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to accept it. But as the minutes passed, and the distance between you and your goal seemed endless, something inside you shifted. Desperation took hold of you, and with each step, it felt like you were running out of time. Tears blurred your vision, and you wiped your eyes, but the fear that gripped you didn’t let up.

You stumbled, tripping over your own feet, the exhaustion starting to catch up with you. Your mind screamed at you to keep going, but your body couldn’t take it. You hit the ground, scraping your palms. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You needed to find him.

And then, you saw it. A flash of white. A shoe, just barely visible around the corner. Your heart skipped a beat. Ignoring the pain, you propped yourself up, the desperation pushing you forward.

You ran toward it, praying, hoping—maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance. But as you turned the corner, everything seemed to stop. A sudden thud behind you—the sound of heavy footsteps, too close. You spun around just in time to see a black-clad guard standing before you.

Instinct kicked in. You raised your gun, fingers wrapped tightly around the grip, your eyes locking on the target. You squeezed the trigger, but instead of the sharp report of a shot, the only sound was the click of an empty chamber. Panic surged in your chest. You were out of ammo.

Before you could react, the guard lunged forward, and with brutal precision, he slammed the barrel of his gun into your face. The impact was jarring, sending you stumbling back, your vision spinning and your body fighting to stay upright. Blood poured from your nose, warm and thick, but you had no strength left to retaliate. The world blurred as your knees gave way beneath you, and you collapsed to the floor, the darkness swallowing you whole.

The last thing you heard was the guard’s voice, distant and cold, as he spoke into his radio: “I have Player 132.”

And then, the world went silent.

“Good.” In-ho’s voice replied, “bring her to where I am.”

As Jung-bae and Gi-hun knelt with their arms behind their heads, In-ho, wearing his uniform, walked down to greet them.

“Player 456,” he said, voice masked. “Did you have fun playing hero?”

Gi-hun looked up at the familiar voice, anger flashing across his face. Before he could respond, he watched as his enemy gestured to the black-clad guard to step forward. As the guard approached, both Jung-bae and Gi-hun’s eyes went wide. In the guard's hands was you, battered and bruised, unconscious and lifeless. Blood soaked your clothes, and your head hung limply. The guard dropped you unceremoniously to the ground. Your body hit the floor with a sickening thud, and they couldn’t look any longer, their hearts shattering at the sight. Despite only meeting each other for a short period of time, you had felt like a little sister to them, someone who had always been there, and now you were being discarded as though you meant nothing.

In-ho, unfazed, pulled out his Deagle and aimed it at your motionless body. A surge of anger flooded Gi-hun, but he was too late to stop what was happening. He had helped you through so much, and now, despite everything, he couldn’t even protect you.

“Look closely,” In-ho’s voice cut through the silence, “at the consequences of your little hero game.” Before turning the gun towards Jung-bae.

Jung-bae, his face pale with fear, barely managed to speak, his voice trembling, “Gi-hun—”

A loud bang echoed through the room, and Jung-bae’s body crumpled to the floor, lifeless, blood pooling around him.

“No!” Gi-hun screamed, unable to contain his grief. He scrambled over to Jung-bae’s body, pulling him close. His eyes then flicked to yours, and he rushed to hold you too, calling out your name in agony. “No, please...”

He tried to charge toward the masked man, his anger and desperation overpowering him, but the guards quickly tackled him, pinning him down. The sound of his cries filled the room, but none of the guards moved to stop it. He wept for both you and Jung-bae, unable to process the loss.

In-ho stood watching with cold indifference, finding satisfaction in Gi-hun’s torment. With a simple gesture of his hand, he commanded the guards to knock Gi-hun out. As the guards subdued him, In-ho turned his attention to the aftermath.

“Clean up this mess,” he ordered. The guards began clearing away the bodies, but when they reached for you, In-ho stopped them. “Leave her be.”

Once the area was cleared, In-ho instructed everyone to leave, and the guards filed out. Alone in hallway, he looked down at your peaceful face, his expression softening for a moment. He removed his glove and gently wiped the blood from your cheek.

The action seemed to rouse something in you, as your eyes fluttered open. Disoriented, you blinked, taking in the unfamiliar sight of black shoes in front of you. Your senses kicked in immediately, and with quick reflexes, you grabbed the revolver hidden beneath your shirt and aimed it at the figure in front of you.

Your finger squeezed the trigger, but instead of the expected thud of a body dropping, you heard the sharp crack of shattering glass. The CCTV camera behind the masked figure had been destroyed. The sound echoed, and for a brief moment, everything paused.

In-ho didn’t flinch. His gaze never left you, cold and unwavering. You, on the other hand, stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened. The gun in your hand felt foreign, heavy. The glass that scattered across the floor seemed to mock you—your aim had been off. You hadn’t meant to miss. But what had you really aimed for? The camera? Or something else?

His posture remained unchanged. Silent. Watching. Calculating. He didn’t seem angry or pleased. He was just... waiting.

The silence pressed down on you, suffocating. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked between the broken camera and him. You weren’t sure what you expected—more movement, an immediate response, or maybe... nothing at all. The question lingered in the air, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask it. You were waiting, too. Waiting for the next move.

Your body tensed. Was this the end? After all this was the enemy Gi-hun told you about. Every thought in your head felt like it was colliding, spinning in a storm. Taking a step back, your body reacts before your mind could catch up. What was he going to do? Was he still going to kill you?

Suddenly, the words you hadn’t even realized you were thinking slipped out, barely a whisper. “W-what do you want?” The sound of your voice startled you, hoarse and raw from everything leading up to this point.

“Answer me!”

He didn’t answer, he simply extended his arm, his palm open. A gesture. A question. It felt like he was waiting for something more than just your answer—maybe a reaction, maybe a choice. But you didn’t know if there was even one left to make.

The silence stretched out, thick and heavy. Your pulse thudded in your ears, drowning out everything else. And then, for the briefest of moments, everything cleared. A strange, unsettling calm swept over you. The fear, the anxiety—it all faded, replaced by something deeper, darker. You were done running. Done fighting. It was all too much.

Without thinking, your hand lowered, the revolver slipping from the aim you had kept steady for so long. Slowly, almost in slow motion, you brought the gun to your temple. Your breath hitched, shallow and ragged, but the world around you felt distant, quieter.

It wasn’t a decision. It was a release. A way to escape all of it.

But just as you gathered the strength to pull the trigger, you heard a slight sound. The faintest of movements. The sound of unclasping. You blinked, dazed, as something shifted in the air.

His hand lowered.

And then, with slow, deliberate motion, he removed his mask.

Your heart stopped.

For a moment, everything else ceased to exist. The room, the tension, the gun still pressed against your temple—everything blurred. The world shifted.

You stared at him, unable to process what you were seeing. The face that had once been a stranger now felt... familiar. But it wasn’t supposed to be him. It couldn’t be. The man standing in front of you wasn’t the same one who had fought beside you, who had once shared your vision, your cause. No, this wasn’t him.

And yet... it was.

"...Young-il?"

The name escaped your lips like a memory you weren’t sure you wanted to reclaim. He didn’t answer. He just raised his hand again, his gesture the same, his eyes locked on yours.

It wasn’t just a question—it was an invitation.

You stared at his outstretched hand, the choice heavy in the air. The revolver trembled in your grip.

This time, the decision was yours to make.

[yndrgrl]

your boyfriend, katsuki bakugo, loves you dearly, but you're scared you'll never be deserving of him

cute lil dabble. lowkey songfic. fem! reader. angst to comfort. fluff. established relationship. any au. overthinking! reader.

warnings: there are none :D

a/n: picture a "too sweet" by hozier girl x "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys boy relationship !

-

katsuki is always characterized as hostile yet calculating, a man who knows exactly what he wants. he's destined to be the top of the food chain, everyone knows it. he's powerful man with a deadly gorgeous face, his fangirls would describe.

& in comes you. plain old you.

you honestly have no idea what katsuki sees in you. like, if you're digging deep in yourself, maybe he likes your for your dark, crude sense of humor that always seems to make him belly laugh.

it's said that he's an early bird. he's awake before you every single day, asleep & sound by 8:30-- on the weekends, he'll push it to 10:00. before you've said your first words of the day, he's already made his side of the bed, made & ate breakfast, put away the laundry, & is off to his morning run after his morning workout. his good habits he's developed early in life has benefited him in every way.

he never procrastinated on chores, his paper work is flawless, & you could learn a thing or two from his time management skills. he's always making time for spontaneous dates you wanna go on, festivals you wanna visit, & he makes sure that the pantry is stacked with your favorite snacks. any of your interests are his interests, even if he doesn't fully understand it.

when it comes to katsuki, you ought to wonder if he ever wants to experience something different from his strict, repetitive lifestyle. you sometimes feel stupid for wanting more out; you want to travel somewhere far away, you want to go out clubbing with a bunch of strangers, you want to move to the country side & live in a cottage. katsuki always reels in your dreams, encouraging you but also reminding you that you need to stay consistent to achieve them. you're jealous with how fast he can accept reality.

"babe? you listening?" katsuki questioned, snapping you out of your thoughts. you blinked a couple of times then nodded almost-too enthusiastically. he let out a little chuckle & stroked your cheek with his thumb. "what're you thinking about?"

"nothing, i'm sorry," you sighed with your hands in your lap. you both were on the couch, doing your own thing. he was on his phone, & you were supposed to be doing some work on your laptop, but you found yourself spacing out again.

"don't apologize. i'm just curious about what's going on in that pretty, little head of yours," he told you before he took your hand & pressed his lips against your knuckles. you thought to yourself, i'm not good enough for this man.

you debated whether or not to tell the truth. on one side, he has been your devoted boyfriend for years now, but on the other, he could just be asking out of curtesy. like, what if he actually does not care at all- "(y/n)? talk to me. i know you have something you wanna say," katsuki commented, scooting closer to you. he set the pillow that you placed your laptop on the coffee table so he could get your undivided attention. he caressed your thigh to help ground you.

you stayed silent for a moment, & he waited patiently. you swallowed, your eyes darted from his piercing red ones to the floor to his hands. finally, you said, "you're too sweet for me." he laughed & laughed, & you couldn't help but crack a smile. "what? what's so funny?" you pouted.

"sorry for laughing, princess. it's just no one ever calls me sweet. like, ever," admitted katsuki as he settled down from his fit of laughter. what he said was true though, he didn't have a problem with it. he was not sweet at all, he was rough around the edges & egotistical with the skills to back him up. he only ever thinks about himself & you. "but what makes you say that, hm?"

"well, for one, you always treat me out & take me anywhere i want. we never go where you wanna go," you pointed out, jabbing your finger in his toned chest playfully.

"that doesn't make me sweet. i have the money, & i don't fuckin' care about where we go to eat."

you chose to ignore him, rolling your eyes at him because that was his excuse every time. "two, you're literally in the prime of your life, & you choose to go to sleep at 8:30? how do you sleep so well?"

"(y/n), what is this really about?" he questioned. katsuki brushed your hair away from your face, tucking the silky strands behind your ear. "& don't lie to me, i know you."

"ugh, fineee," you groaned as you threw your head back. maybe it was for comedic effect, or to gather your thoughts & regulate the tears that started to well in your eyes. "do you think i'm like, worthy of you?"

"worthy of me?"

"yeah, do you think i'm good enough for you?" you rephrased, pulling your hands away from him to rub your upper arm. it's embarrassing to admit something, it's scary too. what if, once you point it out, he'll agree & leave you?

"'course i do! i'm the best around & i got the best fuckin' girl, why are you thinking this shit?" katsuki exclaimed, his passion that you wish you had seeping through to his tone. a moment of thick silence followed, you took a deep breath. you suck at emotions.

"you're too good for me, okay! you're so much stronger than everyone, & if that wasn't enough, you're insanely smart! i'm just... here. average at best. people praise you like the morning after an eternity of darkness. you're the rain after a heatwave. everything works out for you, & i'm just the one holding you back from even better things-"

"babe, you're not holding me back or whatever. you've never held me back," he stated like it was a fact, but you felt as though he was just saying that to calm you down. it angered you, & you were ashamed that you were angry because it wasn't even directed at him, it was directed at the fact you felt unworthy.

"no, you don't get it! i aim low because it's realistic for me, i can't afford to aim for anything else because i'm destined to fail. you, on the other hand... you have so much potential. don't you get embarrassed about having a girlfriend like me?"

"no." he answered so quickly, like it was rehearsed, like he knew what you were going to say. "i've never felt embarrassed of you ever. you're so fuckin' dense, you know that?"

you paused just to stare at him. katsuki sure had a way with comforting people. even after years of being a hero, he never learned how to traditionally comfort people. tough love, everyone would call it. but with you, he forced himself to be tender because you deserve treatment no one else gets from him.

there were so many things he wanted to say to you. don't you realize what you do for him? god, katsuki would go mad living without you now that he knows what life is like with you, his missing rib. the two of you are meant to be, you're two sides of the same coin. so what if he's as bright as the morning? you were his darling night, the very universe was visible through your eyes.

"you must be dense if you really thing you're just average. would i go for an average girl?"

"i mean-"

"no, the answer is no. you're deserving of love, my love. everything you've accomplished, everything you've overcome, you're just diminishing it because what? you think you're dumb or something? you- you..." you're the reason my world goes round, you are so talented, he was so desperate to shout these praises at you.

he was never one for romantic gestures through words. if he did, he would've been the best damn poet in the game. "i am yours."

it was such a simple sentence, yet it shook you to the core. you stared into his lively, crimson eyes. the look he gave you in return made your breath hitch; he was so deeply devoted to you, as deep as the pacific ocean.

you leaned in, capturing him in a kiss. tears rolled down your cheeks, your despair melting away. you felt like the two of you were kids again, sharing your first kiss. how could you doubt a man who so clearly, who so desperately, loves every bit of you.

[libbybee]

A ROGUE'S TOUCH — SA

◜pairing: astarion ⨯ fem!rogue!reader ◜rating: MDNI 18+ ┊ wc: 2.8K ◜cw: porn without plot, masturbation [F], neck kissing, sweet-dirty talk, semi-public, overstimulation.

▹ summary. trapped in a goblin fortress, you and astarion stumble upon a locked door blocking your path. though you're inexperienced with lockpicking, astarion insists you try, offering a hands-on 'lesson' that quickly turns into a distraction.

A/N. english isn't my native language, sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

AO3 ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ PLAYLIST

‎

The air was dense in the goblin’s fortress with the smell of decay and their gross scent.

Every step you took echoed too loudly in the quiet silence of the hallway as you looked for a way to get out, making you almost tremble due to the fear of being discovered. Astarion was a silent, ghostlike presence beside you, with his hand near the hilt of his dagger to strike at any moment if necessary—always prepared. You envied how easy he made this all seem.

You both halted in front of a heavy wooden door, its iron reinforcements dark and covered in rust. It was imposing, with an ornate lock gleaming against the faint light cast by the candlelight.

“This should be the way forward.” He murmured while his crimson eyes narrowed, studying the lock. “Unfortunately, it's blocked. We’ll have to pick it.”

You looked at him. “We? I don’t know how to pick locks.”

He smiled arrogantly, his lips sharply as a blade. “Oh, but you'll learn. It's a skill every adventurer should master, darling. Besides…” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a delicate set of lockpicks and placing them into your open palm. “I insist.”

You glanced back the way you both came. The thought of learning now while someone—or something—may find you both made you feel more anxious. “This isn’t the time for—”

“Trust me. I’ll guide you.” His expression turned serious as he cut your words.

With a sigh, you crouched in front of the lock, feeling uncertain as you inserted the pick into its mechanism. The metal was harsh and unfamiliar in your hands, and you felt your mind block as you had no idea what you had to do. Behind you, Astarion kneeled close enough for you to feel his chest against your back, then he placed his hands on your hips to steady you.

“Relax, darling. You’re trembling.” He whispered against your ear; his voice close to you was enough to send a cool shiver down your neck. “Here. Let me show you.” He settled his left hand over yours, his fingers firm but kind as they enveloped yours around the lockpick. Slowly, he guided your hand, moving the pick precisely until a soft click occurred. Your movements felt fluid thanks to him, instinctive, like he could do this while sleeping.

Meanwhile, his other hand slid from your hip to your thigh as if trying to calm your nerves, trailing his fingers with a light touch that sent a tingling along your body. He lingered just for a moment before gliding inward to the delicate spot between your thighs. The pressure was subtle at first—a teasing drag of his fingertips that shifted into measured rubs over your pussy. He made the constant friction soft, and his breath remained steady, as if he weren’t just breaking the deadly tension of the moment only by touching you.

“You’ll feel a slight resistance—there, do you feel it?” His voice was a low murmur, velvety smooth and calm, while his fingers guided yours on the lockpick, moving with ease, coaxing the mechanism to yield. All this should have been instructional—his control, his preciseness—but his intentions betrayed him.

With the other hand, he shifted a bit higher to deftly undo the button of your trousers, slipping beneath the waistband of the slackened fabric with sinful fluidity. Just to find with his fingertips the delicate heat of your core against your panties, brushing with a feathery touch while still guiding your attempts. His stimulation seemed to mock the skill he demonstrated with the lock.

Your hips leaned involuntarily into his hand as your fingers stumbled with the lockpick. “Astarion—” You managed, with a tense tone of warning and plea.

“Shh,” he quieted you. “Pay attention, darling. This is important.”

A shudder ran through you. “How am I supposed to—”

“Focus?” He finished for you, his smirk clearly perceptible as he kept his stroking on you. “I wouldn’t want to make this too easy for you, now, would I?”

Your thighs clenched around his wrist, but he only scoffed at your futile attempt to stop him with a low tongue click. Dipping his fingers effortlessly beneath the final barrier of fabric, he found your clit and began tracing lazy circles around your bud. He made every movement the perfect combination of pressure and pattern, played with terrible skill for that moment, stripping away the fragile threads of focus you tried to cling to.

The tools trembled in your hands as the mechanism refused to cooperate; each time you thought you had the pin in place, his fingers rubbed harder and faster against your delicate clit. A sharp jolt of pleasure radiated through you, making your grip falter and the aching throbs he elicited sending your concentration scattering like leaves in a blustering breeze.

You slipped more of the lockpick in the lock while his other hand rested just over yours to 'guide' you. The brush of his cool fingertips on your knuckles was a stark contrast to the heat he was building in your pussy. He got lower, circling the entrance of your wet folds and tracing your slit to your clit again with infuriating slowness with his slender fingers, never giving you the satisfying sensation of more.

“Mmm, feel that?” He hummed lowly, his voice like a sensual caress against your ear, making you hold your breath when he finally pushed his middle finger inside. The intrusion slow and gradual.

You tried once more to adjust the angle as his finger curled within you to stroke your G-spot while using his thumb to massage your clit, coaxing your pelvis to rub involuntarily against his hand until your lips allowed a weak moan you barely managed to suppress.

A soft click echoed in the quiet hallway at the same time, but it wasn’t the one you were hoping for. The lock didn’t open—yet it gave another subtle shift, a hint of close to open but just out of reach.

“Ah, there it is. Feel how it responds?” He whispered. “It’s all about finding the right angle… and knowing when to push with the right touch.”

“Astarion!” You wailed quietly, tightening your grip on the lockpick in frustration.

“Yes, my sweet?” He purred with wicked satisfaction while he kept sinking his finger inside you. He was meticulous in that tortuous slowness, as if to intensify the sensation—each push deeper than the last, never fully withdrawing, only ever teasing you with a rhythm that made it impossible to think of anything but him.

“Am I distracting you?” His whispers were like a lover's touch against your ear, just low enough to be heard. His left hand moved to orient yours with an almost cruel precision, ensuring the lockpick remained poised at the exact angle needed. The parallel was impossible to ignore—the skilful manipulation of the lock imitated the careful stimulation he exerted on your pussy too well.

The cold, damp air of the fortress did nothing to diminish the heat flooding your body as his uninvited finger penetrated deeper inside you. It wasn’t just the intrusive pressure; it was the rhythm of each gradually increasing thrust that made everything else—everything else—fade into the background. Your walls clenched around him subconsciously, desperate but bound by the task at hand. The lock was still before you, and it felt a thousand times more impossible to manipulate; its intricate mechanism was a cold contrast against the warmth he was unleashing.

“I can’t—” You whispered, trembling with frustration and the torment he inflicted.

He chuckled lowly against the sensitive curve of your ear—that characteristic smell of his so close. Then you felt his lips when he planted a soft kiss on your neck, kissing over your pulse. “Oh, but you can,” he murmured, dulcet with a dangerous edge, more of a command than a guarantee. “All you need to do is focus, sweetheart… We’ll be here all night if you don’t.”

Before you could even think of anything else, a second finger plunged inside you with distressing slowness, stretching you further than before. The suddenness of it made the grip on the lockpick falter, and in a second, the tool slipped, falling with a soft clatter against the cold stone floor—a noise that rang out too loudly in the silence, mocking your failure.

His fingers inside you curled deeply to intentionally touch against that sweet, sensitive spot that made you jerk in response, pressing your hips into his hand. Your mind screamed at you to focus, but the feeling of being filled just by so little of him—how he was ruining you so, so easily—was enough to make you want more despite the circumstances.

The quiet atmosphere of your deadly situation was impossible to ignore; every sound, every movement, was amplified in this repugnant place. Yet the danger lurking in the shadows—of goblins, of discovery—disappeared, insignificant against the relentless storm he was creating within you. The fortress could collapse around you, and yet all you could think of was the feelings of your body and the way he manipulated your senses.

Panic twisted inside you as you pressed your hand against your mouth, trying to muffle the frustrated moans that slipped past your trembling lips. But even with your palm tightly pressed, the sound still quivered through your fingers.

His left hand shot out to seize your wrist and yanked your hand from your mouth. “Not a chance, love.”

You bit down hard on your lip, forcing yourself to steady the tremors in your hands as you reached down to retrieve the lockpick from the cold stone floor.

As your fingers closed around the lockpick again, you heard his voice. “My sweet, good girl…” His praise was syrupy, sweet. “You need to be more careful, darling; you’re rushing. Be patient… and it will open up to you, just like you want.”

All he said was simply meant to provoke you and keep you on edge, and you could feel the unnoticeable giggles radiating off him, knowing exactly how to needle you. Every part of him was a temptation—his touch, his voice, his nearness—all aimed at luring you further. But you weren’t giving in. Not now. You would finish this—despite him.

His fingers dug in even deeper, inching inside you with an excruciating pace. Each thrust seemed to draw a little more from you, his knuckles rubbing against your inner walls as he fucked you, stretching your entrance. His palm ground against your clit with every thrust—a hot, torturous, constant sensation. It was all you could feel, making your resolve shudder and your pelvis act defenceless against his attack.

A quick, focused motion brought your fingers back to the lockpick, pressing down with the right amount of force. Another click—a momentary release of tension, but not enough. The mechanism was still holding firm, teasing you with its near surrender.

“That’s it,” he murmured, so softly, so mocking, almost cruel in its dulcet tone. “You’re doing so well… but you need to be more gentle, darling. Focus.”

A curse hissed through your teeth, frustration pooling as you tried to steady your hands, but they faltered again. Behind you, he was watching with that infuriating smile still playing at the corners of his lips, with no kindness in his gaze and only cold satisfaction and desire.

And then he moved.

Instead of offering aid, he thrust into you with an angrier that made your channel clench roughly around him. Pulling each inch of his fingers from you, only to push back in quickly to the level of making lewd sounds despite your clothing as he kept curling his fingers.

“Trying to hurry through this, love?” He purred against your skin. “If you rush, you’ll only make it worse.” His thumb found your clit then again to start drawing tight, fast circles that had your lips parted in a breathless whimper before you could choke it back. He only smiled as if your weakness was the most delicious thing he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing.

He withdrew with slow elegance, only to slam back into you abruptly, pushing you closer to the edge with those relentless motions. The lock you’d been desperately trying to manipulate felt more distant with each passing second; each twist of the lockpick seemed more futile now, slipping through your fingers as the growing tension between your legs coiled tighter.

But then his other hand established yours again; the contrast was jarring. He guided it with an unexpected tenderness, positioning your fingers with precision, as if you were both playing a riskier game, the stakes higher than ever.

“You’re close.” Astarion murmured, a low growl as his fingers sped up. The strokes against your clit were like fire and ice in one—a storm of sensations that jolted through your cunt. The pressure inside you was building, unbearable, a crescendo that left you teetering.

“You’re so close, my love…” His voice was a throaty hum against your ear, brushing it with his lips. The heat of his breath lingered, teasing, coaxing, before he lowered his mouth to trail tender, messy kisses down your neck. His lips were soft, but the pressure increased as he pressed a sloppy kiss just beneath your jaw, then dragged his tongue across your skin.

A flicker of desire curled in your stomach as he nipped at your pulse, the warmth of his mouth contrasting with the cold air around you. Grazing his fangs lightly over the sensitive spot just beneath your ear before he licked a languid path up from the base of your neck, tasting you with an intensity that made you feel weaker.

“You’ve done so well…” he purred. “Don’t stop now.”

Your jaw clenched, a low tremor racing through your hips as they kept rubbing against his hand. You were desperate to stay focused and finish the task at hand, but the thrusts of his fingers and the stimulation on your clit sent waves of fiery heat through your core, making you ache with need. You could feel the lockpick slipping again, sliding out of your grip, threatened by the chaos swirling in your mind. It was an impossible challenge.

His other hand curled around your trembling fingers, the pressure of his grip forcing your hand to move, to continue. Your fingers shook as you slipped more of the pick into the door lock. His fingers—those long, skilled digits—pushed deeper, faster, finding a tempo that was both hard and euphoric.

Your body reacted without your consent, being consumed by the pleasure he was drawing from you. His thumb stimulated your clit with rapid, exasperating circles over your sensitive bud, just about driving you mad with desire. Your grip trembled as Astarion’s fingers curled with each swift thrust; he didn’t even give you a moment to adjust. He didn’t allow a single breath to escape your lips without pushing you closer to a breaking point, as his pace was unforgiving and fast, never slowing down.

And then, just as the lock felt completely impossible to open, your guided hands finally twisted it into place. You barely registered the decisive click, though; you were too caught up in the chaos of sensations until the pressure inside you exploded.

Your pussy convulsed and clenched around his fingers as you lowered your head and shut your eyes, while a sharp cry escaped your lips as your orgasm tore through you, crashing every nerve. Astarion didn’t stop, didn’t relent, keeping his rhythm as he milked every last spurt of your juices with his hand, keeping you pinned against his chest. Both with his hand now on your neck and his fingers working tirelessly between your thighs to prolong your release and make it last far longer.

Once it was settling over, your body and your legs still quivered in the aftermath, and you leaned firmly against him for support. His fingers remained inside you, savouring the way your walls fluttered and vibrated weakly around them, as if you were reluctant to let go. But he finally withdrew slowly, leaving you achingly aware of just how thoroughly he’d unravelled you.

“Bravo, my sweet,” he murmured, his tone a low, smug purr as he brought his lips teasingly to your ear. “You managed to unlock it. I’ll admit… I’m rather impressed.”

“You… you’re impossible.” You whispered harshly, breathless, while you gave him back his tools.

“And you’re adorable.” He replied smoothly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek as he guarded them in his pocket.

You shot him a look that could kill him, your fingers trembling as you fumbled with the buttons of your trousers to quickly button them. “You could have done that in half the time…”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” he said with a lazy shrug, straightening as he rose and offered you his hand. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You glared at his outstretched hand before begrudgingly taking it.

“Now,” he said as he helped you to your feet, “come along. We’ve wasted enough time.”

The faint sparkle in his eyes and the way his smirk lingered just a touch too long made you wonder if this had been his plan all along.

‎

[starry-bi-sky]

this just in: danny fenton is just as much of a mask as Brucie Wayne? - another danyal al ghul au

Turns out, being placed in a civilian family who have no knowledge of your background is actually detrimental to the health and development of a child assassin due to lack of proper support! Surrounded by strangers in a foreign city, Danyal Al Ghul does as assassins do best. He hides. Espionage is one of many teachings one learns in the League, and it only takes half a day for Danyal to construct a new persona to hide behind: Daniel Fenton.

By the time dinner rolls around, Danyal al Ghul is safely and securely tucked behind the face of Danny Fenton; brand new adoptive child of the Fenton family who came from overseas. A shy, quiet little boy with a thick accent and curly hair, with brown skin and blue eyes, and an avid interest in the stars. The best fictions are always cobbled together in a little bit of truth, it's some of the only truth he ever lets through. He apologizes in a meek voice for his behavior early, he didn't mean to be rude, and he watches the three of them eat it up with coos.

Lies roll like silk against his lips, he struggles to meet their eyes and offers them his weakest, shyest smile. It's too easy. It's easy to go from there.

Danny Fenton, adoptive son, shy and awkward and unconfident but friendly. Who struggles in his classes and isn't the brightest, but tries his hardest. He makes bad jokes and has a quick tongue and a sarcastic mouth. He wants to be an astronaut. He's got the best aim in school, and is a terrifying dodgeball player. He's one of the least athletic kids in his grade.

It's like playing two truths and a lie, but there's only one truth, and the rest are lies. It's easy to pretend when he knows it's insincere.

Danyal Al Ghul, grandson to the Demon Head. Deadly, trained assassin. Has spilled blood, has had blood spilt from. Environmentalist, animal activist. He loves the stars. He owns a calligraphy set. A sharp tongue, an even sharper blade. He's clever, quick-witted, he would be top of his grade if he tried harder. He purposely doesn't.

He misses his family. He misses his mother, and he misses his brother. Mother visits a few times a year, so few times that he can count it on both hands. He cherishes every visit, as brief as they are. It helps remind him who he is.

Sam and Tucker are Danny's best friends. They've never met Danyal, but Danyal's met them.

It becomes routine to become Danny Fenton. As familiar and as easy as pulling on a shirt in the morning. Danyal wakes up and is always first to the bathroom in the mornings; stares at himself in the mirror until he can finally see Danny staring back at him. At night, he locks his door and sheds the mask.

Dying throws a wrench in his mask; splits a crack straight through the porcelain. He's able to smooth it over with sandpaper and liquid gold, but it's a little hard keeping his ghost form under wraps. It instinctively wants to shift to show his true self. Danyal can't have that, he's spent four years as Danny Fenton, he'll spend another four as him as well. Even if the feeling of the hazmat suit in his ghost form feels restrictive, like a too-small shirt suctioned to his skin that needs to be peeled off.

He'll live. Er-- well, you know what he means. It's frustrating however, trying to keep his Danny Fenton mask up even as Phantom - fighting in the air is something he needs to get used to, and the sudden propping of powers throws him off. But he is nothing if not adaptive, and he hates that he needs to slow his own skills down in order to keep pretenses up in front of Sam and Tucker.

The first time Danyal summons a sword when he's alone, is one of the few times Danyal gets to grin instead of Danny. He's fighting Skulker, and from an invisible hilt he draws a katana from thin air. It startles them both. Skulker takes a step back at the smile that spreads across his face.

They're both silent as Danyal examines his new sword.

"Do you know what people like me do to people like you, poacher?" Danyal finally asks him, the accent he began to hide a few months in slipping through. He drops all pretense, dragging the flat end of the blade slow and appreciatively against his palm. It's a good make, and when he cuts it through the air, it slices through like butter. He looks up at Skulker with a smile; "are you ready to find out?"

When Sam and Tucker ask about why Skulker seems so skittish around Danny now, Danny shrugs at them and says with a playful smile; "I don't know, I guess I kicked his butt too hard after our last fight." and he watches as Sam rolls her eyes exasperatedly, and Tucker snickers with his own joke.

By the time he reunites with Damian before their 15th birthday, Danyal is buried beneath so many layers of Danny Fenton that his brother will need a shovel to dig him out. He's not sure what he'll find.

[overadores]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masks & moonlight ୨ৎ Sophia Laforteza

you're catnip to a girl like me

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 batman!reader x catwoman!sophia ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 headcanons!

.ᐟ cw: enemies to lovers, injuries, violence, kissing

mistletoe can be deadly if you eat it

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: the elusive thief who keeps slipping through your fingers, the infuriatingly charming woman who wanders into your galas uninvited, stealing the spotlight (and occasionally your jewelry) just to see that flicker of frustration in your eyes.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who loves pushing your buttons because she adores the way you try so hard to stay composed—until one night, when she teases just a little too much, and you finally snap. and oh, she lives for it.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who loves dogs more.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who keeps stealing your enemies in the dead of night, the charming thief who loves making your job harder because she is helplessly, attracted to you and absolutely adores the way you get so righteously annoyed every time she does it.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who is your greatest thorn in Gotham, the infuriatingly skilled thief who loves stealing your weapons mid-battle because she is obsessed with getting a rise out of you—and absolutely adores the way you get so adorably frustrated searching for your missing gadgets.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who always notice when it comes to someone flirting with you, when some overconfident rookie cop or a flirtatious socialite tries to get too close. when a charming informant leans in a little too much, she’s suddenly at your side, draping herself over you with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. she would never admit she’s jealous, but the next time you see that poor fool, they look like they’ve had an unfortunate “accident” involving a conveniently misplaced tripwire—or a mysteriously emptied bank account.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: that always near your crime scene so that she could help you defeat your enemies whenever you get outnumbered.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who knows when you get hurt. the first to notice when you don’t move as sharply, when your breathing is just a little too uneven. when you stumble into your loft, barely able to peel off your cowl, she’s already there—silent as a shadow, waiting. she would never admit she broke in just to check on you, but the sting of antiseptic and the careful way she stitches your wound say otherwise. she never stays until morning, but you always wake up to fresh bandages, a neatly cleaned workspace, and the lingering scent of her perfume on your sheets.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who sometimes gossip with alfred whenever you're out of the house.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who gets pissed off—and unfortunately, sometimes takes it out on you. she always throw the first punch when her frustration bubbles over, when a deal goes wrong, when the world pushes her too far. she finds you on a rooftop, masked eyes flashing, and suddenly, you’re dodging her strikes instead of trading banter. she would never admit she just needed to let off steam, but the way her hits are controlled—never meant to really hurt—tells you everything.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: stage being badly hurt so you could take care of her.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who, despite her fury, she couldn’t stop tracking the one who nearly killed you. She’d never admit it, but seeing you so badly hurt made her blood run cold. Already halfway to Gotham’s underworld, claws out, she was ready to tear apart whoever put you in harm’s way. She didn’t need permission, didn’t wait to be told to calm down—but when she returned, anger smoldering but subdued, she watched you tend to your wounds. Only when you met her gaze did the last of her rage fade. She’d never admit it, but you were alive, and that was all that mattered.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: gave you a kitten to make sure you remember her everytime you see it.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who you caught singing on the rooftop of your building, her voice a rare melody that drifted through the night like a whispered secret. Sophia never sang—not in front of anyone, not even you—but tonight, the soft lull of her voice wrapped around you, lifting you as if angels themselves had taken hold. You weren’t supposed to be here, weren’t supposed to hear this, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, afraid that even the slightest shift would shatter the moment.

˚୨୧⋆. catwoman!sophia: who, despite all your efforts to calm her down after a fight, still stormed around the room, her anger seething. words couldn’t reach her, and you were losing your patience. so, you did the one thing you knew would get her attention—without thinking, you grabbed sophia’s face, forcing her to look at you. before she could snap at you, you kissed her. it wasn’t gentle—it was forceful, raw, a way to take control of the moment. when you pulled away, she stood frozen, the anger melting from her eyes as she finally heard you, your lips still burning against hers. you didn’t need to speak to make her understand. your kiss said everything.

a/n: some random headcanon for catwoman sophia lolz. just read a spiderman!lara

[angelofthenight01]

Truth Serum

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

genre: flufy  ||     warnings: none

It all started, as these things often do, with a seemingly straightforward mission. Infiltrate a HYDRA base, retrieve some stolen tech, don't get captured, the usual. You were pretty confident, you'd been training with the Avengers for a while now, holding your own, even earning a few nods of respect from Captain America himself. You weren't exactly a superhero, more of a very skilled and adaptable support member, but hey, it paid the bills and got you close to, well... certain people.

You remember the moment the serum hit you. It wasn't dramatic, no needles, no villainous laughter. Just a rogue vial – accidentally knocked off a table by a HYDRA goon who tripped over his own feet, a testament to their competence – and its contents splashed right onto your cheek. It didn't taste like anything, but a second later you could swear you felt your brain doing the cha-cha.

"Are you alright?" Tony's voice was crisp over the comms. You knew he was watching the feed from his suit.

“Peachy,” you said, your voice surprisingly calm, even as the world around you started to look a little too vibrant. “Just feeling a bit… honest.”

“Honest?” Steve’s voice now chimed in with that trademark wholesome concern. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know,” you found yourself saying, “like, if you asked me if I liked the way the light caught your hair this morning, I’d say yes, Steve, you’re like a walking, talking golden retriever of justice and your hair is always perfectly coiffed. Sorry, am I oversharing?”

A beat of silence followed, punctuated only by the sharp crackling of your boots on the steel floor of the HYDRA base.

"Uh, thanks?" Steve said hesitantly.

“And Tony,” you continued, unable to stop the runaway train of your mouth, “your sarcasm is a coping mechanism, and sometimes it's a little predictable, but you're actually really good at inventing things, even if you pretend to hate trying.”

You could hear Tony sputter in disbelief. Before he could recover, you spotted your quarry – the tech – in a nearby room. And then you saw her. Natasha Romanoff, a whirlwind of controlled fury and ballet-like movements, expertly disarming guards left and right. Everything suddenly seemed… brighter. And also terrifying. Because, of course, the truth serum also seemed to have activated your inner monologue on high volume.

"Oh, damn it," you muttered, your voice still broadcasting. "You're so cool, Natasha, your hair looks amazing, are those tactical boots because you can be both deadly and elegant and it's totally not fair. I also think... I think..." You clamped your mouth shut.

There was a sudden, sharp intake of breath over the comms. You could practically feel Natasha's gaze burning through the screen and directly into your soul.

"Alright," Natasha said, her voice silky smooth, but with a definite hint of something dangerous lurking beneath. "You’ve had your moment. Let's finish this."

And that’s when you realised that you had a very, very big problem. You had a mission to finish, sure, but you also had to not reveal your crush on the world's most deadly spy. You could picture it now, if you even let a hint touch your tongue, it would be all over the tower, Tony would create a song about it, and Clint would laugh and draw cartoons of you in love struck positions.

You moved with newfound urgency, grabbing the tech and bolting for the nearest exit.

“I’m just gonna, uh, take this and go now,” you announced, “Gotta avoid... uh... social interactions. Bye!”

You broke into a run, your boots thundering on the metal floor, the comms going silent as everyone processed what had just happened. You could hear footsteps behind you, and you didn't need to look back to know who was trying to catch up to you.

You burst out of the HYDRA base into the cold night air, not caring where you were going, just knowing you needed to get away from Natasha. You sprinted across the snowy landscape, your breath puffing in white clouds.

Then, you hit a patch of ice.

You went down, hard, landing in a comical heap with a muffled oof.

“Are you alright?” Steve’s concerned voice came over the comms, making you groan.

“No,” you whined. “I just busted my butt. Also, I think I need to be honest with you all about the way I prefer to put my butter on my toast, and it’s not the way you would imagine, it’s much more…”

You cut yourself off before you could launch into a detailed explanation of your highly unorthodox buttering techniques. You scramble to your feet, wincing.

“I think I need to go home now!” you shouted, then took off running again, stumbling over the uneven snow.

“Wait!” Natasha’s voice called out from behind you again. Closer this time.

“No!” you yelled back. “I can’t, if I’m not running away, I’ll probably tell you I think you’re amazing and all of the romantic feelings I have for you and then you’ll get weirded out and it’s just, a whole thing!”

You didn’t wait for a response, diving behind a large snowdrift. You could hear Natasha’s footsteps pause, a beat of silence followed, and then you heard a sigh.

You peeked over the top of the snow drift, and saw the figure that was Natasha, hands on hips, a look of fond exasperation on her face. It made your heart do a little flip of emotion.

"Okay, fine," Natasha called out, "I'll give you some space. But you're not getting out of this conversation without explaining all that 'buttering' talk later. And your feelings." She added the last bit in a soft voice.

You ducked back down, a blush creeping up your neck. You could hear laughter coming through the comms this time, Tony, Clint and Steve having a field day. You might have also heard Thor laughing way too loud, then suddenly a deep growl, and then silence.

You knew you couldn't hide forever. But for tonight, you decided, you'd take your chances with the arctic wind over the truth serum and the very attractive woman currently stalking you. 

For now, your escape was enough. You would deal with the awkward, heartfelt, and hopefully not too embarrassing aftermath tomorrow. But tonight? Tonight you are just a very honest person with a severe case of avoidance and a very big crush. And that’s something, right?

[httpvomitello]

hopefully i’m doin’ this right;;

may i perhaps have daemon targaryen x autistic female reader (whom is very physically affectionate and occasionally clingy) with a song inspiration of: the “JUMPIN’ OVER!” cover by Amiaryllis?

Hello, hello! Thanks for the request, hope you like it ♡

The Rogue Prince and His Wildflower *⁠.⁠✧

daemon targaryen x f!reader

The halls of the Red Keep were alive with whispers, the servants and lords alike speculating about the strange girl who had caught Daemon Targaryen’s attention. You weren’t like the other ladies of the court, with their polished manners and sharp tongues. You spoke plainly, sometimes too much, sometimes too little. You often avoided the endless formalities, finding solace in small, familiar routines.

But it was your touch—your constant, gentle touch—that seemed to mystify and disarm the Rogue Prince.

You were seated in the gardens of the Red Keep, your fingers trailing through the soft petals of a row of wildflowers. Most would have seen nothing remarkable about the scene, but Daemon, ever observant, noticed the way your lips moved silently, as if speaking to the flowers themselves.

“What secrets do they tell you?” he had asked, his voice smooth and teasing.

You startled slightly but didn’t retreat. Instead, you looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “They don’t tell secrets. They just… feel nice. Gentle.”

Daemon smirked, intrigued. “Gentle, hmm? As if the world were not a well of kindness.”

Your connection grew quickly, though not without its challenges. You had your routines and rhythms, and Daemon—ever impatient—sometimes found them frustrating.

“Why must you count the steps to the door every time?” he asked one evening as you paced the length of his chambers.

“It helps me think,” you replied simply, pausing to glance at him. “And it feels good. Like… jumping over waves.”

Daemon tilted his head, considering your answer. He didn’t always understand your ways, but he respected them, even if they puzzled him.

“What if I carried you to the door instead?” he teased, striding toward you with a playful grin.

You didn’t resist when he scooped you up, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re warm,” you murmured, leaning into him.

“And you’re clingy,” he replied, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“I like being close,” you admitted. “It makes me feel safe.”

For all his bravado and sharp edges, Daemon found he couldn’t deny you. “Then stay close, wildflower,” he murmured, holding you tighter.

Daemon learned quickly that you expressed love differently from most. Where others used words or gifts, you used touch. You often reached for his hand, brushing your fingers against his when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. You leaned into him during council meetings, your head resting lightly on his shoulder.

One night, after a particularly grueling day, Daemon returned to his chambers to find you waiting for him. You didn’t say a word, simply pulling him down to sit beside you. Your hands moved to his shoulders, massaging the tension away with surprising skill.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice carrying none of its usual sarcasm.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You looked like you needed it.”

Not everyone in court was kind to you. Whispers followed you wherever you went, and there were those who mocked your inability to navigate the subtleties of court life.

Daemon, however, was quick to silence any slight against you. When one particularly cruel lord made a jest at your expense during a feast, Daemon had slammed his goblet down, the sound echoing through the hall.

“Say another word,” he warned, his voice low and deadly, “and you’ll find yourself feeding Caraxes instead of your hounds.”

Even though the lord did not comment on it further, his body was found near Caraxes the next morning.

From then on, the court learned to hold their tongues.

Later that night, as you curled into Daemon’s side, you whispered, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “No one speaks ill of what is mine.”

There were moments of pure joy between the two of you, moments where the world and its expectations seemed to fall away.

One day, as a storm raged outside, you pulled Daemon toward the balcony, your eyes alight with excitement. “Come on!” you urged, your hand tight around his.

“You’re mad,” he said, though he didn’t resist.

The rain soaked you both as you danced across the slick stones, laughing and spinning as if the storm were your own private song. Daemon watched you, his heart swelling at the sight of your unrestrained happiness.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, pulling you close.

“And you’re wet,” you teased, laughing as you wiped rain from his face.

Daemon’s grin was wicked as he wrapped his arms around you, spinning you once more before pressing his lips to yours.

[buzzcutlip]

W9nndering if you'd be into writing #1 / I with Carmen. 🩷

Hi, thank you for the request 💗🎅

Prompts from my seasonal prompt list: Watching Christmas movies & Falling asleep together Carmen x Fem!Reader Explicit! with fluff!! Words: 2500

The hum of the central heating, neighbors' voices, the sound of the cars on the street drifting in through the single-glazed windows—all of it lulls both Carmen and you into a deep slumber, despite The Elf playing on the small screen of Carmen’s TV. Carmen's couch isn't the most comfortable, but exhaustion blunts any discomfort.

You’re both exhausted from the dinner rush, as it seems that the restaurant’s busier in December than ever before. Carmy never leaves before the end of the service, and you stay to help with whatever you can. You started as a waiter—a terrible one, needing the money for your last year of college. By some accident, or miracle, perhaps, Carmen never fired you. You ended up being in charge of the tedious administration at The Bear, alongside Natalie. You order and pick up fresh flower arrangements in Richie’s beat-up car, managing to escape any fines despite your dubious driving skills.

You wake up when Carmen shifts, his shoulder brushing yours. You’re positioned side by side, with your back slightly leaning against Carmy’s chest. His breathing is deep and slow, his hand resting near yours, close enough that the warmth of his skin seems to seep across the small gap. You yawn and then let your eyes roam over Carm’s handsome face. The furrow between his eyebrows is ever-present; he’s frowning slightly even in his sleep. Over the prominent slope of his nose, your eyes land on his lips. The warmth of the apartment wraps around the two of you like a cocoon, a fleeting reprieve from the whirlwind of the restaurant. You don’t remember being this warm and comfortable, and you indulge yourself, letting your eyes flutter shut again and silently enjoying Carmy’s immediate nearness, your temple leaning against his shoulder.

When Carmen stirs again, there’s a faint touch of his knuckles against your bare side, where your sweater’s ridden up. The touch sends a small shiver through your body, delicate but impossible to ignore. Your heart stumbles in your chest, and before you can second-guess yourself, you shift your hand just slightly, letting your fingertips graze his. It’s enough to make him move more fully. His breathing changes—slower, more measured—and you know he’s awake now. Somehow, he gets bolder—his hand trailing along your skin, his palm sweeping down to your hip and up under your breast. You have to bite your lip to keep from making a noise.

Carmen shifts his weight, all pretense of sleeping left behind, as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, burying his face into the point where your shoulder meets your neck. His nose is cold and his lips hot, creating a deadly combination.

“Sorry,” he speaks up at last, his voice rough from sleep. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” “That’s okay,” you shake your head softly, glancing down at where his arms cross on your stomach, holding you. Your heart stumbles in your chest, and before you can second-guess yourself, you move your hand to cover his, acknowledging what’s going on. Carmen hums contently into your skin, tilting his head to lay close-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck. Automatically, your hand goes up and slightly behind to bury into his curls, and this time you let out a deep, shallow sigh. Needing to ground yourself, your other hand travels up, to lightly grip Carmy’s thick, tattooed forearm.

He shifts just slightly, moving so you face each other fully on the couch, hands lingering on your waist. You tilt your face up toward him, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Carmen moves one of his hands up hesitantly, brushing against your jaw. His thumb skims your cheekbone, the touch so tender it nearly undoes you. He leans in slowly, but it’s you who closes the distance instead, your lips meeting his in a kiss.

And you love kissing Carmen. He does it with intent and a clear intention to please. He always cups your jaw and cheek in his large palm, and you love it. You love when he touches your face. It makes you feel even closer to him. You’ve only kissed him a handful of times, fleeting moments when the chaos quieted enough for vulnerability to peek through. Like the night you and Natalie realized The Bear was finally in the green, your shared relief spilling into celebration. Or the time you’d dared to ask him about Michael, the weight of his loss shared in silence.

That night, you knew he wanted to fuck you. You wanted it too, desperately. But instead of giving in, you’d pulled back, cheeks flaming, retreating with a nervous laugh and a hurried excuse. Since then, things have been... steady. Careful.

Carmen’s tongue is insistent yet gentle, as he licks into your mouth, and you tilt your face just so to give him better access. The Elf flickers on the TV, Buddy's chaotic cheer dimly illuminating the room. Neither of you is paying attention.

Each touch feels deliberate, like he’s memorizing you with his hands. Unbidden, you shift closer, your knee brushing his, your chest pressing against his as the kiss grows more heated. There’s something both unhurried and desperate about it, and you hesitate over how to let him know what you really want this time. You tilt his face up, revealing his long neck, kissing down the column of his throat just to buy some time.  Just a little bit, to clear your head.

You’re both breathless when you pause, wide-eyed and staring into each other. There’s so much in his gaze that you feel like you’re going to burn with need—for this man, for the most talented chef in the world, for the scared boy inside, for the man you’ve been falling for.

“Carmen—” you say urgently, not knowing how to continue. There’s confusion written on Carm’s face, and he takes your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth. He kisses the top of it repeatedly, making your heart ache as he waits for you to say what’s so urgent.

But you can’t make yourself. Instead, you take off your sweater, and your t-shirt too, yanking the material over your head, which leaves you in your simple black sports bra.

Your hair must be a mess, but you don’t care, any traces of shame long gone. Carmen seems to think the same, sensing the shift in the air as it grows thicker, filled with electricity. The undeniable pull between the two of you is finally materializing.

You dive back into the kiss at the same time, teeth and lips and tongues meeting, hands scrambling to grip something—anything. And soon, Carmy has you on your back beneath him. He’s busy discovering the new territory under him, while you push up his white t-shirt to get to more hot skin. It’s been a long time since you stopped lying to yourself about how attractive you find the chef. You run your nails blindly along his happy trail, enjoying the choked-out moans and quiet groans he makes.

“Fu—ck,” he stutters when you reach the root of his dick, teasing him before circling the girth of it. Pleased by his reaction, you give him a cheeky smile.

“Is this okay?”

“It—it's okay,” Carmy gets out, watching with rapture as you pull him out of his boxer briefs and sweatpants. You stroke him until precum bubbles out of the tip, a couple of beads dribbling down the length of his cock. Mesmerized, you watch the clear liquid until it connects with the ring of your fingers, then bring them to your lips, licking it off.

Carmen trembles above you. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, and you pull him into a dirty kiss, letting him taste both you and himself. He lets you jerk him off while he kisses your breasts—first over the fabric of the bra, then pulling it down to reveal their fullness and sensitive nipples. He sucks on one, then the other, completely lost in it, making so much unabashed noise you can’t quite believe this is the same Carmy you know from the kitchen. Or maybe he just can’t help himself.

Seeing him indulge in so much apparent pleasure affects you more than anything. And as much as you want to appear unbothered and in control, it’s slipping steadily from your hands. When Carmen sits back on his haunches after what feels like forever of kissing and licking, his face and neck are flushed red, sweat clinging to his hairline. You can’t believe he hasn’t come yet.

“How are you still going on?” you wonder out loud, watching his face, hand stroking his dick slowly.

“I’m pretty good at—at holding it off,” Carmy explains, his hands roaming your sides absently—your tummy, your arms—never stopping.

“Hmm, I see.” Deciding to move things along, you let go of Carm for a second to shed your leggings, with Carmy’s eager help, of course. When you settle back down, you beckon him playfully.

“Come back here.”

And he does, shuffling until he’s kneeling between your spread legs, dick out. You reach for it and rub the length against the seam of your pussy through the damp fabric of your cotton panties, making Carmy jerk and hiss, the fabric rough against his sensitive dick.

You watch him closely, cataloging every twitch of his abdominal muscles, every tick of his jaw.

“It’s okay,” you murmur sweetly, and Carmen nods, his quiet but fervent “Yeah, fuck” filling the room, his eyes never leaving where you’re holding him against your cunt.

Perhaps it was a silly decision, wanting to torture yourself like this, rubbing your clit through your panties instead of getting Carmy’s dick in you. You’re both suffering—Carmen’s mouth slack, his hips ticking forward involuntarily, completely undone. And you, moaning each time the flushed head catches on your clit or the opening, are just as wrecked.

Thankfully, at some point��before you both lose your minds—Carmen decides to take off his own underwear and pants. Then, rummaging in the drawer of his bedside table for a good minute, he turns back to you with a condom in hand.

You just nod, already pulling down your soaked panties, as Carmen puts on the condom and returns to his space between your thighs.

“You’re okay?” he checks, low and careful, which you find just outrageously sweet, before he kisses you deeply and starts pushing in.

Despite how pent up you are from the foreplay and the endless teasing, you relax the second Carmy’s in, letting out a sigh and one pretty moan just for him.

Carmen fucks like he does everything—with focus, with care. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin, anchoring you to him. Each thrust is deliberate, and you can’t escape his intense, wondrous gaze, as his eyes flick between your face and the place where his cock is repeatedly disappearing into you.

Oh, the sight of you—him in his stupidly little t-shirt all rucked up, ass naked. And you—with the sports bra the only piece of clothing still on, tits spilling out of it. It doesn’t take long before Carmy finds the perfect angle and hits your sweet spot with every single forward movement of his hips.

“Tell me how it feels.” It’s Carmen’s voice that pulls you out of the bliss.

You blink up at him, confused, your brain too foggy with pleasure.

“How does it feel?” he repeats, and you barely recognize his voice—unusually deep and choked.

'Oh god, he wants a review,' runs through your mind, thinking about how serious his possible praise kink might be. Before you come up with a reply, he touches his thumb to your clit, stroking tight circles against it with the rough pad.

“Really good,” you confess hurriedly, back arching.

Carmy’s gaze softens. “Good.” The intensity of his focus doesn’t waver; his eyes stay locked on yours even as his hand moves with deliberate precision.

“Carmy,” you breathe, barely recognizing your own voice. “Hmm?” His voice is low, rough, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness beneath it. You can’t find the words, your head tilting back against the couch as he leans down to kiss the curve of your neck. His mouth is warm, his lips soft, and the contrast between his relentless movement and gentle kisses has your breath catching. His other hand finds yours, and you let your fingers slide into his, threading them together.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

The care in his words has your chest tightening, a wave of affection mixing with the heat pooling low in your belly. You nod hurriedly, threading your fingers into his curls for something to hold onto. “It’s not—Carmy, it’s perfect.”

The approval seems to spur him on, his movements growing just slightly bolder, more confident. You can feel his breath on your skin as he trails kisses along your collarbone, murmuring something you don’t catch but that sends a shiver down your spine nonetheless.

“Good,” he repeats, his voice a little steadier now, but still tinged with something achingly raw.

You arch into him, a broken sound slipping from your lips as the hold on his hand tightens and you come, eyes squeezing shut, thighs trembling against Carm’s sides.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your ear, the encouragement sending another rush of heat through you, making the walls of your pussy clench again. Through the sharp and consuming pleasure, you feel Carmen let go too, crying out hoarsely, his hips stuttering, rhythm faltering until he stops moving completely.

When you catch your breath, you fix your bra and reach down to the floor, feeling for your underwear—or at least leggings. By accident, you catch a glimpse of a scene with colorful fairy lights on the screen, and you pause.

“When I was a kid, I was afraid of the dark,” you start while putting on your clothes, still lying on the sofa next to Carmen. “For Christmas, my parents would put the tree in my room, leaving the strings of lights on even at night. They had this specific foggy—or frosty—dimmed glow. I didn’t need to sleep with the open door to the hall during the holidays. It’s been so long, but the memory of that particular light—I always remember home and Christmas,” you finish dreamily, turning to look at Carmy for the first time with a smile, feeling oddly content and relaxed.

He’s still naked from the waist down, but you don’t study that overly.

“We could try to get you the same lights. Would be nice. Would feel like home,” Carmy suggests softly, sincerely, pressing a brief, tender kiss to your shoulder.

It makes your chest tighten, and for a second, you fight back tears. You look at him for a long moment—at his rumpled t-shirt and messy hair. “You feel like home,” you whisper.

[eleteo125]

"Be Mine or You Will Burn"

Rollo x GN!Reader

AN: Me and my friend are Rollo fans and they've inspired me to write this idea out 🤣

You were simply just walking around admiring the scenery of Noble Bell where you went back to the cathedral to appreciate the artistry of the stain glass. Each panel depicting how Judge Claude Frollo and his accomplishments.

Rollo, the school’s student council president has welcomed the NRC students by giving them a tour but his obvious disdain for magic users made it clear that he was rushing to get the tour done as fast as possible to get away from them. Heck you would even bet that the only reason he was able to get through the whole tour was because he only set his attention towards you barely minding the other guests. He sometimes casts a watchful eye on them but other than that he doesn’t particularly engage with them compared to you.

With those signs in display, everyone from NRC has come to the conclusion that them being invited here has an ulterior motive to it. Briefly shaking those thoughts from your mind, you admired the lights coming through the different colored windows surrounding you in a colorful halo.

My what a beautiful sight indeed.

Magic wielder or not, you’re still a student from NRC so of course Rollo has kept a close eye on you when freely strolling around the school. But he can’t help the fact that you’re devoid of any magic at all has him deeply fascinated. And to think to mingle around those…ahem.

Do not be fooled he’s only keeping watch of you because he can tell that everyone from NRC are quite attached to you especially that dragon fae. What better way to keep them in check when he has you close and in his clutches.

Walking towards you he silently stood in behind you. He held in a small chuckle as he saw you’re awestruck face looking at the beautiful work of art. “Impressed?”

Jumping a little bit in surprise, you quickly looked behind to see him “O-oh! Yes, I haven’t seen a stained glass window in person before, just through pictures.” You confessed

“Hmph of course such beauty is painstakingly crafted by hand of course you won’t see a lot of it. Craftsmanship that took people’s skill and talent with no assistance from cheap tricks everyone reveres.” He spits

“Magic?”

Rollo stayed silent at your question.

You decide to let go of the subject with his sudden silence. Instead you walked closer to the window to admire the small details. It was such detailed you can’t even imagine how long it would take to finish such a large piece.

Too lost in thought, you started to reach your hand out to the window but you’re once again surprised when you felt a strong grip around your wrist.

You were about to apologize but instead freeze up when you felt him step closer behind you. You tried to step forward to get some distance since you’re starting to get flustered at our position but realized that you don’t have much space to move in since you’re very close to the window.

“I’m sorry but those were just cleaned by the careful hands of our cleaners hands off please.” He whispered in your ear.

You shuddered at his closeness and the sensation of him speaking carefully so close to your ear. “I-I understand.” You stuttered while unconsciously leaning into his ‘embrace’.

He seems to have lost himself also since he buried his nose in your hair while his other hand rubbed your free arm.

You two stayed like that for who knows how long just basking in each other’s contact. “Why not transfer here, I can tell how ‘generous’ the headmaster is in your current school.”

“I can’t” you managed to mumble out after almost melting at the close soud of his voice yet again.

“You’re surrounding yourself with magic that is as deadly as fire.”

You leaned closer “Fire can be useful too.” You whispered

You felt his sigh in your ear and your knees almost gave up but he held you up when he sensed you were about to fall.

“Consider it.” He kissed behind your ear “Be mine or you will burn.

He carefully let you go after making sure you won’t collapse to your knees before walking put and leaving you under colorful light.

[sorceresssundries]

The Githyanki Initiate

A Lae'zel prequel story

Art by the incredible @orangekittyenergy - please send her some love for it <3

Warnings: Violence, death, angst

Nestled deep within the Tears of Selûne a hollowed-out asteroid drifted silently through the sea of night, Its silhouette stark against the luminous backdrop of stars and swirling cosmic dust. This was no place for outsiders; it was a sanctified bastion of discipline, a fortress where tradition and honour were etched into the very stone.

Within its confines, the children of Gith were hatched, raised, and forged. Their raw, untamed potential was shaped by discipline and fire, hammered into the tempered steel of seasoned warriors. Here, the weak were culled without mercy, and only the strongest emerged, tested by relentless trials to serve Vlaakith, the eternal Lich-Queen and their pitiless God. 

Not just a training ground; it was a crucible where the young were stripped of weakness, reshaped by pain and perseverance, and reborn as the relentless warriors who would one day take their place among the stars; destined to continue the eternal war against their enemies. Every stone, every shadow, and every breath pulsed with the legacy of a people determined to conquer all, driven by a history of enslavement and a future of unyielding conquest. 

In Crèche K’liir the strong survived, and the weak were forgotten. 

At its heart was a vast chamber filled with the gruelling clang of clashing blades and the grunts of exertion. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the crackling energy of psionic power, as recruits of all ages, from the youngest initiates to those on the brink of joining the Githyanki’s elite, honed their deadly skills under the vigilant eyes of seasoned instructors, their Varsh. The training grounds were meticulously divided into specialised sections, each designed to forge different aspects of combat mastery. Sparring arenas witnessed fierce one-on-one duels, where every strike could mean victory or death. Obstacle courses twisted through the grounds, designed to test not only physical agility but the recruits' strategic thinking and endurance. 

Every failure was a death sentence, and every success a stay of execution. It was barbarous, it was impersonal, it was necessary.

In these unforgiving environs, a lesson was unfolding - one that would be the most challenging, the most pivotal, ever taught to young Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir. 

She was ten years old, and she was about to be changed forever. 

Today, the weight of expectation pressed heavily on Lae’zel’s shoulders as Kith'rak Urlon, a towering figure of authority and unyielding discipline, observed the lesson. His cold, piercing gaze swept over the recruits, measuring their worth with an unreadable expression.

Lae’zel felt the intensity of his scrutiny, every movement of her body under the sharp focus of his eyes. She knew this was not just another lesson - it was a test, one that could define her path within the crèche and into the great beyond. If she was to become a Kith’rak and sit astride a Red Dragon, if she were to bring honour to her race and blaze the legacy of the Githyanki across the stars, it would all start here. Now.

There were no training swords, nor were there lighter, smaller blades meant for the soft hands of younglings. Lae’zel was an initiate of the Githyanki, and she would have her glory, or she would die chasing it. 

With the precision of a seasoned warrior, she sparred against her peers, her blade a blur of calculated strikes. One by one, she disarmed her opponents, her skill evident in the fluidity of her movements and the sharpness of her mind. Finally, she faced a young boy, a cousin from her clutch. Their clash was brief but brutal. With a swift, decisive strike, she brought him to his knees, his weapon clattering to the ground.

As the boy gasped for breath, Lae’zel stood over him, her heart pounding not from exertion but from the realisation that all eyes were on her. Kith'rak Urlon stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor, and stopped before her. His expression was inscrutable, but his words were laced with a cold, hard edge.

“Impressive,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Your ferocity and tactics are commendable, Lae’zel.”

A flicker of pride surged within her, though she kept her expression neutral. “Thank you, Kith'rak.”

“Tell me,” he continued, his tone more probing, “have you made your first kill?”

The question struck her like a physical blow. Though her training had prepared her for this moment, she hadn’t expected it to come so soon. Still, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “I have not, Kith'rak, but I eagerly await the day my blade is baptised in blood.”

He remained impassive. “That day is today,” he declared. He gestured to the boy she had just bested. “Kill him.”

For a heartbeat, hesitation flickered across Lae’zel’s face. The boy knelt before her, his breath ragged. The weight of the command, the finality of it, pressed like too-tight armour against her chest.

They were children. And as her eyes met his, memores stirred within her, bittersweet and fleeting, like a ghost from a time that no longer belonged to them.

She knew him well, he was from her clutch, the same group of young Githyanki raised together from the time they could toddle. They had studied the same ancient texts, shared the same meals in the cold, cavernous mess hall, and endured the same gruelling lessons. There were nights when, after the day’s brutality, they had found moments of quiet together. They would sit at the edge of the great asteroid, looking out at the vastness of space, watching as the lights of far-off worlds twinkled in the distance, promising future conquests. In those quiet moments, they had shared all the possibilities that were waiting for them. The battles they could face, the precious knowledge they could gather.

Entire worlds were theirs to conquer, they had the pride of the Githyanki and the impenetrable imagination of children. 

“What will you become?” Lae’zel had asked him, as she dreamt of her own future. 

He had paused for a while, before answering her. “Whatever I want.”

This was before sharper blades had been pushed into their gentle little hands. Before their futures had been decided and they still had the sweet, innocent privilege of being able to dream one for themselves and to get lost in the bright adventures of tomorrow, the way children often do. But, time has a way of sharpening the softness of youth. What was once a world of limitless possibilities slowly narrowed into a path they had no choice but to walk. Their laughter became battle cries, duty replaced dreaming, and wonder, which had once been boundless, was now shackled, locked away, and eventually… forgotten.

She stared at him now. He was steady, unafraid, despite the certainty of what was about to happen. Knowing him made her proud. Knowing him made her hesitate. Only for a moment, but long enough. 

“Perhaps I was wrong about you, Lae’zel,” Urlon said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Perhaps you lack the ruthlessness required to honour Vlaakith”

His words were a dagger to her pride. The very idea that she could fail, that she might be deemed unworthy in the eyes of her people and their queen, ignited a fire within her. She could feel the eyes of her fellow recruits on her, the raw heat of their judgement. The pressure was immense, suffocating.

“If you cannot fulfil this command, then perhaps you are the one who needs to be culled.” He gestured to three other initiates, waiting patiently at the sidelines.

 “Execute her,” he ordered them coldly.

Something pulled tight snapped within Lae’zel. This would not be the end of her legacy. Her grip tightened on her blade, and without a second thought, she whirled to face the approaching students. Her eyes narrowed as she assessed the threat, she had the calculated mind of a warrior who knew she was outnumbered and outsized… but far from outmatched. 

The first initiate charged with a war cry and Lae’zel dropped into Hrath Ajak, the battle stance known for its precision and fluidity. Her muscles coiled like a spring, and as he brought his sword down in a sweeping arc meant to cleave her in two, Lae’zel darted to the side, her body a blur of motion. His blade met only air, and before he could recover, she was inside his guard, her blade flashing up to slice across his unprotected thigh. With a quick pivot, she thrust her sword into his side, between the plates of his armour. He collapsed, his eyes wide with shock as life was snuffed from them. 

The second initiate lunged at her with a snarl, his blade slashing toward her with well-honed viscousness. Lae’zel twisted her body, just barely evading the strike, but the tip of his sword slashed down her face, leaving a burning line of pain. Blood welled up from the cut and trickled into her mouth, and she spat scarlet onto the floor at his feet and hissed at him in response.

The pain was a whetstone, and she sharpened herself against it.

He advanced, each step deliberate, each swing of his sword aimed to overpower her. Lae’zel danced backward, her movements fluid, conserving her energy as she let him tire himself out. She was smaller, lighter on her feet, and she used it to her advantage. She ducked under a wild swing and darted around him, her blade flicking out to slash at the back of his knee. He staggered but didn’t fall, turning to face her with a growl of frustration. Before the growl was finished, she drew her blade across neck, silencing him with a swift, ruthless strike. He was still spluttering blood as the third soldier attempted to approach her from behind. 

He was the largest of the three, and Lae’zel knew she couldn’t match his strength, so she did not try.  He pressed his attack, striking harder each time, trying to crush her beneath his superior size. Lae’zel’s breath came in short, controlled bursts as she parried his blows, her arms shaking from the force behind each of his hits.

As he brought his sword down in a powerful overhead strike, Lae’zel dropped to the ground, rolling beneath his swing and coming up behind him. She darted around him, her movements quick and unpredictable, her blade slashing at every exposed piece of flesh she could find. Finally, she saw her chance. As he brought his sword up for another heavy blow, she leapt upwards, and thrust her blade under his chin and out through the top of his skull.

Lae’zel stood amidst the fallen, bloodied but unbent, her chest heaving with adrenaline. Salt from her sweat dripped into the gash across her face—it stung fiercely, mingling with the taste of iron on her lips. She felt the pain but did not acknowledge it.

She turned back to the boy, her cousin who she had once gazed at the stars with and asked about his future, and In a single, fluid motion, she drove her blade between his ribs and into his heart. 

His corpse slumped to the ground with the others. 

Kith'rak Urlon watched her with a neutral expression. 

There was a beat where she expected the swing of his sword to drive her to the same fate, but she was spared. 

“You will make a fine soldier, Lae’zel. Report directly to me tomorrow and we will continue your training.”

Lae’zel, still breathing heavily, bowed but did not bother to wipe the blood from her blade as she sheathed it. Let the blood of her kin stain the floor beneath her feet. She cast one last glance at the bodies on the ground before leaving them behind. 

Something had ended today, and something else began. There was no going back. 

Later that night, she sat alone in the Great Library of K’liir. Her ten short years were but a single, unpolished stone against the tower of ancient knowledge surrounding her. She was small, a solitary figure in the vastness, the low orange candlelight throwing shadows that loomed large behind her. In her small hands, still caked with the blood of her kin, she gripped a Githyanki Disc - her gold eyes danced over it, reading the story of her people as though it were a fairytale. To a frail and fanciful human, it might have seemed just that: knights clashing with dragons, the slaying of monstrous horrors. But, this was her history, and her future. She would be a hero to sail the astral sea and bring glory to her kin. She would drag a mind flayer’s severed head through the halls of her people and mount a dragon whose fiery breath would set the stars alight.

She would not just be a part of history; she would make it.

She read the disc in her hands for the third time. 

There is no other race as proud, as fierce, or as deserving of the stars as the Githyanki. We are the survivors of enslavement, the conquerors of our oppressors, and the raiders of countless worlds. We, who have risen from the chains of the Illithids, stand as the eternal guardians of the Astral Plane.

Without our vigilant guardianship, the Illithid parasites would spread like a blight across the cosmos, an uncontrollable plague that devours life and enslaves our people. These soulless creatures would have turned the stars themselves into a wasteland. It is by our hand, our unwavering resolve, that such a fate has been averted. While other races allow their emotions to cloud their judgement, we possess the strength to cast aside such weaknesses and do what must be done. A Githyanki does not falter.

Our brutality is not born of cruelty for its own sake, but of necessity. We do not shy away from the hard choices, the difficult actions that must be taken to preserve the balance of power. It is our destiny to bring order to the chaos that lesser beings have allowed to fester. 

We are the blade that cuts through decay, the fire that purges weakness, the storm that reshapes worlds.

Vlaakith gha'g shkath zai.

After reading it so many times the words became etched in her mind, she walked with aching muscles and a heaviness in her bones over to the great statue of Vlaakith that stood vigilant over the room where the history of her people was held. 

The Lich-Queen’s carved eyes seemed to pierce into Lae’zel’s very soul, demanding her fealty, her submission, her all.

She let herself have one final, mournful thought of a cousin who she had once sat with and talked of the future, before gripping the pommel of her blooded sword and vowing to never hesitate again. One day her sword would be silver, and she would be tethered to no-one, only Vlaakith.

Never again would she sit idly and watch the sun and stars with another, nor let the colours of a hopeful sky warm her days or glimmer with promises of what could be. There was no more colour, no more softness. There was only the red of blood and the black of death.

Lae’zel of Crèche K’liir, was a child no more.

[killerpancakeburger]

Being Ghost's BFF Headcanons

(while also dating Soap cause you deserve the best of both worlds)

If you told anyone that Ghost was your favorite person to see in the morning, they'd write you off as clinically insane. Or laugh in your face. It didn't make it any less true though. When you don't want anyone speaking to you before you had your coffee, the Ghost feels heaven-sent. Others might see it as rude, but you're content with him acknowledging your presence with a nod of head or by raising his mug of tea in your direction.

You've never been afraid of him - more like displaying a healthy apprehension towards a guy exceeding 1m90, weighing over 100kg, and hiding his face.

After spending a couple hours with him, you quickly came up to a new conclusion about him: he just had a resting bitch face. Just because he had a deep voice and a monotonous tone didn't mean he was angry 24/7. He treated people how he wanted to be treated. He had high expectations for himself and for others/teammates. All in all, a pretty reasonable guy.

You like to think he started to respect you for your combat skills and experience, but evidence pointed to the fact that he began to look at you differently after seeing you decisively slap Soap in the face to wake him up after he passed out from blood loss.

There had been a few milestones in your relationship: when he told you a bad joke for the first time (you briefly thought you were having an aneurysm), when he told you to call him Simon (in private), when he awkwardly tried to cheer you up by patting you on the shoulder (first time he touched you outside of combat/training).

Outside of missions, the time you spent together was divided between shooting matches on the training grounds and hanging out with a smoke at night when both of you struggled to sleep. He was one of the rare men not pulling any punches against you, allowing to enjoy the competition freely. Soap tried time and time again to stay awake to join you two, but failed systematically.

Acting like a divorced couple with Soap as the kid you have shared custody of. "Yer man escaped medical again" "Before 6 a.m he is YOUR man, Lieutenant"

Frequently finding yourselves shouting both at the same time: "English, MacTavish!" In the same exasperated tone.

You can handle yourself, and Ghost is perfectly aware of that. That doesn't stop him from standing behind you menacingly like the Grim reaper himself when he thinks someone's taking too many liberties with you.

If Soap's a golden retriever when he's in a good mood, Ghost reminds of your parents' cat: silent, deadly, and shows affection by deigning to occasionally hang out in the same room as you.

You always carry a spare mask for him; and he wears spare hair ties on the wrist - plain, black ones. Cannot mess with his vibe.

People keeps asking how you managed to have a relationship with "The Ghost", and your answer is very simple: "learn when to shut the fuck up".

A/N:

Me in the beginning: I'm only gonna write Soap content

Ghost:

Me: Oh FFS

BONUS:

When Ghost told you a bad joke for the first time:

You still remembered the joke incident vividly: you were on a mission together, just the two of you, and as you were focusing more than usual, anxious to disappoint him or to be a liability, you suddenly heard in your com: "Ye heard the rumour 'bout butter?"

If Ghost's voice hadn't been unmistakable, you would have thought he had been killed and replaced by someone else.

"What (the fuck)", you exhaled, not because you wanted to know about butter, but because you had no idea what the hell was happening. The fact that his tone was exactly the same as usual - deadpan, flat - contributed to making you feel insane.

"Nah, I shouldn't be spreadin' it". was the answer. Torn between demanding explanations and not wanting to commit a faux pas, you replied the way you replied to your parents' bad jokes:

"Ha. Ha. Haha...?" 

The seasoned killer on the other side of the mic didn't seem to mind, but you texted Soap in panic as soon as your butt touched the helicopter's seat.

“JOHNNY”

"Sup hen"

"Cannae go wan mission without missing me, ae? ;)"

"Did Ghost hit his head recently??"

"Negative Ma'am" "Why? Did something happen??"

"He told me a dad joke. A fucking dad joke."

"😂 Thats kinda his thing"

"thought I was losing it"

"Congrats, ye can consider yerself stamped wit The Ghost seal of approval"

"Ok? Cool???"

"Mah too favourite people gittin along" *trails of smiling emojis and hearts*

[mgparker]

Come Back to Me

Marc Spector/Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: Mark leaves on a mission for Khonshu while you deal with a confrontation of your own. Unfortunately, this particular foe is aware of your specific skill set and uses your weakest spot to deliver a fatal wound. Laying there defenseless and abandoned, your final desire is to speak to the love of your life one last time.

warnings: ANGSTTTT!! (the fav), character backstory, flashbacks, character death, reader wound, sadness, despair etc etc, cliffhanger

masterlist!

“M-Mark?” Fuck. Fuck. Your voice was wobblier than you had expected.

“Baby?” You heard some shuffling. “What’s wrong?”

You pulled the phone away to clear your throat. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Despite your assurances, he wouldn’t be fooled. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk.”

The pain was spreading from your side, crawling through your torso like deadly vines. It was nearly blinding. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you tried to steady your breathing.

This isn’t how you wanted to go. Whimpering in pain and regretting every decision that got you here.

No. What you wanted was to hear your lover’s voice one last time. The warm timbre of his essence. Your favorite sound in the entire world.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He pressed. “Where are you?”

Your man was nothing if not stubborn. “Yes, baby. I’m okay—“ you really weren’t. “What—what did you do today?”

Marc sucked in air through his clenched teeth, gripping his phone with white knuckles. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I’m coming home for a few days… our leads haven’t gotten us anywhere and Khonshu believes we just need a comfortable place to think.”

You would’ve scoffed at that if your chest and throat weren’t on fire. Khonshu believes?

The big bird knew what Marc would be returning to. He knew you were lying in a pool of your own blood.

The thought sent a surge of panic through your body, even as the pain was beginning to overwhelm you. “No! Uh—um you— you’re already so close. W-what are you stuck on?”

Tears welled in your eyes, it felt like a blazing iron rod was being shoved into your chest and dragged up slowly until every organ could feel the flame.

It was silent on the other end for a heavy moment, before Marc’s deep voice hesitantly spoke your name. His tone lifted, suspended in question.

A shake courses through you, fear beginning to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The last thing you wanted was for him to panic… and now you’re beginning to panic as well.

You weren’t ready.

A sob broke through your lips before you could stop it. As if you even had the strength to.

“Marc,” you sobbed, turning your head to gaze at the phone beside you. As if it would give you one last glimpse at the love of your life.

His breathing picks up frantically. “Where are you? Tell me now.”

On his end, fabric is wrapping around his body at a faster rate than it ever had before. He could feel the strength of Khonshu enter him, the god’s presence filling the void.

The corners of your vision darkened and just when you thought you’d scream from the pain— it was gone. Miraculously, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Your heart dropped.

“I’m sorry,” a daze washed over you. There was nothing else to do but wait. A forlorn smile graced your paling face. “I’m so sorry, baby. There isn’t much time left.”

“What time?! Stop this shit, where are you? I can make it there as soon as you tell me.”

“There’s not enough time,” you pressed. You were coming to terms with the distant bright light that was supposed to be illuminating your vision.

You would’ve wished that that was what you were seeing as you drifted off, but one wish stood above all the others—

Your desire to be with Marc and Steven.

You barely notice the frantic yelling on the other end of the line before you’re cutting it off weakly.

“I—“ you go to clear your throat but the numbness had spread too far now. “I love you. Every part of you, baby. I just— I just wanted to hear your s—sweet voice one last t-time. Okay? I love you…”

The last word died on your tongue. And the darkness had taken over before you could hear Marc’s broken response.

A strangled yell left Marc’s lips. His stomach was knotted. The shadow of Khonshu appeared in his peripheral vision.

But Marc was rooted in his own grief. His lips were quivering, snot mixing with salty tears as he bared his teeth, shaking from the pure emotion of it all.

Why wasn’t he home? He had vowed to protect you, shield you from the horrors of the world— his world— but it wasn’t enough.

He couldn’t be there all the time, and you’d always reassured him that it’d be okay. That you didn’t feel like you constantly had to look over your shoulder, you didn’t want Marc or Steven to spend every second of their life protecting yours.

It’s his fault. God, the thought made him choke. Hands flying up to grasp at his throat as if he could stop it from tightening. It’s all his fault.

Maybe—maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, you’re alive.

He could still feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder. “Take me to her.”

It’s silent. The wind breezing past his ears, the serenity of the night sky brazenly mocking his wild panic.

“Now, Khonshu!” He spun around quickly, voice wavering in rage.

If it hadn’t been for the God’s power over him, Marc would’ve been with you. The only person who truly matters to him in this world.

By some beautiful twist of fate, Khonshu unexpectedly relents, nodding his giant head in the direction of a portal.

Marc couldn’t find it in himself to thank him, everything else had faded away until all he saw was your mangled body on the other side of it.

His feet took him across the rooftop at an immeasurable feet, practically flying over the distance, until his surroundings had changed completely.

“No,” he cried, dropping to his knees painfully. Shards of glass pierced his skin as if he weren’t already bleeding out with you. “Baby? Baby, wake up. Wake up!”

Your body was lifeless in his arms, and the embrace felt strange, nothing like how you’d lay in his arms at night. Fingers gripping his necklace loosely, head tucked into the crook of his neck… legs tangled with his as if your bodies were one.

Blood left a trail from your nose to your chin and shaky hands went to wipe it away before pausing in midair to hover over your face…

“Love?”

Bewildered, Steven nearly gave himself whiplash as he snapped his head away from the sight of your bloodied body.

And despite wanting to run away, his hands tightened around your frame, his lungs failing.

Everything burned, his chest, his stomach. God, his arms and legs were going numb.

And where Marc couldn’t go, Steven went.

Denial.

“Love, come on,” his head has turned to you again but his eyes were squeezed shut. “Wake up. The gag has gone long enough.”

No response. Your laughter wasn’t shaking your frame, your voice wasn’t reassuring him that it’d all been a silly, cruel joke.

“Lovie…” he knew how much you hated the name and despite it, absolutely nothing.

Weren’t you going to argue? Playfully punch him in the shoulder as you giggled at him to never call you that again. Weren’t you going to put on that half-assed angry frown that you always did before smiling and pulling him to your lips?

Weren’t you going to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright?

His heart dropped with the realization that you already had.

You already spoken those words sweetly and he’d dismissed them, twisted them into something rageful when all he should’ve done was pulled you into his arms and never let you go.

“Steven,” you tried, grabbing onto his hands with an unusual hint of desperation. Almost as if you knew something he didn’t. “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be alright.”

The sincerity in your eyes practically sparkled or maybe that was just the pure love that you felt for him. But it didn’t get through to him this time, instead his panic and anxiety twisting his words and actions into something else.

“How can you say that?” Steven stressed. “How can you be so positive all time?! Consider the possibility that maybe sometimes you’re just wrong!”

His soul shattered when he realized… it was the last time he’d ever hear those words.

He hadn’t believed in them and now this happened.

Steven forced his eyes to open slowly.

In the pale moonlight, your face was still as beautiful as the first time he ever saw you.

It was early in the morning; the sun was barely over the horizon and the streets of London were not all too busy for this hour. 

Thankfully for Marc, the little coffee house that was nestled in the array of buildings on Russell Street was practically empty. Save for the steady stream of customers who would fly in and out with a streaming cup of coffee or tea in their hands.

But tucked in the corner of the large window seat was you. 

Exactly as he’d seen you in his numerous hours of laborious research. Hair tucked behind your ears, oversized round glasses slipping off the tip of your nose, lips tucked in concentration, a loose sweater hanging off your shoulders. 

There was a sense of tranquility about you. A stillness despite the bustling customers mere feet from you. 

A girl immersed in her own world; a utopia all within the threads of your pale green sweater, the gentle sway of your feet under the table, the hint of a smile at the corner of your lips.

How odd it was to find such astounding beauty in someone you knew everything and nothing about. 

Because in your little world, you may have been closed off from the reality around you, but an open book to anyone who cared to look. 

And Marc couldn’t see why anyone wouldn’t.

He just hated that he had to be the one to shatter your universe.

“Excuse me,” Marc said when he finally worked up the courage to enter the shop. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Then you looked up at him and he knew it was a sight he’d remember for the rest of his life, an image that would flash behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes.

Your eyes piercingly studied his through your eyelashes for a long moment. The hint of a smile was gone. 

“Sure,” you eventually smiled brightly. 

A dazzling smile that kept him rooted to the spot a little longer than necessary. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to mind it. “You’re American?”

Marc finally sat down next to you, gripping his chocolate muffin tightly. “Actually, I’m from Chicago.”

If your chuckle was charming, he couldn’t imagine your laugh. 

“Which is in America, if I recall correctly.”

“You do, it is... in America.” God he needed to work on his social skills. He felt like a bug under a microscope. Partly because of your particular line of work, mostly because you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. 

You shut your book softly. “What brings you to London?”

Marc was sure you would’ve shut him down by now, questioned his intentions or tried to put his ass down. But you were graceful, serene... Seemingly not worried at all about his intentions.

If he’d asked, you would’ve told him that you had a keen eye for vibrant souls. His being one of the brightest you’d stumbled upon. 

“Uh, work,” he replied unconvincingly. “What about you? You’re a fellow American yourself, aren’t you?”

“What gave it away?” You were teasing him.

Maybe he could hear that laugh again after all. “Your accent and the whole sweater thing you’ve got going on? Practically screams California.”

Your laugh was surprisingly booming, genuine. He found himself smiling at the sound of it.

It can’t be this easy to fall in love with someone you just met. 

“It’s New York actually,” you corrected between fading giggles. “Close enough.”

Embarrassment tinted his ears red. “It’s not.”

Smiling widely, you shook your head in agreement. “It’s really not.”

It’s silent for a few moments and just when Marc thinks you’re going to open your book again, you speak softer than before. 

“I’m assuming you sat in my little corner for a reason, Mr. Spector.”

The gravity of your simple statement uncharacteristically flew past his head. Instead, he was a little more focused on trying to hear that twinkling laugh again. 

“What’re you doing?” You rose an eyebrow, watching as the man wildly looked around the space you were occupying. From the two adjoining walls to the wooden round table. 

“Looking for any indication that this is in fact entirely your corner. So far I see nothing except...” There was no way he wasn’t making a fool out of himself but he was in too deep to stop--

The pin suddenly dropped.  

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

A nonchalant expression adorned your face. “People like you don’t seek people like me unless they need something.”

His brain short-circuits. 

“People like me...” Marc repeated, his voice lifting slightly as if almost in question. 

“I’m aware of every single entity within my range whom fit the qualifications of a very secure database. Yelena Belova, Alexei Shostakov, Spider-Man who happens to be around on a school trip...” you listed idly, twirling the little stick that was stained with your hazelnut coffee. “... Marc Spector.”

The rose-colored glasses were slowly slipping off. His years of servitude under Khonshu’s hand began to harden his exterior until he could finally look at you as a threat. Just to be sure. 

“Why would I be on that list?”

You motioned toward the untouched muffin. “Are you gonna eat that?”

“Why would I be on that list?” His jaw clenched.

“Well, why wouldn’t you?” You take a sip. “Moon Knight is an incredibly promising prospect in the eyes of those who protect our world. You’re incredibly powerful.”

Marc scoffed. Is that what he was to you? A potential business deal, a recruit?

“But it doesn’t really matter to me anyway.”

His eyes shot up in interest. The corner of your lips had turned up again.

“I don’t work for any agency anymore,” you explained. “I’m just a girl with an incredible skill set and impressive resume.”

“Humble much?”

There was a knowing twinkle in your eye. “Only when I need to be.” 

Your stares met with a shared interest. As if you two were really seeing each other for the first time. 

To Marc, your beauty was astounding, ethereal. He could only hope that you’d choose to stay in his life.

“I did come for a reason... I have a mission and I could use someone with your specific skill set.”

“You need help.”

“Well, I didn’t say that exactly--”

“It’s what you meant,” you narrowed your eyes playfully. “Thankfully, I’m a woman of the people. But why should I help you?”

“I’m backed into a corner. I’m just trying to do things right in the best way I can. But I need you to trust me.”

“Trust is gained, Spector.”

“Then allow me to earn it.” The mercenary countered.

You allowed your eyes to look over him. At his open grey button up, his ironed white shirt and black pants. His ebony hair, brushed away from his face, sprinkled with a hint of grey. The scruff on his jaw and the brown of his eyes. 

Falling in love with someone you just met can’t be this easy.

Your resolve crumbled and you knew he was going to be in your life for the unforeseeable future. The fluttering in your abdomen pulled you in before you could stop it. 

Not that you wanted to. 

“So what does this mission entail?”

Slowly, a genuine smile curved Marc Spector’s lips, one that you reciprocated with a blinding beauty that made his heart nearly stop.

And as he walked out of the coffee shop that morning, your number scribbled on a note that was neatly folded in his pocket, there was a sudden change... brief but enough for Steven Grant to suddenly find himself on Russell Street. Confused and a bit frightened, but only for a quick moment-- 

Until he turned his head and gazed into the large coffeehouse window...

To see you for the first time, with eyes that had adoringly gazed upon yours for hours. 

And the sight was like a breath of fresh air, filling his lungs with something he didn’t quite know he needed. 

The close-lipped smile that spread from cheek to cheek behind the fist of your closed hand, idle strands of hair that fell to cover your joyous expression, the simple rise and fall of your chest...

And between the moment that he saw you and Marc reemerged to front, Steven Grant couldn’t help but wonder who had made your eyes light up in that way. 

Steven Grant wondered if he had the chance, could he make you happy?

But he couldn’t see the light in your eyes anymore. Eyelids rested over those effervescent eyes and a part of him finally shattered. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly. Bringing your forehead close to his, his lips tenderly touched your warm skin. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry.”

Softly, as if to not disturb you, he reached for your hand, catching a glimpse of the fading paint job he’d done on your nails before he left last week. 

“I-I-I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t breathe anymore, gasping against your body as he tightened his embrace. 

Acceptance. 

With a shudder, Marc kept his eyes closed despite the sudden switch. 

This way he could imagine that you weren’t dead, you weren’t cold and lifeless. No, you were alive. Finally squeezing in a nap between your tireless research, hours upon hours at the computer, hacking databases and trying everything you could to help the boys. 

Yes, yes, he could take a moment to indulge in that fantasy. 

Because once he opened his eyes, it was finally over. Marc Spector would have to live without you. 

“How wasteful...”

That pent-up anger reared its ugly head. “What?”

If he wasn’t holding onto you, Marc would’ve committed violence against the god. 

“To let such a valuable asset go would be a pitiful waste,” Khonshu drawled from behind his avatar. 

Marc shook his head at the audacity. “I don’t want to hear this. I--I don’t want to hear this.”

“Perhaps you do, Spector,” the god insinuated. “Feel the warmth of her skin... look at the color beneath her skin...”

This was cruel. “No...”

“Your grief may be premature--” what? “-- her fate lies in no one’s hands but her own.”

He finally looked up. “Stop with the riddles. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just as I once appeared before you, the goddess Isis requires an avatar. Your lover is still in the fight between life and death.”

Deception was a skill Marc was certain Khonshu had mastered but yet, he found nothing but the truth in his tone. He felt the god’s sincerity. 

Shock stilled his body, mouth slightly open as he stared into the night sky and then slowly back at you.

Despite his aversion to serving a god, the only thought running through his mind was the desire for you to come back to him.

In any way, he’d have you. 

Otherwise, neither he nor Steven would make it. 

“This is up to you, baby,” Marc whispered into your hair. “But fight. Please... fight. Come back to me.”

Please.

Come back to me.

The voice bounced off the walls of the chamber, echoing until it faded away.

It was the voice that would always bring you back. 

“You have a choice to make,” a different voice reminded you, sweet and smooth. “Be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was.”

You were on the tip of the iceberg, held back from what you’d seen Marc and Steven deal with for years but itching to get back to the broken man that was begging for you. 

“What does that even mean?” You groaned. 

Isis gave you no further explanation than what she’d told you before. You glared at her for another moment before feeling a phantom pain shoot across your body. Well, metaphysical body.

You realized you’re running out of time.

“So I do this or what? Die? I love how you all deal in absolutes,” your snark was still intact. “Any room for negotiation?”

The Goddess of Magic and Fertility towered over you, mighty with large wings that spanned the length of the golden chamber. Eyes that pierced into your soul, quite literally, and a beauty that wasn’t made to be seen by mortal eyes.

It was easy to tell why. Such beauty was captivating, breath-stealing and enough to send any man or woman to their knees.

But yet here you stood, slightly annoyed and about three feet under. 

Unamused, Isis blinked expectantly. 

Please... Air caught in your throat. Baby...

The decision suddenly wasn’t hard at all. 

And it seemed as if Isis knew it as well. 

“Will you be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was?” She repeated.

The other half of your soul was missing and you knew how to soothe the agonizing pain for the both of you…

“Yes.”

[ilsanslut]

Can i please request some jealousy headcanons for Kaiser and shido with a female s!o? Smutty too if that's alright.Thank you!

꒷♡꒷ GREEN-EYED GAZE!

♰ featuring: michael kaiser + shidou ryusei (separate) [blue lock]

♰ note: VAMPIIE WRITE UNDER 1.5K WORDS CHALLENGE (IMPOSSIBLE). i got carried away making the headcanons and decided to write blurbs to go alongside them but they are both LITERALLY the length of fics.... ANYWAY ryusei’s section may or may not be based off of my interactions with my jealous!ryusei shidou bot teehee. yall know how i already feel about him in ANY type of situation, but adding a jealous michael on top of that??? . . . yall hear something purring or is it just me—

sypnosis: hey siri play jealousy by monsta x! wc: 4.9k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. smut. fem/fem-bodied reader. SHIDOU RYUSEI. jealous!ryusei. jealous!michael. possessive!michael. possessive!ryusei. mean!ryusei. degradation. unprotected sex. rough sex. big dick!michael agenda! tummy bulging. locker room sex (michael). dacryphilia (ryusei). Tit-slapping (ryusei). spanking. choking. creampie/breeding. cursing. dirty talking (ryu likes to call u mean names when he's horny). groping. hair pulling. sweet n vulnerable ryusei at the end :((. ꒷꒦

MICHAEL KAISER

❥ it should be noted that Michael is not prone to becoming envious. i mean, why should he? he’s handsome, wealthy, extraordinarily skilled at football, and he has you as his beloved girlfriend that he loves to show off. what more could he ask for? in fact, one might contend that he was the target of envy more than anyone else. ❥ at least, that’s what he thought until he noticed you talking with his teammate and sworn rival, isagi yoichi at one of their games. ❥ it wasn’t like he was afraid that the inferior little shit was going to take you away from him. on the contrary, michael could not even begin to describe the sensation of emotions he was experiencing within. it was as if a tumultuous storm of emotions raged inside of him, ones he could not quite pin down. ❥ hatred directed at Isagi? betrayal at the fact that you would so openly talk and dare to laugh with his rival when he was right here? angry that if he spoke about it right then, he would come off as a cowardly fool who lacks self-confidence? ❥ he’s deathly silent, menacingly brooding, and unbelievably furious. he couldn’t help but enviously glower at the two of you with so much intensity that it was a miracle that you didn’t have a hole lasered into your back. ❥ but he could not just idly stand by and do nothing, especially after that little shitstain dared to touch your shoulder. that was his last straw.

“K-Kaiser . . .” Ness' voice jolted him out of his reverie, and the innocent brunette unintentionally fell prey to one of Michael's infamous death glares.

Alexis tried his hardest not to flinch in the face of such wrath, but it was nearly impossible. Instead, he quickly averted his gaze, fearful of further infuriating his King, and motioned to the water bottle in Michael's hand, which had been unknowingly clenched so tightly that the cap had long since burst free, drenching his fist and shorts. Michael clicked his tongue, dropping the poor bottle to the grassy field, his deadly gaze returning to you and Isagi, now laughing about something else that he could not hear because he was too far away. Without saying a word, he extended his hand to Alexis, who hastily used his handkerchief to dry the wet skin.

“. . . I noticed them too.” Alexis murmured quietly, glancing briefly in the direction that Michael was glowering, but not for long since he knew not to look at you without his permission. However, it was at that precise second that he saw Isagi brush something off of your shoulder, which caused his breath to hitch and Michael's murderous aura to flare with ferocity.

“—He’s dead.” Your lover snarled, snatching his hand away from Ness and marching right over to where the two of you stood.

You were not aware of Michael's impending form, but Isagi was made very aware when his eyes met the ace’s murderous ones that were fixed solely on his form. When you noticed the striker's sudden silence, you turned to see what he was looking at, but before you could, you felt two strong arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you into an equally strong body. With the scent of expensive cologne and the familiarity of the rose-thorn tattoo wrapping around his forearm, you knew immediately that it was your boyfriend. Oblivious to the silent staredown between your lover and his rival, you continued to babble innocently.

“Oh hi, love! I was wondering where you were.” You commented, craning your neck up so that you could look at him. He would meet your gaze with a tight, unassuming smile on his lips, always a master of emotional disguise. The fire in his eyes, on the other hand, was undeniable. His smile was like a mask, meticulously crafted to conceal his true emotions, but it had begun to crack. You were no idiot. You could tell that he was upset. At what? You didn’t know.

“ . . . Were you now, liebchen?” You could not unhear the underlying malice that tainted his words, no matter how warm he tried to make his tone, nor could you ignore the cat-like narrowing of his eyes.

“Mhm! I was meaning to come back to you when Isagi and I started talking about ‘My Neighbor Toroto’, the Studio Ghibli movie!”

A stupid-looking movie. One that you still had yet to watch with Michael since every time you tried, he dismissed it with the notion of it appearing too childish for his tastes.

“Who knew that we had such similar tastes?!” You giggled as you turned to look back at Isagi, with Michael taking the opportunity to continue his malicious staredown at the striker. This time, he rested his head on top of your chin to prevent you from catching him.

“ . . . It that so?” His tone was grave, and his words were accentuated with a firm squeeze of your shoulders.

An awkward silence would ensue as neither man uttered a word, seemingly attempting to assert dominance over the other through mere looks alone, until it was abruptly broken by Raichi summoning Isagi. Once he was gone, you had little time to react as Michael's grip would release your shoulders, instead seizing your wrist to tug you along until the two of you were off the field and into the rest of the stadium.

“M-Michael?! What are you—”

“—Shut up.”

His tone was curt—rude—something that told you he demanded absolute silence, and you listened. There was hardly anyone on the way to the locker room since everyone had already filed into the arena and into their seats, and both teams had already taken the field. Once there, Michael dragged you inside, locked the door, and shoved your back against a locker’s steely face. In an instant, he was leaning over you, his forearm resting above your head while his other hand cupped your jaw, deft fingertips squeezing your cheeks as he forced his lips onto yours. It was passionate, possessive, and, above all, dominant, as if he refused to be opposed—as if he were trying to completely and irreparably erase Isagi’s name from your tongue. You adored it; his kingly persona was one of your favorite aspects of him. It was more reminiscent of his behavior on the field than anything else.

“Don’t ever look at him again.” He would mutter breathlessly against your lips, pulling away so that he could peer into your eyes—deep oceanics, half-lidded. His fingers squeezed your cheeks, causing your lips to pucker. Using this grip, he shook your head gently back and forth, relishing in the way your pretty eyes blinked up at him through your lashes. “Do you understand me, liebling?”

You nodded, your eyes wide and doe-like, just the way he liked them. A wolfish grin overtook his features, tapping your cheek twice with the hand that previously held you taut, “Good. Girl.” Both words were pronounced with a tap.

His lips were back on you, this time on the cheek he had lightly slapped. Soft brims kissed hot trails down your neck, becoming sloppy and possessive with each passing second. Sharp incisors and pointed canines would attack the sensitive flesh by the time he reached your collarbone, gnawing, lapping, and sucking at your delicate skin until he left deep marks and you mewling in his wake. Your digits went to grab his blonde tresses, threading your fingers through the soft strands, when his hand came to your wrist, snapping on the joint and pinning it beside your head against the locker.

The silent command was straightforward. Don’t touch him. This was a punishment.

Pulling away momentarily, he admired his handiwork. Your previously subtle flesh was now ridden with purplish and red blotches—some lined with teeth marks—all over your exposed neck and collarbones. You could not possibly hide them, especially since the two of you were now in public and all of your makeup had been left at home. Smirking triumphantly, he grabbed both of your shoulders and spun you around, pressing your chest and cheek against the smooth steel. It was at that moment that you caught the nameplate that was etched onto the locker: Isagi Yoichi.

Michael seemed to notice your realization, chuckling to himself as he flipped your skirt up above your ass, bringing his hand down on both of your cheeks once and then twice, making you croon each time. He ripped your panties down your thighs until they pooled around the backs of your knees, all the while reaching beneath his boxers and shorts to pull out his cock, which was already hard and tip drooling with pre. He wasted no time lining his cock up with your soft folds, pushing into you in one single, hard thrust that had your knees going weak and you nearly sobbing from the immense pleasure. He kept you steady by grabbing your bicep from behind, using his weight to press you against the locker.

“You feel it, don’t you, liebchen?” He grunted, thrusting shallowly and languidly against you as though he were trying to fit every inch and then some into you. “Feel how deep I am in this tight cunt? My pretty little pussy? Hm?” His other hand wrapped around your front, pressing right against your womb as his thrusts grew deeper—longer. Each drag of his cock along your walls was tantalizing, leaving you a whimpering, drooling mess. You could feel him in your tummy, your slightly chubby pocket of flesh on your lower abdomen pressing into his palm. His thrusts grew faster and more ravenous as they began to mimic the fire that had previously been ignited in him only moments prior on the field. It was almost as if he were trying to get you to feel how you made him feel—what you did to him to make him just so fucking crazy for you—and you did. Loud and clear.

Your voice echoed off the locker room's concrete walls like a mesmerizing siren's song, only for his ears to hear. Moans of pleasure, pleas for more, his balls slapping your clit, and your ass bouncing off his hips—it was all too much for you.

“M-Micha, I-I can’t! Too much, plea— AHN~! —please slow down!”

Your cries went unheeded; if anything, they seemed to fuel him to pummel your poor little pussy even harder, ramming you against the locker at an unforgiving pace. He used the arm he held in a vice grip as leverage, pounding into you like a battering ram at a pace that made your brain go numb and your body clench around him as you felt your orgasm approaching.

“You can and you will. No one could ever make you feel this good, could they? Hit that sweet—” He paused, hips stuttering, as he delivered a particularly rough and targeted thrust to the squishiest part of your walls, causing knees to buckle beneath you and cunt to gush around him. “—There it fucking is. Hit that sweet, sweet spot inside of you like I can, huh?”

“N-No! No one–mphf! No one but you, Micha!”

“Not even Isagi?”

“G-God, not even him!”

“Goddamn right, meine königin.”

You would finally come apart against the lockers as Michael let go inside of you, both of you breathlessly moaning in unison. One thing about Michael is that when he came, he came a lot. Every time, without fail, thick, hot ropes of steamy, milky cum invade your womb and bloat you full of his seed. It was heavy too. It was a miracle you had not gotten pregnant by now, given how much he would pump into you.

Even now, as he pulled out of you, thick globs of his white release would leak from your sopping cunt. However, before a single drop could spill to the floor, he moved to grab your panties, which were around your ankles, and pull them back into position to stop any more from escaping.

His hold on you would soften as he became aware that you were still frail from your adventures. He would tenderly spin you around so that his lips would again touch yours, this time more tenderly. Unfortunately, Ness's familiar voice calling you both—more specifically, Kaiser—through the door interrupted your enjoyment of the moment. You knew he had heard what had happened between the two of you—possibly even more—due to the stutter in his voice.

“Uh, a-are you two done in there? Kaiser, the game is going to start soon, and Noel is going to put that Hirori kid in your place if you aren’t on the field in the next two minutes.”

“The hell he will.” Michael grumbled against your lips, placing another quick peck on them before he finally pulled away.

“Duty calls, emperor.” You teased him, lightly pushing at his chest.

He caught your wrist and pulled you into him in a way that always made butterflies arise in your tummy. “Are you coming out there with me, dear?” It was clear from your quivering and unsteady legs that you weren’t going to be able to do any type of walking any time soon.

“Ah, such a hassle.” He commented playfully, scooping you up into his chest, bridal style. “The things you do to me~.”

SHIDOU RYUSEI

❥ this is ryusei we’re talking about here. the same man who’s not afraid to set someone on fire if they even so much as look at you. it should come as no surprise to anyone that he gets jealous easily. that being said, he’d never be one to admit it. instead, his jealousy presents itself in the form of possessiveness and protection. after all, you're his, and you know you’re his. ❥ think of him as a protective doberman, a perfect guard dog. if anyone, more specifically, a man gets too close to you, ryu will loom over you and all but glower, snarl, and howl curses his way until the male gets the hint or has his neck stomped on. ❥ you could not count the number of times you had to physically restrain him from knocking someone’s lights out, especially after that one foreigner asked you for directions and ryusei responded by grabbing him by the collar, strangling him, and barking at him to "get lost." ❥ oh and god forbid anyone dares to flirt with you. you’d need the strength of jesus and all of his disciples just to keep your murderous boyfriend at bay—even then, it might not be enough. ❥ it’s never immediate, though; it takes a minute for it to click in his head what’s going on. moreso, a moment of “is bro serious right now?”. when these moments occur, for once in his life, he’s silent. he looks between you and the fucker who has the audacity to approach you, his eyes narrowed in a glare promising lethality. it almost seems as though he is testing the waters to see if you will speak first or if he will have to. in the end, though, it’s always him. ❥ so what could possibly go wrong when he brings you to his u-20 team banquet?

Angry does not even begin to describe Ryusei's current state of mind. He was enraged—furious, even—by the events that had occurred earlier in the night. You see, the two of you have been together for a little over six months now. He enjoyed bragging about you, and you enjoyed being with him. You were his lock screen, the source of his brainrot, the majority of his entire instagram page, and the absolute apple of his eye. So it would only make sense that when he was made aware of his team banquet in celebration of their big game that he would invite you to come along with him, right? God, how he regretted that decision.

All eyes were on you two the moment you walked into the banquet. Because it was a formal occasion, you wore a sexy red gown with an open thigh slit similar to Jessica Rabbit’s and a deep v-cut that exposed your cleavage and ended just at the tip of your sternum. Not to mention that the back of the dress was low cut enough that your lower back dimples were visible to all. Needless to say, it was no surprise that you were the center of everyone's attention—despite the fact that some of the others had brought their girlfriends with them.

However, anyone who dared look at you for too long would be met with Ryusei’s fury—everyone except for Sae Itoshi, who stared shamelessly at you with desire burning in his eyes. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed this. Due to his high regard for him and the fact that he was the one who gave him a second chance at football in the first place, Ryusei felt as though he could not confront his junior about it. Not to mention that you and Sae already had a pre-existing friendship before the events of Blue Lock. The two of you were essentially inseparable throughout the entire evening, conversing, laughing, eating, and even drinking together while Ryusei was left behind to stew in his festering emotions.

You two have just returned to your apartment after what was a riveting night for you and a torturous one for Ryusei. Now that the two of you had returned home, shortly after locking the door, Ryusei would turn to you with his infamous grin on his face, but the predatory glint in his eyes told a completely different story. He was seething, his gaze piercing right through you.

"You and Sae seemed awfully close tonight, huh? Ya' never told me you two were so 'buddy, buddy'.”

You paused, gazing at your boyfriend with an incredulous stare as you picked up on his accusatory tone. He was, in a sense, correct. Even though you two got along really well that evening, all of your interactions were completely innocent. Considering that you two had been friends for as long as you could remember, this was the first time you had seen him since junior high, when he left for Madrid. What were you supposed to do? Ignore him the entire time?

"What do you mean, Ryu~?" You would inquire, calling him by his nickname in a way that came close to disarming him, but he remained steadfast and scowled as he observed you take your heels off of your slender feet and set them on the shoe rack next to the door.

"You know damn well what I mean, sweetness. He'd retort back, his hands becoming stuffed in the pockets of his slacks as he towered above you. "You can put on your whole innocent 'I was just being nice' act all you want, but I’m no idiot, Y/N."

I’d beg to differ. You thought as you sauntered further into your shared apartment, the buzz of the alochol in your system flickering in and out as Ryusei began to sour your mood. You could hear him following you from behind you due to the sound of his socks shuffle across the wooden floors, much to your dismay.

“We’re just friends, Ryu.” Exasperated, you sighed and made your way to the master bedroom with every intention of taking off this dress and your makeup, taking a hot shower, and then going to sleep.

“Oh, just friends~!” He mimicked your tone crudely, his quick palm darting forth to snatch your elbow to prevent you from moving further. He whirled you around with surprising strength, shoving you backwards into the wall beside your shared bedroom non-too-kindly, drawing a gasp from your lips. His hand seized your jaw, slender digits squeezing harshly against your bones, making you whine aloud. He leaned closer to you, the tip of his nose brushing against your own at the scent of faint alcohol and mint wafted onto your face. “Don’t play coy with me, attention whore. I saw how you looked at him all night—practically eye-fucking him."

There was an undeniable fire in his eyes, accentuated by his downturned brows. His fuschia irises burned into yours as your eyelids narrowed into thin slits, boring into the core of your being. Sharp canines and pearly incisors were slightly exposed as his upper lip curled into an angry snarl. Excitement gathered between your legs as your 6'2" lover scowled down at you, forcing you to unavoidably squeeze your thighs together—an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Ryusei.

“Ohoho, what do we have here?” He commented, his knee sliding between your thighs as a ferocious grin spread across his lips. Due to the height difference between you, his knee was perfectly positioned against your panty-clad folds, causing your clit to needily throb against him. “Could it be that you did this on purpose, you little minx? Got me all hot an’ riled up just so that I could fuck ya’ up a little bit, huh?”

The hand on your jaw moved down to your neck, his lithe digits wrapping around it before squeezing. With each passing second, his grip would grow more unforgiving. Your delicate hands encircled his wrist, your back curved into his chest from the wall behind you, and your hips jolted across his knee, eliciting a contented moan from your lips. That was sufficient proof to him that you were, in fact, becoming aroused by this.

“Dirty little bitch.” He growled, a chuckle rising from his lips, before closing the gap between you two and smashing his lips against yours. It was rough, filthy, and full of teeth and tongues smashing against one another in a desire-filled exchange between two people who were both far too ravenous for their own good. Your hands were all over him, and he was all over you until his large palms came to rest on the backs of your thighs and hoisted you into the air, causing you to squeal against his mouth. His brims smirked against yours as he carried you over to your shared bed and placed you atop your silken sheets and plush mattress.

He was on top of you again before you could react, his deft fingers grasping the arms of your dress and pulling it down your body in one smooth stroke, leaving you completely nude before him. He tossed his head back, groaning at the sight of your body and sinful curves, feeling himself practically straining against his boxers. He wasted no time stripping out of his own clothes before diving back onto you, his tongue and pointed canines making quick work of the delicate flesh of your collar bones and neck, leaving visible marks in his wake. While doing so, his hands snatched greedy handfuls of your breasts, squeezing and groping at the engorged sacks as cunning fingers pulled your nipples taut. You keened under his body, fingers grabbing at the roots of his hair and tugging, a silent plea for him to give you more—one he heeded with a few particularly rough slaps to your breasts.

“Greedy slut.” He snarled, rising to tower over you once again, calloused fingers massaging the plump skin of your breasts that he had just brutalized. “Y’want more, huh? I’ll fuckin’ give ya more.”

Sliding off of the bed, he grabbed you by your ankles to take you with him and flipped you around so that you were on your stomach. Assuming he wanted you on your hands and knees, you began to rise to your knees, however, he placed a fiery smack on your rear that had you crying out in both pain and pleasure.

“Nuh uh, keep that pretty ass down here, baby. I’ll fuck ya just like this.” He muttered through gritted teeth, pulling you back down so that your toes bore most of your weight on the floor and you were still pressed flat against the mattress.

Before you could regain your composure, you felt Ryusei pressing a hand firmly against your lower back and his cock sliding into your wet folds in one full push. You gasped, already breathless from the intrusion and the feeling of being so full that you didn’t even know what to do with yourself. You sank against the sheets, your fists balling the material next to your head as you moaned curses into the sheets.

“Nah, baby, that won’t do.” His fingers threaded themselves through the root of your hair, forcing your head up from the bed. “Let me hear how I make this pretty pussy feel, yeah?”

“R-Ryu, y-you’re too big—”

“—The hell I fuckin’ am.” His pace increased, becoming brutal and unrelenting. Every time his hips touched yours, you felt him miraculously strike deeper and deeper areas within you, bullying his fat cock in and out of your helpless cunt as if he were trying to punish you. He was.

“Bet if—ngh! Bet if I was fuckin’ Sae, this pussy would take his cock with no problem, huh? Y’wish it was him fucking you, baby?”

He was barbaric and cruel, channeling every ounce of rage and jealousy into his furious thrusts that pistoned into you within an inch of your life. You enjoyed every second of it. Your mouth remained agape, drool threatening to pool over your soft brims as a chorus of unapologetically pleasured cries and moans escaped your open maw. Without even trying, he hit every spot inside of you as though he knew you in and out—no one would ever be able to replicate how his cock made you feel, not in a million years. That’s one of things you loved most about you.

A sharp smack to your rear snapped you from your fucked-out haze, a cry escaping your lips as Ryusei used the grip on your hair to yank your body flesh against his chest, his lips snarling into your ear, “Answer me, bitch.” He snarled through clenched teeth as his thrusts grew erratic, sloppy even. The distinct pleasure moans he used to emit between his words had evolved into almost feral snarls and grunts, as if you were being ravaged by a beast rather than your lover.

“Tell me the truth, you wish you had another cock fucking you this good, huh? Making you— fuuuck! Making you gush around this big dick, huh, princess?”

“N-Noo, ah~! O-Only want you, Ryu! I only want you!” You babbled through tears of overstimulation as the hand that was previously grabbing your hair was now holding your neck, pressing you taut against him.

“Yeah? Y’love me and my cock that much, sweets?”

“Oh God, yes! I-I only love you, Ryusei! O-Only you, baby!”

“Thaat’s my fuckin’ girl. G’on. Make a mess on me, pretty.”

By the time you gushed around his cock, you were hardly able to stand. Ryusei's powerful arms helped you maintain your balance so he could finish the last few thrusts inside of you before coming undone, spilling ropes of hot milky cum inside of your dripping cunt. The sheer volume of it was too much for you to hold, squelching around his cock as he now languidly thrust inside of you, fucking you both through your highs.

When he was completely spent, he let go of you and pulled away, letting you fall gently to the mattress beneath you. He collapsed beside you onto his back with one arm covering your back and the other resting on his forehead as you writhed around lazily in the moment. Even though he usually could not think of anything other than falling asleep and how great his orgasm felt after having sex with you, you could tell by the unmistakable pinch of his brows and his intent gaze on the ceiling that he was still thinking about something.

“Somethin’ the matter?” You inquired softly, concerned by his sudden silence. You fashioned an arm pillow to rest your head on while looking at him. He didn’t look at you, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly in his throat. “. . . Did you mean it?”

Now it was your turn for your brows to furrow as confusion etched itself onto your features. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows so that you could at least meet his gaze, to which his fuschia hues would give in and finally meet your own. He looked bashful, unsure—it was unlike him. If you squinted, you were certain that you could make out the faint tint of pink tinging his cheeks. His gaze darted away from your own and off to some random corner of the room.

“Yanno . . . about lovin’ me.”

A wave of emotions came over you when you realized that, as you were at your highest, you had unintentionally confessed to him. A sudden warmth filled your heart and permeated every fiber of your being, spreading like a delicate dance of butterflies in your stomach. You said you loved him. Every word you said was genuine.

You shuffled over on the bed so that you could climb partially on top of him, resting your head on his shoulder as you guided his head to meet your gaze again, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. “Of course, I meant it, Ryusei. I love you now, and I always will.”

His eyes held a tenderness that you did not even know he was capable of, his gaze softened, and his brows rose as if he had been suddenly struck with love. He loved you just as much as you loved him.

“What was that, babe?”

“I said I love you, Ryusei—”

“—I know.” He grinned suddenly and cheekily as he encircled you in a bear hug, squeezing you into his arms and pulling you up onto his naked form. “I just wanted ta’ hear ya say it again.”

“. . . I love you too, Y/N.”

ⓒ vampiie 2023 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work with tiktok or any other site.

[beat-the-morning]

Fair Punishment || Hozier x Reader

KINKTOBER - Day 7 (with some delay): Edging

Tags: edging, oral (f!receiving), squirting, over-the-pants/under-the-table footjob, teasing, hickeys, dom/sub dynamics, hozier getting called “sir” (only once tho)

Summary: You tease Andrew at his family reunion for too long so he punishes you once you’re back at his house.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Sorry for the delay for day 7😭😭 but its here now so pls dont kill me. Day 8 will be posted tomorrow if the curse (tiredness) doesn’t get me first

||💙 FULL FIC UNDER CUT 💙||

Andrew had a family get together today, you had obviously come along, given that you’d been together for a bit over a year, and the fact that most of his extended family hadn’t met you yet made this a perfect excuse to bring you over and save him from the same boring questions about touring and music that seemed to plague him every time his family saw him. The get together had started well, it was at his parents house so it hadn’t been a long drive over and you’d be sleeping at his house tonight anyway so the drive back wasn’t a worry. His whole family was there, or at least his mom’s side, but you didn’t know why exactly, since it wasn’t anyone’s birthday, you didn’t think about it for too long though, they didn’t let you anyway.

The second you and Andrew arrived, quite late as it always was with him, every adult and child in the house slowly flocked over to the two of you, first his parents and his brother, who you already knew, and then the rest of the family; aunts and uncles, followed by cousins, and finally the cousins’ kids, who only wanted to talk about shows and games with you. You were bombarded by questions, how old were you? What did you study? Where did you study? Had you thought about kids? What did you work as? Where did you work? How did you meet Andrew? Was it long before you started dating? Were your parents still working or were they retired? What did they work as? Was Andrew nice to you? Did you mind that he travelled so much for work? Did you travel with him? Did you want kids? When? What about marriage? Were you living together yet? Why not? When will you have kids?

Andrew held tightly onto you through the whole interrogation, as he would call it later while driving back home, shooting glances at his aunts and uncles whenever they asked about children or marriage. Once it finished everyone sat down for dinner and started sharing family stories, first about general family things, but, much to Andrew’s dismay, those family stories slowly turned into embarrassing stories about him exclusively. He would’ve done something to change the subject had it not been for your teasing under the table. He was across from you at the table with his brother to his right and the end of the table to his left, to your left was his cousin, a woman a couples years younger than him that was six months pregnant with her second kid. There was only a window beyond the end of the table, no one outside to see, so you decided to have fun, silently, you took off your ballerina flats on your right foot, slowly extending your leg until you reached his crotch, the table wasn’t wide so it didn’t even look like you’d moved at all, you smiled as your feet moved slowly up and down, eliciting a few soft gasps from him.

Andrew looked at you across the table with a deadly glare, you smiled back at him and kept talking to his family like nothing was happening. For the next hour you slowly teased at his crotch with your foot, feeling him get harder and harder until he was fully erect from your teasing alone. No one seemed to have noticed anything unusual thanks to Andrew’s amazing acting skills, which he apparently only had when he didn’t want his family to know that his girlfriend was giving him an over-the-pants footjob under the table. Dessert was brought out and eaten before Andrew could think of an excuse to leave earlier, so you left around the same time as everyone else, you had given your bag to Andrew so he could cover himself as you left.

He endlessly chastised you for “your little game” under the table while he drove you both back to his house. “You’ll regret that once we’re at my house.” He said sternly about halfway through the ride, and you couldn’t be more excited.

Andrew stepped out of his car once it was parked in his house, running over to your side and dragging you out of your seat by your arm and into the house, you giggled the whole way into the bedroom. With one push he threw you onto the bed, taking something from a drawer and placing it on top of his nightstand before crawling on top of you on the mattress.

“Now, what do you think I’m going to do with you, you little brat?” He asked, his hands caressing your skin.

“Punish me?” You asked back with fake innocence, trying to suppress a giggle.

“Yeah, and how do you think I’ll do that?” His mouth moved to your neck, biting and sucking until he left marks all over it. “You have three guesses, if you get it right I’ll go easy on you.”

“Spanking?” You mused, moaning softly at every bite

“Wrong, two more.” He groaned, moving back to take off your shirt and bra, kissing and biting at your chest.

“Hickeys?” You guessed again, Andrew chuckled, taking off your pants and underwear and leaving you completely bare to him.

“Wrong, last try.” He stood up from the bed and grabbed a silk rope from his nightstand.

“Overstimulation?” You asked, your voice shaky with arousal

“Wrong.” He smiled, flipping you over on the bed and tying your arms behind your back, only to turn you around again.

“What is it then?”

Andrew positioned himself between your legs, holding them open so you would be on display for him. He took his phone and typed something in, smiling to himself. “I’m going to use this pretty little pussy however I want for an hour, but you won’t come a single time.” He explained, his free hand running along your wet slit. “If you do, I will restart the timer and add another half hour, understood?”

“Y-yes.” You stuttered, already feeling yourself clenching around nothing.

“Yes, what?” He pinched your clit as he asked the question.

You corrected yourself. “Yes, sir.”

“Colour?” He asked as he leaned in on your pussy, his warm breath ghosting over your folds.

“Green.”

He tapped his phone one last time, putting it next to you so you could hear the ticking of the countdown, then he dove into your pussy like a man starving, he focused his mouth solely on your entrance, focusing on drinking every drop of your juices and letting his nose stimulate your clit by itself. His tongue darted inside you, fucking you slowly and tasting you at the same time, his head moved side to side and pushed in further into you, every movement was torturously slow in the most delicious way, making you moan and whine in a futile attempt to beg for more. You felt your peak slowly building up, and so did Andrew, the knot in your stomach tightened more and more, threatening to snap, your walls fluttered around his tongue and you felt him chuckle before he pulled away, his beard damp with your juices. You whined at the absence of touch.

“You taste so good, baby, like honey.” He praised, kissing your thighs while he waited for you to come down from your high before diving in again once he deemed you were calm enough.

He repeated that same thing twice more, fucking you with his tongue and drinking you in while his nose stimulated your clit, bringing you to the edge only to pull away at the last second, your whines becoming more and more complainy and demanding as he teased.

“Time?” You asked in a whine while Andrew kissed your inner thigh again, waiting for your body to calm down again.

“Let me check,” he pulled away from you and looked at his phone, humming softly. “Only forty minutes left, pet.”

You whined loudly again, struggling against your restraints that held your arms to your back. Your whines were met with a sharp smack to your clit from Andrew, making you hiss and clench around nothing once more.

“Quit whining, this is a fair punishment after what you made me endure.” He scolded you. “Colour?”

“Green,” you breathed out, playfully pouting at Andrew.

He smiled back for a second, standing up from the bed and undressing completely. He kneeled on the bed again, turning you over and making your ass stick out while he pressed your upper body onto the mattress. “Such a pretty ass,” he said quietly, his free hand caressing one of your asscheeks. He moved his cock to your slit, lubing it with your juices before thrusting into your pussy in one swift movement. He groaned at the feeling, you yelped, being already sensitive from the previous stimulation. Slowly, he started fucking you, moaning quietly while still pressing you against the sheets.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, pet. I should fuck you like this more often.” He chuckled, speeding up his pace.

You moaned more, high-pitched and needy moans filling the room as you mindlessly pushed back against him, trying to take him deeper. His hand snaked around to your clit, toying with it and bringing you to the edge before pulling away and slowing down his hips to an idle pace. Then he did it again, pulling your upper body to his chest and kissing your shoulders while his hand played with your clit again, pulling away at just the right time so you wouldn’t be able to orgasm. He did the same thing again, tears of frustration starting to form in your eyes.

“Please…” you begged in a shaky voice.

“You know you can’t yet, baby.” He smiled into your neck, quickening his pace again and going back to playing with your swollen bud. He checked the time left. “Just fifteen more minutes, love, you can hold on for a bit more, I know you can. What’s your colour, pet?”

“Green.” You cried out softly, the tears flowing freely down your face.

“That’s my girl.” He praised softly, kissing your neck from behind.

You felt the coil in your abdomen tightening painfully again, and, as you had expected, Andrew pulled away once more. You whined loudly, struggling against the restraints again. Andrew pulled out of you, laying you on your back again and positioning himself between your legs, with one hand he moved your leg up to his chest and entered you again, his free hand moved to your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb and caressing you softly. He moved quickly again, at just the right angle to hit your g-spot just right. Your moans became louder and louder as you neared your peak, you heard a faint sound coming from Andrew’s phone, he reached over to it and turned it off, giving you his full attention.

“Time’s up, pet,” he said into your ear, kissing your neck. “Come whenever you want to, my love.”

His pace remained relentless as he fucked you, trying to reach his own peak. His hand moved to your clit again, making you hiss. The coil in your stomach got tighter, your legs trembled, and then, you came, your vision went white, your toes curled as you released all the pent up energy, your hips thrusted up and your breathing hitched for a fraction of a second. A semi-opaque white liquid shot out from you and onto Andrew, soaking him and the sheets. He smirked at the sight, emptying himself inside you right after.

“Did I..?” You mumbled, not even finishing your sentence from how exhausted you were.

“Squirt? Yeah, you did.” He chuckled. “You’ve never done that before.”

“Didn’t know I could,” you replied. “Can you untie me? I think my arms fell asleep.”

“Of course, baby.” He kissed your neck one last time before pulling out of you and making you sit up to take off the silk rope. “There you go.”

You moved your arms to your front, caressing your wrists to soothe them. You felt the tiredness calling you to sleep, Andrew cradled you in his arms, caressing your hair.

“Baby,” he called your attention. “We should take a bath, get you cleaned up, what do you think?”

You hummed softly, nodding into his chest. He chuckled again, standing up with you in his arms and taking you into the bathroom to wash up. He’d worry about the sheets later, you were his main priority.

[mya-valentine]

Frozen Shadows, Burning Desires

Synopsis: Harbinger Innamorati, ranked second among the Fatui, is tasked with a deadly mission alongside Il Capitano. As they prepare for battle under the Tsaritsa's orders, Innamorati's dangerous attraction to Capitano ignites. Despite his stoic demeanor and her playful provocations, their partnership teeters between discipline and desire. With her power to create illusions and his unmatched combat prowess, the battlefield will test not just their skills, but the simmering tension between them.

The icy halls of the Zapolyarny Palace were eerily silent as Innamorati strode through them, her black cloak billowing behind her like a shadow in the dim torchlight. The ornate architecture reflected the cold, unforgiving nature of the nation it represented. The Fatui headquarters was a place of intrigue, power, and dread, but none of that intimidated Innamorati. She thrived here, among killers and manipulators, soldiers and assassins. After all, she was one of them—a Harbinger.

As she made her way through the palace, her mind was abuzz with the news she had received. The Tsaritsa herself had summoned her and Il Capitano for a joint mission. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being sent into battle alongside Capitano once more. It was rare for them to be paired, despite their titles as Harbingers, but when they were… it was exhilarating. Capitano commanded with a silent, deadly authority that never failed to stir something deep within her—a hunger, a desire to serve him, fight for him, please him.

A wicked smile spread across her lips as she approached her subordinates, who were assembled and awaiting orders. They stood stiffly in the grand corridor, soldiers loyal to her and her alone, all wearing the signature masks and dark uniforms of the Fatui. But none of them mattered—not right now.

“Captain,” one of her lieutenants addressed her, standing at attention. “Are we moving out?”

“Indeed, we are,” she replied smoothly, her voice dripping with anticipation. “The Tsaritsa has requested my presence on a mission alongside Il Capitano.” She let the name roll off her tongue, savoring the power it carried. “We are to rendezvous with him and his forces. Prepare yourselves.”

Her subordinates saluted, but Innamorati barely paid them any attention. Her thoughts were already racing ahead, imagining the moment she would see Capitano again. The way he would take charge, his powerful frame towering over the others, that unyielding presence of his that drew her in like a moth to a flame.

Without waiting for further questions, Innamorati led her group through the labyrinthine halls, her pace quick and eager. The excitement thrummed through her veins as they marched toward the meeting point where Capitano and his forces were stationed. Her heart raced, not from anxiety but from the thrill of what was to come. Missions with Capitano always left her breathless—not just from the intensity of the battles, but from the intensity of him.

When they finally reached the grand courtyard, her eyes were immediately drawn to him. Capitano stood at the center, a silent pillar of authority amidst a gathering of his soldiers. His imposing figure was clad in his heavy armor, and the black, expressionless mask covered his face as always. His greatsword, as tall as he was, rested against his back, a testament to the strength he possessed. Around him, his soldiers stood in disciplined rows, awaiting orders.

Innamorati’s lips curved into a smirk as she and her forces approached. She took her place beside Capitano, her eyes never leaving him. He didn’t turn to acknowledge her immediately, but that was fine. He didn’t need to. Just being near him was enough to send a thrill down her spine.

“Innamorati,” Capitano finally said, his voice deep and authoritative. “You’re punctual.”

“Always, Capitano,” she purred, her eyes gleaming with amusement. Her tone was playful, almost teasing, but there was no question that she took the mission seriously. She always did when it came to him.

He nodded curtly, turning his attention to the soldiers gathered before them. The weight of his presence commanded respect, and the courtyard fell silent as he began to speak.

“The Tsaritsa has tasked us with an assault on a target of significant importance,” he began, his voice steady and unrelenting. “A fortified enemy stronghold to the west has been interfering with our operations. Our mission is to eradicate the opposition, retrieve vital intelligence, and leave no survivors. There will be no retreat. We strike hard, and we strike swiftly.”

As he spoke, Innamorati’s eyes roamed over him, taking in every detail of his form. She loved how he commanded a room, how his mere presence demanded obedience without so much as a raised voice. He was the epitome of strength, and she could barely contain the smirk that tugged at her lips as she thought about how much she adored watching him take the lead. There was something so attractive about it—the way he embodied control, the way he never wavered or hesitated. Her mind wandered as she imagined him outside of battle, taking charge in other… situations.

“Your forces will flank the eastern gate, Innamorati,” Capitano said, pulling her from her thoughts. “You will create a diversion to draw their forces away while my soldiers storm the front.”

“Understood,” she replied, her voice velvet-smooth. But as she looked at him, her smirk deepened. “I’ll make sure to put on a good show for you, Capitano.” She couldn’t resist the flirtation that slipped into her tone, the way her words dripped with double meaning. She leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I know how much you enjoy watching me work.”

Capitano paused, his faceless mask turning toward her. For a moment, there was silence between them, thick with unspoken tension. The soldiers around them remained oblivious, too focused on their preparations to notice the subtle exchange.

“Innamorati,” Capitano said, his voice carrying a hint of warning. “Focus. This is not the time for games.”

Her smile only grew wider, and she cocked her head to the side, unfazed by his stern tone. “Who said I was playing?” Her voice was a soft purr, the words laced with suggestive undertones. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his arm as she leaned in ever so slightly. “I’m always focused when it comes to you.”

The touch was brief, barely more than a graze, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken. She loved pushing him, testing his boundaries, seeing how far she could go before he would react. And though Capitano was always composed, always the stoic leader, she could sense the tension in him—just a flicker, but it was there.

“Innamorati.” His voice was firmer this time, and he straightened, pulling back just enough to remind her of her place. “Do not let your distractions interfere with the mission.”

She chuckled softly, unfazed by his reprimand. “I could never be distracted when you’re around, my Captain.” She winked at him, her smirk playful, as though daring him to scold her further.

Capitano said nothing in return, his mask concealing whatever expression might have crossed his face—if there was one at all. After a moment, he turned away from her, addressing the soldiers once more. The briefing continued, but Innamorati’s attention never wavered from him.

Even when scolding her, he was captivating. He didn’t need to shout or threaten—his authority was absolute, and that only made her want him more. The way he commanded respect, the way his voice alone could silence a room, the way he looked so damn strong, even in stillness—it was intoxicating.

As the debriefing came to an end, Capitano gave one final order to his troops. “We move at dawn. Prepare yourselves.”

The soldiers saluted and dispersed, leaving the two Harbingers alone for a brief moment. Innamorati’s gaze lingered on him as she watched the soldiers file out of the courtyard. Once they were alone, she took a step closer to Capitano, her voice low and teasing.

“Are you upset with me, Capitano?” she asked, her tone laced with mock innocence. “I thought you’d be used to my antics by now.”

He turned his head slightly, his mask obscuring his expression. “You are insubordinate at times, Innamorati,” he said, though there was no real heat in his voice. “One day, it will cost you.”

She smiled wickedly, unbothered by his words. “Oh, I doubt that. I know how to get what I want.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “And you like it when I misbehave, don’t you?”

For a moment, there was only silence between them, and she could feel the weight of his gaze behind the mask. Then, without a word, Capitano turned and began to walk away, his cloak billowing behind him as he headed toward the exit.

Innamorati’s smirk widened as she watched him go. “Until tomorrow, Capitano,” she called after him, her voice dripping with amusement.

She knew that she had pushed him, perhaps more than she should have, but that was the game they played. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. As she turned to prepare her own troops for the mission ahead, her thoughts were already racing with anticipation. The battle tomorrow would be glorious—and so would being at his side, watching him lead, watching him command.

Her heart raced at the thought, and she couldn’t wait for the sun to rise.

---

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos. The harsh clashing of metal, the grunts of struggling soldiers, and the distinct cries of the injured filled the air. Blood soaked into the cracked earth beneath the boots of the Fatui army as they surged forward in a relentless assault. At the center of it all was Il Capitano, the faceless colossus of sheer brute strength, cutting down any who dared stand in his path.

Beside him, like a shadow of elegance and cruelty, was Innamorati. She moved through the fray with a sadistic grace, her eyes never leaving Capitano as he fought, his sheer presence making her pulse quicken. Innamorati thrived in the chaos, a deadly predator who craved nothing more than to please her Captain. She was the twisted embodiment of love, and her loyalty to him was unwavering.

Her illusions flickered around her, barely visible at first, before solidifying into facsimiles of herself. One by one, they scattered across the battlefield, perfect doubles that fought in unison with her real form. In the blink of an eye, a nearby enemy lunged at one of the illusions, only to pass right through it and stagger, disoriented. With a smirk, the real Innamorati slipped behind him, and with a swift flick of her wrist, her dagger found its home in his back. The illusion shattered around him like glass, fragments of false reality dissolving into the air. She barely gave the fallen soldier a second glance, her attention fixed on Capitano.

He was magnificent. Towering over friend and foe alike, Capitano wielded his greatsword like it weighed nothing. The sheer force of his strikes left shockwaves in their wake, sending enemies reeling. There was something primal about the way he fought—every movement efficient, deliberate, and devastating. He was a walking force of destruction, and it made her heart race.

Innamorati licked her lips, her smile growing wider as she saw another group of enemies make the foolish decision to charge toward him. She could have warned them, but what was the fun in that? Watching them break against Capitano's might was entertainment in itself.

She twirled her dagger playfully, the gleaming blade catching the blood-red light of the setting sun. Then, in a fluid movement, she created another illusion—this time of a massive stone wall blocking the path of the soldiers rushing toward Capitano. Confused, they skidded to a halt, eyes wide as they tried to understand how such a wall could appear out of nowhere. Capitano didn’t even glance at the illusion. He knew her tricks well.

In a heartbeat, she dispelled the illusion, and the soldiers were exposed once more, stunned by the sudden disappearance of the obstacle. That was all Capitano needed. He cut through them with one swing, and their bodies fell to the ground in broken heaps.

Innamorati couldn’t help the small shudder of pleasure that rippled through her. Archons, he's incredible.

“You’re making it too easy for me,” came Capitano’s deep, unyielding voice, slightly muffled by his mask but still powerful enough to make her knees weak. There was no playfulness in his tone, no flirtation—it was the voice of a warrior, focused solely on the battle ahead.

“Oh, Capitano,” she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement and seduction. She wiped a speck of blood from her lips with a languid swipe of her thumb. “I could never let anyone lay a hand on you. It would break my heart.”

She darted closer to him, ducking under an enemy spear and slicing the man’s throat in one graceful motion. Another illusion took her place, momentarily drawing fire from the archers on the ridge as she slipped through the chaos toward Capitano's side.

“You look so… commanding today.” Her voice was a low, suggestive purr as she pressed closer, almost intimate, despite the battlefield raging around them. She blocked another strike aimed at his side with her blade, twisting the weapon out of the attacker’s hands and driving her dagger into his chest. As the man gasped and crumpled, her smile grew. “It’s very attractive.”

Capitano didn’t falter, though she could sense the faintest tension in the way his hand tightened around his sword hilt. “Focus, Innamorati. We are not done here.”

Her laughter rang out, clear and melodic amidst the battle. “Oh, I am focused. Focused on you.” Her voice dropped, the playful tease in her words unmistakable. “You’re the only thing I see, Capitano.”

He said nothing in return, but she didn’t need him to. His silence was its own form of approval, and she thrived on it. The louder the battlefield became, the closer she danced to the edge of danger, knowing that no matter what happened, her Captain was there—watching, commanding, untouchable.

A spear came toward her, and in a flash, she raised her hand, summoning an illusionary double to take the hit. The soldier thrust the spear through what he thought was her chest, only to realize too late that it was a mirage. As he blinked in confusion, the illusion shattered into a cascade of glass-like shards, and she slipped behind him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “You really thought you could touch me?”

The dagger slid between his ribs with lethal precision, and she smiled as she pulled it free.

Her heart raced, not from the fight, but from the sheer thrill of being by Capitano’s side. She relished the feeling, the surge of adrenaline that came from protecting him, from serving him. She would kill anyone who dared to come near him—without hesitation, without mercy.

Capitano cut down another wave of enemies, and for a moment, there was a brief lull in the battle. He turned his masked face toward her, his dark presence towering over her, cold and commanding. Even through the mask, she could feel the weight of his gaze.

“You’re enjoying yourself too much,” he said, his voice steady, but there was a hint of something deeper beneath the surface—something only she could recognize after years at his side.

Innamorati smirked, taking a step closer to him. “Can you blame me? Watching you fight, Capitano… it does something to me.” Her hand lightly grazed his arm, fingers teasing the fabric of his cloak as her eyes glittered with mischief. “The way you take charge, the way you command the battlefield—it’s almost too much for me to handle.”

Capitano was silent for a moment, the air between them thick with tension. Then, with a swift motion, he swung his sword downward, cleaving through a fallen enemy that had been trying to crawl away. “You will handle it,” he replied, his voice as unyielding as ever.

Innamorati’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “As you command, my Captain.” She spun on her heel, illusions swirling around her like a dance of death, her movements graceful and precise. The glass-like shards of her illusions glittered in the air as she moved, dispatching enemies with lethal efficiency.

But no matter how much blood she spilled, no matter how many illusions she shattered, her thoughts always circled back to him. Capitano. The man she adored, the man she would do anything for.

As the last of the enemy forces began to retreat, Innamorati stood amidst the bodies, breathing heavily from the exertion. She wiped the blood from her blade and turned to Capitano, her eyes gleaming with unrestrained admiration.

“I’m all yours now,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper. “Shall we finish this together?”

Capitano stepped toward her, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over her. He didn’t respond verbally, but he didn’t need to. In that brief moment of silence, she knew. She belonged to him—heart, body, and soul.

With one final glance at the retreating enemy forces, Capitano nodded, his hand resting briefly on her lower back before he turned and began walking toward the next battle.

And with a sly, knowing smile, Innamorati followed her Captain into the fray, her heart full of love, devotion, and an insatiable desire to please him.

After all, she was The Lover—and for Capitano, there was nothing she wouldn’t do.

.

.

.

Masterlist