#slowly introducing my second oc

[maytheratseatureyes]

[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 - zoey, from kpop demon hunters), 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). changed the oc from hanni to zoey, I love zoey, she is my fave, and she fits the character I had in mind. 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. Zoey, as she revealed, told you that her debt stemmed from her moving from one country to another. She emphasized that the change from America to Korea was hard; her talent in singing and songwriting became her only salvation. She also shared that one day, she hopes to be in a girl group that uses their voices to fight for what is right. 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."

Zoey’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. Zoey 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 Zoey, 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."

Zoey, 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, I’ll become a popular idol! I’m gonna write our songs and rap faster than you can say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" Zoey 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, Zoey. 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 the teen beam.

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

Zoey 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!" Zoey 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 Zoey 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. Zoey nodded with a smirk before standing up. You rolled your eyes, hoping she wouldn'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 Zoey 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, giving 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 Zoey. 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 do 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?

Zoey 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. Zoey’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, Zoey 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!" Zoey 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 Zoey. 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 Zoey, 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 Zoey 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.

Zoey, 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, Zoey, 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.”

Zoey 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 Zoey, 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, Zoey 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,” Zoey 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?”

Zoey 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 Zoey, 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. Zoey 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.”

Zoey 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?”

Zoey 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 Zoey 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 Zoey 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.

Zoey, 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. Zoey 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 Zoey 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.

Zoey 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—!" Zoey 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 Zoey'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.

Zoey 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.

Zoey 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 Zoey'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." Zoey 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, Zoey. 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 Zoey’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 Zoey.

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 Zoey 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 Zoey 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 Zoey’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 Zoey 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, Zoey 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 Zoey, 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 Zoey’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 Zoey 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 Zoey 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, Zoey 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. Zoey called your name, and the others followed suit. Dae-ho grabbed Zoey, 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 Zoey 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. Zoey 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?”

Zoey 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.

Zoey, 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.

Zoey 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,” Zoey 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!” Zoey 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 Zoey’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,” Zoey 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 Zoey. “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!” Zoey 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 Zoey, 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 Zoey. 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?”

Zoey 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 Zoey, 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, Zoey, 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 Zoey and Jun-hee were waiting for you.

“Unnie!” Zoey 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 Zoey 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,” Zoey 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 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, Zoey'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 Zoey 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 you 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.

[p-seduonym]

Switched at Birth

A/N: I wrote this all in one setting don't at me if it sucks. Okay? I wrote this with @luludeluluramblings Switched at Birth concept in mind. Give her some love cause she's awesome! I'll probably write more if you guys like this one. I also gave Reader a lastname cause (Lastname) felt too awkward.

Yandere!Batfam x Switched!Fem!Reader x Yandere!Wayne!OC

You like to think you were an ordinary girl.

You grew up in a sleepy suburb, on a street where all of the houses looked the same. Two parents and a handful of siblings, the quintessential nuclear family. Your father worked an office 9-to-5 while your mother tended to the house. Every morning began the same, with you being pulled from your sleep by the clamor of your family starting a new day. Breakfast, a routine affair around the kitchen table before you hurried to catch the school bus.

You attended public school your entire life, going through its monotonous rhythms with your siblings. Your highschool, never exceeding 850 students, was unremarkable, known - just barely - for its sports teams than for any academic prestige . But you only had a passing interest in sports. You had average grades across the board, from athletics to chemistry, and a comfortable but modest group of friends. This year was your final, with graduation looming in the future.

Each evening, you returned home the same way you always had: stepping off the school bus to the scent of a home-cooked meal and the familiar chatter of your family.

Yes, you were an ordinary girl.

Or so you told yourself.

Even with your striking features—sharp angles and piercing eyes that none of your family shared. Even with your demeanor—calm, composed, distant, no matter how warmly you tried to act. Even with the strange, invisible wall that always seemed to separate you from those you loved.

Despite everything, you were ordinary.

That’s what you thought.

Until you met her.

Melissa Wayne.

She introduced herself to you one Saturday evening. You were the only one home to answer the door. Your father was working overtime in the office and your mother had coaxed your siblings into running errands with her. You barely managed to avoid the chore by claiming you had to study for an upcoming exam. Instead, you were halfheartedly flipping through notes when you heard the chime of the doorbell. 

Your mother always said you had a scarily keen eye. In the split second that followed you opening the door, you absorbed every detail. 

A girl, no older than you, stood poised on your porch. She wore a pristine school uniform, her hands folded neatly over a leather messenger bag. Her blazer was buttoned to perfection, her tie knotted with precision. A plaid skirt fell modestly just above her knees, and polished loafers gleamed against the weathered wood of the porch.

It was immaculate, almost, how out of place she was.

“Hello” Her voice was soft, cautious – as if she wasn’t entirely sure why she was here either.

“Yes…hello?” You sounded more like you were asking a question rather than greeting a visitor.

“I’m looking for Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. Is this their house?”

“Yes, it is. They aren’t here though. Sorry” You replied

She blinked at you slowly. She didn’t seem perturbed, as if she expected this.

“Then.. you must be their daughter?”

You leaned against the door frame. The setting sun’s rays hurt your eyes. 

“Yes, I am. Can I help you?”

The girl studied you. You studied her back. A slight breeze whistled between you two, tussling her hair.

“My name is Melissa Wayne. May I come in?”

It would have been perfectly reasonable to say no.

She wasn’t here for you—she wanted your parents. You didn’t know her. The logical thing would have been to ask her to come back another time.

Logically speaking, at least.

But something about her made you pause.

Despite the crisp uniform and air of sophistication, Melissa Wayne looked… lost. Unsure. Almost like she expected to be brushed aside. Like a stray left in the rain, having been passed by one too many times.

So, you gave her a courteous smile and welcomed her in.

Your mother always taught you to be polite to strangers, so you asked her if she wanted some tea or coffee.

“Tea would be nice” She murmured standing just outside the kitchen’s doorway, watching as you began to boil some water.

You rummaged through the pantry as you asked over your shoulder “What’d you like? We have green tea, chamomile… I think there’s some black tea left.”

Silence. You couldn’t see her, but you could feel her gaze on your back—heavy, contemplative.

“...Any is fine” She finally settled on, as if that was the safe answer.

By the time you turned around, the kettle was set to boil. She was still standing. You gestured for her to sit, and she did, carefully smoothing out her skirt before reaching into her leather messenger bag.

She pulled out a stack of documents, setting them on the table between you. You picked them up and scanned the pages.

Hospital records. Gotham City. Over a decade ago.

Two baby girls, born on the same day to their respective mothers. One, the daughter of an office worker and a housewife. The other, the daughter of a supermodel and a well-known billionaire. Both babies went home that night—

But not with their rightful parents.

Slowly, you placed the papers face-down on the table. Your gaze lifted to Melissa Wayne, taking her in with fresh eyes.

At first glance, she had the refinement expected of an esteemed philanthropist’s daughter. But now, looking past the polished exterior—

Her large, round eyes carried a watery sadness—the same quiet grief your "mother" wore when speaking of her late cousin. Her shoulders were drawn tight, her hair brushing against them with every subtle shift, much like the way your "father" held himself after a long, weary day at work.

Looking closely, you saw the quiet and innocuous nature of your parents, yet weighed down with years of burden.

Melissa opened her mouth and began to speak.

She spoke of her mother, consumed by vices—alcohol, drugs, sex—and how they ultimately overtook her. She spoke of her father, a distant and cold man, who reserved his affection for his menagerie of adopted children rather than for her. She spoke of lonely manor halls, cold glances, and missed events. Isolation and loneliness.

“I-I always knew I was different from them,” Mellissa stammered with an air of defeat, “I know this is your life, but please, please, I just want to know my parents—”

As the kettle began to whistle, you suddenly embraced her, cutting off any more words. Tears trickled down your face, but you held your composure.

“You’re incredible” You whispered softly into her hair as you held her close.

Melissa, mystified, stayed silent.

If it were you in that lonely place, you're not sure if you would have fared well. And thinking of someone like your parents, so soft and harmless, being forced to endure such hardships left your chest aching in grief. You gently patted her tousled locks of hair.

“You’ve done so well,” You whispered to her. “ You didn’t deserve that. You’re so strong and wonderful and…”

You held her tight.

Meliisa Wayne was well prepared to hate you. The girl that had taken her rightful place. The girl who had all of her parents' love.

She was well prepared for that.

She wasn’t prepared for this warmth. This kindness from the one who shared blood with those who left her to rot.

Years a loneliness have left her warped and twisted, beneath her soft demeanor. She had no qualms coming into our life with the intent to take back what was hers. Why she told you her life story, she doesn't know. Maybe it felt right to air out her grievances to the one who made her suffer.

And yet you held her-- when no one else would.

You called her wonderful and strong an cried for her sake.

Melissa Wayne was prepared to hate you.

She was never prepared to love you.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warnings: teasing, breeding kink, lingerie

A/N: Introducing a new oc of mine, Kuro Ume. He’s connected to Momo’s dark past… also Momo stickers are now available in my kofi shop!!

“You’re the one who lost the bet, Kuro Ume,” you said with a huff, watching as he grumbled while removing his suit jacket.

“I barely even remember making that bet in the first place. You’re depraved, you know that?”

This made you laugh, and his cheeks reddened even further at your response.

“Oh hush, I’m the only one that’s going to see. Now put it on, I’m tired of waiting.”

The dark haired bunny hybrid stared at the items of clothing laying on the bed. A cow print bikini, a pair of cow ears and horns, and a tail were placed neatly in front of him.

“This is demeaning. Why would you ever suggest this in the first place?”

“Well, why did you agree to it?”

“Because I thought there was no way Momo would get that girl’s number-!”

Kuro groaned, his bunny ears twitching in annoyance as he slipped his pants off. He definitely remembered the previous night.

He was a couple drinks in when you sauntered up, sitting beside him at the bar. As per usual, his heart began to race the second your eyes met his.

“Hey, Kuro. Been a long day, huh?”

Truly, the day had been horrible. After taking out two hybrid traffickers, he had a run in with a rival mafia gang and had to escape before he could clean up the mess.

Now, he was covered in a few bruises, his right arm bandaged. “Yeah, long, you could say that again.”

Kuro downed another shot of whiskey, the pain he had been feeling slowly numbing with each new shot. You reached out and gave his uninjured hand a squeeze.

“You should really slow down. If you don’t, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

He huffed. “You’re not my mom, (Name). Quit smothering me.”

Despite being quite intelligent, Kuro was also stubborn and often rude, even if he didn’t mean to be. He regretted his words the second he noticed you recoil, your eyes closing as you took in a shaky breath.

“I just worry about you.”

He stared into the amber colored liquid before setting his glass down. “You don’t need to, I’m fine.”

Both of you knew that wasn’t true.

You looked around the bar, trying to find something to talk about besides the elephant in the room. “Is that… Momo?”

The two of you spotted him chatting up a girl, nearly tripping when he leaned against the wall and lost his footing.

“Ah, trying to flirt again,” you said with a laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Wanna bet on if he’ll get her number or not?”

Kuro smiled, leaning his elbow against the bar. “Sure, I’ll take you up on that.”

And now, he was paying the consequences of that spur of the moment decision.

“This doesn’t cover anything!”

You covered your mouth to quiet your giggles as his muffled voice came through the bathroom door. “That’s kind of the whole point, Kuro. I want to see what you’ve got going on~”

“Oh, so that’s your real intentions, huh? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a pervert, (Name).”

He peeked his head out, a frown on his face when he noticed your excited expression. “This gets you off, really?”

“Just a little. Now come out so I can see you already!”

With a huff, he walked out into the opening. His lean, scarred frame was on display, and you could already see the bulge in his cow print panties. His cotton tail wagged, giving away his true feelings on the matter.

“Excited already?” you mused, stepping forward so you could get a better look. “Pose for me, I’m getting some pictures.

“I can’t help it, you- h-hey, don’t take so many pictures!”

He tried to cover himself, but you pushed his hands out of the way. “Oh stop it, you know I won’t show anyone.”

“I know…” he murmured, pouting at you. “Doesn’t change the fact I didn’t want you of all people to see me like this.”

Once you had enough pictures, you pressed your chest against his, smiling up at him. “Why’s that?”

The bunny hybrid huffed. “I’m sure you know why by now. Isn’t it obvious I’m head over heels for you? Everyone can tell, except you.”

This news made your heart rate spike, and you found yourself unable to breathe for a moment.

“I…”

Your cheeks heated up, and Kuro let out a deep sigh. “It’s hard, you know? Being in love is something I wanted to avoid. You… make things difficult for me.”

It was hard to take him seriously when he was standing in front of you with his hard on barely being contained by the small cow print panties.

“Kuro…”

You cupped his bulge, fondling it while you pouted up at him. His cheeks flushed red and he let out a strangled moan. “Did you think I’d go easy on you just because I love you?”

“Th… that wasn’t the point but-“

He yelped when you pushed him onto the bed, straddling him before rubbing your clothed cunt against his bulge. You played with the strings of his top, your bottom lip poked out in a pout.

“Come on, you love me, don’t you? Breed me and make me a mama.”

That activated his bunny hybrid instincts, his hands instantly bringing your hips down to properly grind against him. “You’re playing with fire… mmm…”

He buried his face into your neck, taking a wiff of you before marking you with his own scent. “You want to mate? Fuck, I’ve wanted to mark you for ages…”

His tail swished behind him, smacking the bed as he lifted your skirt. Kuro felt his cheeks turn red the decks he laid his eyes on your bare pussy.

“It’s like you planned for this…” he murmured, rubbing at your wet slit. “No panties, and you’re already this wet…”

You gave him a sheepish smile, biting your lip when his fingers pumped in and out of you. “I was hoping this would go well, that’s all.”

Precum soaked the front of the cow print panties, and you could see he was panting every time you grinded against him.

“I want you…”

Kuro gripped your hips tightly, but not enough to hurt. His thumb rubbed over the soft fat, almost tenderly. “So much that it hurts… I know that right now we can’t be mates, and honestly that hurts even more. I… just can’t put you in danger like that.”

He laid you down, his bunny ears flicking as he hovered over you. “Don’t cry… I do love you, and tonight I’m going to show it.”

You hadn’t realized you had been crying. He wiped a stray tear from your cheek, licking it from his thumb. Kuro had a troubled past, and was still running away from it. He knew that right now, he couldn’t be a proper mate to a wonderful woman like you.

If anything were to happen to you because his past came back to haunt him, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

“I love you too, Kuro… maybe one day…”

His lips moved across your neck, leaving hickeys and love bites. “Don’t think, just feel.”

Kuro pulled his bottoms down just enough for his cock to spring forward. He rubbed against you, groaning against your lips as he tangled his tongue with yours in a lustful dance.

“Fuck, princess…”

Just the scent of your arousal was enough to have his cock twitching with need, Kuro was ready to be inside of you already, to breed you like a proper mate would.

He pushed in, his fingers leaving bruises on your hips as he pulled you closer. You were unbelievably tight, milking his cock already. He came inside almost instantly, but fucked you through his firts orgasm.

“K-Kuro!” you babbled out, pleasured tears falling down your cheeks. He leaned forward to kiss them away, his fluffy bunny ears brushing against you.

“Take it, princess. So good, fuck you feel so good!”

You looked down, watching as his cock moved in and out of you, his balls slapping against your ass. He was completely entranced by you, and by your third orgasm you were a blubbering mess.

Kuro pulled out, staring at your pussy with hazy eyes before moving down to taste you. The taste of your fluids mixed together was like heaven, and he licked his own cum out of your dripping pussy.

“You’re doing so good for me, princess. Such a good girl,” he murmured, looking up at you with pussy drunk eyes.

You came on his tongue, feeling worn out. Kuro sensed you were tired, and laid down with you.

“I have to leave in the morning,” he murmured, lifting your leg so he could fuck into you softly. You whimpered, but relaxed as he carefully played with your clit. “I won’t be back in town for a while.”

“Don’t… want you to go…” you murmured, rubbing your sleepy eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

Kuro’s movements slowed until his cock rested inside of you, kept warm in your cunt. “I’ll miss you too, princess. I have to go, though. It’s for your own safety.”

You could barely keep your eyes open, glancing back at him. “… you’ll come back?”

He was quiet for a moment, rubbing your thigh tenderly. “…”

His bunny ears lowered slightly, and he pulled you so close he could feel your heartbeat against his chest.

“I hope so.”

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[viaxslz]

·　　₊　 Ⳋ I CAN’T HANDLE CHANGE ꒷.

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 f!reader (idk gender is really specified), cw: ceo x secretary, mention of an oc (Jiwon), attempt at crack in between not proofread :P, 1.2K WC

Masterlist

When you walked into Hyunjin’s office that morning with a somber expression, he didn’t expect to feel the sudden heaviness that dropped in his chest. He had barely taken a sip of his morning americano when you quietly announced you’d be taking a short leave to take care of your sick mother. It wasn’t forever. You’d be back in a week or two, depending on how things went. You promised to keep him updated, and you even emailed a full, color-coded schedule for the next ten workdays, complete with notes, reminders, backup documents, and even motivational post-it messages for when things inevitably went wrong.

Hyunjin blinked at you for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly, not trusting himself to say much.

“Alright,” he said after a beat, trying to sound neutral, professional. “Family comes first. Take all the time you need.”

You smiled softly at him, and he returned it, even if his felt tight around the edges. When you left that afternoon after wrapping up the day's work, he sat in his chair staring at your now empty desk outside his office, wondering why the thought of not seeing you for a few days made him feel so off-kilter. It’s not like he liked you. That would be completely inappropriate. You were his secretary. A very good one. Efficient, organized, smart, annoyingly intuitive about his moods. That was it. Just a secretary. A very competent, extremely capable, incredibly witty, irritatingly cute—

He cut himself off with a grunt and tossed a pen across his desk.

—

The next morning, the substitute secretary arrived. Hyunjin had been assured by HR that they found someone “just as qualified” as you, someone with experience and a calm demeanor. Her name was Jiwon, and she seemed nice enough. On paper. She walked in ten minutes late, introduced herself with a chirpy tone that made his eye twitch, and proceeded to unpack a Hello Kitty stapler, three pink gel pens, and a very large mirror from her tote bag.

Hyunjin stared. Then blinked. Then stared some more.

To be fair, Jiwon wasn’t bad at her job. She just wasn’t you. And that, unfortunately, meant that everything began falling apart.

The first thing to go wrong was the meeting schedule. You always arranged everything with precision. Hyunjin never had to check twice. But now? His Monday meeting with the marketing team was double-booked with the finance review, and instead of his 2 PM lunch with a client, he was dragged into a Zoom call with someone named Gerald who kept calling him "Mr. Huang" and asking him about stock investments in Albania.

The second thing to go wrong was the coffee. You always knew how he liked it. half sweet, no foam, two shots of espresso, slightly less ice, stirred counterclockwise, and served in his black mug with the little red crown on the side. Jiwon brought him iced vanilla lattes. With whipped cream. In a cup with a paper sleeve that said “Slay Queen.”

The third thing…well, by the time they reached the third thing, Hyunjin had a headache. And not the usual, manageable kind. No, this was the I-miss-my-secretary-and-the-world-is-burning kind. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was spiraling. The office looked the same. Functioned the same, technically. But something was off. You were the glue that held everything together, and now it felt like the glue had melted and everything was sliding into a chaotic pit of doom.

One morning, Hyunjin walked into the office, sat down at his desk, and stared blankly at the screen. The company’s quarterly review was that afternoon, but the numbers on the slide deck didn’t make sense. You always prepped the data for him, color-coded the charts, and wrote notes in the margins with little jokes to keep him awake during meetings. Now, all he had was a spreadsheet and a sad little sticky note that said “You got this, boss!” with a winky face.

He slumped in his chair. “I don’t got this.”

Jiwon poked her head in a second later. “Did you call me, Mr. Hwang?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Oh. Okay. By the way, there’s a guy named Gerald waiting on Zoom again. I think he’s in Albania.”

Hyunjin slammed his head gently against the desk.

By the end of the week, everyone had noticed. He was moodier. Snappier. His tie was crooked two days in a row. He accidentally wore mismatched socks. During one staff meeting, he nearly burst into laughter halfway through a very serious presentation because he remembered how you once drew cat ears on his financial report when he wasn’t looking. He missed your weird little habits, like humming when you typed, or sticking post-its on his lunch container with puns like “lettuce meet deadlines today” and “you’re egg-cellent.”

He was in denial about it, of course. Anytime someone asked if he was okay, he’d wave them off with a grumble and mutter something about seasonal allergies or being behind on sleep. What he would never admit was that he had started checking his inbox way too often just to see if you’d emailed an update. When he finally received a short message from you that Friday afternoon, saying your mom was doing better and you’d likely return the following Monday, he nearly stood up and cheered. Instead, he calmly replied, “Glad to hear it. Take your time. Let me know if you need anything.” Then he stared at the screen for another five minutes and whispered, “Please come back before this place burns down.”

Monday came like a blessing. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. He even managed to tie his tie correctly on the first try. And when you finally walked into the office, tote bag in one hand and your usual iced coffee in the other, Hyunjin swore he heard a heavenly choir somewhere in the distance.

You beamed at him like you always did, setting your things down at your desk and immediately pulling out a notepad.

“Alright, what did I miss?” you asked brightly.

He looked at you for a long moment, then leaned against the doorway of his office.

“How much time do you have?”

You blinked, a little wary now. “That bad?”

“Let’s just say Gerald might have bought stock in our name. Also, there’s whipped cream in my soul.”

You snorted, clearly confused but entertained. “What?”

“Don’t leave again,” he said, too fast and too serious.

You raised a brow. “Hyunjin…”

He cleared his throat. “I mean. If you do. Give me a week’s notice. So I can mentally prepare. Or maybe just… take me with you next time.”

Your laughter was loud enough that a few interns turned to look. Hyunjin didn’t even mind. He was just happy to hear that sound again. To see your post-its appear one by one around his office. To have his coffee taste right and his schedule make sense and his thoughts stop spiraling every time he walked past your desk.

Maybe it was inappropriate. Maybe it was bordering on ridiculous how much he’d missed you. But when he caught your eye later that afternoon and you gave him that small smile the one you reserved for private jokes and quiet moments he realized something.

The office wasn’t the only thing that felt out of sync without you. He was, too.

And now that you were back, the world made sense again.

Even Gerald.

Kind of.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

[kumkaniudaku]

Back Up

Summary: Terry gets much needed back up during a Christmas shopping outing.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Language

Previous: Spoiled

MASTERLIST

Bodies whipping past each other in a crowded department store made an already exhausting shopping session all the more uncomfortable for Terry. He hated being forced to mingle with the public, scooting past rude customers as they selfishly took up space between messy clothing racks and disheveled aisles. He’d already said more expletives than his mother would enjoy if she were with him and Patrice searching for gifts to round out their early Christmas haul. 

His wife had coaxed him out of the house with promises of his favorite hot meal and one of those Korean face masks he pretended to only kind of like for his willingness to act as her hired muscle for the afternoon. Lugging big boxed items and not so subtly shoving grown men who stepped in her path was his primary task. And, for the work he’d done in two hours, it had to be enough to earn a kiss or two as a reward for good behavior. 

Patrice and Terry stood side by side as she carefully and quietly scanned a printed spreadsheet lined with multiple names and items. 

“Hey, boo, did you see if that juicer back there was marked down? I wanna grab it for Mama.” 

Terry tinkered with the buttons on a display air fryer and shook his head. “I wasn’t looking, but everything in here seems to be on sale. Need me to go back for you? I don’t mind.”

Despite his disdain for the current circumstances, he’d gleefully double back to fulfill Patrice’s wishes. She reached out to stroke his muscled arm as a thank you for his effort.

“No, that’s okay, baby. How about you meet me over by the tableware instead so we can divide and conquer? I need to grab a new cutlery set so we can throw ours out and then get out of here. Promise. I know you’re ready to eat.”

“And go the hell home,” he grumbled. “I don’t understand how you deal with all this.”

His deep scowl, usually a deterrent for strangers looking to avoid conflict, only made him look like an adorable petulant child to Patrice. A grin spread across her face as she approached him to smooth her palms across his broad chest. 

“I know, Pooh. You’re doing a great job, though. All cute and patient for me.” 

Praise from her for even the simplest tasks never failed to switch off his defenses and soften his heart into jelly. If asked, he’d vehemently deny that he enjoyed being cooed at like a child, but Patrice caught the uncontrollable happy twinkle in his eye as she pushed up on her toes to kiss his cheek. 

He attempted to regain his composure to save face. “You’re talkin’ to me like a baby.”

“Not just any baby. You’re my baby.” More pecks on his stubbled jaw made Terry groan and roll his eyes as he slowly gave in. Sweet talk had prevailed and he was back to being wrapped around her ring finger like the shining wedding band she’d been wearing for a little over a month. She pinched his cheek and smiled in triumph knowing the battle was won. “I’ll be quick, I’ll promise. Two minutes!”

“So we cool with only two minutes now?”

Patrice mirrored Terry’s cheeky grin as she backed away in search of her final gift for the afternoon, leaving him proud of his suggestive joke. 

He prayed they could hit 120 seconds on the dot for the first time in their lives. His feet ached. His stomach growled louder than the Michael Bublé songs playing over the store’s speakers. His patience was thin. If he wasn’t in the comfort of home within 45 minutes, he’d have to introduce the public to a version of Terry no one should have to meet. 

Following Patrice’s instructions, Terry mosied toward a glittering section full of discounted crystal and fine china. Where others saw Patrice as a complex maze of desires, feelings, and unmeetable demands, Terry knew exactly what she liked. Natural textures and earthy tones kept their home grounded in nature to match her love for the small flower garden she kept in the backyard. Every kitchen accessory, big and small, revolved around the coveted ivory dinner set she purchased with her first check as an educator. Forks and spoons would be no different. Terry didn’t need another hand slap and stern lecture to learn that lesson.

His fingers tracked option after option on cluttered shelves until he found two sets of flatware that fit her strict specifications. Sleek? Check. Matching her favorite plates and blows? Got it. He prided himself on making her decisions easier and this latest attempt was his best to date.  

Grabbing the first set was a piece of cake. He slid it from the shelf with no issue to place into the already-packed shopping basket. The second attempt came with a struggle as another, much daintier hand attempted to tug his wife’s prize from his grasp. 

Terry looked down to find a small, frail older woman with ivory skin and a tight frown looking back at him with contempt. He tugged a little harder, but she pulled back. 

Not wanting to cause a scene for fear of being seen as the angry Black man terrorizing fellow patrons, he tried placating the older woman with a polite smile and disarming chuckle. “This is for my wife, actually. You know how that goes. I’m happy to give it to you if she chooses otherwise, though.” 

The attempt at a friendly tone and winning smile did little to deter his unlikely adversary. What charm he thought he possessed only seemed to make her angrier. She eyed him up and down, thin lips twisted into an indignant smile as she attempted to nab the item a second time to no avail. 

“But you already have one,” she complained, pointing at the item in his basket. “You can’t have another.” 

“I’m not trying to have two. She’ll make a decision and put back what she doesn’t want.”

“So, you’re just gonna hold it?” 

Terry regarded her with a blank stare. “…Yes.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Will you be the one to stop me or what?” 

There wasn’t much left in Terry’s tank for niceties. Greying hair and crepey skin wouldn’t do much to stop a tongue-lashing if static was what she was after. 

The woman stood firm, reaching to grab the item from Terry’s hand but missing when he snatched it back. She raised her voice. “I’m going to have security come over here and make you give it up.”

“Ma’am, I truly do not care who you call. Stop trying to put your hands on me.” 

“Or what?” She was challenging a nearly unshakeable man. He didn’t budge and it left her incensed. She attempted another angle. “Call your wife over here. Go on! I want to talk to her face to face.” 

He scoffed and shook his head. “Nah. You don’t want that. Call security. It’s better for everyone involved.”

“Call her over here!”

“I’m not about to let you piss her off and ruin the rest of my day. Let’s figure something out.”

She had no idea what she was asking for, the kind of trouble she was welcoming into her life. Terry tried to reason with her. He tried to compromise to keep the peace. But, as Patrice rounded the corner to find an unfamiliar woman embroiled in a verbal tussle with her man, time had just run out. 

“Oh, no ma’am,” Patrice started with the look of a protective mother in her eyes. “You better figure that out and quick. We’re not playing that game. What’s the problem?” 

Fear gripped the older woman as Patrice approached. Terry slowly placed the second set of utensils in the basket and scoffed. Whatever happened next was up to God and whoever his newest foe served.

“I told you,” Terry reminded, shaking his head. “Good luck.”

“Is this your husband?” 

Patrice moved to stand in front of Terry with the juicer in tow, acting as a human shield. She spoke low and slow. “And what about him? What exactly is your issue?” 

Terry watched the exchange with bated breath. Her calmness was a war tactic she employed to size up her enemy. At any moment she might explode and leave you shell-shocked.

“He has two sets of flatware in that cart saying he’s waiting on you to decide. That’s not fair! Choose one,” the woman accused, her voice rising in a feeble attempt to intimidate Patrice.

“That’s not how shopping works! We’ll buy every single one of these motherfuckers if we want to! Who gon’ stop us?”

“With cash, too,” Terry mumbled in support.

The woman clutched invisible pearls, feining disgust at the use of adult language. “What a foul mouth! That is not the way you speak to people. Especially not your elders. ” 

“Baby, if you keep talking to this one behind me crazy, my mouth will be the last thing you need to worry about.”

“Is that a threat?” 

She should’ve prayed for a threat. A threat would’ve been the easy way out - a free pass to avoid making an enemy of someone with such an intense passion for using quick wit and a slick tongue to eviscerate her opponents. 

Patrice calmly turned to thrust the heavy juicer into Terry’s arms without a word before turning to make her point clear. He shook his head in pity. Poor woman. She’d tell this story to her family at dinner later, looking for sympathy when what she really needed was the foresight to recognize when she encountered the verbal assassin he called his better half.

Silently, he mouthed Patrice’s favorite opening statement in time with the words leaving her lips.

“Let me tell you something.” Terry smiled to himself, knowing he had her down to a science. Patrice pointed a manicured finger in her direction for extra emphasis. “I’m sure we’ll never meet again, but hopefully this will help you the next time you think about running up on someone you don’t know. Don’t you ever holler at my husband or your ass’ll have to cash that check your mouth wrote this afternoon. Have I made myself clear or are you so deprived of the sense God gave you that you need a demonstration?”

This time, Patrice’s heavy suggestion to drop the issue before it could escalate and retreat to another section of the store was received with renewed clarity. The woman huffed in defeat. Terry and Patrice watched her reluctantly pluck another option from the shelf and scurry away with her tail between her legs. Patrice tracked her with her eyes and a scowl that looked just like her husband’s on her face until the coast was clear. 

Terry watched her try to physically reset by rolling her shoulders down and back, but her face betrayed her once she turned to face him. 

She reached for the sets of cutlery and examined both under harsh fluorescent light. “These are nice. I think I like the left more though.” 

“Treece.” 

“Mmm, but the left is a little bulky now that I look at it. Maybe the right? Which one did you like?” 

“Patrice.” Terry used his index finger to tilt Patrice’s head upward and redirect her attention. The corners of his lips lifted into a small smile before leaning down to kiss her nose. “Thank you, Piggy. I had it, but I love when you back me up. What you want as repayment tonight?” 

“Mmmm, my feet hurt a little. Think you can work your magic?” 

He hummed in response. “I was gonna do that anyway for myself. Pick something else.”

“I want you to help me pick eating utensils so we can get out of here,” Patrice laughed to discharge the tension growing between them. “Left or right?”

“The left is my choice. But I’ll buy every single one of these motherfuckers in here if you want ‘em.”

His callback had both of them dissolving into a fit of giggles that only stopped once another patron browsing the aisle forced them to make a quick decision and make a move to return to their side of town. 

In the car, Patrice playfully jabbed a finger into Terry’s arm as they pulled out into mall traffic. “Don’t you go tellin’ my mama and daddy about this. I don’t have time for their mouths today. And stop letting people talk to you crazy in the first place. I’m serious, Terry.”

“Yes ma’am. You have made yourself abundantly clear.” 

“Shut up!” 

Silly jokes about the absurdity of hemming up an old woman passed between the pair as they sat in a bumper-to-bumper jam were interrupted by an incoming call on the car’s Bluetooth system. 

“How you doin’ mama,” Terry answered as soon as the call connected, leaving Patrice to entertain herself. “I got Treece in the car. You know she threatened to stop feeding me if I didn’t go shopping with her. Crazy, ain’t it?” 

“That’s what she should do! No way she should be out there with all these holiday crazies by herself.” 

Patrice nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Ms. Dee. You get the biggest gift under the tree this year.” 

“Oh, thank you, Treecey Girl!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Terry interjected. “Treecey is a holiday crazy! Let me tell you how she just threatened an old lady about some forks and knives today.”

“Terrence, don’t sit up here and lie. My girl is way too sweet for that.”

“Hand to God, mama. Almost body slammed somebody’s grandma.” Terry bore all of his teeth in an impish grin as Patrice’s eyes grew wide. 

“Snitch,” she mouthed at him before responding to Diedra. “Okay, threatened is an over-simplification. She was yelling at your son and I stepped in!” 

“Yelling!? Girl, start at the top.” 

The message ‘I can’t stand you’ typed into a note and flashed in his direction made Terry choke back laughter as he listened to Patrice defend her actions. Though he knew what he was doing, in his mind, she should’ve been more specific in her instruction. 

She never said he couldn’t tell his mama.

-----

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[liveyun]

EYES LIKE STARS | 1

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🌧️

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

rating. M (18+)

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 9.5k +

warnings. (for this chapter) coarse language, OC being in denial and this is just the beginning LOL , parental negligence / toxic parenting , flashbacks, slight mention injuries (knee scraping) and crying , panic attack :( , oc is kinda.. eh, SOMEONE is introduced 😵‍💫, this is it for the first part, lmk if i missed any other warnings, “english isnt my first language” so can contain grammatical errors, not proof read + the last part omfg

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Some doors, no matter how tightly shut, always find a way to open.

The sun was up after the drizzle, which bathed the town in a subtle golden haze, the kind that made everything feel a little too warm, a little too nostalgic. You walked slowly, almost as if your feet were dragging against the weight of the years you’d left behind. A part of you did not really want to be here, but a greater part of you knew you cannot continue to run away from everything like you always have.

Such a coward.

Your home stood at the end of a narrow lane, tucked away like a secret that had been kept for far too long, to the point you felt like it maybe didn’t exist anymore. The house looked the same, yet different, almost as if it had aged in your absence - funny, because although it looked pretty worn out, nothing really felt off. Or did it? The paint was chipped, the garden overgrown, the lawn and grass both destroyed.

But it was still the place you’d once called home—a place that had witnessed more arguments than apologies, more silence than understanding. You pause, staring at the old, browned door as if it’s a portal to another world— always has been— to a world where you were always second best, always compared, always found wanting, longing, no— yearning for the bare minimum. Your own once called home which always felt like a far distant place for you.

It still does.

The windows stare back at you, blank and lifeless, just like the eyes that used to watch you so closely, judging every move, every breath. You don’t want to go inside, but you know you have to. You cannot keep on running away anymore. You are tired, but you dont exactly know if doing something which has your gut churning with disdain can be exactly considered as rest or relaxation.

You notice that the shabby WELCOME door mat which was once a home for mites is no longer at the front door anymore.

As you drew closer, your eyes involuntarily flickered to the house next door. The garden was well-tended, prettiest of the flowers scattered in the greenery in full bloom, just like how you’d remembered.

As always.

The house stood as if nothing had changed there— as if time had preserved that house and all its memories in a neat little bubble. Always so full of life, always so welcoming. You bite down the bitterness which floats up your chest at the thought. Push down the small voice in the back of your head which insists that you will never be welcomed the way a static house makes you feel.

A part of you, the part you’d tried to bury, kick away— wondered if he still lived there. If his parents still looked out from the same windows, waiting for their golden boy to come home.

Who cares.

You quickly turned your gaze away, focusing on the worn steps leading up to her own front door. Your hand trembles as you reach for the doorknob, the cold metal biting into your skin. You’d previously informed your mum through a text message that you will be visiting them, which you didn’t bother or have the energy to check if she’d actually seen.

Your hand on the knob stills, and you purse your lips in thought. You’d decided it’d be a bit courteous to knock instead of just barging in — perhaps some basic decency to spare — although if it was your own home — as if it ever was. You raise your fists to knock— and the door creaked open before you could really.

There she stood.

The same face that had greeted you with tired smiles and even more tired expectations, back in the days when her face was devoid of wrinkles, and full of youthful beauty. The same person who’d cradled you on her bosom and cherished you; the same person who at least tried to make an effort to mend some broken ties, although when she was very well aware it was way too late.

“You’re back,” your mother said, her voice heavy with something that wasn’t quite disappointment but wasn’t quite relief either. She sounded tired— and your mind partially thought if it was because of you. You really felt overwhelmed by emotions, you really did.

You felt the back of your eyes burn with tears — that familiar feeling which you’d remembered was a staple one when you used to live here back in your teenage days. You wanted to engulf her in a hug and just cry, hoping that you could just, for once, forget about whatever had ever happened, and truly be a child once again.

“I’m back,” you reply, deciding to push aside any fleeting emotions which dared to threaten you. You stepped inside as soon as your mom moved aside and let the familiar scent of home—of old furniture — of broken communication — of forgotten dreams —wash over you.

— — —

Inside, the house was just as you’d remembered it. The wallpaper was still peeling in the corners, the furniture still arranged the way it had been since you were a child. It smelled like old wood, dust, the old sandalwood diffuser — and something bitter that lingered in the air, like the remnants of a fight that never really ended.

The walls seem closer than you remember, the space smaller, suffocating. Everything is the same, yet different, distorted by the journey of time and the weight of all that’s been left unsaid. Was any of the furniture ever even moved ever since you’d left? You’re in doubt.

However, the air was thick with unspoken tension, a tension that had always existed— but was now more prominent, more suffocating. You could feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on you, as if she were waiting for her to say something, anything, to break the silence that had settled between them like thick snow.

Although it’s been so long, surprisingly, you didnt really have anything to break the ice with.

Or even if you did, you didn’t want to.

You move through the house on autopilot, your feet carrying you to the living room where you remember the echoes of your parents’ voices being the loudest. You felt disgruntled — upset, at how memories of your parents fighting are the only prominent thing you can remember vividly inside this house. You wanted to laugh ; you can almost see them standing there, locked in yet another battle of wills, their words sharp and cutting, slicing through the air like knives, and you— you ?

Perhaps standing in some corner with your favorite old teddy bear, covering your ears the best you could, trembling with sobs, wondering if this would ever stop. Their words, though, are like a very vague memory to you. Almost as if someone is tingling a metal glass in the back of your head, far away, and the echoes which reach you are the only thing audible.

They were always fighting, always tearing each other apart, and you were always caught in the crossfire, collateral damage in a war that wasn’t even yours to fight.

But it was you who paid the price, every single time.

You hear footsteps, and your throat goes dry. The realization that you recognize the footsteps is beyond disturbing to you, as the fact that you even know who the owner of the footsteps is.

From recognising footsteps to vehicle horns, you grew up, and this would never not be able to turn on a switch in the back of your head. You knew the footsteps, their urgency, or even their tone, may you be called crazy. And you perhaps are delusional to think that maybe these steps are rather relaxed and slow. . .

perks of growing in a strict family, you guess.

Your father emerged from the kitchen, his steps slow and deliberate. His eyes, now very much lacking of the light they used to radiate, widen ever so slightly, but then again, come back to their usual resting form. Almost as if he tried to mask his. . . disappointment?

You weren’t sure, and his expression wasn’t one of happiness, either.

He looked older, more worn, but his eyes held the same disapproval you had seen so many times before. The kind of disapproval that was never voiced but was always felt.

A kind of disapproval you felt in your veins even before you were faced to force it, almost as if it was imprinted deep in your veins, that no matter what you’d do, you’re going to get this stamp of resentment passed onto you.

“Long time,” he muttered, his eyes flicking over yours as if assessing the damage of the years. The silence which has stretched all over these years. You were surprised that he even decided to speak up, remembering the time when you departed.. wasn’t exactly as serene as a teary goodbye sounded like, but that was a memory you refused to unlock.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You grimace at how dry you sounded, but you couldn’t help it. Maybe because it’s partially the fact that you didn't know what to answer, or maybe because..

Well.

You stood there, the three of you, now, in the cramped living room that had never felt like a home to you. You wonder if it did to them too, or was it just the forced idea of it being a home to rest their heads in made them used to the idea that it was a home. Misunderstandings which haunt you, as their child, you sure are to know that they must haunt them too.

You were someone who tried fixing them, who never once tried to do that themselves, right in the place where it all began, pretending it was home, when all it ever felt like was a place they were too tired to leave.

The silence in the room felt heavy, oppressive, broken only by the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall which seemed to drag time over and over.

It once again felt like their eyes pierced your very own soul, trying to burn you with their gaze.

“I’ll get dinner started,” your mother echoed, turning away before anyone could respond. It was easier, you supposed, to keep busy than to confront the reality of your return.

Or her expectations. Who knows.

You nodded, more to yourself than to anyone else, and followed your mother into the kitchen. You weren’t surprised that your father opted to go outside — a habit you’d recall which was so frequent back in the olden days when everything was a frenzied mess. Either he used to be out puffing out nicotine, or simply. . . didn’t return home until he felt like it.

— — —

The kitchen was smaller than you’d remembered, or maybe you’d just grown up. The shelves were no longer as tall as Burj Khalifa to you, and neither were the long random cabinets— who were the same dull brown, the countertops cluttered with the same appliances that had seen better days.

Your breath stuttered at how even the products you’d seen were the same, not a single new thing filled there— from the good ol’ crunchy cereal cornflakes (which was barely even consumed for breakfast,) or the chilli crisp you’d loved to drizzle on top of nearly any dish you’d had.

Truly, nothing really had changed.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” your mother’s voice reached out to you as you nearly flinched, not having expected her to begin a conversation. She was diligent in her chore; her question was like a soft command which demanded an answer, not looking up from where she was peeling potatoes, with that same old lilac handled peeler.

“Yeah,” you repeat, this time truly not knowing what else to say. To say you felt like a dumbass was an understatement; because truly, after so long, you seem to have lost the spark to even think to answer.

However , you didn’t want to explain yourself, didn’t want to justify why you’d stayed away for so long. You didn’t owe them that. You didn’t owe them anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself. It felt better that way.

The silence returned, heavy and uncomfortable. You found yourself staring out the small kitchen window, your gaze drifting to the house next door. You could see the top of the garden wall, the vibrant green of the plants that lined it.

It was strange how one small thing could hold so many memories, how one small thing could make you feel so much. Much more than being inside of your own house ever did, or ever could.

Yet, something about it feels different now, like a memory you’ve revisited too many times, its edges blurred with the weight of all you’ve carried inside you for decades.

You can almost see him there, in the yard, surrounded by laughter that wasn’t just his—it was a magnet, he was like a magnet, pulling everyone into its orbit, everyone except you. You were always on the outside looking in, (and it’s nearly ironic how you are now too,) your heart a silent witness to the joy you could never touch, never reach.

Even when he reached out, trying to pull you into that magnetic circle of warmth, you resisted. Your pride was too wounded, your envy was too sharp. How could you join in when every smile of his was a reminder of everything you could never be?

.....

Fuck.

You quickly look away, focusing on the mundane task of setting the table, very well knowing that your mom is gonna do that again. But the curiosity lingered, like a small fucking bug, a small, nagging feeling that you couldn’t quite shake out of you.

You did not want to think about him. You did not come here all the way to remember someone who has always just,. . . you sigh, gritting your teeth. Here were you again, fretting and sweating. Your mind whirred, not wanting to remember the way his smile had once made you feel both seen and invisible at the same time.

— — —

You decide you could take a walk around to fuck around and.. uh, find out, maybe? (You weren’t sure what exactly, though.)

As you maneuver through the hallway, your gaze drifts to the old family photos hanging on the wall. They seem. . out of place, like relics from a time that never really existed, or more like pieces on . . a museum? A museum where no one cared for its content , and everything was just randomly added to make something out of nothing.

You were always smiling in those pictures, but it was a smile that never reached your eyes—a smile that hid the exhaustion inside you. And there, in the corner of every photo, was him.

Even in those memories, those old photos, he was perfect. The golden boy with the bright eyes and the easy smile. His eyes were so bright and full of a happiness that seemed to come so naturally, would crinkle at the corners when he smiled—an easy, effortless smile that lit up his entire face.

His hair, always a little tousled from running around, caught the sunlight in a way that made it glow, adding to the image of him as the golden boy. You remember the way his front teeth, slightly larger and giving him that bunny-like appearance, would peek out when he grinned, adding a touch of innocence to his already charming features. He’s grinning widely in this picture, his nose crinkled up and his fingers poised in a victory sign, aligned to his face, right above his eyes, a smile so infectious that you feel your lips stretch to a smile even before you know it.

Your heart drops to your ass.

You’re smiling.

You can still hear their voices,though. Dripping with disappointment every time they said his name, their expectations pressing down on you like a weight you could never lift. You were expected to be someone’s walking copy— perfect and what not. You were the one who couldn’t measure up, the one who always fell short, who always came last in the race.

You take a deep breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling shards of glass, each breath painful, deep and cutting. The silence in the house is deafening, only the distant noise of your mother chopping up vegetables with that same dull thud against the chop board audible.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that the absence of your parents’ voices is more suffocating than their arguments ever were. You had always wished for the fighting to stop, but now that it has, you find yourself wishing for the noise, the chaos—anything to drown out the silence that presses in on you from all sides.

Maybe you had finally gone insane.

You had run away from it all. From the piercing noises, comparison, disdain, disappointment, everything. You were so young back then, with no knowledge of the outside world or its secrets.

You’d try to settle in different parts of the world, failing miserably each time because that feeling of something missing in your soul— that deep longing and yearning for anything that wasn’t as quick as getting a quick whiff of dopamine.. never quite left following you.

And now, here you are, back where it all began, and nothing has changed. Except, perhaps, you. You’re not the same girl who left this place. You’ve seen too much, been through too much. The world has carved its mark on you, left you scarred and weary, and you’re not sure if there’s anything left of the girl you used to be.

But as you stand there, looking out at the endless pictures which hang on the old plastered walls where the past that still haunts you, you realize something.

You’re not just angry anymore.

You’re tired.

Tired of carrying this weight, this burden of resentment and hurt. Tired of blaming all the misunderstandings that were woven into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, to someone who perhaps wasn't even slightly related to your pain.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t really him you despised, but the circumstances that had pushed you to see him as the source of your pain, which had settled like dust in the chambers of your heart. The misunderstandings that had tangled themselves into the delicate fabric of your mind as you grew up, weaving him into the narrative of your suffering, were unfair to you both.

It felt easier to blame him than to confront the truth—that your pain had roots far deeper than just one boy with a bright smile and kind heart.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let go.

The thought surprises you, shakes you to your core. Where the fuck did that come from?

The thought not only surprises you, but mostly, scares you. You take a cautious step back. It comes with a dozen questions which you fear that you don’t know the answers to, or are way too confused to even think about them.

You’ve held onto this anger for so long, let it define you, shape you. Who will you be without it? Can you really let go of something that has been a part of you for so long?

Did it really take you this long to realise this, all that, too in the place where you desperately ran away from?

You don’t have the answers, not yet. But standing here, in this place where it all began, you think that maybe you’re ready to start looking for them.

And that scares you more than anything else.

You find yourself staring at a sketchbook, after dinner, which was all just . . . once again, all silence. You remember how you realised that the food tasted bland, despite having a home cooked meal after nearly a decade. You tried adding salt till it was way too salty, and you had to gulp down each morsel because it became too bitter for your taste. The suffocating silence was broken when the bubbling hot stew burnt your tongue, as you yelped in pain. The only relief you got was gulping down a whole bottle of iced water from the fridge.

Your tongue feels numb now. Great.

Your eyes roam over the sketchbook again, its once pristine pages now yellowed with age. It was a relic from your childhood, buried deep in the attic with dust for years until your return home unearthed it. As you trace the lines of the drawing on the first page, you remember the day you made it—a simple scene of a house on a hill, surrounded by trees and bathed in the warm glow of a sunset, and those huge “V” shaped birds marked randomly near the sun.

You remember that you were so proud of that drawing, each line and color carefully chosen by your younger self, an attempt to capture a world that felt safe and beautiful.

An imaginary place where you’d even thought of making stick figures to show you and your parents, a world where they lived happily, but the vague pencil traces underneath the pastel scribbling show that you’d decided it was better without it.

But the memory of showing it to your parents is what lingers most. You remember how your excitement had bubbled over as you presented the drawing to your parents, your young heart brimming with pride. You’d spent hours on that piece, the house on the hill, the yellow-ish hues of the sunset, the trees swaying gently in the imaginary breeze. You thought it was the best thing you’d ever created.

But when you placed the sketchbook in front of them, eager for their approval, their reactions were far from what you had hoped.

Your mother’s eyes had flickered over the page, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t say anything at first, just handed the sketchbook over to your father, who barely glanced at it before returning to his newspaper. It was your mother who finally broke the silence, her voice flat and dismissive. “It’s… fine,” she’d said, and that single word was like a bucket of cold water on your excitement, your hard work.

You remember vividly, how your heart sank, how the colours of your drawing seemed to dull right before your eyes. How hours of scribbling felt like it’d all been to waste. The pride you’d felt moments before quickly evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You were too young to understand why her words stung so much, but old enough to know they did.

But then your mother’s tone shifted, a hint of something sharper creeping into her voice. Her eyes, dark and clear, were on you. “You know,” she’d continued, “Jungkook showed us a drawing he did just last week. It was a landscape too, but he added so much detail. The way he captured the mountains and the way the light reflected on the water… It was really impressive. His technique is really improving.”

Your father chimed in, not even looking up. “Yes, he’s always had a good eye for these things, hah. Natural talent, I suppose.”

You’d just stood there in the corner, your limbs feeling way too weak and shaky to hold you up.

You’d tried to keep your expression neutral, tried to swallow the hollow pain in your chest, but it was no use. The resentment boiled inside you, twisting something in your chest until all you could feel was the unfairness of it all. You had wanted to create something beautiful, to show them what you were capable of, that you could do better, but instead, your drawing had become just another reminder of how you didn’t measure up.

The sting of their words burned hot behind your eyes, and before you knew it, tears were blurring your vision. You didn’t want to cry in front of them, didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. So you bolted from the yard, the sound of their conversation fading behind you as you ran, feeling even hurt that none of your parents bothered to ask about where you were going.

But your vision was too clouded by tears, and as you reached the stairs, you’d feel your foot catch on the edge of a step. You stumbled forward, eyes widening, your arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but it was too late. You’d fallen, hard, the impact of your knee against the hardwood sending a sharp jolt of pain through your leg.

You remember the way your mother had smiled when she talked about Jungkook’s drawing, a soft, admiring smile that she rarely directed at you. It wasn’t just the critique of your work that hurt—it was the realization that, in their eyes, Jungkook would always outshine you. No matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put in, he was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, while you were just… there.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, partly from the pain, but mostly from the overwhelming sense of rejection and inadequacy. You sat there on the stairs, your knee scraped and bleeding, the ache in your chest even worse than the one on your knee. The drawing that had once filled you with pride now felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of how you would always fall short, no matter how hard you tried.

You wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, angry at yourself for crying, angry at them for making you feel this way, and angry at Jungkook for being the perfect son they never had. The resentment grew deeper, and with it, so did the belief that you were never going to be good enough for them, no matter what you did.

— — —

The moon is full overhead when you finally change into some comfortable PJs and finally feel sleep knock on the back of your eyelids and exhaustion making its way to move gradually along your body. Today wasn’t exactly eventful, but rather a concoction of memories which tickled and stung you like a thousand bees over and over.

You’ve decided to keep the windows open, . . .for tonight, atleast, because you do not dare sleep without feeling suffocated here. It sounds silly, but having nice ventilation feels. . . fresh, or more so.

You were around fourteen, you think, as you remember sitting on the edge of the playground, kicking at the dirt with the toes of your worn sneakers. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field, and you could hear the other kids shouting and playing, their voices mingling with the distant hum of traffic.

You weren’t interested in joining them. Your eyes were fixed on a figure in the distance, one you knew all too well.

Jungkook.

He was standing by the swings, laughing with a group of boys who seemed to hang on his every word. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he pushed it back, and his smile—God, that smile—was so bright, so beautiful, it almost hurt to look at. You hated that smile. You hated how perfect he seemed, how effortless everything was for him. And you hated how, no matter what you did, you could never seem to escape his shadow. No wonder the girls were so hung up on him, even the class president— it was ridiculous.

That day had started like any other, with your parents reminding you how you should be more like Jungkook. They praised his grades, his athletic abilities, and his charm. Either a direct implication of “Why can’t you be more like him?” or something like “You know, Jungkook— blah blah blah, all that bullshit about how he was better than you in every aspect. Even if it was the topic of increasing acne on your face, not realising—or maybe not caring—how their words cut you down. You knew they meant well, or maybe not, but each comparison felt like a knife to your heart, a reminder that you would never be good enough.

That you’ll never be him.

You were lost in your thoughts when you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Hey,” Jungkook said, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “Why are you sitting here alone?” His voice was always so soft. So gentle.

You hated his voice. Why did he sound so. . . sweet ? so smooth, almost with a slight undertone of a rasp. Why did it make you want to surrender and break down into the frustration which was pent up inside you since ages?

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, your chest heavy. You wanted to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because as much as you resented him, wanted him away from you, you somehow wanted him near you, a feeling which was hugely perplexing to you. It was a twisted, painful contradiction that you didn’t fully understand, nor you’d ever wanted to.

Jungkook sat down beside you, right on the dusty ground, his knee brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt, a feeling of fleeting emotions through you, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

Of course he’s gonna be concerned.

And that was the thing about Jungkook—he was always so kind, so considerate, even when you didn’t want him to be. It only made you feel worse. It only made you feel like utter shit, like you were not meant for anything, not even basic human compassion.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your emotions in check. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t seem convinced. He shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. He smelled like baby powder mixed with sweat. Irritating. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s bothering you.”

You almost laughed at the irony. How could you talk to him when he was the source of so much of your pain? When everyday you had to just, suffer because of him? How could you tell him that every time you looked at him, you felt like you were drowning in your own inadequacy? That every time he succeeded, it felt like another reminder of your failures? While he was always praised, always encouraged, while you were left to wonder why your efforts never seemed to measure up?

But instead of saying any of that, you just nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. Because you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you as weak, as vulnerable. You couldn’t let him know how deeply he had affected you.

There was a long silence between you, the kind that felt like it was stretching out forever. You could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, feel the tension in your chest building with every passing second. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Jungkook spoke again.

“You know, you’re really talented,” he said, his voice slightly higher than usual, a habit you hate to have noticed when he gets excited about something. “I just saw your abstract sketches the other day. Holy shit dude, they’re amazing!”

You didn’t know if your heart hammering in your chest sounded more or the silence after his praise did. He, however, didn’t stop there.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only served to twist the knife deeper. Because at that moment, you realised that he didn’t understand. He couldn’t. To him, everything came so easily—success, praise, admiration. But for you, it was a constant struggle, a battle you fought every day just to keep your head above water.

You turned to look at him then, really look at him, not caring if your eyes are brimming with unshed tears or if your nose is runny with snot and tears.

And for the first time, you saw the boy behind the perfect image. There was a softness in his eyes, a sincerity that made your heart ache. And for a fleeting moment, you wanted to believe him, to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your insecurities.

But then reality came crashing back, and the bitterness you had tried so hard to suppress bubbled to the surface.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice flat, on the verge of cracking, devoid of the warmth you knew he was expecting. “But I don’t need your pity.”

Jungkook blinked, his doe eyes widening, taken aback by your sudden harshness. “It’s not—”

“Just leave me alone,” you’d hissed, standing up abruptly. You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, your blood rushing onto your face. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you didn’t dare look back. Because if you did, you knew you would see the hurt in his expression, and you couldn’t handle that. Not when you were already so close to breaking.

And so you ran. Ran so fast, so hard, that you felt your chest constrict and gulp for air— the static breeze feeling like wind on your face as you ran, ran, ran. Ran till your limbs gave away and your head hurt, till you feel your insides eat you up with a strange mix of emotions—anger, regret, sadness.

But most of all, you felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness, even if you felt like you did the right thing. Because in pushing Jungkook away, you had also pushed away the one person who might have understood, who might have been able to help you. . . only if you hadn’t pushed him away.

But it was too late now. The damage was done, and you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

But as you stare at the sketchbook now, under the glowing moonlight, running your fingers over the faded lines of the drawing, the sketches you’d made again — you see it with different eyes—eyes that can appreciate the innocence in those lines, the earnestness of a child who only wanted to create something beautiful. The proportions might not be perfect, almost nothing in those sketches were — but there’s a charm in their simplicity, a warmth in the colors that you hadn’t noticed before. They were all good drawings, you think, not because of their technical skill, but because they were a reflection of who you were back then—hopeful, imaginative, and full of dreams.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been a little too hard on yourself all those years ago.

You hadn’t even planned to be here.

The moment your father casually mentioned that the Jeons still lived next door, you felt that familiar, uncomfortable pressure building in your chest. You didn’t absolutely know why that information passed on, especially when after a heavy restless night of feeling like crap, your muscles aching from exhaustion , your brain unable to process every thought which you’d thought, you were finally up to join your parents for an early evening tea.

His voice was cheerful, like he had no idea the gravity of what he was suggesting, but you felt it immediately. Every time the conversation veered toward your neighbors, it dredged up feelings you weren’t ready to confront. The Jeons—his parents—meant one thing, and ultimately, one thing only: Jungkook.

The mention of their name was enough to send your mind into overdrive, painting images of polite conversation and awkward laughter, images that twisted into something far more unbearable—seeing him. You could already hear the follow-up conversation in your mother’s saccharine sweet voice, “Why don’t you come over and say hello? Catch up with the Jeons?” And worst of all, they’d ask about you. You felt despondent to even think of the conversation, if it ever took place.

You weren’t used to the warmth which Mr. and Mrs. Jeon had shown you throughout the years, which only made you doubt if they ever knew the thick wall of ash between their son and you. They were so copacetically well humored, it almost hurt to be in a conversation with them.

Almost as if you never were used to this form of decency, that it shocked you to your core.

Jungkook’s parents would definitely ask, and you'd be expected to stand there and smile like you hadn't left everything behind. You know they definitely wouldn’t mean anything hurtful, but you do not believe your mind.

Not yet, atleast.

Before your parents could suggest anything more, before they could casually lead you down that path of small talk and forced interactions, you’d mumbled a vague excuse. Something about needing to stretch your legs, or needing some air.

You really did, though.

You’d slipped out the front door like you were running away, and you shook away the bitterness forming in your throat. You weren’t sure where you were going, only that it had to be away from that conversation, away from the chance of seeing him.

As your feet carried you through the familiar streets, your mind raced faster than your heart. The narrow, winding streets were the same, the faded signs on shop windows were the same, but the memories that clung to the air—they were suffocating.

You’d always thought coming back would be simple. Walk down memory lane, see familiar faces, and pretend you were someone new. But the weight of those memories hung over you, each one sharper than the last. With every corner you turned, you felt the tug of your past, a pull you couldn’t quite shake away, no matter how hard you’d tried to shrug it off.

— — —

You found yourself slipping into a small café you hadn’t noticed before, just off the main road, desperate for a reprieve.

What’s the name— 134340? Quite strange, you think, but shrug it off once again. People are creative with their business requirements, even if that means that you probably make out nothing from eyeing the café from outside. except the fact that. . . it’s possibly space themed?

Now that is strange for a coffee shop.

You think that it’s quite new. Or, who even knows. It stands out from the dull shops lit nearby, and there’s quite a buzz which attracts you here, although you’d prefer a quiet café over a bustling one any day.

Well, fuck it.

The smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries greeted you as you stepped inside, the hum of quiet conversation and the soft clink of mugs providing a much-needed escape. It’s surprisingly cozy, something you’d never guessed from the odd name and the theme previously. The café is small, actually smaller than most you’ve been to. Though, it’s nice, there are fewer people here, and you quite find yourself at peace already. You chose a table near the back, away from the windows, trying to create some distance from the life outside.

You hadn’t planned to stay long, but the peaceful atmosphere lulled you into a false sense of security. You let out a long breath, allowing the tension to ease from your shoulders as you sipped your coffee. Ha, thisfelt nice. For a few blissful moments, you felt like you could breathe again. Almost like. . . maybe you could handle this return to your hometown after all.

And then, the door chimes.

You barely looked up at first—just another customer, maybe a loner like you, someone else in this quiet café. But then the barista’s voice cut through the room, clear and distinct.

“Macchiato for Jungkook!”

Huh?

Your hand froze halfway to your cup. The familiar sound of his name hit you like a punch to the gut, making your breath hitch.

No fucking way.

Your gaze shot up, almost instinctively, and that’s when you saw him. There, standing by the counter, picking up his drink like it was the most casual thing in the world. Him.

Your heart seemed to lurch into your throat. It couldn’t be him—it couldn’t. And yet, there he was, right in front of you, a few inches away.

The room seemed to shrink around you, your pulse quickening as your eyes locked onto him. You felt yourself gasping for air, your peace long broken. Your body felt suddenly too warm, your chest tightening painfully as every nerve in your body screamed for you to look away.

But you just couldn’t.

He had changed.

The boy you left behind had grown into someone you barely recognized. His back was visible to you— his frame was broader, more solid than you remembered, and his shoulders— God, what the fuck? they seemed to stretch forever beneath the dark jacket he wore. His hair, slightly tousled, deep raven — as you’d remembered— framed his face in that familiar, careless way, but it was sharper now. Defined. There was no mistaking the confidence in the way he carried himself, something he hadn't fully grown into back then.

But what stood out most—what nearly knocked the breath from your lungs—were those— were those. . . tattoos peeking underneath his jacket?

Jungkook's arm, the one that used to be bare, now carried intricate black ink that snaked from his wrist to his elbow, disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket. The lines were bold, winding and curling, and you felt your jaw drop, even if he was standing at a distance. The tattoos seemed to catch the light as he reached for his drink, each motion of his arm drawing your attention like a magnet.

You couldn’t stop staring. The boy you remembered—the one who had always been so kind, so open—had become someone else entirely.

One who stood in stark contrast to the memories you had clung to.

And he was alone.

Jungkook had always been surrounded by people. He was known to be the crowd attractor, always having his admirers petting him by his neck. He was never the type to go anywhere without friends trailing behind him, their laughter filling the spaces around him. But here, now, in this café—he was by himself. There was a stillness about him that you didn’t remember, something quiet and self-assured.

Now, it almost felt like he didn’t need anyone around him to validate his presence. He was comfortable in his own skin, by himself.

That realisation hit you harder than you expected. He had changed in ways you hadn’t anticipated, ways that made your chest tighten with emotions you couldn’t even begin to name.

And then, just as you thought your heart might explode from your chest, Jungkook turned slightly, his eyes sweeping across the café—casually, as if he were taking in his surroundings—and your stomach dropped.

Fuck, fuck. The coffee was so strong, you feel it lurching up your stomach now.

You flinched, ducking your head quickly, heart pounding so loud you thought he might hear it across the room. Did he see you? Could he have recognized you after all these years? Your breath was shallow, uneven, panic rising in your throat as you wrestled with the urge to bolt from your seat.

You weren’t ready for this.

You weren’t ready to face him. Not here, not now. Not when you were still so caught up in your own thoughts, still trying to piece together the fragments of what your brain showed you. You’d come here for a cup of coffee— some peace— and seeing him again, after all this time, felt too much, and too little at once. It was like a bomb, or a bucket of ice cold water thrown directly at you.

It was overwhelming.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Your heart was racing, and every instinct in your body was telling you to run. But you hesitated, torn between the undeniable urge to leave and the part of you that wanted to look at him just once more. Just to see if he had really changed as much as you thought. Just to see if he, unlike this town, your home, had changed.

But you knew better. You couldn’t stay. Not with your emotions so close to the surface, threatening to spill over. If he saw you, if he recognized you—if he spoke to you— you didn’t know if you could handle that.

Because you know you can’t.

The café, once so peaceful, now felt stifling, the walls closing in on you as your breath quickened. You couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of here, needed to escape before everything came crashing down.

With one final glance at his figure, standing there by the counter, you pushed your chair back, the screeching sound drawing more attention than you would have liked. But you didn’t care. You grabbed your things and bolted for the door, your pulse pounding in your ears, your steps quick and uneven.

You’d nearly made it. The door was just a few steps away, and all you had to do was keep your head down and walk.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, the anxiety twisting your insides as you tried to steady your breathing. Jungkook hadn’t seen you—or at least you hoped he hadn’t. You prayed to heavens and hells that he hadn’t. But just as you reached for the door, you saw him lean against the counter, much closer now. Far closer than you had anticipated.

Fuck. Fuck!

The café’s single door was right beside where he stood, and there was no way out without passing directly by him.

Oh no.

You shouldn’t have chosen this café. Was there no other cafés for you to try? Did HE necessarily have to be in the same café as you?

Your stomach churned, your pulse thudding in your ears, drowning out everything else. He was right there. Right there. And you could feel the heat radiating off him even from where you stood. Panic crawled up your spine, making your movements sluggish and jerky. You just needed to keep your head down and walk—walk past him without glancing his way, without catching his eye. But he was so close, and as you stepped forward, trying to make yourself as small as possible, you caught it—his scent.

That familiar scent, one that had changed just as much as he had. He no longer smelled like baby powder. It was manly now, deeper, some sort of an expensive cologne, which was strong on its own— yet soft, almost comforting in a way that made your chest constrict painfully. The scent wrapped around you, making your knees feel weak, and for a second, you nearly lost your footing. You fought the instinct to look at him—to take one glance and confirm that yes, this is the Jungkook you left behind, the one who had grown into a man. But you couldn’t. If you looked at him, you’d be done.

You were beyond cooked.

Your legs carried you forward, faster than they should have, your mind racing with every step. You felt your arm brush something—him, the edge of his jacket maybe, or his hand on the counter—and your pulse spiked violently.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

You shoved the door open, your breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts as you stumbled outside, the cool air hitting your face like a hard slap back to reality.

You were outside. You’d made it. But the world around you was spinning, the street and the sky blurring together as your heart continued to pound in your chest. You leaned against the wall just outside the café, your hand pressed to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your palms felt uncomfortably clammy and you felt a sweat head run down your temple. Your thoughts were a mess—disjointed. Everything was hitting you at once; you had run away again. You had seen him, been close enough to touch him, and you had run. Just like before.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest spreading as you tried to pull yourself together. It was stupid. So stupid. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid ! You were an adult now, one with full responsibilities for your actions, and yet here you were, fleeing like a scared child.

You took a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs. Maybe you could handle this. Yeah, you needed to clear your head. It’s just the coffee messing with you. Maybe you could—

“Excuse me?”

Your entire body froze at the voice directed at you.

That voice.

Deep. Smooth. Rich. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, catching you off guard, wrapping itself around you like a tether, pulling you back toward the very thing you were trying to escape.

It wasn’t the voice you remembered—but it also very much was— heavier, weighted with a kind of maturity that made your breath catch. The boy you once knew had never sounded like this. This voice was deeper, more assured, like it had weathered years of life since you last heard it. The softness which his voice held in your memory still was back somewhere, but you couldn’t find it. And that hit you hard. He wasn’t that same boy anymore. The boy who used to tease you, who laughed with that bright, carefree chuckle—he was gone.

And now, that very voice was speaking to you.

You slowly turned to face him, your heart thudding violently in your chest as your eyes locked onto his face.

Yeah, this was your end.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Jungkook.

He was right there, just a few feet away. And this close, you could see everything.

The sharpness of his jawline hit you first, carved out and more defined than you ever remembered. It was strong, angular, like someone had taken the softness he once had and sculpted it into something more. . . commanding. His lips, parted slightly as he waited for you to respond, were full and soft, but even they held a sense of control, like every movement was deliberate. Fuck, was that a piercing at the corner ? His nose—perfectly straight, leading up to those eyes.

Those eyes.

Dark, deep, and searching. They hadn’t changed much in shape, but the way they looked at you was different now—more intense, more aware. His gaze wasn’t filled with youthful curiosity or mischief anymore. It was deeper. Grounded. Like he saw more, understood more.

He was a man now.

Your stomach twisted violently, and you had to force yourself to breathe.

Your gaze traveled up, noting the way his thick brows framed his face, darker and more defined than you remembered. They furrowed slightly as he watched you, as if trying to figure out why you were staring, why you hadn’t taken the phone from his hand yet. The small furrow in his brows only made his expression more serious, more focused. He was looking at you—not just glancing, but looking.

His dark, inky black hair brushed just above his brows, a few strands falling forward in that effortless, tousled way. It was longer now, framing his face, giving him an edge that made your chest tighten.

But it wasn’t just his face. Your eyes flickered down for just a second, barely able to handle it. His neck—strong and sinewy, leading to broad shoulders that seemed even broader now in the fitted jacket he wore. He’d filled out—a lot. His arms were no longer just lean muscle from teenage years of sports. Now, they were thicker, more muscular, straining against the fabric of his sleeve. Oh my God.

Your mind raced, every detail crashing into you at once, overwhelming your senses. Your chest felt tight, and you felt like your hands were shaking by your sides.

The more you looked, the more you realized how much had changed. How much you had missed. How much you had run away from?

It felt like the world was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the flood of memories, the weight of time lost, the realization that Jungkook had grown into someone you barely recognized—yet you knew it was still him.

He was still him.

You were losing yourself in it, in all of it, your thoughts spiraling out of control, unable to process the fact that he was standing here, holding something that belonged to you, waiting for you to take it from him.

Your eyes flickered back to his face, your heart clenching painfully. He was watching you, studying you in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. And yet, as much as he was looking at you, he didn’t know you. Didn’t recognize you. Not yet, anyway.

That hit you harder than you could’ve expected. How could he not know who you were? How could he not see it in your face, in the way you were trembling, in the panic written all over you?

But then again, why would he?

You were no longer the same girl he once knew.

And as his eyes narrowed in mild confusion, his brow furrowing just a little deeper, it became clear—he didn’t see you as the person who had disappeared from his life. Not yet.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked softly, his voice sending a tremor down your spine. You couldn’t miss the concern in his tone, the slight edge of worry that made your throat tighten even more.

Fuck. Of course he’d be concerned.

You blinked, the world rushing back into focus, feeling like your pupils zoomed like crazy— and suddenly, you realized you had been standing there for far too long, staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Standing there like a damn weirdo.

Your phone. He is holding your phone.

For a split second, your eyes met his, and time seemed to freeze.

His gaze locked onto yours, and for the briefest of moments, something flickered there—something like recognition. You feel your eyes widening, bells ringing at the back of your head. His eyes softened, just slightly, as if he was searching your face for something familiar, something from the past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same polite curiosity.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Your eyes flickered between his face and the phone in his hand, your chest tightening with each passing second. What should you do? He was right there, right in front of you. He was close enough for yoh to reach out and take back what was yours.

But you couldn’t.

Your hand now actually trembled at your side, your body frozen in place. The air felt too thick for you to gulp in, and your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to force the words out, trying to make your body move. But you couldn’t.

You just couldn’t.

He tilted his head slightly, concern flickering across his face as he waited for you to take the phone. Why is he so concerned!? But you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like your feet had been glued to the ground. You felt the panic rising inside you again, the walls closing in as your chest tightened painfully, slowly.

“I—” you tried again, but your throat was too tight, and the word came out as nothing more than a strangled sound, like a muffled voice.

He took a step closer, and that was it. That was it.

Your body went into overdrive. Without thinking, without even trying to reason with yourself, you turned on your heel and bolted down the street, not caring if people stopped to look at you, thinking if you possibly were either a lunatic or someone who just won a lottery.

You didn’t care. You ran, ran, feeling your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you ran. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, your pulse pounding in your ears as you darted around the corner, as far away from him as possible.

You couldn’t do this.

Your heart was hammering so violently you thought it might burst right out of your chest, and all you could think about was getting away. Far, far away.

You ran till you feel your chest burn, you ran till you felt like your limbs would give up. You ran till you feel like nothing again, you ran till your mind was empty.

When you finally slowed, your breath came in harsh, ragged bursts, and your vision blurred with tears you hadn’t realized were there. You collapsed onto a bench, your whole body trembling violently as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

You had run away.

Again.

And this time, you didn’t even have an excuse.

a/n : phew.. 😵‍💫 if you’ve made this far, thank you for reading 💜 what do we think? i’d be very glad if you let me know your thoughts 🫶🏾 if you want, there’s an anonymous feedback box where you can drop your thoughts anonymously 💌

[starm0onlight]

Drowned by love 🥀

˚⊱ chapter two ⊰˚

₊˚⊹ ᰔ pairing: greek gods x fem reader

₊˚⊹ ᰔ note: this will be my last post before i take few days break for my exams, dw most of request are done!

₊˚⊹ ᰔ warning: none

₊˚⊹ ᰔ content: meeting new characters! (they're oc but dw they're only there for fun), jewelries, idk it's the start

🏺- you slowly start getting conscious and after a while you slowly start opening your eyes but you felt different, nothing in you feel the same.

🪽- as your eyes finally get used to the room light you start looking around as you realized your situation.

🪡- you were in a room, a big one. that's weird you don't remember this place? matter of fact you don't remember anything, and is that bed you're laying on?

🪶- as you look around you notice yourself laying on a bed with soft sheets covering you completely, you start to get worried now.

🏺- as you slowly start sitting up you quickly held your head as sharp pain hit you so suddenly.

🪽- "aw my head.. w-where am i?" you say as you slowly start looking more around the room, but suddenly you notice yourself.

🪡- you weren't in your clothes anymore but rather in chiton, huh? you don't remember wearing that.

🪶- suddenly you remember everything, how you wake up in no where and then the palace and the people you met there and then you pass out-

🏺- wait... does that mean, you're in the palace you saw? then you remember the whole gods thing, that's can't be, no no no...

🪽- as you quickly take the sheets off of you so you can start actually seeing where you are, you notice that all of your wounds that you get from wondering in the forest has gone. they're not healed, they're gone.

🪡- you don't know what's happening but you need to get out of here now. if what you think is true then you should leave as soon as possible.

🪶- but as you stand up to finally leave suddenly the bedroom door open as some women enter by it. three to be exact

"my lady you're finally awake." says one of softly as she slowly approaches you, she was blonde with the greenest eyes you have ever seen.

"who are you... and what do you want.." you said as you start backing away but couldn't go any further since the bed was right behind you.

"don't worry my lady we are here to help you get ready" said the other woman standing behind the blonde one. she has dark skin and was a little chubby with long brown hair and blue eyes.

"yes my lady, we're here to take care of you, this is an order from the gods" said the third one, this one was different, she was tall and her hair was blue-ish in color and had amber eyes. as you saw her putting down some jewelry on the table beside the giant mirror that you didn't realize exist.

"im aglaea" said the blonde one as introduce herself. "and this is Rhea" is pointed at the chubby girl. "and this is phebe" she pointed at the tallest one. "and we're here to assist you and take care of you"

"i don't need anyone to take care of me.. i need to leave this place right now.." you as you try to move but felt like you were stuck at your place.

"we're sorry you feel like this my lady, but please just don't make it hard for yourself, and no one will get hurt" said aglaea as her words scare you for a second, what does she mean no one will get hurt?

before you could question more she quickly held your shoulders and started guiding you into a seat in front of the table and mirror, you found yourself going along and not resisting.

as you set down they quickly start working on dressing you up in the finest jewelries you have ever laid eyes on.

from necklaces to golden chains around your dress till Anklets on your feet, you were stunned at the amount of jewelry and gold you have wrapped around you. and as a final touch one of them put vail on your head to hide a little of your face and match the dress.

"you look absolutely stunning my lady!" said Rhea as she looks at you as if she admiring you. and the two other nods in agreement.

"we never saw a mortal so beautiful before my lady!" said Phebe as nods softly at you. even if the whole situation is weird you felt kinda flatter by their complement.

"are you goddesses too?" you finally said as you look at them, they look at each other first before start chuckling softly.

"no my lady we're not but we appreciate your flattery" said aglaea as she started fixing a little of your jewelries.

"we're just nymphs serving on olympus" said Rhea as she helped you stand on your feet, you would lie if you said you didn't feel a little heavy.

"now i think it's time, we wouldn't want to keep the gods waiting, my lady." said Phebe as she opened the door for you.

from what you can tell about them that's Rhea was the joyful one she looked more energetic than the others, phebe is quite one, you notice that she doesn't talk as much as the others. and aglaea was the responsible one. she look like she's know what she's doing and she can be trustful.

before you can say anything else you suddenly felt like you're being pushed outside the room.

"come on let's not waste any time" said rhea as she pushed out of the room and two followed behind.

this is going to be a long ride..

[literaryavenger]

Broken

Summary: after Civil War you meet and bond with Bucky Barnes. You want to help him, but do you really realize how hard it's going to be?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. Hints to eating disorder. Language probably, for now just fluff and innocent and broken Bucky. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: This is my first story, and it's taken me a long time to even decide to post it. As of now I honestly have no idea where this story is going, the idea just popped in my head and I ran with it. I do have the first three chapters ready and I'm starting the fourth, I hope I find a plot at some point, we'll see how this one does and go from there. Also, this was a reader version of a story I had on wattpad with an OC so I had to rewrite it accordingly so if there are any mistakes that's why, feel free to point them out so I can fix them thanks.

Masterlist

You enter the kitchen of the Avengers tower and saw two people sitting at the counter, immediately recognizing the one closer to the door.

"Stevie!" you practically yell, running towards the blonde man who stands up and opens his arms in time for you to jump on him, hugging him tightly while he raises you in the air and spins a little.

"Good morning, koala bear." he says while chuckling lightly.

"When did you come back?" you ask excitedly after a few minutes of hugging, not letting go just yet.

"Last night." he answered "Nat said you had just gone to sleep, I didn't wanna wake you."

"Steve, what's happening? Is she hurting you?" a voice you've never heard says.

You let go just enough for him to be able to put you back on the ground without letting go of you.

"It's okay, Buck, it's just a hug." he say to the other man as you turn a little to look at him better. He has a confused look on his face, at which Steve adds "It's just a way to express affection, it's fine."

At this you're a little confused yourself so you look at Steve who gives you a look that tells you not to question him, so you don't.

Instead you let go of Steve, turning completely towards his friend and stepping a little closer.

"Hi," you say looking at him and introducing yourself.

He doesn't look very comfortable so you don't try to shake his hand, choosing to wave a little with a smile.

He answers with a quiet "Bucky." while looking at the ground, like he's quite sure if he's even allowed to answer.

You tilt your head to the side, considering him for a second before saying "Do you want a hug, too? I promise I won't hurt you." you add quickly after he raises his head a little and you notice a slightly worried look on his face.

He thinks about it before just shrugging and nodding his head slightly.

"Okay. Do you... want to get up?" you hesitantly ask and he raises his head a little more, still not looking at your face but slowly getting up from his chair.

You glance at Steve who seems very interested in what's happening and is watching intently without making a sound. Your eyes meet for a few seconds and he raises an eyebrow and motions slightly towards his friend as if to tell you to keep going. You nod and get closer to Bucky until you're right in front of him.

You watch him for a couple of seconds and when his head stays lowered you decide to take the lead and move to put your arms around his neck, slowly so as not to startle him.

After several seconds of you gently hugging him while he stands with his arms to his sides, you're about to pull away when you feel him slowly move his arms to your lower back and keep them there lightly, being very careful like he was afraid of hurting you.

You smile a little into his shoulder and wait a couple of minutes before pulling away.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" you tease, your hands still on his shoulders.

He gives you a little smile and finally looks you in the eyes for the first time and, as soon as his eyes meet yours, you're transfixed by how blue they are.

You're not sure how long you two stay looking into each other's eyes, but you're brought back to reality by Bucky's voice.

"Are you okay?" he asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

"Yes? Um... if you ever want another hug I'm always up for it... I love giving hugs." you say smiling and taking your hands off his shoulders as he drops his arms to his sides again.

He drops his gaze to the ground again, while your eyes stay on his face and you see a small smile and a slight nod.

After a few more seconds of looking at him you turn around and start walking towards the fridge, passing Steve and noticing a weird smirk on his face.

"What?" you ask him with a confused look but still smiling.

"Nothing..." he says, still smirking.

"Okay, weirdo." you say back laughing a little.

"Okay, weirdo. Breakfast?" he asked.

"No, I'll just drink some water." you say casually, avoiding his eyes.

"Y/N..." he says warningly.

"It's fine, Stevie, I'm just not hungry." you say, still not looking at him and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

As soon as you turn around you're met with the slightly disappointed face of Steve and the confused face of Bucky.

"Besides I don't have to train until this afternoon..." Steve's worry doesn't fade, so you add "I'll eat something later, I swear." you don't know if he's convinced, but his face softens and he lets it go.

"How about you fill me in about what happened while I was gone?" he says, changing the subject with a sympathetic smile.

"Sure, I'll just take a shower first, is that okay?" He nods and you run to your room to take a quick shower.

After you come out you put on some sweatpants and a sports bra just to not have to change until after training.

You grab a hairbrush and run back downstairs where you find Steve waiting for you alone while sitting at the table.

"Hi koala, that was a quick shower." he says with a smile when he sees you.

You lean with your back to the counter in front of the table he's sitting at and start brushing your still damp hair.

"Yep, you know me it's either 5 minutes or 50." you say smiling while he chuckles. "Where'd your friend go?" you ask casually while concentrating on brushing away a knot in your hair.

"He went to take a shower. Last night he was so tired he practically passed out in the guest room."

You humm a response before asking "So, is he gonna live here now? You know, be a part of the team and all? Tony refused to share any details with me..." you add with disappointment, which you're sure he notices because of his answer.

"Tony's still not 100% okay with it, but he's getting there. You know how he is, he doesn't talk about things until he's finished processing them... anyway yes, he'll live here and eventually be part of the team, I hope."

You look up and think about his words before nodding and waiting for him to speak again, but when he doesn't you try to sound as casual as you can while asking questions about his friend. "Why did you have to tell him what a hug is?"

He doesn't look you in the eye and you know he's getting uncomfortable so you don't really expect him to answer. But he does nonetheless

"Buck's not really been himself for the last 70 years... he hasn't been shown a lot of kindness or humanity. That's why I was surprised that he let you hug him so fast. Don't get me wrong I'm happy about it, it's real progress I just wasn't expecting it so soon..." You let him talk without interrupting, pretending to be more concentrated on your hair than his word so as to not make him even more uncomfortable.

You know stories about Bucky in the 40s from Steve and you have seen photos of him, only in black and white, but it was nothing compared to having him in front of you. Something about him just made you want to know more, like you were drawn to him.

You guess Steve picked up on this because, after a little pause, he adds "Look, I know you want to know more, but it's not my story to tell. If and when he's ready, it's up to him who he wants to tell." damn him for knowing you so well.

Of course you understand what he was saying and you know he's right, so you nod and say "You're right... I won't push it, I promise." before he has time to reply though Bucky enters the kitchen with different clothes and wet hair.

To not let him know you were just talking about him Steve quickly says "So, tell me, what have I missed around here?"

You thought about it for a moment as you watch Bucky make his way through the kitchen and sit at the table next to Steve.

"Um, well, Tony made a new addition to the team. It was very abrupt and it's weird that he's so young, but he's a nice kid. His name is Peter, he's 15 from Queens and apparently he's this Spider-man that's been all over youtube. What?"

As you talked you could see a bit of guilt on Steve's face. "We've met him... didn't know he was a kid though..."

"Well, what happened?" you ask, getting more and more frustrated that no one will tell you anything.

You're part of the team after all, and, even though you don't have powers or are a super soldier, you think you have a right to know why everyone suddenly disappeared one day on some mission that you weren’t allowed to know anything about, and why it took half of the team a couple more weeks than the others to come back.

It's not that it was uncommon for you not to know details of a mission you weren't assigned to, but, since Fury chose you from the SHIELD agents to join the Avengers several years ago, it's never happened that a mission required the WHOLE team except one single person.

What pissed you off even more it's that you're not the youngest in the team, nor are you the newest or the least trained.

You started as a SHIELD agent right before Natasha, granted you were a teenager, but both of you trained a lot together with Clint and you fought alongside the other Avengers in the battle of New York.

You also fought together against Ultron, where you united forces with the Maximoff twins, Wanda and Pietro, (the latter had to spend a lot of time in the medbay after, having almost died) and then also Vision, which is still a little weird since you still have Jarvis controlling the tower.

In all of this time you developed family-like bonds with the whole team.

You honestly consider Tony a father figure, him and Pepper treat you like a daughter and you love them for it. Rhodey, Happy and Bruce are like uncles.

Natasha is like a big sister and Wanda is like a younger one. Clint, Thor and even Loki (since he's been made to spend his exile with you as punishment for New York) have been like big brothers to you, Vision and Pietro are kind of like younger brothers, and now even Peter the last few months.

Scott is another new face that's quickly becoming a chaotic best friend. Sam is like a best friend that still shamelessly flirts with you, after years, obviously knowing nothing is going to happen.

And Steve is your absolute best friend, your favorite brother. He's overprotective (to be fair they all are when it comes to you) and caring, can't really say no to you, spoils you a little and you love every minute of it.

They are your family, and having them keep what feels like a very serious and important situation from you, and only you, not only makes you extremely angry, but it's also very sad to think they don't trust you enough.

Or at least that's what it feels like even though they keep telling you that's absolutely not the case.

You can see how uncomfortable Bucky is getting, while Steve is looking more and more guilty by the second, but neither is saying anything, so you just give up.

"Fine," you say, a little disappointed. "Don't tell me. I guess I'll have to wait on Tony to know."

You don't wait for them to answer as you bring your attention to Bucky.

"Can I?" you ask him while pointing to his hair with the brush that you just finished using on yourself.

He gives just you a confused look, so you explain. "Your hair is pretty long, it would be better if you brushed it before it dries otherwise it hurts like hell to do it later."

He looks at Steve with an uncertain expression, and, when the blonde just shrugs in response, Bucky looks back at you and nods.

You go around the table and position yourself behind Bucky. "I'll be as gentle as I can, but I'm sorry if I hurt you. If you want me to stop, just say so, okay?"

He nods again and you start to slowly and carefully brush his hair while telling Steve all the things you did with the others while he was gone.

The mysterious mission happened about 3 months ago, half of the team came back after a day, the others a couple of weeks later, while Steve and Bucky were the only ones to come back just now.

You tell Steve how you bonded with Peter over being "Tony's children", how Scott became something of a girlfriend and the time you spent with him and his daughter, Cassie, who was just adorable.

You tell him about the weird best friend-like friendship that Peter and Loki developed, much to Tony's annoyance, but that you find very cute and funny.

You tell him about all the pranks that you pulled with anyone and against everyone, specially with Sam, Scott and Loki and against Happy, Clint and Thor.

Steve knows everyone in the team is very quick to forgive you, he always jokes about how you have everyone wrapped around your finger, especially Tony.

And you have to admit, he's not totally wrong. Nobody really stays mad at you for more than a couple of days, and sometimes you're definitely treated like the kid of the family. The golden child.

Even Fury has a soft spot for you, which is very rare, to the point that you're the only one allowed to call him Nick.

You also tell Steve of all the "family time" he missed, which is essentially a whole lot of movie nights, game nights and things like that.

You tell him all the jokes you can remember being said, all the funny moments, all the missions and all the times when you missed him like crazy.

By the time you're done telling him everything you could remember, he's crying laughing and you're almost done with Bucky's hair.

"Are you okay? Am I hurting you?" you ask Bucky, as Steve tries to compose himself, still laughing at the prank you and Sam pulled on Clint where you turned his whole room into a giant bird's nest.

Bucky shakes his head and says a quiet "I'm okay" that you're sure Steve doesn't even hear over his own laughter.

You gently finish brushing his hair, then sit in the chair next to him leaning in and gently turning his head towards you so you can check you did a complete job.

At this point his hair is dry and falling down both sides of his face. You push his hair behind his ears to see his face better and smile, his eyes scanning your face.

Neither of you take notice that Steve has stopped laughing and is watching you with the same smirk he had after you hugged as you're both too intent in taking in each other's appearances.

"Is that better?" you ask after a few minutes of silence.

"What?" he ask, a little confused, which makes you giggle.

"Your hair. Is that better?" you ask again.

"Oh. Yeah, thank you." he says blushing, his voice still very quiet.

"You're adorable." you said with another giggle that makes Steve laugh too, while Bucky blushes even more.

You smile at him again before getting up, giving Steve a kiss on the side of the head while you pass him and going towards the door. "I'll see you guys at lunch. I'm supposed to meet Scott and Cassie in 10 minutes. Bye, Stevie."

"Bye, koala bear." Steve answers.

"Bye, Bucky."

"Bye." he says, still kind of quiet but loud enough for you to hear.

You turn around and give him one last smile before going through the living room to the elevator and to the floor that Scott's now living in and where Cassie spent the night.

part 2

[mika24601]

Introducing one of my main Twisted Wonderland OCs twisted from Anna from Frozen 🌻

His name is Asmund of Helkaldt and he's the second prince in line to the kingdom of Helkaldt (a small kingdom in the Shaftlands). His brother, Emil (based on Elsa) has a curse where his body slowly turns freezing cold until it reaches dangerous temperatures that could stop his heart, unless he's kept warm at all times. When they were kids, they were playing and accidentally got trapped in a pantry. Emil's curse started kicking in and, not knowing what else to do, Asmund decided to try to use fire magic to help his brother, something he had seen his parents use countless times. But since he was so young and didn't have a magic pen, the fire went out of control, permanently burning Emil's left side of his body and face, and Asmund's hands.

After the incident, Asmund and Emil were separated and were never allowed to see each other as they grew up in isolation with only the palace servants and tutors as company. When they were both 16, they received invitation letters to Royal Sword Academy and their parents reluctantly allowed them to attend. Despite being in the same dorm, Asmund and Emil still never spoke to each other, both too afraid of how the other would react. Asmund made it his mission to cure Emil of his curse, convinced that if he did, Emil wouldn't hate him anymore (he doesn't hate him. They're just stupid and need to talk).

His hair turns white after an incident with Emil that ends with the curse being split between the two of them to make it manageable.

The other boy in his photos is Nestor "Nes" Thnetos (twisted from Hercules' Meg). I'll make a post about him later, but the two of them are "enemies" to friends to lovers.

[ppnuggie]

　　　　　　XENOMORPH KING x gn reader

　　　　『　king ,, gender neutral reader 』

　　-> xeno king hcs | meeting him

　　— fluff ,, sfw ,, yautjas are in this universe ,, featuring my ocs panther (yautja talked abt later on in the hcs) & king (the xenomorph ,, briefly mentioned)

　　— here are the hcs :D this is kinda somewhat an introduction to meeting king and more hcs will come soon ,, introducing his brothers of sort ,, im making their refs slowly 😭😭🫡 so hopefully those will be up before i decide to actually turn these hcs into a story n stuff

| • it was an assignment from your higher ups ,, heading to a lesser known "shake and bake" colony located on a distant planet where the habitable zone was way out from the sun surprisingly

| • usually habitable zones for planets would be in the middle ,, but this one was farther out ,, though it also made it more dangerous to be on

| • the winters were hot and the summers were cold ,, temperatures would get quite extreme but for the most part humans could somewhat live on there

| • you were sent with a team of two other scientists ,, along with an android ,, to examine and study the planet more

| • it was on one of your more routinely walks and expeditions around the more countryside of the planet that you stumbled upon something that hadnt been picked up before by scanners or drones

| • abandoned and trashed ,, a lab that was quite dark and gruesome to look at stood in the middle of nowhere on the barren planet

| • you werent too sure of what happened there ,, though it was evident it wasnt anything good judging by all the dried up liquid stains ,, the broken glass and scratches all over the wall

| • some of the furniture and walls looked melted ,, like somewhat poured lava on it and left it there

| • alone on this expedition ,, you took your notes and marked the location on a map of the planet ,, making a mental note to come back soon

| • the more you looked around the more frightening and on edge you became ,, finding skeletal remains of creatures you werent too sure what they were

| • vials were stored away in a broken down freezer ,, or you assumed so based on their labels in an unknown language and strange color

| • there were vials with many strange colors ,, making you second guess if it even was blood inside them ,, vials storing blue and green and orange

| • none looked indigenous ,, as the most the planet had to offer were these strange rodents that burrowed in the ground most the time ,, almost like those naked molerats from your own home planet ,, except these ones werent as terrifying to look at

| • though the more on edge you became the more curious you got ,, wondering what happened here exactly

| • documents were spilt on the ground ,, scattered about and dirtied up ,, some ripped apart and some with strange prints on them

| • without much of a second thought you took them ,, hoping that maybe you could decode the foreign language and figure out what was happening in this place before it became abandoned

| • you gathered what you could of the place ,, taking a few of the vials and gathering photo evidence of the area

| • while doing so ,, you werent aware of the fact you were being watched ,, stalked and observed by an unknown creature in the vicinity

| • when you got back to the base and showed your findings your crewmates were interested ,, the android apart of your team quickly recognizing the language in the documents

| • it belonged to these creatures called 'yacht-ja' ,, or something of those sorts ,, but he wasnt able to provide much else about the documents other than that

| • you planned to go back to the lab the next week ,, wanting to gather as much information on the area as you could before you left the planet and headed back to the mothership

| • after all ,, you were here for only research and study ,, all your findings on the planet would be taken back aboard the mothership for examination and peer review from other scientists aboard

| • the goal was to gather as many samples as possible ,, document as much as you could ,, and return to your station to head to another planet and repeat the process

| • packing a large lunch in case you stayed longer than expected ,, or did too much running around and had little food ,, you headed off back towards the lab with storage for as much information and to store as many samples as possible

| • your camera was ready ,, taking as many pictures as you could whilst also grabbing more vials from the lab itself ,, storing them away in your vehicular device to take back

| • you didnt pay too much attention to the time ,, more focused and fascinated with the lab around you ,, documenting all the rooms and trying to map out exactly how big it was

| • though something about the place did feel uneasy ,, almost like you werent meant to be here at all in the first place

| • not focusing too much on the feeling you continued ,, going through all the documents and photographing the bright green stains on the wall from who knows what

| • there were a few times you thought you saw something in the corner of your eye ,, almost like a figure yet when you looked there was nothing there ,, like a ghost was playing tricks on you

| • the longer you stayed ,, the more uneasy and skeptical you became of the place ,, not feeling the once comforting and interest as last week

| • when you had finished you gathered your equipment to head back to the base ,, noticing how cold and dark it had gotten and hoping you'd be back in time before the base was put on a lockdown for the night ,, usually for safety precautions as not much was known about the nightlife on the planet

| • unbeknownst to you the scene you would come back to ,, a foreign ship not of any human making was perched ontop of some of the houses whilst the rest of the place was up in flames

| • those yautja creatures you'd been told about earlier had visited ,, wreaking havoc wherever they went as they quickly went through all the humans living there ,, killing them quickly

| • with the base nowhere in sight you didnt bother sticking around ,, heading away from the place and into the countryside once again

| • though it wouldnt help ,, being followed by one of the creatures as they latched onto your vehicle and slashed at the metal and tires ,, quickly putting an end to your escape a few miles away

| • dark skin clashed well with his bright purple stripes ,, large scar over his eye and covering his body in general ,, with a bright colored chest

| • he didnt stare for too long before trying to get at you ,, chittering something in his language as he slashed away at your windows

| • adrenaline filled you ,, now positioned in a fight or flight situation and your gut told you to flee at that moment ,, crawling over the passenger seat and exiting out the door as you made a run for it into a nearby forest

| • it wasnt too difficult for the yautja to keep up ,, right on your tail as he ran after you

| • though his chase would be cut short ,, a large creature coming from out of the bushes and tackling him

| • too worried you'll be next ,, you didnt bother to stop and look back ,, continuing to run even though your legs burned and your lungs were on fire from how much cold air you were breathing

| • somehow you ended up at that same lab ,, almost like it was tied to you now that youve discovered it

| • it felt like a scene from coraline ,, where she walks away from the house and towards where the old well would be except it all turns white

| • though there wasnt no white barren land here ,, just the same abandoned lab

| • you weren't complaining though ,, as you'd rather be somewhere sheltered than out in the open ,, making your way through the maze of rooms and hallways before settling in a far away one

| • you collapsed to the floor ,, panting heavily as you shivered ,, sweat gathered at your forehead from the running and sudden near death experience

| • your eyes felt heavy ,, drowsy and exhausted yet you stayed awake ,, keeping guard and not trusting yourself to sleep in this place ,, not when there was too much happening

| • without your knowing ,, you had fallen asleep and left defenseless in the room ,, the creature that had taken out the yautja had followed you there

| • it gazed at your sleeping form ,, noticing your unconscious shivering and making a decision in its mind

| • curling its tail around your body ,, warmth slowly started to surround your body ,, somewhat ceasing your shivering

| • it could only wait for you awaken ,, resting its head on the cold ,, harsh ground as it kept you company through the night

[bloomingbluez]

want that too | calum hood

MDNI

"Calum is not the kind of guy Dee would expect to be interested in, and Dee definitely isn’t the kind of girl Calum would usually bring home from the club.

When their crushes hit it off, Dee and Calum find out that sometimes the least expected is also the most exciting."

—————

pairing: calum hood x fem!oc (+ briefly mentioned luke hemmings x fem!oc)

word count: 5.7k

tw: smut, drunk sex, toxic friendships

a/n:

after attempting multiple y/n blurbs, i came to a conclusion that it’s not my cup of tea, so please meet dee! i hope you enjoy this little piece, that introduces the characters, because if inspiration allows, i plan to write more for dee and calum, and by association also gigi and luke.

i don’t want to commit, but there’s a plan! so please enjoy the beginning of their story, and feel free to send me any requests, maybe in form of what would you like to see in their story, or just generally kind of plots you’d like to see.

© 2025 bloomingbluez

“Jealous?”

A male voice pulls Dee out of her thoughts. She’s sitting on the right end of a curved bar at one of the LA clubs, the gin and tonic in front of her long finished and forgotten. Resting her elbows on the counter, she props her chin on her elbows to steady her hazy eyes.

Her point of observation has been a pair of blonde, supermodel looking people, talking at the other end of the bar. The girl has to be pushing six feet and she’s only able to look the guy in the eyes thanks to the glittery, pink heels. Her flowy pastel dress barely reaches the mid-thigh, and his hand, resting on her hip, has been doing a good job in slightly pulling it up every so often. Her blonde hair easily reaches her lower back, curled in a curated blow out that had to take ages.

Dee would know — she was the lead engineer of the hairstyle, helping her operate the blow dryer only two hours earlier while they pregamed in some fancy hotel room.

She doesn’t really know the guy, except that he was the first and only person to catch her attention since they entered the club. Dee has a type, and it is the type of beauty completely opposite to hers. His blonde angel curls falling softly against the forehead, straight nose and a white, satin looking shirt that hugs his torso without being too tight. While they ordered the first round of drinks, she could already imagine getting towered over that man in a bathroom stall, or maybe even coming home with him. Sadly, Dee was already tipsy and made the stupid mistake of expressing her fantasies out loud.

It was as much as Gigi, her gorgeous friend who actually is a supermodel, needed to take an interest in the guy. Dee knows her chances; compared to her childhood friend, she is average at best, but without competition out of her league, she has been able to pull people who would never bat an eye in her direction. Now, when she has to go against Gigi…

What was supposed to be a fun reunion of high school best friends quickly turned into another of Gigi’s conquests, leaving Dee to slowly sip her drinks under the compassionate stare of one of the bartenders.

“Sorry?” she asks, looking up at the guy who decided to invade her slumber party. He’s tall, and a complete opposite of what she initially fixated on. Where the angel boy has soft blonde curls falling against a ghostly pale face, her new friend appears to have a darker skin tone and a head full of thick, black curls that are a mess. It suits him, in a way, the plump lips and chocolate brown eyes that stare at her with the same intensity that she blessed Gigi with only seconds ago.

“I asked if you’re jealous,” he clarifies, and sits on the vacant stool next to Dee.

She only shrugs.

“Are you?”

“A bit. Look at her, she’s gorgeous,” he says, flagging the bartender. “Another one?” When Dee nodes, he orders them another round of drinks and asks to add it to his tab. She won’t argue with a guy buying her drinks, free alcohol is always welcomed.

“She is.”

Dee is a girl’s girl. She could go off about all the things that made their friendship distant in recent years, but she won’t vent to some random guy, she won’t paint her friend as the devil. Gigi’s not bad, she’s just very specific, and she loves to have what others want, while also making sure they can’t get it — or maybe Dee just always imagined it that way.

“Fuck, ok. I am jealous. I really wanted to make a move on her, but then my friend over there did,” he fires up, and Dee’s eyes widen as she looks up to scan his face for any sign of mockery.

When the bartender brings out their drinks, she clings her glass against his and smiles up.

“Well, I wanted to make a move on your friend but my friend got there first.” She tips the glass against her lips, the bitter taste of tonic water flooding her mouth. “I’m Dee, by the way.”

He laughs, a rich sound that draws out the white trash music the DJ decided to play. It sends a chill down her spine, making Dee bite her lips painted deep red.

In all fairness, she would never expect to be approached by a man. Besides the obvious conviction of her average or repulsive looks, there was a plan for the evening. She just wishes that the night would go as planned and instead of sulking, she would be dancing with her friend to Only Girl. Maybe if life wasn’t a competition for Gigi, they could have fun like the good old days, but the old days were never that good.

Their friendship had been toxic from the start, and the amount of times Dee wanted to end it couldn’t be accounted for. Gigi always envied her achievements, which should be flattering in the long run, except Dee’s worth had always been seen as part of being in Gigi’s circle. In high school, she was the weird goth hanging out with a popular queen B, and later, she was the up and coming designer who made her model friend famous. Except in their circle, with their families and people who knew them from before, it was impossible to comprehend that Dee Simmons could have and give Gigi Bell anything the girl didn’t have already.

The gossip was ridiculous — Gigi was the muse behind her first collection, she agreed to walk the runway when no models turned up, she was the reason Dee managed to break through in the industry. At the end of the day, a designer is only as good as the work they present, and that largely depends on how the models walk. But Gigi wasn’t the next Shalom Harlow to elevate the clothes that Dee put on her back; like most mean and pretty girls, she was just lucky enough to have a friend who grew up in her shadow.

“Like the Princess, hm?”

“Yeah, exactly like the princess. Are you secretly British?” Of course he’s not, she would notice the accent, but Dee is too drunk to notice anything beside his beaming smile. It’s disarming, warm like a sunkiss, and she finds herself pulled towards it in a way she hasn’t experienced before.

“God no. Actually-”

He stands up from the bar stool and does a twirl. Before Dee notices the skirt, or rather the kilt, he’s already halfway done with the turn, but she still managed to shamelessly whistle him up and clap. The people sitting closest to them turn heads, but she doesn’t notice in the slightest.

Anybody can rock a silk shirt, but a skirt…

“Scottish?” she asks, sipping on her drink. Gigi and her new victim are long forgotten, Dee’s attention completely concentrated on her new companion who still hasn’t introduced himself.

“Half.” Sitting back on the stool, their knees bump, and Dee gets another shiver. Even though the club is loud, she uses all her willpower to focus on what he’s saying. “I’m Calum by the way,” he adds.

“Calum,” she repeats. The name rolls off her tongue easily, and Dee already knows it’s not one of those awkward names to moan or whimper. The thought alone makes her blush, because even though she’s quite comfortable in her sexuality, Calum is not the guy she would flag at a club as her potential prey.

She scans his tattoos, the thick hair and full lips, even the kilt that has a very similar pattern to her own skirt. Calum is the complete opposite of the angel boy, which also makes him completely similar to Dee. Her arms are littered with meaningless tattoos, handpoke doodles on her knuckles and freestyle pieces up the shoulder. Short, french bob barely reaches her shoulders. and a thick fringe is almost long enough to cover her dark eyes, even though she still sees everything with predatory precision.

While Gigi is built of soft edges and rounded corners, Dee is a maze of sharp angles and skin that doesn’t really settle well on her bones. She loves her body, it’s a form of art like anything she does, but it’s not something most men would go for, which immediately makes her think why would Calum approach her. He’s not unconventionally hot, tall and broad, he could have any girl at the club. Even if Dee would fuck a guy in the bathroom, she wants to be genuine, or at least mutual. Her whole life is a consolation prize for being Gigi’s friend, and the last thing she needs on top of that is to be a second choice for a guy who didn’t have his chance with her.

“So, you like my friend, hm?” she asks, mixing her drink with a paper straw that softened a few minutes ago.

“I mean, yeah.” Calum’s eyes linger on the spot where Gigi and his friend used to be. Dee didn’t even notice when they disappeared, and she’s hoping that if they leave the club, she won’t bring him to their hotel room. “But if Luke’s interested in her, then we probably wouldn’t click,” he admits, his voice thick with an emotion she can identify all too well. As if he found that out from experience well too many times…

“Yeah, I get what you mean.”

Every time Dee liked someone in the past, Gigi would miraculously find herself in their orbit and end up dating them. She could charm anyone, and Dee understood why people fell into her trap. Gigi wasn’t a stupid doll, she knew how to talk to people, how to manipulate. She could change her persona in seconds, just to fit someone’s idea of her. Sadly, the more Dee’s crush liked her friend, the less she would respect them. It wasn’t something she should blame people about, but fuck if it wasn’t disappointing to see someone fall for a trap that was so evident for her.

“You were interested in Luke?” Calum sends her a side eye, which makes her blush.

Boys don’t make Dee blush.

She elbows him, not with too much force, although she doubts even all her strength would be enough to harm a guy this big, and shakes her head when he theatrically grabs his side.

“Yeah. But I like this Scottish Princess thing you got going on more,” she admits, because if Dee has no filter while sober, she has to lose all the shame after drinking.

Calum laughs, again, and fuck, she likes the sound of it. Usually, Dee is not a person who would notice something like that. Once she finds the guy she likes, their conversation is oriented to a goal in her mind, and she will say anything to get there, only registering if she’s getting closer or further away from the result. With Calum, she doesn’t really know where this will go, where they will allow it to end. It’s all casual and very indulgent, letting her mind drift and her body react.

“Thank you. I’ll be honest, I always wanted to hook up with Princess Diana,” he says, apparently no filter to be found on him either. Dee snorts, making him realise what he just said.

Calum blushes, and fuck her if it’s not the most charming thing she has ever experienced.

“Oh, so we’re hooking up now? What happened to ‘Hello, how are you?’” It’s easy to tell that even though some people might have gotten offended, she’s ready to laugh it off.

She would lie by saying that her plans for the evening were different; Dee just didn’t expect for her and Gigi to separate so fast, but she doesn’t mind this new company. Maybe it’s because they’re already drunk, but there’s no awkwardness between her and Calum. It’s what makes him so attractive in her eyes. Yeah, he might be hot, but he wasn’t the one she picked out of the crowd — the longer they talk, the more she thinks that maybe she made a mistake by flagging Luke as the most desired person in the room.

It’s never fun when your best friend snatches something you really want from under your nose, but for once, the universe seems to be repaying her. And just like Calum said, seeing Gigi be so interested in the angel boy makes him that much less attractive. Maybe he truly is a great person, but Dee won’t be finding that out anytime soon, will she? In two weeks her friend is going to call and say that they went out a couple of times but things flaked off, because he had some very minor but crucial flaw that turned her off too much. Worse case, they will date for two months before she meets someone more interesting. Dee knows Gigi well; she doesn’t do long term relationships, because there’s no need for that when she never has to be lonely. There’s always another person to chase, and now that they see each other once every few months, Dee couldn’t care less.

Maybe it makes her a terrible friend, but Gigi has plenty of friends she values more. All her model friends, the ones who walk for big designers, or the people she met within the industry. Dee would love to hate her, but she knows it’s something her parents conditioned her for. Every human interaction can give you gain, and it’s something she lives by. When Dee was profitable, she was the top friend, but these days she’s just the only one who’s there when no one else shows up for Gigi because of her push-and-pull behaviour.

“How are you, Dee? Do you want to know my family history? Social security number?” he mocks, his stool moving closer to hers with a screech that gets swallowed up by the fuss of the club.

Somehow, they end up making eye contact, brown eyes staring at each other, neither breaking it.

“Time and place of birth? I need to check if our signs are compatible.” She leans towards him, and when their knees block her from getting close, Dee just throws her legs over his. Calum doesn’t miss a beat, placing his hand on her exposed leg, now resting in his lap.

“Might need to call my mum for that.” Calum shakes his head, his finger tracing circles on her knee.

She really doesn’t want to, but Dee leans into the temptation. Biting her lip, she looks down to see how big his hand looks on her, how his skin contrasts against hers. His fingernails are painted black, another thing that makes Calum that more tempting.

“Tell her I said ‘hi’ while you’re at it.” Looking back up, she smiles sweetly, but Calum’s eyes are glued to her cleavage, exposed by the corset top. “My eyes are up here,” she says teasingly. Her two fingers settle below his chin, pushing his head up, until they’re face to face again.

“I wasn’t looking at your eyes, princess” he admits, no shane in his voice, no blush. His hand rides up on her thigh, almost getting to the hem of her skirt.

She sighs, getting goosebumps from the touch. Fuck me, she thinks, because the way he talks to her, the way he looks, everything about Calum makes her want to break the rules. She’s just the right mix of drunk and sober to justify a bad decision as something that might potentially be really fucking good, because the way his name rolls off her tongue makes Dee want to shamelessly moan it, and bathroom stalls are just not a place for that. Going home to a stranger's house is also highly irresponsible, but every so often Dee remembers she’s an adult and has free will and people died for much less than the prospect of possibly great hook up.

“Do you need anything else over here?” The bartender appears out of nowhere, grabbing their empty glasses.

Dee responds before Calum can even open his mouth: “We’re good. Actually, he would like to close his tab.” She sends the girl a polite smile, nodding towards him.

“Sure, just give me five minutes.”

Calum looks at her through narrowed eyes, but even now she can tell that they’re glazed over with desire, and for once, Dee feels pretty under that look.

Usually she couldn’t care less; she just wants to get off, and if a guy likes her enough to get hard, which is not really an accomplishment, she’s fine with being his forgettable one night stand. When she started getting tattoos and pierced her brow and belly button, Dee’s mum told her that looking like that she would never find a man. At first, it was a bummer, but soon enough, Dee realised that she doesn’t want a man, she just wants to be satisfied, and a guy doesn’t have to like her to do that for her.

But the way Calum looks at her, Dee wants to bask in it. It’s been so long since she got shivers down her spine, since the hairs on her arms have stood up from the intensity of just talking to somebody. The way he looks at her, she might even believe that he thinks she’s pretty, hot, attractive.

“Why am I closing my tab?” he asks, even though they both know the answer.

“You’re taking me home, princess.” Dee drags her nail on his arm, across one of the tattoos, and then patiently waits as he signs the check, his hand never leaving her leg.

—————

They tumble into his apartment, their limbs already tangled together. Calum holds her leg the entire drive to his place, and once they reach his apartment door and Dee drops a snarky comment about the fancy building he lives in, he pins her against the nearest wall and joins their lips in a feverish kiss. She makes sure that the neighbours hear her first moan, in case the walls are thick.

It goes very fast from there, a haze of messy kisses and bites and a trial of clothes that doesn’t even lead them to the bedroom. Before Dee can notice, she’s pinned against the wall again, this time face-first when Calum struggles with the ties of her corset top. He swears under his breath, fiddling with the ribbon, and instead of helping him, Dee decides to let him struggle.

“Why would you wear that?” he asks, hopelessly pulling at the strings, hoping one of them will just let go in spite of the knot.

“It’s pretty.” Dee’s tone is innocent, as if she has no idea why he might be so frustrated.

“It’s impractical,” Calum scoffs. “Let me get the scissors-”

“God, no,” she sighs, turning around to face him. Immediately, he leans in to kiss her, but Dee grabs his chin and makes him watch as she simply unhooks the front of her top, getting it off in mere seconds. She can’t tell if his eyes widen because the solution is that simple, or because he sees her fully naked.

Either way, Calum doesn’t waste time. His hands slide down to cup her thighs and Dee doesn’t need a clue to jump. Before she knows it, she’s sitting on the hard counter and Calum is rummaging through the top drawer and pulling out a comically large box of condoms. Dee can’t even say anything, even though her lips curve into a lopsided grin, because right after taking out one foil pack, Calum’s back on her, kissing her neck and collarbone. She holds him by the nape of the neck, guiding it where she wants his lips the most, while he pulls down his boxers and tries to put on the condom.

“Shit, Calum,” she gasps when he enters her in one smooth motion, the way he penetrates her so swiftly is almost painful.

Dee lets go of his hair, allowing him to finally look up at her. His eyes are just as dazed as hers, lips swollen from the kisses and just like she suspected, the hue of her red lipstick across his face. He straightens up, leaning his forehead against hers, grabbing her hips to steady her on the dresser when the first thrust comes.

She’s a mess, her makeup smudged and hair in a complete disarray, sticking out in different directions. She’s pretty sure her claws are leaving marks on his shoulder from how hard she’s gripping him, but Calum doesn’t say a word. His breath comes out as pants as his cock drives into her in precise, strong movement, hips snapping as if measured by the clock. And then there’s his eyes, fixated on her face, that completely disarm the way Dee would usually watch herself. Her whimpers morph into moans, and her lips fall open at a particularly powerful thrust, eyes fixated on him, only on him.

Calum doesn’t slow down; yes, his movements get painfully slow every so often but that’s when she feels him in every cell of her body, making it, if anything, even more intense. He has to do this a lot, hook up, and there’s no shame in it but Dee can’t help but wonder if it’s this frenzied and rushed with every girl, if he wants them all the same.

That’s why going home with a guy is a dangerous territory — he looks at her once and Dee starts imagining too much. It rarely happens, but when it does, it’s always such a let down. From experience, she knows that there’s always an aspect of her that scares that person away, and no matter how much desire can hide in one look, some things can’t be changed.

It’s not only the look in his eyes that makes Dee’s brain go foggy. It’s the praise he whispers in between them every time she reacts to his movements stronger, it’s the tiny wet kisses he lives on her shoulder whenever she bites her lip and tries to act like his words aren’t turning her on even more.

Between you’re so fucking perfect and come for me, princess, Dee actually feels the pleasure build up in her stomach. The hand holding his shoulder grips it even harder, nails digging into his skin even more, and the other one finds his hand on her hip and guides it to her apex, where her throbbing clit is waiting for some attention. She knows it’s all it will take for the climax to wash over her like a wave, and feeling how sloppy Calum’s thrusts have gotten, it doesn’t seem like he will last much longer. Everything happens so fast, the room filled with their moans and the sounds of two sweaty bodies slapping against each other. The dresser Dee sits on creaks quietly every so often, but it would need to actually break for them to notice.

Just like she expects, the orgasm hits Dee with a blinding force, making a moan die in her throat. Her legs shake from the intensity of it, and Calum, who keeps on moving, prolonging her pleasure, doesn’t help. One of her legs wraps around his hip to force him closer, and soon enough, she can feel Calum spill into the condom, his body crushing her against the wall when he spontaneously loses all his strength.

“Wow,” she mutters, giggling. One of her hands comes up to tangle into his curls and stroke them in a calming motion, his hot breath caressing her exposed skin.

“Definitely a wow,” he admits after a couple seconds, slowly standing back up. Even though his body straightens, he stays inside her, his cock still half-hard even after the release. “I chose the right girl at the bar,” he teases, his own hand brushing the unruly strands of Dee’s fringe out of her eyes.

“Glad I could be the consolation prize.” Her smile doesn’t expose that Dee actually means it, and Calum doesn’t know her well enough to catch the conviction in her tone. Still, he opens his mouth as if meaning to say something, but she’s faster. “I’ll clean up and get out of your hair,” she promises.

“Um, sure.” Calum looks thrown off, the words falling off his lips mechanically.

He pulls out, and gives Dee some space while going to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. He doesn’t usually do that, one night stands are not his thing anymore, mostly because he has always been more attracted to the banter rather than how the person looks. He can’t deny that Dee is attractive, in a way, definitely unconventional, and in any other circumstance, he would love to see her again. Except she seems to be much more in her element, and he doesn’t want to come across as too clingy.

When they decided to go out, nobody was fully on board with the idea, but it seemed fitting. In between tours, life would get stagnant, and every so often someone would propose a night out and everyone else would hesitantly get on board. Not that there was something wrong with drinking and having fun with your friends, but Calum liked it when life got borderline boring. He also loved his bandmates and playing music, but a part of him yearned for a quiet life. The months when he would go back to Australia and nobody knew where exactly he was were the most calm, and somewhere along the way, he started chasing that same simplicity in LA.

They walked into the club, the one they frequented most often, and sat in their usual booth. What he told Dee is true; Gigi caught his attention a few minutes later when he watched them down two shots each at the bar. He commented on it, with some intention to approach her later, after the alcohol left a pleasant buzz in his system and the guys got lost in conversation. For the time being, he felt completely content with just tracing her moves, hoping she would notice his burning gaze and that someone’s interest was piqued.

Everything changed when Gigi walked up to their table. Calum was perplexed that the one woman who caught his eye actually decided to speak to them, or rather, as he foolishly anticipated, him. A few times, he caught her looking at their table, getting in his head that she did notice him looking and was, in a way, flirting with the idea. His hopes rose high as she slid into the booth next to him, the pink flowy dress riding up on her thighs, and the sweet smell of her designer perfume pleasantly suffocating. He was getting ready to introduce himself, clearing his throat and trying to formulate the words in a way that would definitely charm her…

But, of course, she had eyes only for Luke. It wasn’t his fault, and Calum would never go around blaming him or calling him selfish, but Luke did tend to be a bit… naive. He assumed everything would be fine, because they’re friends, and maybe it was Calum’s fault, because he never really held him accountable. Why would he? Because girls preferred lead singers to bassists? But Luke always thought that just because the girls approached him, there won’t be any bad blood if he pursued them.

Maybe Calum was just petty, but multiple times, he denied a girl just because he knew that one of his friends had an eye for her. He didn’t expect that same loyalty, but sometimes, it did feel like a punch in the gut to see Luke get all the women he wanted, and especially the women Calum had any interest in.

He walks out of the bathroom, and Dee is just there, still standing next to the dresser in nothing but a pair of panties, her back turned to him. The corset top that caused him so much struggle is tucked under her arm together with the checkered skirt as she stares at her phone. Calum didn’t have the chance before, so he shamelessly observes the tattoo on the back of her body: from the vines of the thighs to intricate ornaments covering her back. Pulling on his briefs, he slowly approaches her and places his hands on her hips, only now remembering how short she truly is. He didn’t notice it until they left together, and quickly forgot when she started making out with him in the cab.

“Or you could stay,” he says in her ear, lips falling down on the crook of her neck and slowly tracing kisses to reach the earlobe, sucking on it. “I have some booze. And a comfortable t-shirt.”

“And a huge box of condoms?” Dee looks at him from above the Uber app, raising her brows, a mocking smile across her lips. Finally, she could comment on it, and Calum sees the pride in the simple tease. He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

It’s not like Dee didn’t catch his eye, or she was someone he would never, under usual circumstances, be interested in. Just, Gigi was the kind of girl who he was used to finding attractive. She looked like the Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella and all those other girls he saw while watching cartoons and Disney movies with Mali Koa. Tall, blonde, slim figure and skin pale the veins almost showed through; a definition of beauty from the media, but also his peers. The confidence she carried herself with made the impression even more letal. Her catwalk stride, head held high and perfectly equal steps, the sway of her hips, it almost created an archetype.

As soon as she started talking to Luke though, Calum knew there was no more hope. Especially since he didn’t even have to charm her; from sliding into their booth, Luke had her undivided attention. She even did the holy trinity — pouted, twirled a strand of her hair, tilted her hair. It’s like she came to serve herself on a platter for him, and if anything, that ruined the image Calum had in his head.

Usually, he would get discouraged when seeing that the girls fell for Luke’s easy charm. He couldn’t deny that his friend had a captivating way of being; after ten years of being on stage and doing interviews, it would be a shame if he didn’t. But seeing a girl fall for it was like watching your parents fall for an Internet scam. Not that Luke was a false advertisement, but he loved to use the one line that Calum wouldn’t tread very lightly— his fame. No surprise he could impress anyone talking about being in a band with millions of listeners; hell, Calum would probably fall for it too, if he didn’t know better. But he also cared for his hook ups, dates, call it what you want, to be there for him, out of simple attraction or even sympathy, and not because it would give them street credit or a story to tell.

“And a huge box of condoms,” he confirmed with a poker face, hand gliding up to cup her breast.

Luke and Gigi didn’t stay in the booth with the rest of them long, her cordial offer to go dance quickly agreed to by his friend. They disappeared, and Calum’s eyes followed them even through the dark and foggy club interior. The way Luke’s hands casually brushed her body, the way she grinded on him, the way they were whispering to each other. His hand clutched the glass a bit too tightly, and even when Ashton pointed out that he should just chill down and forget the girl existed, Calum would keep on glancing their way throughout the conversation. Soon enough, Michael needed to get home to help with the baby, and Ashton got lost while fetching drinks, undoubtedly in a conversation with someone more interesting than sulking Calum Hood.

It’s like he felt she observed them too, Calum’s eyes eventually falling on Dee. She sat at the bar on her very own, head propped on her hands, not even hiding that her attention was completely consumed by the couple. Two empty glasses in front of her, it looked like quite a slumber party, and Calum could only relate as he scanned her body. Across the room, he barely saw anything, and as he finished his own drink and registered that Luke and his new girl were getting off the dancefloor, he rose up with an intention to get a refill.

The decision to talk to her was impulsive; liking her wasn’t planned either, but it’s not like Calum fell in love at first sight. He expected awkwardness, and a lot of silence, but they immediately fell into a small talk that took him by surprise with its smoothness. Not that there was much of it, but from the first few seconds, he couldn’t deny that he felt a pull.

And where there’s a pull, there has to also be a push.

Now, he swallowed hard as Dee visibly considered his offer, a battle clearly happening behind her eyes. He hoped she would agree, even if to just go at it again, maybe savour it a bit more too. The thrill of their impromptu small-talk got him so excited that by the time they were done, he couldn’t remember anything beside the feeling of how good it felt. Calum wanted a chance to explore her body, trace every tattoo with his tongue and possibly get crushed by her thighs. If they ended up talking more afterwards, or during, he also wouldn’t be disappointed.

“Hm, under those circumstances, I could be convinced,” she purrs, leaning back into his arms. Calum gives himself an inner high-five, smiling against her skin. “But at least take me to bed this time around.”

“Oh, my bedroom is a sacred space. Once I let you in, I might not be able to let you out,” Calum mumbles between kisses, his neck hurting from leaning down to kiss her shoulder, but he has no plans to stop anytime soon.

Dee reaches behind, tangling her finger into the hair on his nape, pulling him closer, further down to her skin.

“That’s a future me problem.”

[fullsunrise]

Smoothie - Part 1 (M)

Word count: 2.8k

Pairing: Jeno x Original female character x Jaemin

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Porn with some plot, Dom!Jeno, Dom!Jaemin, OC is an inexperienced sub, BSDM elements, oral (m receiving), both Jaemin and Jeno are mean, barely proof read (sorry!)

Summary: After signing up on a BDSM community website on a whim, Jinhae has her first BDSM experience with Jeno and Jaemin.

Looking around the quiet Seoul neighborhood, Jinhae wanted to make sure she had the right address. There was nothing strange about the gated house that stood in front of her, and that's precisely why she could feel her stomach flip. How could two seemingly normal men own a home and also find the time to indulge? Was this just a pastime of theirs and during the day they were unassuming business men? Seoul felt like such a small place and the thought of running into them unknowingly sent shivers down her spine. 

Jinhae was way in over her head. She was about to turn around on her heels if it weren't for the click of the gate unlocking. All and any nerves she had quickly vanished when perhaps the prettiest man she's ever seen smiled gently at her. 

“Hi, you must be Jinhae, correct?”

“Yes, and you are…?”

“I'm Jaemin. Jeno is inside waiting. Would you like to come inside?”

Even though she was clearly here, standing in front of him on her very own free will, he still gave her the opportunity to leave. Maybe it was his hospitable demur or the way his cardigan fell ever so slightly off his shoulder revealing a toned bicep, but Jinhae could’ve sworn she was put under a trance.

“Sure,” she said with an equally kind smile that reflected the beaming grin from Jaemin.

The interior of the house was surprisingly modern yet it still lived in. Clean, but warm and homey. The smell of fresh linen hit her nose and Jinhae couldn't  help but let out a sigh of content. 

Jaemin was quick to pick up on her relaxed state as he hummed in reply. “I'll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled as he plopped himself on the couch. 

Jinhae couldn't help but soak in his figure as his arm draped around the back cushion and he crossed one leg over the other. For a second, she almost forgot where she was and why she was here. As if reading her mind, Jaemin motioned for her to sit down on the armchair across from him. 

“Is this your first time?”

“Is it that easy to tell?” She laughed nervously. 

“Not really, but you do seem a bit more relaxed than some of my previous relationships.”

“Have others bolted?”

He let out a hearty laugh, “Not many, but I’ve had some that were super jumpy and skittish.”

“Did they not understand what they were in for?” It seemed like an innocent enough question and Jinhae didn't intend for it to sound like she knew what to expect either. So when his warm smile dropped from his face, Jinhae knew maybe it was the wrong question to ask. 

“I’ll let you be the judge of that, sweetheart,” he said in a deep tone. His eyebrows were raised in a way that she could only describe as predatory. Her heart dropped in her stomach at how quickly his attitude changed. 

Before she could reply, footsteps echoed from beyond her chair until they stopped right behind her. The looming presence of the unknown figure was almost too much to ignore. The smell of warm cinnamon barely reached her nose when the man suddenly cleared his throat. 

“Are you going to introduce me to our lovely guest?”

“I’m sure she can introduce herself,” Jaemin said as his head cocked slightly to the right as if to say don't be shy, he doesn't bite.

The man then made his way around her, almost circling her like she was nothing but a mere sitting duck. When he sat down next to Jaemin, Jinhae could feel her mouth slowly part in awe. His facial features were a bit more rough than Jaemin. In part due to his short, blonde hair that made his stare feel a bit more intense. This must be Jeno, Jinhae thought. 

“You could stare all day if you want, but we're not going anywhere,” he teased. 

“I’m Jinhae. Nice you meet both of you,” she whispered as she sucked in a breath. With every passing minute, her nerves only grew. 

“That's a beautiful name,” Jaemin chimed in as he looked at Jeno in confirmation. Jeno endearingly smiled in response before he let his attention fall on Jinhae. 

The silence engulfed the three of them and Jinhae couldn’t help but feel like she was on display. Absent-mindedly, she uncrossed and crossed her ankles. It was nothing but a nervous habit of hers, but with the circumstances of her visit, she quickly noticed how Jeno licked his lower lip. 

“No need to be nervous, darling,” Jaemin said with a sweet smile, but it wasn't the same as the one he greeted her with. No, this one had a sinister tinge that did nothing but settle her nerves. 

“We're just going to ask you a few questions before we start the session. It’s only our first meeting so we're not going to do anything intense yet,” Jeno calmly said, his voice more soothing than she expected it to be.  

“Is that okay?” Jaemin asked as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. 

“Yes, I’m okay with that.” How could she not be? There were multiple times in the entire process where she could have easily opted out. From creating a profile, to filling out a very extensive questionnaire, and finally being matched with the very two men in front of her. It was a crazy scenario she only fantasized about in the comfort of her own sheets. Now that she was here, reality began to sink in. It was really happening. Right here. Right now. 

“Good,” Jaemin nodded in approval, leaning back into the couch.

“Is there anything you don't want us to do? Anything you're uncomfortable with?” Jeno asked curiously. 

“I don't think there's anything in particular,” she started, “I’m pretty new to all of this so I guess I’m willing to try anything until I know I don't like it.” 

It was a silly question, Jinhae thought. They must've read her answers before agreeing to meet her, right? Was this just a formality?

“Great,” Jaemin said, “Do you want to choose your word? It can be anything, really,” he added. 

Ah, that. She tried to come up with one earlier, but everything sounded so ridiculous. Maybe she was simply overthinking. Perhaps there was something around their house that would inspire her. Nothing crazy, maybe even ordinary. But to her dismay, the house was virtually spotless. Or at least that's what she thought if it wasn't for the half-empty cup on the kitchen counter. 

“Smoothie.”

This earned a deep and genuine chuckle from Jeno. Jinhae was unsure why he laughed, after all she wasn't trying to be funny. Jaemin followed her line of vision and when he found the same cup she spotted on the counter, she could almost see his patience leave his eyes. It was obvious it wasn't because of her, but instead his bubbling anger was aimed directly at the blonde haired man beside him.

“Sounds great,” Jaemin said through gritted teeth, forcing a wavering smile. He flashed a glare towards Jeno, wiping the shit-eating grin off the latter. It was only a small glimpse of their dynamic yet Jinhae wondered how close they actually were. 

“Now Jaemin, you know that's not the way we act around our guests,” Jeno teased.

“You're right, I’ll deal with you later,” Jaemin calmly agreed before looking back over at Jinhae. “Sorry about that, believe it or not we do actually live together.”

“How long have you two known each other?” It was a futile attempt at easing the tension in the room, but Jinhae couldn't help it. She was just curious.

“”I don't believe I said you can ask any questions,” Jaemin quickly replied. And in one swift motion all the attention was back on her. There was nowhere to hide now. Jinhae attempted to apologize for overstepping, but Jeno cut her off.

“He's right. You know you're lucky you're cute,” he said coldly, “Hides the fact you’re secretly a brat who can't follow basic instructions.”

Fuck. 

Jaemin sighed, “It's a shame, we thought you were smarter than that.” Jinhae tried to defend herself, but her words failed her. No sounds came out except a sigh of defeat. 

“Use your words, now,” Jeno instructed. 

“Don't get flustered on us, we’re just making sure you follow the rules.” Jaemin assured her, but Jinhae couldn't help but feel embarrassed by her impulses. 

“You're right. I’m sorry,” Jinhae said. No need to fight against it. If it were a normal conversation she would've cursed them out by now. But she had to remind herself that this was part of it. 

“It's okay, better to get it out of your system now while we're being nice,” Jaemin said, his face returning to that sickeningly sweet smirk that made uneasiness pool in her stomach. 

This was being nice? It was crazy how effective their words were. Jinhae couldn't believe how smoothly they were able to gain control of the conversation and put her in her place. To remind her of who she was in this relationship. No, not as an equal. Her role was to be subservient. Questioning their commands would be seen as rude and would lead to punishment. It was supposed to deter her, but the thought alone of them punishing her only left wetness in its wake.  

“Don't get any ideas, sweetheart.” Jeno stated, an eyebrow quirked. “Trust me, it won't be fun for you.”

Jinhae wanted so badly to challenge him. But there was no need, because they all knew that she would in fact enjoy it. All of it.

“But you want to find out, don't you?” Jaemin perked up. 

“Of course she does, look at the way she's practically squirming in her seat.” Jeno chuckled mockingly.

“No need to deny it, babe.” Jaemin grinned deviously. “You can tell us, we promise we won't get mad at you.”

“Play nice, Jaemin.” Jeno warned. But Jaemin’s face only grew more sinister as he leaned in closer. 

“I bet you're soaked right now, darling.”

And there it was. The dampness in her underwear was borderline uncomfortable now, his words only making it worse. It would be so easy to lie to them that she didn't want to find out. But this? She was stepping into a landmine. One wrong move could have her sprawled across their laps, her skirt at her ankles. It sounded so delicious, both of them touching her at the same time. It was electrifying and she could feel the warmth dance across her cheeks.

On one hand, the idea of being rewarded for being good sounded heavenly. But the idea of being bent over and having her ass slapped sounded intoxicating. Jaemin and Jeno might be the ones calling the shots, but she was also in control. They weren't the only ones playing games. 

“I can't help it,” she whispered as the red heat brightened on her cheeks. To really sell it, she rubbed her thighs together. Partly for herself and mostly because she knew they would eat it up. It was like they were smacked across their faces, leaving behind no trace of amusement.

“Aw babe, you look really flushed. Do you need help?” Jaemin said. Jinhae might’ve mistaken his concern to be real if it weren't for the fact that his dick was straining against his pants. 

“Y-yeah, I don’t feel so good,” Jinhae said, pressing the back of her hand against her temple. Might as well give them a performance. 

“You must be so hot in that sweater, too,” Jeno added, but his stare was entranced at her chest. Ah, so that's how it was going to be? Jinhae didn't think her innocent act would get them this riled up, but it gave her an extra boost of confidence to keep going.

“So warm,” she huffed as she pulled the sweater over her head to reveal her satin camisole underneath. It draped just perfectly over her bust and thin enough to show her nipples. Jaemin gave Jeno a glance and he nodded in approval without breaking his stare on her newly revealed skin. 

“We’ll help you, but first you need to show us how much of a good girl you are. Can you do that for us, sweetheart?” 

“Yes,” Jinhae replied, rubbing her thighs together again. This time in anticipation. As she rose from her position on the chair, Jeno quickly shot up and placed his hands on her shoulders to lower her back down. 

“Ah-ah, did we say you could get up?”

“No, sorry.”

Jeno chuckled as he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Let's try that one more time. Did we say you can get up?”

“N-no, sir,” she whispered. Shit, with a voice like that how could anyone not comply?

“That's more like it, darling. Now, let's hope you don't forget next time.” Jeno said softly, but his tone was contrasted by the abrupt clinking sound of his belt. 

“Now you're gonna show Jeno how much you deserve it. Isn’t that right, angel?” Jaemin said lazily from his seat on the couch. 

“Yes, sir,” Jinhae said with confidence, but it quickly faltered when Jeno snickered. 

“Looks like this one is messing with you,” Jeno laughed, pulling his tank over his head. Fuck, of course he was ripped. Jinhae would have ogled a bit longer if they let her. 

“She’ll learn quickly not to do that,” Jaemin replied, his voice increasing in volume, his tone borderline threatening. 

Clueless. Jinhae felt utterly clueless as to what she did wrong now. Did he not like to be addressed as Sir? If not that, then what? It wasn't exactly fair that they never mentioned it to her before they started. It had to be on purpose. 

“Don't act like you didn't do anything wrong, now,” Jeno said, pulling his jeans down to his ankles, just now in his briefs. “You can make it up to him, but first I need you to open your mouth nice and wide.”

Without hesitating, she did exactly as instructed. Jeno let out a deep grunt in approval before he roughly grabbed her jaw and forced her to look up at him. 

“Such a pretty mouth,” he mused to himself. 

“Do you think she's gonna suck you well?” Jaemin chimed in. He only watched from his position on the couch, still clothed. Like he was waiting patiently for his turn. 

“I know she will, cause she loves sucking dick. Hmm?”

“Yes, sir.”

He let out a guttural groan of satisfaction at her reply. Then, he finally took off his briefs. Jinhae was practically drooling at the sight of his erection, but didn't have much time before he forced his way into her. Nothing could prepare for the fullness she felt in her mouth. When he began to thrust without hesitation, it burned. 

It was obvious he didn't care that each time he hit the back of her throat she let out a cry. In fact, it made him speed up his pace as he roughly fucked her throat. The burning sensation only grew and tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. She was such a mess. And she loved it. 

“Such a good fucking slut,” Jeno cried in pleasure as his moans and lewd sounds coming from her mouth filled the living room. 

“She’s such a whore for dick,” Jaemin said as Jeno neared his release. “Isn't that right, baby girl?” Jinhae could barely let out a sound. The only noise she could muster was a barely inaudible “hmm”. But that only sent Jeno over the edge. It all happened so quickly, one second she was trying to reply to Jaemin, the next Jeno released inside her mouth. 

“Show us how good girls swallow,” Jaemin ordered, his eyes locked with hers. She did as told, feeling  the hot liquid move down her throat. Jeno slowly took his dick out, his movements less harsh than before.

“Now I believe good girls who do what they're told get to come,” Jeno mused as he flashed her a devilish grin. 

“I don't think we should let her, Jeno,” Jaemin quipped as he finally stood up from the couch. “After all, she made a lot of rookie mistakes today.”

“Ah, you want to play with her?” Jeno asked, his eyes never leaving hers. She was so entranced in his stare that she didn't notice Jaemin move around so that he was now behind her. 

“I think it would be nice to see if our kitten is willing to beg for it,” Jaemin mused as his hands began to massage her neck. 

“Hmm, I like the sound of that,” Jeno replied. He cradled her jaw in the palm of his hand gently before it slowly snaked towards the strap of her camisole. 

[romanstheory]

Mine All Mine

Warnings: smut, fluff, unprotected sex, language, Jey x OC

Word Count: 2,340

18+

Person In The Picture

"Destiny you've performed in front of thousands of people before why are you nervous now?" My manager says as we walk out of the building after signing my WWE contract. "This is different I belong on stage singing and dancing, I'm not sure i belong in a wrestling ring no matter how long i've trained" My stomach twists, I've been a WWE fan my entire life and I've always wanted to get in the ring but man am I nervous. There's so much that could go wrong, so that could happen. "Then pretend you're dancing and singing in the wrestling ring. You were made for this, Des". I inhale deeply before we both get in the car.

Today is it... my debut. I've been told to arrive early and see Hunter in his office to discuss how my debut will be going. Up until now i've been left in the dark and I can only assume it's because they have no idea what to do with me. I've been under contract for months and people have been whispering and gossiping about how I will be introduced. Hands in my oversized sweatpants I walk to Hunter's office, knocking twice before being invited in. "Hey Destiny, how are you?" hunter says looking over his glasses. "I'm great, and yourself?" I reply before sitting in one of the two chair in front of the big desk. It smells like one of those mahogany candles in here, so strong it slaps you in the face.

"So as you already know you will be debuting today" He begins "But in order to slowly introduce you to the craft we're going to have you tag with someone.... Someone who is late now". Hunter annoyingly looks at the clock on the wall behind me and then at the door that is now swinging open. "I'm so sorry boss man the traffic out there was cr-" Jey says walking into the room, eyes darting to me for a second... a long, long second and then to Hunter. "Am I really that late?" Jey asks "I can come back...". Hunter rubs his temples and chuckles to himself "No man just take a seat. This is Destiny, you probably know her from her music but she's going to be debuting tonight and that's what I wanted to talk to you both about". Jey and I nod at each other.

I would be the worlds biggest liar if I said I wasn't secretly scanning him from head to toe. Cut off cropped shirt, joggers, and jordans. So simple but somehow so sexy. "So... Jey you've been around for quite a while now" He begins "And the crowd loves you. I want you and Destiny here to team tonight. We will see how it goes tonight, but I think Jey would be the perfect person to show you the ropes. Any push back, suggestions, anything?" I remain painfully silent.... What am I going to say? Throw me in the ring alone? Jey looks at me and then back at Hunter "I want the ring reserved for us alone two hours before every RAW live event". It wasn't a suggestion, but a demand. "If we're going to do it we're doing it the right way". Hunter nods and says it's done. He picks up his phone and i'm assuming sends out a text to have whoever clear the ring. "How is two and a half tonight? Extra thirty to adjust". I inhale deeply "Sounds good to me" I say softly

---

"You know how to take a bump?" Jey asks me resting his weight against the ropes. "Yeah I've been training for months" I reply quickly "I know the basics but I'm not confident". Poking his bottom lip out he nods his head. For an hour we run the ropes practicing out joint move set, building my tolerance for taking bumps, getting our hearts pumping. My confidence quickly builds while we practice over and over again for our time in the ring. "Not bad, turn it up when it's really go time though" Jey says locking eyes with me, chest raising and falling quickly while his body recovers.

"Do you ever get nervous when you go out here?" I ask, sitting in the middle of the rings staring at the empty seats that will soon be full. In the center of this ring I feel so small, so minoot in the grand scheme of this show. Jey sits next to me, legs crossed "Every night, If you don't then you ain't doing it right". I lay back in the ring and cover my face with my hands. "I'm really about to do this.... I'm REALLY about to do this" I say out loud but more to myself. "Yeah and it's time to go get ready" Jey softly pats my thigh sending electric through my body.

---

Quickly I put my gear on, adrenaline pumping through my veins before I amp myself up even more. We are closing the show, the match has been hyped up all night long... Pressure is on. Jey has done his own thing all night, and I've become acquainted with the other women in the locker room. I make my way to the curtain when Jey's music hits. "Just pretend like you're dancing and singing in a WWE ring" I say to myself under my breath when my music finally comes on. The curtain opens and I swear I walked straight into heaven. The lights were bright, fans loud, music blaring. And my mind shuts off but my body moves.

Flexing, interacting with the fans, soaking everything up. And there goes Jey at the bottom of the ramp like he promised he would be so I didn't have to go into the room alone. Jey mouths the word "wow" while his eyes scan my body, stopping at my ass for longer than a moment. He sits on the ropes allowing me easy access into the ring and the match begins.

Jey is in the ring obliterating Chad Gable when Auska tries to interfere. Before she can I deliver a super kick. The match was well received getting us "this is awesome" chants over and over again. Jey's music blasts as the crowd sings along. Quickly I get on the top rope, Jey directly behind me as we do his signature arm movement to hype the crowd up even more. Incredible.... It was all so incredible and I think I'm already addicted to the high the crowd just gave me. Itching for more I cannot wait until next week.

Backstage I jump into Jey's arms, squealing in excitement. "That was amazing!" Tightly I wrap my arms around him. "You were amazing" He replies. "We have to stay together! They loved us together! We could do so much, take over RAW even!" Excitement overtakes every part of me. "You might be onto something" He replies with a smirk, putting me down, hands slightly grazing my ass but I don't mine or even acknowledge it and neither does he. I've found myself wanting to be close to him all the time. And the way he makes my spot purr.... How could I stay away.

---

Weeks pass and we main event every show, captivating the fans together every Monday night and every house show we attend. Jey and I have become closer and closer every week. Traveling together, staying at the same hotels, eating at new places together, slight flirting every now and again. Tonight we're in my hometown and my entire immediate family will be there front row. I've updated my attire to be blue and black to coordinate with Jey, we look like a real team now. We arrive at the hotel "Give me like five minutes and then come to the room" Jey says stopping in the middle of the hotel lobby. Typically we share a room to cut costs, two bed or he takes to couch if only one is available. I huff and gesture for him to go on.

Five minutes later exactly he texts me telling me to come up, do I do. Swiping my room key I slowly open the door. "Jey?" I close the door softly behind me. The light are off despite the flickering of what I can only assume is a candle around the corner. "I figured you could use some relaxing" He says softly putting his hand around my waist, guiding me around the corner to reveal my favorite wine, chocolate, and blue roses, of course they're blue. A grin spreads across my face, this seems intimate, romantic even but it's sweet nonetheless. "This is beautiful! Thank you" I coo. We drain our glasses and eat the chocolate but I keep catching him staring at me.

"What are you looking at?" I joke before leaning back on my elbows. "You" Is all he says in return, his eyes stuck on mine as if they're glued together. "I'm always looking at you" Is this.... Is this really happening right now? Sitting up, I crawl onto his lap "And what do you think about when you look at me?" I purr into his ear. I can feel him growing under me. "First I thought about what you looked like under those sweatpants, now I wanna lay you across this bed and see what you look like when you cum" He replies eyes still locked on mine. Warmth rips through my body settling into my middle. I knew it, I knew he kept looking at me that day in Hunter's office but I never had the balls to straight up ask him.

Pressing my lips onto his, he slides his hands under my loose shirt exploring my body. "I've been waiting for this" He whispers into my lips. His hands rest on my ass, squeezing it, moving it so I jiggle on top of him. Jey plants soft kisses on my jaw and neck, lightly licking in between. My hands trail through his freshly cut hair. He smells so damn good. My body aches for him, the feel of him, to be close to him. His lips trail my body like he's hungry for me the way I am for him. His hands grip my ass and thighs firmly before he lays my back onto the bed, standing, looking at my body. i slide my clothes off, giving him a show before laying back on the bed. His swollen member struggles against his joggers. "Damn Des..." Jey says, mouth slightly open.

He undresses himself, sliding his boxers off, his fully erect member springing free. I gasp at his size gaining me a chuckle from him. Hovering over me he kisses me deeply, passionately before taking my breast into his mouth. I moan softly, closing my eyes while his tongue circles my nipple, nipping it slightly sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body. Jey looks up at me and I swear I can see a fire burning behind his eyes. I want him so bad this might just be enough for me to meet my undoing. "Please" I whisper, his eyes still locked on mine "I need you now". My breast leaves him mouth with a 'pop' before he grabs my legs, throwing them over his shoulder. His member teases my entrance, I can feel the warmth from his body so close to mine I want to push him into me myself.

"Des" Jey says, I hum in response "You are incredible... God damn you're perfect" Hungrily he scans my body again before pushing himself into me slowly. I gasp at his size "Are you okay? Should I stop?" Jey asks sweetly. I shake my head, biting my bottom lip. "Keep going, I need you" I whisper. He continues pushing his length into me until out bodies are flush together and his sits there allowing me time to adjust. Slowly he begins pulling out and pressing back in, groaning, gripping my legs tightly. Loud moans escape me "Oh my god!" I moan. Jey presses his lips into an 'o' shape before spewing out curse words over and over again. His strokes feel passionate, calculated, and like he cares more about me finishing than him.

Jey presses my legs up to my chest allowing him to go deeper into me causing me to let out a lustful yelp. His tattoos flex and move iwth each stroke, god his beautiful tattoos.... and his arms. I swear this man is perfect in every single way. My eyes drift from his body to his face that now hovers just above mine, sweat collecting at his brow. I pull his lips to mine and kiss him like I love him while he strokes me long and deep. Fireworks explode between us and as if he felt it too both of our eyes shoot open only to close again before our kisses got sloppier. Tongues loop and battle back and fourth, his stokes get faster and suddenly both of us are loud. "Ahh! Fuck! Mhhh! You feel so good" Jey groans "This is mine. Only mine!"

Curse words leave my mouth, I can barely form a thought. "O- FUCK JEY! O-only y-yours" I groan back. "This pussy is mine and only mine" He groans in my ear. Fuck! I reach my climax, my vision blurs and my body trembles as he continues stroking me, pressing deeply into me before releasing his load into me. He presses his arms into the bed on either side of me, panting just like I am. "I meant that. I need this... You to be all mine." He says through his breaths. "I did too" I say breathlessly. The rest of the night I spend in Jey's arms watching movies and telling jokes. Of all of the places in this world I've been in his arms is my favorite. And to think, weeks ago he was coaching me, comforting me and now he is mine... all mine.

[farfromstrange]

Chapter Two: Election Night

Silver Spoons And Butterknives

[Previous Chapter | Silver Spoons & Butterknives Masterlist]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x President's Daughter!Reader

Chapter Summary: On election night in 2008, your life changed forever. And your father has one more surprise in store for you...

Chapter Specific Warnings: Angst, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of cheating, violence/abuse, daddy issues (not the sexy kind), mentions of corruption, plot heavy

WC: 3.1k

A/N: I wanted to establish some backstory right off the bat and introduce some of my OCs that will become important down the line. No Matt in this chapter, but after this, we will dive headfirst into College!Matt territory, I promise. That’s why I’m double posting, so you guys don’t have to wait another week. So, check the next chapter out as well!

Read Me On AO3!

November 2008.

“...NBC News is now projecting that Theodore Grey, the former Governor of California, will be the next president of the United States.”

You stood there, frozen in place, as chaos erupted around you. A confetti cannon went off somewhere to your right, or maybe it was a balloon that popped. It might as well have been gunshots to your already ringing ears, echoing off the high marble walls that felt both foreign and familiar. 

Growing up, there had been no home for you to come home to, only scarcely decorated dormitories at expensive boarding schools and a bedroom in a house that felt nothing like home; you’d been told on more than one occasion that it was supposed to be, and in your childish innocence, you had waited patiently for the feeling to set it, finally, but it never came. 

The only thing that this house, its marble walls, and its people taught you, in the end, was how to play a flawless game of pretend. 

You came to accept that you would never get what you wanted, because what you wanted didn’t matter. “One day, you’re going to carry on the Grey legacy,” they’d told you. 

They trained you to be their poster child—extraordinarily gifted, always on top of all her classes, well-behaved, and oh-so-kind. You had to serve some kind of purpose—to be profitable enough for them, to earn the bare minimum of parental care. For a few months every year, they doted over you and made you feel loved before inevitably sending you away again. Eventually, you grew used to it. 

A dollhouse family was supposed to make him likable, voteable. The first time he ran for governor, you still believed they meant it. The second time, you ignored your better judgment. But then he put his name on the ballot for president, and you finally woke up.

Against all odds, he won the primaries, and the doors to the White House burst wide open. Next thing you knew, your life was filled with flashing lights and gossip blogs writing about the clothes you were wearing. Sometimes, your name and picture would even appear as the hot topic on a talk show, and you had to watch yourself being torn apart by strangers. 

A smarter woman would have run a long time ago, but the seeds of doubt your parents had planted in you had long grown into a parasite that was slowly eating away at you. And it wasn’t just about you anymore, either.

Your eyes drifted to where the little girl was running in circles on the other side of the room. She kept cheering, “We won!” And she passed you by with a grin on her face that screamed of childish innocence. 

Oh, she had no idea. 

Isabella was a brighter child than you’d ever been, and a better person than you could ever be. That she shared the same blood as you was an unfortunate circumstance, but she was living proof that not all fruits from a poisoned tree had to end up the same. 

Political corruption was a foreign concept to her young mind. She believed the world and its people were either inherently good or bad, and her parents couldn’t possibly be bad because they were always fighting for something good. When you were ten, you held the same beliefs. You’d been wide-eyed, too, but with time came the realization that narcissists don’t stop being narcissists once they have kids. 

You’d sworn a long time ago that you would protect her until you found a way to get you both out, even if that meant letting her believe that she was, indeed, right with her childish assumptions. 

Your parents finally had what they had always wanted. They had the White House. Your father did, anyway. He’d burned everything and everyone in his path to get there. At least it all would be over in eight years, or four, and you would have finally served your purpose.

You took another look around before turning on your heels, away from the main room and the festivities around you, into the hallway. The air was thinner there. 

The television was still playing deafeningly loud in the background, the sound muffled only through the cotton in your ears, and you faintly picked up on another round of applause as glasses clinked and a speech was made. 

You reached under your dress, pulling out the silver flask you’d hidden there that morning. For emergencies, you’d told yourself. That definition, though, was expandable. You’d already refilled it twice so far, and you probably needed to go for a third soon. The sharpness of the high-end vodka that you stole from the bar burned the fine hairs of your nostrils, and it tasted even riper when you swallowed a sip too big for your throat to handle.

You smelled him even before you heard him, reeking of champagne and cigar smoke. His hand wrapped around the flask from behind, and he took it from you.

The sound of his voice was like a knife to your jugular. 

“Vodka,” he observed. “You been drinking all night?”

“That’s none of your business,” you said, trying to snatch it back from him. “I’m not breaking any laws.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you’re hiding it under your dress like contraband?”

“I don’t like sharing, Marcus.”

He tutted. “That’s not very nice.”

“Go to hell!”

Marcus sighed dramatically and took a sip of your drink. His dark hair glistened almost entirely grey in the soft yellow light of the chandelier streaming down from above. 

“You know,” he said, leaning against the wall beside you, “the only reason why we’re here today is because of me. I worked my ass off to get him here.”

You scoffed, “Right.”

“You know it’s true. I taught your father everything he knows about politics. I made him a great Governor, and I made sure people would vote for him so that he could be an excellent president.”

“What are you saying?” you asked.

He inched even closer until his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his breath tickled your ear. “I’m saying that if you try to ruin this for him, for all of us,” he cooed, “I won’t hesitate to make your life a living hell.” 

His piercing blue eyes impaled you with the force of a thousand suns, nailing you to the cross. 

“Are we clear?” he asked again.

You barely managed a nod.

“Good.” He brushed a wrinkle out of your dress and finally handed you the liquor back. “Now, have another drink. Smile a little. And for the love of God, try to at least pretend you’re happy, yeah? I need tonight’s pictures to turn out great.”

You took another sip of the bitter liquor, not daring to breathe while he was still so close to you. 

He nodded approvingly. “Attagirl.”

And you almost threw up a little in your mouth. 

When your father dragged you out on the stage that night, you could only stare in horror at the crowd you’d spent months smiling at through hundreds of cameras. The color blue was everywhere, dissolving in bright white flashing lights that blinded you.

The country chose him to be their president—a young Democrat with a vision—but at what cost?

You didn’t get scared often or easily, but the knowledge you carried around with you was enough to bring you to your knees and, for the first time in your life, pray. But no one answered.

Instead, they sent you guard dogs dressed in black, and hell opened its doors. 

A few days later, you were making your way across the hallway on the first floor of your childhood home, the rain tapping against the windows as unrelenting as the iron fist around your heart. The place had never felt stranger to you, never more foreign, and the sky seemed to be mocking you. 

There he sat, in the first room to your right, behind his Mahogany desk. Not as the soon-to-be leader of the free world, but as your father, and you didn’t know which one was worse. 

“You wanted to see me?” you asked.

He offered you a smile. “There you are,” he said. “Come on in. Have a seat.”

So formal, you thought. It wasn’t new, but there was something in the air that day that made it harder to breathe. 

You chose not to sit. 

“How was your day?” 

You didn’t react to that, either. “Why am I here?” 

“Am I not allowed to have a conversation with my daughter?” he asked.

“We both know my day isn’t why I’m here, so let’s just cut to the chase,” you said.

Another sigh, and then, “I made some calls.”

You frowned. “Calls?”

“To a friend in New York. He’s on the board at Columbia University.”

“Okay? What’s that got to do with me?”

“He gave me the president’s number,” he said, “and I managed to secure you a last-minute spot for the spring semester. Classes start after the inauguration, so you’ll have plenty of time to prepare.”

He wasn’t suggesting it, not even asking. Your heart dropped further into your stomach. You could feel it dissolve in the acid, slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but mangled flesh and a sour taste on your tongue. 

You only managed to stammer a weak, “I’m sorry?” 

He said your name, riddled with the kind of disappointment that sounded like you were an inconvenience to him—a disobedient child he had to discipline. “We talked about this,” he said.

“Oh, did we?” You stepped closer, heart pounding against your ribcage and threatening to break through. “Because I remember telling you that I wanted to stay at Stanford, and you said okay.”

“No, I said we’ll see.”

You were stumbling over your words, and that treacherous, familiar burning behind your eyes ate its way through your brain. 

You shook your head. “No, you said I could stay at Stanford as long as they made me an offer, and they did,” you said. “You wouldn’t even have to pay–”

“Money is not an issue, you know that. Besides, Columbia has one of the best law programs in the country.”

“So does Stanford!”

“And Harvard, but you said you didn’t want to go there, so I found you an alternative,” he said.

You threw your arms up. “I thought that was a hypothetical!”

You wanted to scream and tear the place apart, every inch of it more fake than the last. You wanted to burn the world to the ground, right then and there. It was your mistake, thinking he could never be this cruel when he had proven time and time again that he was. You may have been an adult, but your life was not yours to command, and it never had been. 

“Columbia is a well-connected Ivy League university, and it will position you better for the future. Look,” he said, “I only want what’s best for you. And the reality is that I’m gonna be president soon, and I want my children to get the education they deserve.”

“And it’s closer, right?” you said. “That’s what this is all about. You want me nearby, in case you need me to smile and wave. In case you need me to be the perfect daughter. In case you need to make yourself look better in front of the millions of people who voted for you because you lied to them!” 

You knew that look on his face all too well. The way he turned away, the way he sighed and tried to hide his face from you; he was not always an open book, but that day, you could read him better than ever. 

He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t deny the truth you had just thrown at his feet, and he couldn’t manipulate you into believing otherwise. Of course, he couldn’t. For a politician, he was a terrible liar. 

“I do want you closer,” he admitted. “But because it’s important for this family, not because I have ill intentions. I do believe it’s what’s best for you.”

“For me?” You laughed, once. “I think it’s what you think is best for you!” 

You didn’t often raise your voice, but if you hadn’t yelled, if you hadn’t opened the valve to release all the pent-up steam inside you, you would have fallen apart. 

He did not deserve the satisfaction of seeing you cry, so you swallowed the onslaught of tears and drowned them in rage. “Did Marcus put you up to this?” you asked.

He paused, his eyebrows furrowing closely enough to form a straight line on his forehead. “Marcus?” he said, dumbfounded. “No, your mother and I made this decision. We–”

You cut him off, “Oh, so you’re just really that heartless, huh? You’re taking away the only thing I asked for because it’s what’s best for you? Because it matters more how people perceive the president’s daughter than what your daughter wants?” you said.

“That’s not–”

“Got it. No, I see it now. It makes sense. I have to play the part so you don’t have to feel bad for deceiving an entire country,” every word dripped like venom off a snake’s tongue. “You know, if you’d just been honest with them, if you’d been honest with yourself, none of us would be in this situation right now.”

“Hey!” he snapped. “I know you’re not happy about how things have gone, but I didn’t lie to anyone. I ran a damn good campaign, I got the votes, and I won. I did that!”

Oh, how blinded he was.

There was a darkness in him that had been running in your family’s bloodline for generations. His father gave it to him, and he probably gave it to you, but instead of being better, he had given in to his greed without a second thought when the right person came along to tell him that it was okay. 

The devil slithered into his pocket a long time ago, and you lost both of your parents before you were even born. 

“I’m still your father, and I expect you to treat me with respect,” he said.

Again, you could only laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you,” you said. “If you had even an ounce of respect, you would have been honest about the fact that your marriage was already broken when you ran for president instead of using it as advertisement.”

“Watch your mouth!”

“No, you cheated on Mom with your campaign manager, and when the girl became a threat that could have exposed your affair to the entire world, she disappeared, just like that!” You snapped your fingers. “Like it didn’t happen. You just told millions of people that we are a picture-perfect family.”

Your voice echoed off the walls, threatening to break glass, and you set fire to the distance between you. 

“You pretend that you didn’t have children solely to get elected because that’s what your daddy wanted. First, you had me, and then, when no one wanted you to become governor because people didn’t like that you were your father’s son, Mom somehow got pregnant with Izzy,” you said. “And people love babies and family fathers, so of course, they elected you. They elected you because I smiled, and Izzy smiled, and even Mom smiled after you almost destroyed her. How many drinks does she have a day? Three? Four?”

He rounded the table and stalked toward you.

“If you had been honest about all of it, this country probably wouldn’t have elected you to be their president, yes, but at least you would have been known for being honest,” you spat. “But people like you and Marcus don’t care about who gets hurt because in the end, at your core, you are cut from the same corrupted, rich, white cloth as the people you claim to despise!”

The words were barely out before he slapped you, the force of it pulling at your skin with the strength of a thousand suns. He liked to build weapons of destruction with his words, and they hurt, yes, but this was the first time he had hit you. 

His hand was still mid-air when you met his eyes. They were like yours, just emptier—dead. There was no remorse in them. You touched your cheek, feeling the skin pulsing underneath your fingertips, wondering if you pretended it hadn’t happened, it would become less real, but the sting remained. His fingers were branded into your skin in a way that made you want to peel it off with your bare hands.

He growled, “You are an ungrateful, spoiled little brat who doesn’t know the first thing about politics or the sacrifices it takes, so don’t you dare lecture me!”

You tried pulling away, but he caught your wrist. “I made mistakes, I admit that,” he said, “but my mistakes are what led us here. My mistakes are why you have a roof over your head. My mistakes are why you’ve never had to work a day in your life, and why Stanford was even possible. Your mother and I have our problems, but we make it work. We make it work so that you and Izzy never have to worry about a goddamn thing. That is a privilege, and if you want to keep that privilege, I suggest you start learning your place in this family.”

You exhaled a broken sob.

“You are moving to New York, and you are going to Columbia. That’s final! Because quite frankly, I don’t give a shit about what you want.”

Your heart fell to the floor and shattered, bleeding all over the white carpet and the walls, and he just watched as you fell apart inside.

The floorboards creaked behind you. One of the Secret Service agents stepped in. Your father lowered his hand just in time, turning his back to you. 

“Agent Davis,” he said, “would you please escort my daughter back to her apartment?”

The agent nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“So that’s it?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“That’s it.” He didn’t look at you twice. “Don’t forget to close the door on your way out.” 

There was nowhere for you to run, nowhere to hide from who he had become. You were an adult with the misplaced hope of a child, quivering at the raised hand of your father. In the end, he was right; you were nothing without him. And that was why, as much as it sickened you, you could never say no to him.

Tag List: @sunshine-daydreams0809 @op1astriontop @murdockchronicles

[druidwolf21]

Ambush

A silent sister struggles when her vows to the sisterhood comes into conflict with her own morality.

When push comes to shove, will she uphold her promises, or will she turn her back on her order ?

I hope you enjoy this short story introducing my OC Cala!

(if it's not clear, everything in italics is sign language)

TW: canon typical violence.

Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @lemon-russ

Cala crouched low, her shoulder pressed against the frosted stone of the cliff side as she peered into the cave, drawing the golden power blade from her back. Gauntleted fist wrap tightly around the hilt, she waved across the entrance to the other side of the cliff, gesturing to her sister in thoughtmark as she signed.

Cultists located. Reports suggest at least 5 hostages, multiple signs of chaos incursions, high possibility of ritual preparation.

She paused, cocking her head as she listened, before brushing her tawny braid back over the obsidian black of her pauldron.

Your orders, Hestia?

Her battle sister drew an axe and hefted the weight in her hand, Red hair streaming behind her as she raised her hand.

Purge the area, burn the taint from the earth, leave none alive.

Cala froze, ice wind whipping her hair and biting her skin as a frown creasing across her chilled face.

The civilians?

She could feel Hestia's scowl, despite the gorget that concealed her face.

Grant them the emperor's mercy.

Without a second glance, Hestia barreled forward, snow exploding around her as she charged, axe arcing through the air as it cleaved into a cultist. Blood sprayed across the snowy floor in a scarlet bloom as his body hit the floor, detached head following suit soon after.

Hissing, cala sprung up. The metal sung as her blade carved through flesh and bone, electricity dancing across the honed edge as she turned and twisted.

Their enemies dropped one by one as the sisters worked, spinning through the cave in a grim, silent dance. Cultists submitting to blade and bolter, climbing over their own dead in a frenzied rage to claim the glory of felling a silent sister, only to join their fallen brethren in a crumpled heap of shredded sinew. Over and over and over.

Until silence fell.

With a sickening crunch, Cala ripped her sword free from its gory prize and slowly turned. Ruby rivulets collected in small pools and dripped from the walls as she surveyed the aftermath.

Hestia stood a few feet from her, golden armour now flecked with splashes of ichor as it glinted in the dying Torchlight.

Ritual site.

She signed before gesturing to the ground beneath her feet. Arcane sigils, gouged deep into the stone, pulsed faintly with a deep violet light before sputtering and fading.

Demons?

Hestia nodded, kicking at the twitching corpse before her before kneeling.

Filthy heretics.

Reaching out, she wrestled a data slate from the cultists hand. Cold blue eyes trailing across the screen before she tossed it across to Cala.

Another ritual site, sweep this area before moving out.

Cala flicked her blade, discharging the current as she motioned to sheath it before she stilled. Glancing at her sister she followed her gaze to the back of the cave as a muted whimper echoed softly across the chamber.

Nodding to Hestia, she reached out, grasping a torch and wretching it from its bracket before tossing it into the shadows.

The baselines flinched at the flames as the shadows writhed and retreated, their eyes wide as they beheld the gore soaked women before them.

"sisters?"

A man shielded his eyes as he rose groggily to his feet, eyeing the pair cautiously before a smile cracked across his face.

"The emperor has blessed us this day! The sisters have come to rescue us!"

He reached down and began pulling others to their feet, shaking their shoulders and laughing as they stood. An elderly couple clutched each other, tears pricking their eyes and a woman clambered to her feet, hugging a child to her as she smiled.

"The sisters are here to-"

The man paused, mouth moving silently before collapsing forward as a bullet shattered through his skull.

Hestia stood behind him, smoke still twisting from the barrel of her bolt pistol before turning its muzzle on the others. The old woman screamed as her husband fell, her hands clutching the wound on his chest as blood pumped between her fingers.

"WHY? WHY WOULD YO-"

Bang

Her cries falling silent as a round found it's mark between her eyes.

Hestia finally stood before the young mother. Her knuckles white as she clutched her offspring desperately.

"please stop, please, she's just a child"

Cala stepped forward, her fingers catching the glowing muzzle of the bolter and tilting it upwards. Furious eyes met her own as she stood between her officer and the wailing woman.

No more.

She glanced down, the wide eyes of the girl meeting her own, pupils wide and tears streaming down her face.

I cannot watch you kill an innocent.

Hestia scowled, her mouth down turned behind her cage gorget as she wretched the gun upwards and grasped Cala's shoulder.

Then don't look.

Shoving Cala aside, the commander realigned her gun and fired.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Cala sucked the cold air between her teeth as she stepped in line with her sister, brown eyes downcast as they left the cave behind them.

You will learn, sister.

She looked up, stopping as Hestia stood before her placed a hand against the golden aquilla emblazoned across her chest.

Those touched by chaos can be returned to the emperor's grace in death.

Releasing her, the woman turned and carried on, her bolter bouncing at her hip with each step.

Do not spare them your thoughts, we execute his will, nothing more.

Staring at the golden back of her officer, Cala sighed, casting a last glance back towards the cave before following.

The snow was piling high, muting their steps to a soft crunch as they approached the overpass. The ravine below them eerily silent as they crouched and surveyed. At the end of the deep passage, a purple hue flickered off the crystalline ice, dancing along the walls before dissipating into the frigid air.

Guards, Acolytes and tzaangors.

Cala tossed her binoculars across the Hestia, pointing to a crevice in the opposing wall, hidden well behind a curtain of icicles. Shifting behind the ice, huddled with weapons in hand, was the faint distorted shape of the falcon headed demons, skin pale and pearlescent, even against the white sheen of the walls.

They must be expecting an attack, we should remain cautious. Immunity to demonic possession and the warp is NOT immunity to claw and bolt.

Cala nodded, eyes fixed on the gorge as a flash caught her eye. Taking back her binoculars, she trained her sights to the mouth of the valley, twisting a small bronze dial until they came into focus.

It's not us they are expecting, sister.

Passing the lenses back, she watched as surprise flickered across Hestia's face.

Astartes? And Space wolves no less.

She rose to her feet, brushing snow from her greaves.

It makes no difference, our mission is clear, if they join us at the ritual site, we can accept their help, otherwise, allow them to deal with any stragglers.

Cala rose to join her, gesturing furiously.

There is an ambush, sister! We need to warn them.

They are the emperor's angels, if they fall to the demons, they are not deserving of that title.

Cala blaunched, blinking dumbly as Hestia strode towards the encampment, preparing to drop in from above. Stepping after her, she grabbed her shoulder guard, spinning the older woman to face her again.

Sister! We need to tell them! If they survive, they can help us prevent a summoning, we need to-

Hestia grabbed Cala's hands, metal grinding under her tight grapes.

Enough! How would you even warn them? They will not notice you up here. We have our duty, cease this at once!

Icy eyes stared into Cala's as they stood in tense silence. Fat lazy flakes drifting down and settling into the creases of black and gold vratine armour.

I will not sit idly by.

Wretching her hands from the iron grasp, Cala spun and sprinted, diving from the edge and skidding down the rocky slope. Behind her, she could hear the pounding steps of her brethren following her rapid descent.

Waving her hands furiously in the air as she stumbled and skidded before hitting the bottom, she sprinted towards the approaching pack. The Marines stature growing larger as they walked to meet her.

AMBUSH, CHAOS DEMONS, ARM YOURSELVES

The leader raised a fist, hailing their approach. Thick fur rippled around his shoulders as the yellow of his sigil glinted with the motion as the unit halted behind him.

"Well met sister, we did not expect to see imperial agents out here"

DANGER, HERETIC, TRAITORS.

The captain's visor flashed as he cocked his head, amused as Cala flailed her hands.

"does anyone understand this?" He queries, turning to his men. He was met with a resounding grumble and nonchalant shrugs as they looked amongst each other.

Throwing her hands up in frustration, Cala turned, hopeless as she watched Hestia slow to a stop, having finally caught up.

They don't understand!

Hestia shrugged, eying up the space wolf before answering.

I told you it was a waste of time, next time, listen to me before wasting everyone's time.

The space wolves began to shift, uncomfortable with the silence that sat heavy around them. The captain hefted his bolter and stepped forward, the Ceremite boot sinking into the churned slurry as he stepped around the women.

"sisters, we will be taking our leave, join us, or do not, emperor protects"

The wolves began to step around the silent warriors, emotionless helms turning to stare at them as they passed. Cala jumped forward, pressing her fists into the captains chest, her feet sliding beneath her from the exertion as she gestured up at the cliffs.

STOP, STOP.

Hestia reached out, grasping her wrist and pulling her to side, nodding to the captain as he grunted and passed, heading towards the ritual encampment.

Towards the ambush.

Panic rose in her throat as a gun barrel snuck between the ice, it's sight trained on the shimmering grey of the captain's head, each step taking them closer to a dishonorable demise.

The grip on her wrist became excruciating, Hestia's eyes boring into her as her body trembled.

Motion at the end of the gorge, the camp was alerted as Acolytes and horned demons emerged from the shelter of their base. At their head, a bald man, garbed only in a stained loin cloth and the twisting glyphs carved into his skin, a staff raised high over his head as he shrieked.

Rifles and chain swords raised as the wolves howled, baying for heretic blood.

Unaware.

"AMBUSH"

The words ripped from Cala's throat, hoarse from misuse as she broke free from the iron grasp and charged forward. Pistol raised high she fired as she ran, felling the wrenched creature from its vantage point, it's body twisting and snapping as it fell at the feet of the Marines before dissolving into lilac ash.

A blood claw snarled as she reached their group, following her aim as he raised his heavy bolter and rained down iron and gunpowder, churning through the sniper's nest with bloodthirsty glee.

Following their lead, Cala charged forward, flitting amongst the clashing giants as she wove through their shadows. Hestia's axe crackled amongst the frey and the smell of iron and burning keratin filled her nose as the battle consumed the area. Blood thundered in her ears as she searched, hacking through human and demon flesh.

"captain!"

The soldier turned, crushing a cultists head in his fist before tossing the carcass aside, his stormy armour slick with gore.

"found your voice at last, sister?" He bellowed, firing a bolt through a tzaangor as it screeched towards him.

"we need to find the offering and kill him before he completes the ritual" she yelled back, ducking as a spear sailed past her head, bouncing harmlessly off the skull helmet of a wolf priest. "If he opens a gate, he could -"

A pulse rippled through the air, slamming the cultists to the ground and flinging the avian beasts aside. The marine held firm, their servos groaning under stress as they braced against the force, buffeted as they strained to stay upright. Cala clung to the captain as he forearm shielded her from the worst. Peering behind her, she spotted Hestia shielding herself behind the width of the wolf priest, her axe embedded in the frothed soil. Their eyes met for a brief second as her companion raised her hand.

Oathbreaker

Unable to hold her gaze, Cala turned back, fighting to peer over the massive vambrace that supported her.

The body lay contorted and twisted in broken curves, the pulse of the runes etched into his skin reaching a crescendo as a rip tore open. Thin at first, it hung in the air, leaking hazy fog and the thick stench of ozone. A ripple passed through it, before it began to fracture, cracks emanating outwards as a hole tore open in the center, spewing indigo smoke and sparks.

A clawed hand erupted from the portal, talons long as sabres and just as sharp as they carved deep into stone, reaching for purchase as a head followed through the tear. Six glowing blue eyes stared back at Cala as a beaked maw opened and screamed, reverberating through her skull. The beast heaved and scraped at the snow, trying to squeeze its massive feathered form through the rip, its body too large as it fruitlessly swiped its arm for grip.

"GREATER DEMON"

The warning came too late as a marine was cast aside in a fell swoop, body cleaved apart and discarded as the lord of change battled to escape the immaterium. Toothed beak snapping and claws dismembering any who came to close as it heaved and squealed.

"get me close"

The captain did a double take, staring wordlessly down as he ejected his spent magazine, sliding a full one back in its place.

"I'm a Null, a blank. Ican send it back, but you need to get me close"

Around then, the wolves yelled and hollered as they rolled and fired, diving from blasts of warp magic before retaliating with the biting sting of bolts and lasguns. Hestia stood back to back with an apothecary as swarms of lesser demons began to swarm from the warp rift, the ride of battle was turning fast as overwhelming numbers fought to escape the realm of tzeench.

Grunting, the wolf threw down his emptied gun and hefted his chain sword.

"together then, sister"

"Cala. My name is Cala"

"...jarl Sturvek."

Cala smiles grimly, testing the weight of her blade as she braced.

"A good day to die, Jarl Sturvek"

The man hummed, a chuckle reverberating in his chest.

"Hiljah kah uhtganjen mev tarvahettan. Greet the end with courage, sister"

Together they ran, charging headfirst through the throng, the honed edges of their swords sliding through skin and bone effortlessly, feathers and iridescent blood flying into the air with each swing. The demons recoiled from the null field of the blank as she ran, only to be felled by bloodied soldier as he cleared her path.

The demon lord shied from her as she approached, screaming as it's connection the warp weakened with each step. With Sturvek at her back, Cala expanding her null field, watched as the rift undulated, phasing through unimaginable colours as it began to recoil and dissolve.

"How long, sister? We cannot hold here"

The demon wailed as it began to retreat into the warp, its head lashing from side to side in fury as it finally lost its battle and fell back into the void.

"just one more ah-"

"CALA"

A single swipe of flailing talons caught the blackened armour near her throat, casting her down and dragging Cala into the warp.

Order/chaos,

Decay/Rebirth Endings/Endless, Destiny/fate

Lies

Falling

Falling

Falling

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Cala woke with a start, whispers fading to silence as she jolted upright. Her chest heaved with exertion and her head pounded like a wardrum as she swing her legs off the bed.

Wait, a bed?

Blinking, she looked around. The snow and cold mountains were gone, replaced by metal walls and an oversized bunk. A large fur spread across the floor beneath her feet, coarse but warm between her bare toes. Gone was the armour, replaced by a soft metal grey robe, a snarling wolf embroidered on the breast. The blood has been washed from her, leaving only bruises and a dull humming behind her eyes.

Standing, she swayed for a moment, before shaking her head and stepping towards the weight iron door. Swinging it open, she peered out suspiciously.

The walls were slate grey and peppered with wooden etchings, furs and tapestries, many displaying endless snowbound forest, patrolled by wolves with eyes of ember fire and fur black as soot. Fires sputtered in brackets, dimly lighting the passage as she stalked towards a massive door at the end. The smell of salted meats, drying herbs and fur perforated every inch as she hugged the wall, head swivelling as she watched for motion. Underneath it all, the ever present groan and sighs of a Gloriana engine.

Voices became louder as she approached the end of the hall, arguing loudly. Pressing an ear to the cold metal, she listened.

"she said that the girl is a traitor so she should be punished"

"Groxshite is she"

"she said, the girl broke her oath"

"To warn us!"

"she is a sister of silence, not a space wolf, it is not up to you to decide"

"well you're a-"

A deep voice over the squabble. Heavy fenrisian tone, thick and warm like spices mjord it commanded attention, undivided and rapt.

"Enough. Why not let her speak for herself."

Cala froze as the silence became overwhelming.

"I can hear your breath, your heart is running faster than a hunted doe, come in and speak"

Steeling herself with a steady breath, Cala pushes the door open, stepping into the room swinging it shut behind her with a creaking groan.

The room was warm, flames from a well fed fire heating the spacious area as it burned in an intricate hearth. Above it hung a spear, huge and golden it glinted as sparks twisted into the air. A huge fur sprawled across the metal paneled floor and large desk sat at the center, data slates and paperwork scattered across its oaken surface.

Hestia stood at one end of the wooden table, arms crossed and eyes furious as she stared, a small seed standing beside her with downcast eyes. On the other end stood a marine, red hair wore long with several braids, A long scar across his face, closing a yellow eye. A familiar helmet tucked under his arm.

"jarl Sturvek?"

A toothy grin appeared, as he nodded.

Movement caught her attention, darting her eyes after the shifting figure sat behind the desk.

In a large ornate chair, sat Leman Russ.

He lounged in the chair, slouched with his chin propped in a large hand. Blonde hair braided and swept back from eyes as clear as ice. A lazy smile crept along his face as he watched the woman.

"I have heard a lot of opinions today, now I will hear it truthfully from you"

Cala held his gaze, tilting her chin up definitely as she stepped forward towards the desk. The primarch's eyebrow twitched as his smile grew larger, sharp canines appearing as he grinned.

"I am no traitor, lord Russ. I may have broken my silence, but had I not, your pack would be short a few good men"

Cala sucked in a breath, feeling dizzy under the intensity of the primarch's presence.

"everything I have done, I have done for the imperium. I have walked the sanctum imperialism and I have laid low it's enemies across the galaxy, my voice has not changed that"

She stood tall, turning to her sister as she spoke.

"I am sorry, sister, but I will not regret my actions"

Hestia paused, glancing between cala and leman before signing. The serf stepped forward, nodding at the motions.

"she said; you have dishonored you vow and dishonored yourself, tainted with chaos. Will you not at least repent?"

The wolf king leaned forward in his seat, interrupting before Cala could respond.

"I heard you were dragged into the warp, yet you don't seem particularly cursed to me."

He sat back again, running a hand along his jaw.

"tell me, what did you see?"

The beginning, the end, fire and water, space and time spread before you

"I am.. unsure, my lord"

He nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

Sturvek stepped forward, clapping a scarred hand on the young woman's shoulder as he scowled at the sororitas.

"My lord, the girl has more bite than her sister, she -"

Leman waved him off as he rose to his feet, stepping round the desk he towered over Cala, staring her down for a moment before leaning down.

"perhaps we should kill you, to save the headache of trouble later"

"Hiljah kah uhtganjen mev tarvahettan, lord Russ" she replied simply, repeating the same chant the jarl had said to her earlier.

"HA! well said, little maiden"

He rose back to his full height, laughing as he slapped a hand on her shoulder, ignoring the way her knees buckled slightly under the impact.

"I have heard enough! Sister, you may take your leave off my ship. This one is mine now"

He returned to his seat, elbows on the desk as he propped himself upright.

Hestia's face contorted, before she bowed and spun, casting one last unreadable look at her battle sister before exiting the room.

"Sturvek"

The marine shot to attention, back stiff as he fought to smother the smirk etched on his lips.

"yes, my lord?"

"make sure the witch hunter is off my ship within the hour"

"yes, lord Russ" helm hissing sealed, he turned on his heels and strode after the silent sister, nodding one last time at Cala, and slamming a salute to his chest as he left.

"now, little doe"

Cala turned, her breath catching in her throat as she came face to face with the wolf king crouched in front of her. The smell of spice, pine and winter berries was heady and strong as he stared, eyes predatory and reflective in the guttering fire.

"let's have a chat, shall we?"