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symbiomancy · 13 hours ago

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scientific curiosity —frankenstein's monster

—summary: You created him. You patched him together from pieces of humans and beasts - lost your license to practice medicine and your PhD for that. He should not look at you and lust. But he does. | 1.8k | AO3 | monster masterlist

—warnings: monster x human, monsterfucking, handjob, implied mating cycle/heat, thigh fucking, rutting.

The creature has an affinity for music. That fact is not even near the most fascinating thing you’ve discovered about him, but it is a very pleasant one. He taps the keys of the piano with grace, despite his size. Mozart today, huh?

“Your motor skills are improving at an incredible rate,” you say more to yourself as you scribble furiously into your notebook. The creature voices a grunt of approval as he stares at the sheet music propped up in front of him. Mentally, you pat yourself on the back for selecting such a fine brain.

You cannot deny his improvement at everything, really. He’d graduated from picture books to children’s books within two days, to classical novels and medical books within a week. Getting him acclimated to his size had been a challenge at first but it has been leaps and bounds from those days. Writing, string instruments, key instruments, all of it, a truly incredible progress. There’s only a handful of things you’ve yet to ask.

“Any sexual desire?”

His fingers stumble on the keys.

You whip around, one arm slung over the back of the chair and push so the legs screech loudly against the wooden floor. There’s a grin on your face, pen in a death grip in your hand. “Care to elaborate?” You blindly reach for the notebook still on the table, eyes fixed on his large frame, at the way he hunches over, staring firmly at the sheet music.

“No.”

“Well, it is fall,” you muse, raise your elbow to lean it against the chair backrest, pen tapping against your bottom lip. “And I did have to supplement some parts for beast parts.”

“Hadn’t even noticed.” He thumps a foot against the ground. Griffin’s hind legs. Could’ve used the wings but taking too much from one body would’ve created too much suspicion.

“I really thought a vampire’s hand would, y’know react to warm blood — a mistake on my part, I’ll admit it. But,” your grin widens even further, “fascinating how a werewolf’s knot is still a knot even if you cut it off. Does the full moon affect it in any way?”

Your creation glares at you from across the room.

“What? Scientific curiosity.”

“You had your PhD and medical license revoked for…” he takes a deep breath and takes his hands from the piano keys to motion to himself, “me.” There’s a hint of something in his tone, something that borders on disgust. You file that away to discuss at a later time. “It’s why we’re out here. Hiding.”

“There are worse reasons to lose a doctorate for. And I was a scientist while creating you. So, scientist. Now, answer my question, please?”

The creature gently pulls down the key lid on the piano, stands, and wordlessly leaves the room.

He doesn’t come down for dinner.

You stare at the vacant seat on the other side of the dinner table with a frown. His plating is untouched, steam rising from the potato stew where he usually sits. There is no creaking in the house, nothing to signal he’s coming down. You eat alone and place his meal into the still-warm oven.

His door is closed. You stand there for a while, mulling over your words, trying to string together an apology. Should you wax something long together? An explanation? Run-on sentences to try to justify your innate curiosity at your creation’s physiological state? Nothing sounds right. Nothing sounds like enough.

“I’m sorry… for asking like that. I got carried away. It wasn’t proper of me. There’s um,” you clear your throat, “I left your plate in the oven. Heat it up if you get hungry. Good night.”

You stand at the door for another prolonged moment, trying to catch any sound on the other side of the door. It’s faint, barely there, but you can make out his breathing, slow and steady. At least he’s still here. But you decide not to test your luck any further tonight and retreat to your own room, leaving the door slightly ajar. It doesn’t fit into the frame quite correctly, anyway.

Maybe he’ll at least go downstairs for dinner later.

He stands in front of your door, staring at the small sliver of moonlight that pours into the dark hallway. There are too many loud thoughts in his head, racing and colliding. His skin feels ill-fitting, a heat simmering underneath it. You ask too many questions, he thinks — has thought since he left you in the study alone to hide away in his room with the blinds drawn and his cock in hand — too many questions that prod all the right places.

It’s in your nature. You were a scientist. And a doctor with an intricate web of knowledge about the human (and creature) body. He shouldn’t fault you for asking.

While you were downstairs eating dinner alone, he had his cock in hand — not a wholly new experience but a new-ish one — stroking it over the low bathroom sink. He’d tried, tried thinking of other things but nearly all of his experiences are tied to you and your presence. So he keeps coming back to you. Your pretty face, your smile, the light in your eyes when you ask him about his body, his psyche to scribble into your umpteenth notebook all about him.

Even now with his pants undone, cock hanging out, already (or still) hard, he thinks of you. He stares at you through the crack in the door, soundly asleep in your bed. The covers are tucked tightly over your body but legs exposed to the fall chill. It’s not right, he thinks, he should at least tuck you in before you get a cold.

He pushes the door open slowly. It creaks a short, aborted squeak and you shift in bed, pull the blanket tighter against yourself. The creature steps forward, carefully placed footfalls dancing around the one creaking floorboard right at the entrance, long slow strides taking him to the foot of your bed. You shuffle again, and for a moment he thinks this is it, you’re awake, but you turn onto your back, kick at the blanket with one foot.

You are… enticing like this, he finds. He thinks that’s what this feeling is. All he has to compare it to is the novels he’s read over and over and over again.

He grabs onto your ankles with his warm hand, touch featherlight, and gently, slowly, pulls you forward. The end of your nightgown catches against the sheets, drags further up the closer you get to him. He has the anatomical knowledge of the human body — he’s read every book in the house several times over no matter if fiction or an anatomy book, he’s effectively memorized all the illustrations, if not the texts themselves.

His fingers trace the expanse of your skin, gently knead into the flesh. He can name the muscles and the tendons, the nerves at the crook of your knee. He’s spent countless hours staring at the illustrations, even the more… explicit ones. He’s curious — you’ve rubbed off on him — but it’s dark. Instead, he stares at the gap between your thighs. It’s inviting, just perfect for him to slip his cock through. It jerks at the thought, precum dribbling from the tip.

You blink slowly. The room is dark, save for the moonlight filtering in through the window above your head. In front of you, right at the foot of the bed stands a tall figure, hand wrapped around your ankles, resting against his shoulder. Your brain jogs the existence of your creation before you startle involuntarily. He startles too, nearly dropping his grip on your ankles.

“Everything alright?” You ask. The fall chill bites at your thighs and oh.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his body against the back of your legs. Something hot and heavy, wet presses between your thighs. The tip of his cock presses between your thighs, forward and backward. Slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You stare at it for a moment, then press your thighs together.

The creature groans and thrusts forward, hips assuming a sloppy pace. He’s tall and wide and big and that’s how you built him. The bed rocks with his thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall, scraping at the paint. His cock plunges between your things, smears precum onto your skin, slick and wet and loud. The sound of his cock plunging between your slick thighs is nearly deafening in the silent house. Your own arousal curls under your skin but you file it away to stare at him.

This… this is not what you had in mind when you first came up with this (quite possibly very stupid, very illegal, medically and scientifically (not to mention ethically) dubious) idea. It cost you your license and your reputation, sent you into exile. You don’t regret it on the worst of days but especially not right now.

His cold hand wraps nearly wholly around your thigh and you clench around his cock involuntarily. Your muscles jerk from the sudden chill. He groans and his hips stutter for a moment, stumble in their sloppy rhythm before he regains whatever shred of his composure is left and continues thrusting. The bulb at the bottom of his shaft is engorged, knocking against your clit with every thrust. You can’t even focus on that, just on the beads of precum dribbling from the tip of his cock, smearing against your thighs as he pulls nearly all the way back. When he thrusts towards you, pearly droplets fly, splatter against your wrinkled nightgown.

He pulls you into him, hips slamming against your thighs. The metal bed frame screeches at something, you can’t even react as he thrusts forward one last time. He cums with a guttural growl that reverberates in your own chest, thighs pressing against yours, hips jerking forward. Ropes of hot cum shoot from his cock, land on your torso. You reach out, wrap a hand around the enormous cock to jerk him off, prolong his orgasm, milk him for everything he has to offer. There’s a hiss from the back of his throat as you work him empty, splattering onto your stomach and chest, even your chin. It’s warm and sticky and it sinks into your cotton nightgown, clings to your skin.

His breathing is erratic once his large frame stops shaking. His chest expands and constricts against your legs, nails digging small crescents into your ankles. Your toes are cold from the forced position.

You reach down to the puddle of cum pooling on your stomach and draw a heart into it with a small giggle.

The creature looks up from his mess tentatively, brow furrowed and lips jutted into a hopeful smile.

“You’re not mad?”

“I’ll have you know I picked out every part of you according to my personal preferences.”

banners/dividers by @/cafekitsune

#monster x reader #monster x you #monster x human #monster imagine #monsterfucker #monster fucker #teratophillia #monster boyfriend #monster smut #terat0philliac #terato

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wonysugar · 2 days ago

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KARINA X READER W ORAL FIXATION

oral fixations are such a broad topic so i did some research and had fun with this, i think this is the type of oral fixation you meant lol? thank you for the idea :]

cw : usage of strap-on

you and jimin often hung out, being girlfriends at all. naturally, you progressively got to notice each other's little tics and habits as the relationship went on.

for example, you knew that she had a tendency to furrow her eyebrows at every little thing, whether she was focused, confused or simply just forming a thought. or or!! that she sticks out her tongue in every other situation; sometimes the joke she'd tell would call for it, other times she’d do it just cause. whatever it was she did, you found it endearing.

and she would say the same thing about you! except for… a particular habit of yours. she didn’t hate it or anything. it’s more like she… loved it a bit too much? for all the wrong reasons? to put it simply, she felt like a pervert for feeling the way she did toward it.

see, you had the tendency to put things in your mouth and chewing on them at all times. whether it was your nails, a pen you happened to be holding or even just a straw you had finished using a long while ago. whatever it was, you would spend hours chewing on it. and the context of the situation didn’t matter either, you needed to keep your mouth occupied at all times, and that was that.

jimin thought it was adorable when she first got to know you, a few years back, but once you two got closer, her thoughts got more and more… deranged about the whole thing.

the mere idea made her stomach turn; the two of you making out on her couch, feeling each other up as you usually do. she’d pleasantly surprise you by pulling away from the kiss and replace the feeling of her tongue with her fingers, watching you suck and lick on them whilst you looked up at her. how you would drool all over her digits the same way you’d drool on her strap, later into the dark night.

she’d always shrug it off, though. she never brought it up in bed since she was overthinking basically everythingcjfjckdn she didn’t want you to think she was weird, or anything!

that was until you asked her to let you suck her off during sex, which was something you’d never done before. she contained her excitement when she heard those words and proceeded to rationally ask you why it is that you wanted to do that, all of a sudden.

“i dunno,” you shrugged, “my mouth needs attention, i guess.”

KAAABEWWWMMMM!! jimin played it off, cool and collected, but inside? girl SHE CHEERED! the opportunity finally presented itself to her; she didn’t have to potentially risk passing as a creep yippe!! of course, that was all in her head, as you would’ve happily obliged if she had just asked you.

the actual sex later on? ohh you could tell she was having so much fun with your little oral fixation, she was smiling down at you the entire time. you had originally asked her to just let you blow her, but she went above and beyond your expectations.

you looked up at her, on your knees. she caressed your bottom lip with her thumb before sliding it into your mouth, a smirk plastered on her face as she looked down at you. “you want it, baby?” she’d say, ‘it’ being the black strap-on she was wearing. you’d nod in response, quickly getting what it is that you wanted.

by this point you were practically soaked, that much was obvious, but you didn’t know how much better it would get until she layed you down on your back to finger you; she told you to suck on her tits while she did so.��😭😭😭ohh brother.

she pumped two of her digits in and out of you, fingers curled right against your g-spot as her thumb gently pressed on your clit, all in a repetitive motion. your attempt to hold your orgasm—after she ordered you to—was barely successful when you had your hand on one of her breasts, carefully fondling it. you tried to focus your attention on catching her nipple in between your fingertips and playing with it gently, but that just contributed to turning you on more.

on top of that, she had the other boob settled right onto your lips, her hand on the back of your head, pushing you closer to her. your mouth sucked and licked on the bud, your tongue working around it. you fed off of the pretty sounds that came out of her whenever you did.

after what felt like a painful eternity of her relentlessly pumping in and out of your dripping cunt with her fingers, she finally gave you permission to cum, much to your relief.

that eventual orgasm hit you like a truck and may or may not have knocked you the fuck out after a few minutes of heavy breathing.😭

she kissed your (very sweaty) forehead, satisfied and happy she could please you. the sight of her girlfriend sound asleep was enough for jimin to make a mental note for the times to come; to never neglect your mouth again.

#anon asks #anon #smut #kpop gg #female reader #aespa smut #karina x female reader #karina aespa smut #karina x fem reader #aespa karina smut #yoo jimin smut #yoo jimin #karina smut #aespa x reader

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yasikeu · 2 days ago

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Hi! Idk if you’re taking requests (if not sorry just ignore) but I’d like to ask for a Jake x reader x Jay threesome IF YOU’RE COMFORTABLE writing it :’) Jay has been wrecking me so bad lately and idk how to write it so thought I’d ask someone who knows how to do it 😭🙏 anyways thank you sm <3

note: this is my first time doing something like this so hopefully it isnt that bad 😭🫶

"You're new here, aren't you?" Jay asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine, “I would’ve remembered a pretty face like yours.”

You let out a giggle before nodding.

"I'm Jay, and this is Jake," he forcefully grabbed Jake by his arm.

Jake gave you a small smile, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. "I'm Y/n," you replied.

"Y/n," Jay repeated, his lips curling into a cocky smirk. "It's nice to meet you, Y/n. You're far too sexy to be left standing alone in a place like this."

You laughed shyly, a warm blush creeping up on your face. “That's quite a compliment, thank you.”

Jay leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Look sweetheart, I’m not one to beat around the bush. I think you're beautiful, and I think we could have a lot of fun together."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And what about your friend over there?" you nodded towards Jake.

Jay chuckled, glancing at Jake before wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

“Two for the price of one,” Jay teased, a mischievous smirk beginning to grow on Jake’s face.

“Excuse me? W-what?” you almost choked on your spit from the unexpected reply.

“You heard him,” Jake chuckled.

“A-an-and what makes you guys think I would be interested in doing something like that?” you scoffed.

“I saw the way you were looking at us, your eyes told me everything I needed to know” Jay said, his finger extending to lift up your chin.

“And what if I am interested?” you spat out, surprising yourself.

“Then you could come over to our place, have a drink and see where things go from there,” Jake suddenly spoke, stepping closer to you.

You nodded as your breath hitched, this was definitely not how you expected your night to go but you weren’t complaining. "A drink does sound nice right now."

“Great, let's get out of here then, hm?” Jay hummed, grabbing your waist to guide you through the crowd, Jake following.

When you got to their apartment Jake closed the door behind you.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Jay smirked. You sank into the couch, feeling the fabric against your skin, while Jay and Jake towered in front of you, their eyes burning with desire.

Jake brushed his thumb over your lips, “God, aren’t you just stunning,” he bit his lip, his erection beginning to grow.

“You know, we’ve been waiting for someone like you,” Jay began, caressing your hair.

“Have you ever been with two guys at once?” Jake asked.

You shook your head no, unable to form words as your mind went all fuzzy.

“Answer him,” Jay said through his gritted teeth.

“N-no I haven’t.”

“Well that’s gonna change tonight.”

With expert precision, they began to undress you swiftly as if they had done this countless times before. Your dress fell to the floor in an instant, revealing the black lace bra and matching panties you wore that night.

Jay's eyes roared with hunger as he took in the sight, while Jake's fingers gently traced the straps of your lingerie.

“Let’s take this to your bedroom.” Jake turned Jay.

“Good idea,” Jay replied before picking you up and taking you to his room.

His bedroom was dimly lit, creating an ambiance of sensuality. Jay dimmed the lights further, casting the room in a seductive glow. You were placed gently on the bed, the soft sheets caressing your bare skin as you laid back.

They slowly began to undress, revealing their toned muscles. Surprisingly, Jake approached you first, his hands gently pushing you back onto the bed. He kissed you passionately, his plump lips harmonising with yours, soaking up your sweetness.

His hands roamed freely, cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples through the lace fabric. You arched into his touch, moaning softly as pleasure coursed through you.

Jay couldn’t help but get extremely turned on as he watched before he decided to join in, his hands sliding down your body, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties before pulling them down.

As he exposed your glistening pussy, he let out a soft growl of appreciation. “You’re so wet.”

Jay leaned down, his tongue tracing delicate circles around your soaking clit, loud whimpers escaping your mouth one after the other. Jake continued to kiss you, his hands now exploring your inner thighs.

“Does his tongue feel good?” Jake cooed in your ear as he slowly inserted his thumb inside of your mouth.

You nodded frantically, overwhelmed by pleasure.

“Let me taste her too,” Jake begged.

He positioned himself between your legs, his tongue replacing Jay's, lapping at your juices hungrily.

Jay moved up, capturing your mouth in another hungry kiss, his tongue in sync with the motions of Jake’s.

As you neared your climax, Jake shoved a digit inside of you, joining his tongue, stretching you, pushing you to the edge.

“I’m gonna cum, please let me come,” you whined.

“Come for us baby,” Jake groaned, his lips soaked in your wetness.

“That’s right, be a good girl for us and come,” Jay muttered as he planted intimate kisses down your neck to your defined collarbone.

Your body arched off the bed, as you exploded in Jake’s mouth, waves of ecstasy washing over you.

Jay positioned himself at the edge of the bed, his thick cock standing proudly, glistening with pre-cum. You straddled him, your wetness enveloping his length perfectly as you began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency as you became more needy.

“You take his cock like such a good girl,” Jake smirked as he began to fist his cock.

The sensation of Jay's cock filling you, combined with Jake's teases, pushed you towards another climax. You rode harder, your hips moving in a desperate rhythm, your breath coming in heavy gasps.

“Shit, that’s it baby,” Jay moaned, throwing his head all the way back.

Jay's hands gripped your hips tighter. Jake's fingers found your clit as he began to relentlessly rub it, his thumb in time with Jay’s thrusts.

You let out one last moan before coming all over Jay’s cock, coating him in your slick. “Come here princess,” Jake signalled you to sit on his cock. Your legs were practically shaking at this point, the back to back orgasms were something you had never experienced before, but you were secretly enjoying every second of it.

“Shit,” Jake cursed, slapping your ass after every thrust, leaving bright red handprints.

“I don’t think I can last any longer,” you bit your lip.

“Come on baby you can do it, we are so proud of you,” Jake moaned in your ear. Your nails subconsciously dug into Jake’s back muscles leaving scratch marks all over them.

Your sweaty bodies were moving together in a sensual rhythm, the room overflowing with your lewd and wet sounds.

The way your needy cunt was gripping onto Jake’s cock made it so hard for him to move, but he didn’t let that stop him. For the third time that night you came again, your walls still pulsating.

“Such a good girl for us,” Jay murmured before pulling you into a passionate kiss.

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sooniebby · 16 hours ago

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I thought of the stupidest fic idea ever (probably not gonna write it in full but it’s nice to get it out of my head lol)

Anyway, I got this after watching some bl dramas cuz of course. But the little thought I had was what if reader’s friends think he is dating a man old enough to be his dad, roll with me, lemme explain

Reader is a senior in high school so that’s why his friends would be worried, but anyway. One day you and your friends are walking home when you suddenly say you’re stopping at someone else’s home tonight.

Your two friends looking at you confused cuz whatever friend you got besides them? But whatever, they watch you stop by a house. The door opens and they expect a person your age..

Not a whole ass toddler rushing out and screaming “mommy!” They’re flabbergasted as you just pick the kid up, holding him as if that’s your child, kissing his cheeks and everything

But that’s not all… a man comes out,

“—why he dressed like a bum?”

“—shush, they’ll hear you.”

And the man has no problem just touching your face as you smile up at him. It looks too domestic, it might as well be a family commercial to get you to adopt a kid. They just watch in pure shock as this man places his hand on your back and leads you inside the house.

“Oh my gosh… (name) has a secret family. He got pregnant!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? We should be more worried that he dating someone the age of his daddy!”

“Was he that old?”

“I dunno, I didn’t see his face clearly.”

Anyway, they immediately confront you the next day and you just stare at them in shock.

“That doesn’t even make sense, you would’ve noticed if I was pregnant, you can’t hide a pregnancy belly.” You said. “Besides he’s four years old, are you saying I got pregnant at fourteen years old??”

“So you do admit to being able to get pregnant?”

“What—? No!”

“Woah male pregnancy is real.”

“Guys! Just, let me explain please.”

Anyway they don’t believe you so you take them to the house. Like clockwork the same kid comes running out but this time he yells, “turtle”

You pick him up and grin, “was that the word of the day today?” Oh, the kid was just yelling the words his teacher picked as “the word of the day”

Okay, so that’s solved, you didn’t get pregnant… yet…

Onto the man, he comes out and oh. He’s not old, he’s literally your age. But he doesn’t have the mustache he had yesterday.

“Oh, he just had an ugly mustache. Aged him a lot.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t come out in society with a mustache like that. But you should still change your clothes.. you look—“

“—Guys!”

After that whole conversation, and your explanation that he was a childhood friend who came back from university on break, your friends were still curious… because why was this guy so touchy with you? They watched as he continually touched your face or your waist.. or any body part

“They’re totally fucking.”

“For sure.”

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my-darling-boy · 11 hours ago

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Hello there!

More than five years ago you answered an ask "should I still try to get access to gender affirming health care when the world seems to near her end", where you said that it took you a long, long time to get access and that it was a woman on the phone who listened to you, that one just has to find "that one person that cares that opens a few doors". That was also the time where I started applying for HRT &etc, and that last sentence was always on my mind when I got denied or someone sent me to someone else. It was one of the things that kept me going when I truly was loosing any hope of ever getting access to top surgery, and today I got the call that my health insurance has agreed to cover it. I am nearly there, and I have to thank you for it as well. I truly wish that the universe repays your kindness

Thank you for sharing, I’m so happy to hear you’ve gotten yourself so far because it’s not an easy road. Dealing with insurance is an absolute nightmare, but if there’s one piece of advice I’ll continue to give, all it takes is one person somewhere to listen and treat you with dignity and respect, you need a lot of resilience and persistence, but that person is out there.

The story again for anyone that doesn’t know: was trying to get top surgery years ago, kept getting coverage denied, insurance kept suggesting surgeons that had no history of performing ts (one of them was reviewed to have left surgical instruments inside of patients Yikes). One surgeon said I had to wait 9 months for a paid consultation just to answer if she had experience with the procedure, and that was my last straw, I was done being messed about. Called up my insurance, a lady picked up, I vented what had been happening for the last 4 years at the time, I didn’t know what else to do, but she listened. When I told her the latest incident, she suddenly dropped the customer service act and said, “Hold up, they said what?” and so I told her again. She was in disbelief. There was a long pause and she asked if she could put me on hold. About 30-40 minutes go by, I’m waiting, I’ve nothing left to lose. Finally she gets back on the line and apologies for keeping me so long. She says she manually combed the computer database for surgeons offering gender affirming services and found no one… so she said she and the others in the office went and physically hand searched several filing cabinets for a surgeon. She said, “I think we found you someone, he’s in network, he studied at Harvard, he’s a member of a trans health board. We don’t know why he wasn’t in our computer system, but he’s approved,” and gave me his details. I thanked her earnestly for what she went out of her way to do, and she said something I’ll never forget. “You know, I have a son your age. And if he was going through this, I would want him to get the help he needs.” Who knows how long that file had been buried unnoticed in that cabinet or how many more automated denials it would’ve taken for me to leave this world early, but her empathy saved my ass because when she heard me struggling, she thought of her son. Insurance companies are designed to treat everyone like numbers, strangers, or in my case “freaks”. But to her, it was like her child calling her and asking for help. And yeah I’m alive because of her

#I wish I knew who she was #hope she lives forever #asks

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lieutenantbatshit · 3 days ago

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CHAPTER 11 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

previous chapter | next chapter

——

The tension in the dormitory hung like a thick fog, pressing down on your lungs as the fight between the X and O players seemed to calm down, with each player going back to their side. The air smelled of damp wood and sweat, but something else lingered beneath it — an undercurrent of unease.

Beside you, In-ho finished the last bite of his gimbap and stood up, putting the fork in his pocket and brushed his hands off on his pants. He was about to take on step forward when you reached for his wrist, your fingers wrapping around his pulse. His gaze flickered down to where you touched him.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” he replied smoothly, but there was something off about the way he said it. It seemed too casual, too detached.

You frowned, tightening your hold. “Wait. Just stay a second.”

In-ho sighed through his nose, seemingly impatient. “Why?”

“You owe me something.”

In-ho turned his gaze to you, his expression calm, but a question was evident in his face. Something gnawed at the back of your mind, an instinct you couldn’t name. You remembered In-ho wanting to tell you something after you vote. In-ho exhaled sharply, a short, amused breath, but he continued to look at you. Your hand was still on his wrist, and though he could have pulled away, he didn’t.

He studied you for a moment before exhaling, and to your surprise, he sat back down. His eyes, usually so guarded, were unreadable as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Then, his next words shifted the air entirely.

“I won the games in 2015.”

You felt your breath hitched.

“I didn’t enter out of curiosity like you. I needed the money. I had nothing.” In-ho’s voice was low, controlled. But underneath it, there was something at it. Something bitter. “It’s for my wife. She was sick… and pregnant. I did everything to try and save her, but they misinterpreted it as a bribe, and so I was out of the force. The hospital bills were growing and growing each day. She...” He paused for a moment but continued. “She was struggling. I was, too. Then, I was handed a card. I accepted it knowing I could win the prize money. I did everything to survive, just so I could go back to her.”

Your chest tightened.

“I won. But when I got home, she was already gone. Already wrapped under a body bag.”

You stayed silent, seeing a tear forming in the corner of his eye. He was holding them back. You almost motioned to touch his face, but then, he continued.

“The moment I walked out of here, I realized what kind of person I became. What I had to do to survive. I saw what these games really are, how people turn when there’s nothing left but desperation.” His lips curled, almost in disgust. “And I realized I was no different. I thought winning would fix everything. But it didn’t.”

Your fingers curled into his palm, gripping it tighter. Then, he held yours back.

“I walked out of here with more money than I could ever spend, and yet… I lost more than I gained,” his jaw tightened. “People think money changes everything. Maybe it does, but it doesn’t bring back what you sacrificed to get it.”

The weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, he was letting you see something raw. It was like you were talking to the In-ho you once knew years ago. And yet, there were still things he wasn’t saying. There were pieces he was deliberately leaving out.

“So why are you here again?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I wanted to see if people ever change,” he murmured. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the players. Or himself.

Or you.

The sound of a distant scream shattered the moment. Your head snapped toward the source — the bathroom. Another noise followed, a sharp crack of panicked shots.

If you hadn’t stopped In-ho, if he had left just a second earlier, he would’ve been in there. His gaze flickered back to you, something unspoken passing between you both.

“That was close,” you muttered.

In-ho’s lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something. But then he shook his head. “Lucky me, I guess.”

But you both knew luck had nothing to do with it.

“The following players have been eliminated. Players 230, 268, 299, 331, and 401. End of the list.”

Your posture straightened up upon hearing the announcement. How can these players be eliminated in such a short time? There were no games in play.

Everyone in the dormitory tensed up, clearly shocked by what was announced. You felt the ceiling rumble, the piggy bank showing at the top as more money plopped inside, the TV turning on accounting the accumulated prize money for each player and the total prize. In front of you, Gi-hun stood up, his face focused on the piggy bank at the top.

“What’s going on?” Jung-bae turned to your group and asked.

You all heard the doors open, seeing players drenched with blood all over their clothes, faces, and bodies. It seemed as they just got out from a massacre - a bloody one, indeed.

“Listen, Team O!” Player 124 ran in the middle, his face with patches of blood and his tracksuit number with blood as well. “When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us!” He yelled. “They killed some of us, including my friend—“

“Bullshit,” Player 047 interrupted. “You’re the ones who started it. They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

“Hey!” Player 192 called out. “You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!”

“Fuck you. You killed some of us too,” Player 145 retorted. “Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?”

“So, which side lost more people?” Player 100 asked out loud. In just a few minutes, each X and O players grouped each on their sides, counting themselves.

You and the X players grouped in the staircase in the corner, with Player 047 counting each of you. You continued to study the crowd, seeing the O players doing the same on the other side. The tension was palpable. You found yourself shaking a bit, but In-ho held your hand, trying to make you at ease.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said in a whisper, but enough for the X crowd to hear.

“Two out of five. That means they lost three people,” you said, remembering the number of players who recently died.

“Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow,” Player 380 murmured, earning a nod from each X player.

As if a thought snapped in Jung-bae’s mind, he hurriedly whispered loud enough for you and everyone else to hear. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote!”

You noticed Gi-hun’s face focused on the O crowd as if he was trying to anticipate their next move. His eyebrows were furrowed together, his eyes almost a glare.

“Attention, please,” the speaker announced, breaking the thoughts away from your mind. “Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up, eyeing each and one of you, the desperation evident in his face. “Listen. You cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. All right?”

Each X player nodded while you only stared at Player 047. At least, in this way, you still saw the goodness in this place. There were still some other people who were desperate to get out of the place and be satisfied with the accumulated prize money.

You can’t help but feel unease. You were so sure that the O players would attack during lights out, seeing them eyeing the X crowd multiple times and pointing their fingers. As the other X players start to return to their beds, Gi-hun motioned a small wave for you and your group. You and the others followed, though your group wasn’t only limited now to In-ho, Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Jun-hee. Hyun-ju’s group also tagged along, with Gyeong-seok becoming a part of it. You gave Gyeong-seok a small nod, giving a small, quiet recognition to welcome him in the group.

Together, you all formed a circle. Dae-ho turned around to look at the O crowd, then turned back to your group. “It looks like they’re up to something.”

Jung-bae scoffed. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it will all be over.”

“You think we’ll be okay?” Dae-ho asked worriedly. You gave him a small pat on his back to comfort him somehow. He gave you a small smile, but his eyes still had a hint of worry. “They said things were really scary in the bathroom earlier.”

A brief silence filled your group, weighing Dae-ho’s words. But then, Gi-hun’s voice cut out the tension as he stared into space, his eyes determined while his eyebrows were furrowed. “Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us.”

“Really?” Yong-sik’s eyes widened.

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

“So what do we do?”

“Let’s attack them first,” In-ho replied, much too quickly, earning a glance from Gi-hun who seemed to be taken aback by his words. “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

“That’s right. It would be better to attack them first,” Player 047 agreed, then eyed you, Geum-ja, and Jun-hee. “We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

“We can’t do that,” Gi-hun replied, his voice with diction as the words left his mouth.

“But we have to get out of here,” you retorted, though your voice calm despite the incoming chaos you could predict. “You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

“That doesn’t mean we should kill each other,” Gi-hun explained, his voice reeking out of desperation. “That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

“They?” Jung-bae asked.

Gi-hun paused for a moment, clearing his throat before continuing. “Those who created the game. Those who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

“Where are they?” Dae-ho asked.

Gi-hun slowly looked up at the ceiling, as the others followed. You almost did, but then you notice In-ho looking at Gi-hun more than he should, though his expression was unreadable yet… too calm. He sat across from you, one arm draped over his knee, the other resting loosely at his side. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the minute tension in his posture, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly, like a subconscious tell. His gaze, dark and piercing, remained locked onto Gi-hun.

And suddenly, it all clicked.

Gi-hun kept speaking, laying out his plan, but his words blurred in the background as your mind reeled.

“I have a foresight.”

In-ho’s words echoed to your mind. He anticipated things before they even happened, maneuvering like a man who had already played this game before. You remembered his words, the way he hinted at his understanding of the games — too precise, too calculated.

“Has anyone ever played before?” You murmured, interrupting Gi-hun, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gi-hun blinked. “What?”

“You survived the last game,” you continued, staring at him. “Did you ever feel like… someone already knew how it would all play out?”

“Yeah, there was this old man,” Gi-hun’s voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “Oh Il-nam. He was with us from the start. Turns out he was the creator of the games.”

You tilted your head. “What happened to him?”

Gi-hun exhaled as his hands twitched against his knee, as if the memory physically lingered there. “He died three years after I won.”

You swallowed hard. Slowly, you turned to In-ho, your gaze locking onto his. His mask didn’t crack, but his eyes told another story. His expression was still unreadable, but something in his gaze shifted — the slightest trace of amusement, of challenge.

He knew what you were asking. And he was waiting for you to piece it together.

“The man in the black mask is their leader,” Gi-hun continued. “Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

You heard Jung-bae sigh, who was seated beside Gi-hun. But then, In-ho replied, his gaze locked onto Gi-hun, his expression cold as his voice remained low, as if he was calculating something. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

“We’ll fight them with guns too,” Gi-hun answered, the determination in his voice was evident.

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

“We’ll take their guns.”

“From those masked men?” Gyeong-seok asked in surprise.

Gi-hun nodded, which earned a worried sigh from Jung-bae.

“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho said. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

“What then?” Gi-hun retorted. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?” He eyed each one of you in the group, then eyed In-ho. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

You almost forgot that they all knew him as Young-il. Silence fell into your group, the uncertainty of surviving in this place crashing on to the air.

“Do we… stand a chance?” Hyun-ju asked, her voice with a hint of worry.

“We do if we catch them off guard,” Gi-hun replied. “Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“Don’t you think it’s too… ambitious?” You asked, feeling each eyes of your group turn to you.

“If you don’t want to join the fight, then don’t,” Player 047 said, looking at you in disbelief.

“All I’m saying is, we’re not sure if we can survive. The stakes are getting higher. Wouldn’t it be more dangerous if we bust our way out there and fight all of them, including this captain with a black mask?” You explained, giving Player 047 a slight glare before turning to the rest of the group. “It’s not about me not wanting to join the fight. It’s about being cautious about whatever danger we may encounter. I’m not opposed to the idea.”

Gi-hun nodded, taking in your words. His lips parted slightly as if to say something, but In-ho quickly spoke. “How are you going to take their guns?”

“Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance,” Gi-hun said surely. Then his voice became low, but still enough for your group to hear. “Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends. Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

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

“I know,” Gi-hun said. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

“Are you suggesting that we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?” In-ho asked, though his eyes were still unreadable, but his voice was calm yet there was a hint of amusement in it. You could his lips twitch almost to a smirk, but it seemed as though he was holding it back.

Gi-hun paused for a moment, his expression falling upon the realization of the so-called sacrifice. “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. “A small sacrifice?” You said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Gi-hun’s expression hardened. “If we don’t do something, we’ll all be wiped out. You know that.”

Your breath came slow, controlled, but the words scraped against something deep inside you. “Victory at the expense of others is no victory at all, Gi-hun.”

Silence gripped the group. The air was thick with unspoken fears, the scent of sweat and tension suffocating. Your fingers curled into a fist as you and Gi-hun stared at each other, waiting for each of you to speak.

Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. I do. But this isn’t about just one person. If we don’t act now, we’ll all end up—“

“Dead?” You challenged. “And you didn’t think sacrificing someone will stop that from happening?”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply. “This isn’t about being selfish. It’s about surviving long enough to end this damn game.”

Your jaw clenched, but before you could respond, in your peripheral vision, you could see In-ho shift.

“She’s right,” he said, finally speaking. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “You talk about sacrifice as if it’s a simple thing. But once you deicde someone else’s life is worth less than yours, you stop being different from the people who put us in here.”

The words sent a chill down your spine as you looked at In-ho, realizing he was already looking at you, locking your gazes.

Gi-hun shook his head. “So what, then? We do nothing?”

“No,” In-ho murmured. “We do it without becoming the monsters they want us to be.”

And though his words aligned with yours, you weren’t sure anymore if they came from the same place. Because as much as you knew him, as much as he was once your childhood best friend — the one who promised to always protect you — you weren’t sure anymore if he was protecting you.

Or if he was simply playing a different game entirely.

——

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

The dormitory was quieter than usual, a deceptive calm settling over the room as the players settled in for the night. The dim lighting flickered against the cold metal walls, casting long shadows over the endless rows of bunk beds. Some players lay with their backs to the world, others murmured in hushed voices, exchanging anxious theories about the next game.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

You sat on the lower bunk, fingers running absentmindedly over the thin blanket draped over your legs. Beside your bed was In-ho’s, who was leaning against the bedframe, his arms crossed in that ever-relaxed posture of his. But you could that his eyes were sharper than usual, tracking the other players’ movement, scanning the room with quiet precision.

“Something’s going to happen,” you muttered under your breath.

He hummed, barely a nod, but you caught the way his fingers flexed against his bicep.

Four.

Three.

Two.

The tension in the room felt like a rubber band stretched too thin. Then, you heard footsteps in the middle, the light shining on Player 124’s face with a fork in hand.

One.

And then, all hell broke loose.

Someone on the upper bunk near the doors screamed. Metal clanged against metal as a bunk collapsed under struggling bodies. A body slammed into the floor near you with a sickening thud. The room erupted into chaos as players lunged at each other, driven by desperation and paranoia. X and O no longer mattered — everyone was a threat.

“Under the bed. Now.” In-ho’s voice was low, yet urgent.

You didn’t hesitate.

The moment your back hit the cold ground, In-ho followed, pressing close as he pulled the thin mattress down just enough to shield you both from the view. The noise around you grew unbearable — the shouts, the sharp, wet sounds of bodies hitting the ground, and the suffocating smell of sweat and iron.

Your breaths were shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. The space under the bed felt too small, too suffocating. You could see movement — feet darting past, shadows shifting violently in the flickering light.

Then, you felt warm fingers brushed against your wrist.

You startled, turning to look at In-ho. His face was closer than you expected, his eyes dark but steady. His hand found yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your palm.

“Breathe,” he murmured, so soft you barely heard it over the chaos. “You’re safe.”

Safe. The word felt too foreign here, in a place where safety was nothing more than an illusion. But still, his touch was grounding, his presence a steady force amid the madness.

The chaos outside your hiding spot hadn’t lessened, but for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just you and In-ho. His grip on your hand remained firm, grounding you in a reality that should have been terrifying — but somehow, wasn’t.

Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he moved. His hands slipped from yours only to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards him. And then, his lips found yours.

A kiss in the middle of a massacre. The softness of his lips against yours clashed cruelly with the violent screams and death rattles surrounding you. It was wrong, so reckless. But damn, you enjoyed it.

The heat surged through you, an intoxicating contract to the blood-stained air. His touch was commanding, his fingers pressing just enough to make you feel it — to make you remember this moment even as the world fell apart. And maybe that was the irony of it all. That you could find something so addicting, so devastatingly good, while people were tearing each other apart.

But the moment shattered in an instant as you felt a hand yanked you backward, ripping you away from In-ho’s hand as he screamed, “No!”

Your body slid out from under the bunk, seeing an O player on top of you.

It was Player 192. His grip on you was bruising, his breath reeking of desperation as he sneered down at you. “Didn’t know whores could get into this place,” he snarled, tightening his grip around your throat. “Let’s see how tough you really are without him.”

Your nails clawed at his wrists, panic rising like bile. The edges of your vision blurred as he raised his fork. You closed your eyes, ready for the impact.

Then, you heard a crack. A familiar one, to be exact.

Player 192’s body jerked violently before collapsing lifelessly beside you. Your own breath was ragged as you struggled to push yourself up, barely able to comprehend what just happened.

In-ho stood over you, his expression softening this time as he looked at you. The sharp rise and fall of his chest betrayed the fury simmering beneath the surface. The bloodied weapon in his hand dripped onto the cold floor, his fingers gripping it so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

He crouched beside you, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away a streak of blood that wasn’t yours. “Are you hurt?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head.

In-ho exhaled sharply, then leaned in, his lips ghosting against your ear. “No one touches you. Ever. Remember that.”

He didn’t waste another second as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward the shadows, the urgency tightening his grip. Your breath was still uneven, the ghost of the O player’s attack lingering in your bones. The moment your bodies disappeared for everyone to see, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I’m never letting you go again, Y/N.”

You could feel the heat of his breath against your temple, his chest rising and falling in steady contrast to your own erratic breathing. His scent, faint traces of sweat, blood, and something unmistakably him, wrapped around as if it were a second skin.

The chaos was still raging. Metal clashed against metal, bodies smalled into beds, and desperate cries filled the air. The dormitory had become a warzone, a battleground fueled by greed and fear.

In-ho’s fingers traced slow, grounding circles against your arm, a silent reassurance that you were still here… and alive. “Stay close,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the madness. “We move once the guards step in.”

You nodded, gripping onto his sleeve like a lifeline. The minutes passed like hours. The sounds of violence started to blur together, each screeam and crash dulling into a single, ceaseless noise. Your body was stiff, adrenaline still coiling tight in your muscles.

Then, a loud, blaring alarm erupted in the air. The lights turned on, hearing more footsteps. The guards had arrived.

In-ho’s fingers tightened around yours. As the guards’ booths thundered into the room, you and In-ho prepared to slip out unnoticed, ready to face whatever came next.

The surviving players scrambled back to their bunks, some collapsing from exhaustion, others from injuries to severe to ignore. The guards moved in, their rifles raised, their heavy boots pounding against the bloodstained floor.

In-ho gave you a look, then in a seamless motion, he pulled you down, pressing your body against the cold floor beside the fallen. His hand slid over yours, smearing the warm blood from the O player he had killed onto your skin. The metallic scent stung your nose, but you didn’t flinch.

You both lay still, bodies limp among the corpses, eyes fluttering shut as the guards stepped closer. Every breath you took was shallow, controlled, listening for the precise moment.

One guard crouched near In-ho, nudging a lifeless body beside him with the barrel of his rifle. Another did the same near you, muttering something about cleaning up the mess.

The guard turned away, but In-ho struck first. In one swift motion, he rolled up, seizing the rifle from the nearest guard before slamming the butt of it onto his head. The guard crumpled instantly.

You weren’t far behind. With adrenaline firing through your veins, you lunged, grabbing the other guard’s wrist before he could react. His weapon clattered to the floor as you twisted his arm, forcing him down with a brutal precision that left no room for error. A quick, decisive blow to his temple, and he, too, was out cold.

The room fell into a brief, stunned silence. Then, a shot rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

It wasn’t yours, nor was it In-ho’s.

Players who had been waiting for the right moment, who had seen what you and In-ho had done, began to move. You saw Gi-hun, Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, Jung-bae, and Daeo-ho wrestle the weapons from the fallen guards, others tackled those still standing.

In-ho turned to you, his chest rising and falling with exhilaration, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Stay close to me,” he murmured, his voice cutting through the madness.

With rifles in hand, you charged into the chaos together.

Another chaos ignited like a match to gasoline. The screams overlapped with gunfire, bodies clashed in frantic desperation, and the metallic scent of blood thickened in the air. From across the room, Gi-hun’s sharp eyes locked onto yours, then flickered to In-ho. There was no time for questions, no time for hesitation. With a decisive nod, he started shooting the other guards.

You lifted your stolen rifle, your pulse steady despite the storm raging around you. In-ho was already ahead, moving like he had done this a thousand times before. As the guards escaped on the other side of the room, the square-masked guard was left out in the open, trapped inside the dormitory.

“Stop! Hold fire!” Gi-hun yelled, his rifle pointed to the square-masked guard. You and the others with the rifles motioned in the middle, pointing your guns to the guard. “Everyone, hold fire!”

Jung-bae ran towards the guard, pointing the end of his gun to the guard. “Hands above your head!” The guard followed reluctantly. “On your knees!”

“You goddamn bastards!” You heard someone shout from behind you. You saw Player 047 aiming his gun towards the O players.

Just as you were about to step in, Gi-hun ran and held Player 047’s rifle down. “No!”

“Move!” Player 047 yelled. “Do you not see this?” He pointed to the dead bodies on the floor. “They are not human. They’re like goddamn vermin blinded by money!” He proceeded to aim his gun again, but Gi-hun held it down once more.

“This is not what we took these guns for,” Gi-hun said, gritting his teeth. “If we do this, we’ll be no different from those masked men.”

Player 047’s breath trembled, his body shaking as he fought the urge to aim his gun once again to the O players. Gi-hun’s back was turned to the O players behind him, which turned out to be a big mistake for him.

Player 336 tackled him to the ground, wrapping his hands around Gi-hun’s throat, squeezing as Gi-hun’s legs kicked out, his face turning a sickening shade of red. His fingers clawed uselessly at the man’s arms, eyes wild with panic. He tried to reach for his gun as Player 047 stared in horror, startled at the sight.

Your body moved before you could think. Raising your rifle, you took a step forward and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out loud and final. Player 336’s body went limp, collapsing over Gi-hun before rolling off. He gasped for breath, coughing as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His eyes darted to you, a mixture of relief and something unspoken flashing across his face.

You offered your hand as he took it, gripping tight as you helped him to his feet. You gave each other a nod, a silent acknowledgment of saving his life. Before Gi-hun could say something, In-ho approached you, stepping into your space, his hand instinctively finding your arm. His touch was firm and grounding. But when you met his gaze, there was something else in his eyes.

“You seem eager to play the hero,” In-ho muttered, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. There was a tightness in it, a rough edge that wasn’t entirely from the chaos around you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I let him die?”

His fingers curled slightly against your arm before he let go. “I’d rather you stop putting yourself at risk for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.”

You exhaled sharply, but before you could snap back, Gi-hun had already moved on, recruiting players who had been too scared to fight before. His voice carried over the dormitory, rallying them with the promise of survival.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

In-ho’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes, dark and intense, never wavered from yours. “No,” he admitted. “But I know you. You’re getting too involved.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “And you’re jealous.”

You noticed a muscle in his jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, his hand brushed against yours, fleeting but deliberate. As if it was a reminder or somewhat a warning.

“Everyone!” Gi-hun called out, as the players continued to place more rifles and ammos in the middle of the room, stealing each from the guard’s uniforms. “We will now head up to the masked men’s headquarters. We’ll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to this game, and make them pay,” he paused for a moment as he lifted the rifle on his hand up in the air. “Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward.”

You gripped your hand tighter to your rifle, seeing the players hesitate to come forward. But then, Jung-bae moved and stepped forward. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive,” he said. “Fight with us so we can go home together. All together.”

One by one, players motioned to walk towards you, grabbing rifles from the ground. Most of them came from the X crowd.

“Let’s take one radio each. We’ll use channel 7, the lucky number.”

You grabbed a radio from a fallen guard, following Jung-bae’s instruction. You proceeded to check your gun, checking its ammo. You grabbed more from the ground, placing it on your pocket. Then, you felt someone’s presence beside you. You looked up and saw Gi-hun, the hesitation evident in his face but looked at you.

“Thank you for earlier,” Gi-hun spoke, his voice low. He gave you a small smile and a nod.

You nodded back, loading your gun with an ammo. “You can but me soju when we get out.”

Gi-hun chuckled softly, nodding his head. A fleeting moment of recognition passed between you and him, somewhat like an understanding that for now, you were on the same side. But in your peripheral vision, In-ho didn’t seem to look amused. Yet somehow, you enjoyed seeing him this way, the irony of playing a game inside a game.

Hyun-ju proceeded to teach you and the others how to properly operate the rifle, later revealing that she was part of the ROK Special Forces as a sergeant first class. You awed in admiration. You proceeded to set your rifle to single-fire mode.

You heard a gun cock near your side, seeing the guard on his knees with hands over his head as Gi-hun aimed a rifle at him. “Take it off.”

The guard followed reluctantly, taking off his mask — only to reveal a young, teenage boy.

“Good God,” Jung-bae gasped. “Do your parents know what you’re doing here?”

“Take us to your captain,” Gi-hun said coldly, as the young boy nodded. He dragged the young boy down to the door, shooting the glass window as he peered his arm down, unlocking the door.

You and the others followed as the young boy led the way. You were behind In-ho, his back turned from you though his posture was composed. You gripped your rifle tighter as you exited the dormitory, your heart racing knowing you were about to participate in the rebellion, with no certainty of survival.

You all proceeded to walk towards the labyrinth of stairs, the colorful environment enveloping waiting for chaos to erupt. After a series of turning lefts and rights, Gi-hun grunted, grabbing the young boy’s hood. “How much farther?” He grabbed to face him when he didn’t speak, a gun still pointed to his head. “Is this the right way?”

The young boy’s body was shaking as he pointed his finger behind him. “The entrance to the management area is around that corner. The control room is right above it,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Move it, then,” Gi-hun pressed.

“Wait,” the young boy said as he motioned his hand to his pocket, only for his hand to be grabbed by Gi-hun.

“What are you doing?”

“I need my mask to pass security,” the young boy’s eyes widened as the end of Gi-hun’s gun was already aimed at his forehead between his eyes. Gi-hun relunctantly removes his hand from the boy.

As the young boy glances up, you notice his shoulders stiffened at the sight of someone behind Gi-hun, which was In-ho. It wasn’t the stance of a seasoned enforcer. It was hesitant and uncertain. He was clearly shocked but at the same… terrified.

Something twisted in your gut as you looked at In-ho, expecting confusion, maybe even a demand for answers. But he wasn’t surprised nor alarmed. In fact, he just… stared.

Your grip on your gun tightened as your mind raced, piecing things together, little by little. The foresight. The calculated steps. The way he always seemed to anticipate what was coming.

Gi-hun’s voice from earlier echoed in your mind. His recollection of a former player who turns out to be a part of the games, Oh Il-nam. And now, this.

The young guard who was too young to be here, and too familiar with In-ho. Your pulse pounded as you turned to In-ho, searching for an explanation, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes remained on the boy, and for a split second, you saw something there.

Some kind of recognition. Not surprise nor fear. Just… recognition.

A chill crawled down your spine. Your fingers curled tighter around your gun, your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

But then, the young boy’s body fell from the ground, much to your surprise. Gunfire and chaos echoed through the corridors as the rebellion pushed forward, sweeping through the facility like a storm that couldn’t be contained. In-ho immediately turned to you and pulled you down, pressing you against the wall as you dodged.

There was no time to think. You felt In-ho’s body pressed against yours as he shot the guards out by the corridor. He bent down and hid behind the wall beside you, reloading his ammo. You took it as a signal to shoot as you and In-ho exchange shifts, shooting each guard one by one.

——

previous chapter | next chapter

A/N: I got the next chapter ready already! Hahaha it was supposed to be a really long chapter but I decided to cut it from here instead. I'm so excited about the next chapters as they would rely solely on my imagination on the aftermath of Squid Game. I'm aiming to upload two chapters today so y'all better wait for that 👀 Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

#hwang in ho #lee byung hun #player 001 #squid game #the front man #oh young il #squid game netflix #001 squid game #001 #squid game season 2 #in ho x reader #hwang inho #in ho #frontman x reader #frontman x you #inho x reader #inho x you #hwang inho x reader

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artist-issues · 2 days ago

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I accidentally came across this while I was scrolling through the Star Wars tag

And I just thought how the hell you miss the point of the film so badly?!

Like I really hope this is some really unfunny joke or something. I saved loads of drafts trying to find ways to argue this point but in the end I just couldn’t be bothered wasting my time and deleted them. Chances are I’d be arguing with a brick wall and I don’t have the energy for that. So here I’m giving it to you to get your teeth into if you want

Well. I can/t see who posted it so they can’t defend their position, which I generally frown upon. But just to argue with the idea, not the person:

It sounds like this is the kind of post that’s made from the perspective of somebody who believes just punishment is the highest form of Good that can undo the effects of Bad. When actually, redemption is the highest form of Good that can undo the effects of Bad. Just punishment is just the next-best thing when redemption and forgiveness is impossible.

But here’s the thing—the only way a person can be redeemed is through the forgiveness of the party that has been wronged. And the only person who has a right to demand justice for wrongdoing is the person who, innocent themselves, was wronged.

Luke was uniquely situated to refuse to execute justice on Vader—because he’s his son. If anyone left alive by the end of Episode VI has suffered because of everything Anakin’s done as Vader, it’s Luke.

Orphaned not once, not even twice, but three times if you count the death of Obi Wan.

Homeless.

Separated from his only remaining family for their entire childhood.

His only friends and family have been tormented and endangered since the moment he met them.

He has been tormented and maimed.

The entire legacy he should have inherited, with all the advantages of teachers and learning in safety, are gone.

The whole world he’s growing up in has been shaped by fear from the literal moment of his own birth onward.

…And because of his heritage, he’s got the weight of the responsibility for the fate of the already-basically-ruined galaxy on his shoulders.

So if anyone’s got the right to judge Anakin for his choices, if anyone has the authority morally and legally to “press charges,” it’s Luke. The only person with more claim to that right would be Leia.

The fact that he chooses not to “press charges,” not to avenge, is the whole point of the series, like you said. Luke had the ability and the right to take control of the situation and choose how it ended. That would’ve given him total certainty about the end result. An illusion of “safety-at-last.”

But that’s the whole point of his character. To have the farm boy who’s always rushing off to the horizon and reaching to do more Do More DO MORE—STOP? And put his faith in something other than his own abilities? Give up his control of the situation, with a line that literally references who his father was?

And who was his father? Anakin Skywalker, a young hero who could never stop trying to control outcomes and bring about “certainty” through his own power!

To have Luke Skywalker extend mercy by throwing away control…to the same father who never could make the same choice when it was his time to be the hero?

Master-stroke of storytelling. But even more than that, it’s true. The person who made this comment needs to read A Tale of Two Cities. Or Genesis.

Punishing someone who has done so much wrong that they can never make it right again is justice, and it is good. But having the authority to make that call because you’re the one injured, and choosing to extend forgiveness and open the road to a clean slate for the offender, instead? That’s better.

It’s better because to make that decision heals. Luke can move on from the limb he’ll never grow back and the mom he never met and the aunt, uncle, and masters he’ll never see again. He can do that—it doesn’t have to be a scar on the tissue of his life. Because the way the “case file” of his “wrongs” ended was “I choose not to hold onto that hurt or press charges. I choose to let it go.” And therefore it can no longer hurt him.

Unlike the ravening packs in the French Revolution who wound up killing rich women and children who’d never personally hurt them because once you start deciding that vengeance or not even vengeance but “retributive justice” is the only thing that end your pain, the more the idea of “retributive justice” gets addictive. It promises to heal the hurt but all it really does is narrow your focus onto the hurt until you can’t even see the humans you’re hurting.

Anyway.

Besides, justice was still served. The Emperor was still defeated. The Empire was toppled. And Anakin, whose wrongdoings had already been manifesting punishment in his body and mind and spirit for years, also paid the ultimate price for everything he’d ever done. The truth is, (and Star Wars supports this) Anakin created his own punishment.

Padme died because he chose power over her, and his punishment was to live without her in the knowledge that he killed her. Can you imagine worse punishment for him?

Obi-Wan was Anakin’s longest and oldest friend, who loved and stood by him for most of his life, and he lost not only that friendship, but the trust and camaraderie and even respect of that relationship. And what did it get replaced with? Nothing. Emptiness.

The Jedi Council are gone, and in their place in Anakin’s life going forward? A sadistic old crone who is actively trying to get Vader’s son to kill him despite all his years of loyalty, and flunkies Vader can choke to death. No community.

Plus, he’s in a living nightmare prison of machinery and deformity for twenty years. What exactly could Luke do to him that would’ve been a more satisfying punishment?

This person seems to be making the comment out of a misguided sense of loss of characters like Padme, and suffering to characters like Obi Wan. I don’t think they’re taking the story as a whole. I think they really liked the world of the Prequels and really felt the tragedy of losing that version of the world. That’s my take.

#Anakin Skywalker #Luke Skywalker #justice #Star Wars #storytelling #asked #answered #writing #analysis #meta

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pneumaticshift · 1 day ago

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pls can we have batlantern confession butmake it cringe ^..^

Oh buddy, I can do cringe. I thrive off cringe. I am the cringe.

———

The annoying thing about Spooky was that he existed.

That was the core issue, really. Bruce Wayne existed. If he didn’t, Hal’s life would’ve been a helluva lot simpler.

Because if Bruce didn’t exist, Hal wouldn’t have to deal with the constant feeling of being outplayed. He wouldn’t have to put up with the fact that no matter what he did, no matter how far he flew, how hard he hit or how clever he was, there would always be this blob of blackness lurking in the background to aggressively judge his every mood.

If Bruce didn’t exist, Hal wouldn’t have to deal with that look. The one where Spooky narrowed his eyes, pressed his lips into that grim, disappointed line, and somehow managed to communicate all the power of justice, vengeance, and at least forty years of unresolved emotional baggage in a single glance. He wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that Bruce could vanish mid-conversation just to be dramatic. He wouldn’t have to deal with the way Bruce always seemed to know things, things Hal hadn’t even figured out about himself yet.

If Bruce Wayne didn’t exist, Hal wouldn’t be freaking out because he fell in love entirely without his consent.

And now he was existing in proximity. Standing in the Watchtower common room, pouring himself a cup of coffee like it was normal, like he was normal. Like he was just some guy. Entirely unforgiving of the fact that Hal realised he had fallen in love with him three days prior and was now suffering the beginnings of a really fun existential crisis because of it.

Because Hal was Hal and because he couldn’t be normal about anything, as soon as Bruce glided into the room, all tucked up in his big dumb cape, he froze. Odocoileus virginianus. Wide eyes, locked joints, brain empty, headlights on. His entire life flashing before his eyes. Not even the good parts. The stupid parts where he tripped on air, or the time he gave a presentation in college with his fly undone and he had been wearing his girlfriend’s underwear.

He was being dramatic, maybe, but he thought he earned the right to be dramatic when the object of his very reluctant affections was the type to unironically wear a cape and flounce about punching things in the moonlight.

It was, however, a wildly ineffective reaction when faced with a man who was widely considered to be the World’s Greatest Detective. Which, in Hal’s opinion, was a dumb title.

“You’re quiet,” Bruce said, because he noticed things like that. Of course he would. Bruce noticed everything. He probably had folders on everyone in the League and kept track of how many words each of them said in a day. Probably had charts and graphs, too. Loser.

“I’m quiet?” Hal repeated. Then, because he was the type to acknowledge an opportunity to make things worse for himself and leap towards it, he added, “I’m never quiet. You’re the quiet one, ever think about that? Can’t a guy take a second just to, like, sit here and exist? Is that really such a big deal?”

Spooky leaned against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. He was still wearing the cowl, but his expression probably wouldn’t have changed even without it. There was a really specific feeling that came with being stared at judgmentally by Batman. Usually irritation. Now, Hal realised, it was accompanied by a very unwelcome flip in his stomach.

“I suppose not,” Bruce said.

This was exactly why Hal had plans to avoid Bruce for the rest of his life. Or at least until he got a handle of this new light he was seeing him in. Without saying much of anything, Spooky was already on his way to backing Hal into a corner. It wasn’t even intentional. It was just the way he was. Just the way he goddamn existed.

So, after a moment of staring awkwardly at Bruce and hoping one of them would just disintegrate or something, Hal made the totally rational decision to bolt.

“Okay, great talk!” he announced, clapping his hands together and immediately heading for the door. Like a coward. He’d never live it down.

Bruce, to his credit, didn’t stop him. He just stood there, stock still. Creepy, really. Hal didn’t know why that did it for him, but it sure fucking did. But while Spooky didn’t move, he did decide to speak instead. “Jordan,” he called. “Are you trying to avoid me?”

Yes. Yes, Batman, Hal was definitely trying to do that. He was already committing to his hasty escape, but he automatically turned back. As much as he was being a little baby bitch and running away with his tail between his legs, he didn’t appreciate being called out on it.

His brain malfunctioned, he was pretty sure he temporarily lost his mind, and his mouth decided to betray him in real time.

“What? No. That would be insane. Why would I avoid you? I love you. Shit.”

The silence that followed wasn’t deafening, but it was mortifying.

Hal turned to stone. Just fully froze in place. Bruce didn’t react. Didn’t so much as blink. He just kept on looking at Hal with that same, neutral, horribly patient expression. Almost like he didn’t even need to react. Almost like he was just waiting to see what Hal would do next.

Which was unfortunate, because Hal really had no idea what to do next.

There was a full second where he debated trying to play it off. Slap him on the shoulder, haha, love you, pal, buddy, chum, friend, and then saunter off like he meant to do that. But his body had seized up in horror and his instincts were helpfully ordering him to abort.

So, naturally, he did the only thing he could do.

He turned on his heel and walked straight into the doorframe.

Which wasn’t cool. Like, at all.

The impact was pretty catastrophic. Both for his poor nose and his dignity. A sickening thud, the crunch of something not meant to be crunched, and then — oh. Oh no. That was a lot of blood.

Hal staggered back, hand flying to his nose, and when he pulled away, yeah. Absolutely wrecked. A flood was gushing down his face, dripping from his chin and mixing with the green of his Lantern suit until he was Christmas colours. He tried to catch it in his palm, and it stained the white of his glove red.

Spooky was still incapable of reacting like a normal person. He just watched in mild interest. No exclamation of shock, no gasp or startled movement. Just a slow blink, as if he were mentally processing the exact physics of how Hal had managed to do this to himself.

"Ow," Hal said belatedly, because his nerve endings had finally caught up to the disaster. "Shit, ow."

With a contemplative grunt, Bruce set his coffee down. That was when Hal knew he was doomed. Not because Spooky looked all that concerned, but because he was moving toward Hal with the quiet efficiency of a man about to take charge of the situation.

"Sit down," Bruce instructed, and Hal, in the midst of blood loss and panic, did exactly that.

The bat-utility belt had a lot of useful shit in it, and Bruce pulled out a wad of gauze to press against Hal’s tender face. "I think I broke my nose," Hal said, only because he felt the need to contribute something to the moment. It came out like ‘I thig I broge by dose’. Which was humiliating, naturally.

Bruce hummed, tilting Hal’s chin slightly to assess the damage. “It’s not broken.”

“Good. Great. Awesome,” Hal muttered into the gauze. “Did it look cool? It felt cool.”

Of course, Bruce didn’t reply for a moment. He was too busy applying pressure and ignoring how social interactions were supposed to go. Then, with absolutely no warning, he said, “You love me?”

Hal choked. Almost literally, because he inhaled wrong and the blood situation immediately got so much worse. Bruce just waited, patient as ever, as Hal just stared and bled in his direction. “You’re asking me that now?”

“You’re the one who said it.”

“I was panicking,” he snapped back, a little frantic. “It was trauma-induced. You can’t hold people accountable for things they say when they’re hemorrhaging.”

Bruce mercifully didn’t mention that Hal definitely wasn’t bleeding when he blurted out his fucking undying love for all things Spooky. He just held the towel firmly in place, gaze steady, unreadable, waiting for Hal to pull his head out of his ass.

And Hal, still actively leaking from the face, realised he was probably going to have to answer.

He did search for an escape route for all of three seconds, but there was none. Bruce had him locked in place with the sheer force of presence. One hand firm against Hal’s saw (strong, sexy), keeping the gauze in place like he knew Hal would try to run if given even a moment of leeway.

Which, you know, fair. Hal absolutely would have thrown himself out of the nearest airlock if he thought it would get him out of this conversation.

Instead, he was stuck. Bleeding, horrified, and, worst of all, subject to Bruce staring at him with the kind of scrutiny that peeled a person apart and rummaged around their insides for something raw and real to fall out. It was a small mercy that he couldn’t see those blue eyes. That would’ve finished him off.

Hal swallowed. His nose throbbed. His entire life throbbed.

“Okay, listen,” he started, fully prepared to embark on a desperate campaign of damage control, but he faltered.

“You love me.”

Not a question this time. A statement.

Hal made a noise that came out really ugly because of the whole nose situation. “You gotta stop saying it, man.”

Spooky continued to just look at him.

God, there was no getting out of this. There wasn’t even an inch of plausible deniability there to hide behind. Just him, his big dumb mouth, and Bruce Wayne looking at him like he was something to be figured out.

Fine, whatever. Hal had bounced back from worse things. This was mid-tier at best. Just mild, horrific, soul-crushing vulnerability. No big deal.

“I mean, yeah, obviously, I love you,” he grumbled, his words a little garbled because of all the blood and gauze. “You’re an asshole. I trust you. I wanna punch you. I respect you. And yeah, sometimes I wanna make out with you really bad, but that’s not weird because most people want to do that with you because you have, like, a really nice face, which is frankly unfair—”

“Hal.”

He shut his mouth immediately. He recognised that tone. Patient, firm, Batman tone. It had shut him up in a crisis before, and apparently, it worked on this kind of crisis too.

Bruce let the silence stretch for a moment. Probably because he was kind of a dick. Then, without preamble, he said, “I already knew.”

Hal could’ve strangled him. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”

“You’re not subtle.”

“I’ll give you subtle, you goddamn—”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“Honestly, I was banking on you respecting my privacy for once, but maybe I set the bar too high. I can’t believe you. You’re such a dick. Can’t let a guy pine in peace.”

Spooky shrugged. “I thought you’d eventually say something.”

“Buddy, you overestimated me so hard—”

“I was right.”

Hal groaned so hard his soul tried to escape his body. He also conveniently ignored how Batman was implying he had known for a long time, while Hal had only figured it out three days ago. That sucked. “Stop being so— so smug about it! God, you’re such a douche.”

Bruce, because he was the worst and Hal was apparently into that, had the audacity to smirk. Just slightly. Just enough for Hal to know it was there. And that right there was really playing dirty, because Hal was already compromised. His brain was melting, he was actively dying (having a nosebleed) and now Spooky was looking at him like that?

Unacceptable. Absolutely unfair.

But then Bruce did something worse. So much worse.

He reached up and tugged the cowl off.

It wasn’t just that Spooky was obscenely attractive under all the doom and gloom. It was the way he did it. Like he was peeling off a formality, stripping down from Batman to just Bruce. All casual, all intimate, and for some godforsaken reason, he’d decided to do it right in front of Hal.

And Hal, brilliant, composed, intergalactically renowned Green Lantern that he was, reacted by making a tiny distressed noise in the back of his throat.

"Okay!" he yelped, scrambling to stand. "Time to leave.”

Spooky exhaled something that might have been a laugh in the right light, and caught Hal’s elbow to steady him. “Sit down before you hurt yourself again.”

Hal grumbled under his breath but did as he was told. Mostly because his options were limited and he was pretty sure his blood supply was dangerously low at this point. Bruce unravelled a fresh roll of gauze to help soak up the blood that kept on coming.

And then, because if Hal hadn’t suffered enough, Bruce said in the most infuriatingly casual tone possible, “Let me know when you’re ready to talk about that ‘make out’ part.”

Hal promptly decided that bleeding out might actually be the preferable option.

#batlantern #request #sam writes #drabble #answered #i should be working on my other fic #but i like answering requests #and this was super fun to write

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sunflowersonatas · 1 day ago

Text

WITH ALL MY LOVE: ONESHOT

JAMES POTTER X F!READER / FLUFFFFFF, MINOR ANGST

summary: on a quiet Christmas Eve, old love letters resurface, revealing the unspoken words and unwavering devotion of years past. as memories unfold and long-hidden emotions come to light, a love story once written in ink is now fully realized in the warmth of the present.

a/n: omg guys i've been so creatively inspired recently idk what happened but i've been writing like crazy. had this idea today and once i started i couldn't stop. barely edited so no judgement okay. hope you enjoy, xoxo. sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 4075

With All My Love

It’s a cozy evening in Godric’s Hollow– only the gentle sounds of snowfall on Christmas Eve. Holiday lights are strung around the house, the tree shimmers with multicolored tinsel, littered with ornaments, big, small, sentimental. The year is 1987. The radio faintly plays Stevie Nicks, crooning Silent Night.

It’s incredibly peaceful.

Our toddler is cuddled up on my lap, still having trouble leaving the clingy stage, though I’m not complaining. Little Rosie is the best thing to ever happen to me. And to James, who sits next to me on the sofa, cradling our infant son in his arms, soothing him to sleep.

I take a moment to appreciate the look on his face as he gazes down at baby Oliver, taking a mental snapshot. He looks almost amazed, incredulous at the life we created. I still can’t believe it either, sometimes. And more than anything, the pure love in his gaze is so obvious it hurts.

Rosie, who I thought was asleep before, suddenly pipes up from my lap. “Mama?”

Her voice is so sweet, I melt every time she speaks. I wish for her to never lose that lovely lilt in her speech.

“Yes, baby?” I reply softly, a practiced response, given she asks about a thousand questions a day now.

“How did you and daddy fall in love?”

Me and James share a knowing, nearly mischievous glance— the kind of glance only parents know about.

This isn’t the first time she had asked this question— in fact, the story of how me and James met had quickly become a bedtime favorite for her. The words leaving my lips are rehearsed, precise, but they lose no trace of the loving, warm tone I always seem to gain when I speak about my husband.

“Well,” I croon to her, swaying her softly in my arms, “we went to school together, and we met when we were little, and even back then, I knew he liked me.” My eyes glimmer as I glance over to James, gauging his reaction.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he adds with a quiet chuckle, not wanting to disturb the baby. Every time I tell this story, he seems to add something new, some little detail he’d kept to himself all this time, that, if I had only known, would’ve made my heart swell.

“And then when we got older,” I continue to Rosie, who’s now tucked into the crook of my shoulder, clinging to me like an adorable, sleepy koala, “he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“And you said yes?” Rosie asks, as always.

“I did,” I nod, holding her head against me with one hand, glancing over to James again with a heartfelt expression.

“And then we fell in love,” I tell her earnestly, beginning to rock her gently again. “He would write me letters, follow me everywhere, do just about anything to earn my attention,” I go on in a soothing, motherly voice.

James seems to perk up when I mention the letters. Oliver fusses in his arms, and he begins to bounce him gently.

“You know what, baby?” He announces in a hushed voice.

“Yeah?” Me and Rosie both answer at once, the melodic blend of our voices sounding like a great symphony to James. His gaze softens as he looks down at Rosie, still sleepy in my embrace.

“I actually have some of those letters,” He reveals, as if it’s a key secret to the universe that he’s entrusting her to keep. “Would you like to see them? Mummy can read them to you,” He suggests gently, standing now, slowly as Oliver settles back comfortably into his father’s arms with a gurgle.

Rosie’s face lights up: “Really?” Well, in two-year-old speak, it’s more like Weawy?

I also look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “You do?” I ask curiously, eyes sparkling. “I didn’t know.”

“Got to keep an element of surprise, these days,” he replies quickly, not missing a beat. The look he gives me— it’s like we’re teleported back to seventh year, and he’s tugging me into a broom closet to snog all over again.

I hardly have a chance to reply before he’s setting off upstairs, to the nursery to put Oliver down, most likely. It was getting late for him anyway; though we wanted to celebrate the special holiday with him, and Rosie insisted on staying up as long as her little eyes would stay open, the baby’s sleep schedule had restraints.

I hear him shuffling things around in our bedroom for a moment, and then he returns, wearing a cheesy grin, no longer holding a baby, but a box. One I’ve seen before in our closet but never mentioned.

He sees my look and gives me a counter-look. “It’s my you box,” He explains, sitting down next to me and our daughter again, resting the box on his lap. He pops the lid off, and I see many things.

The items on top are more recent. A strip of photos from a photobooth at our wedding. A section of my veil that had torn off during the festivities; I thought it was lost. A ticket stub from the concert he dragged me to because he swore I’d love the band, even though I had never heard of them before that night.

A locket, one I remember giving him in seventh year once we were official. A tiny, folded note I had once slipped into his pocket before a Quidditch match, wishing him luck—the ink slightly smudged from his clammy hands clutching it too tightly. A page torn from his old school journal, one where he had written my name over and over again like a lovesick fool: overlapping and covering nearly every centimeter of the paper in ink.

Underneath this arrangement of items, taking up nearly half the box, is a thick stack of parchment. More than I expected. Some neatly folded, some stuffed into envelopes, some fraying at the edges as if handled too many times.

James reaches in and pulls one from the stack, thumbing over the worn parchment as if deciding whether or not this is the right one. After a moment, he nods to himself and hands it to me with a small smile.

“This one,” he murmurs. “Start with this one.”

3 June 1974

Two days. It’s only been two days, and I already hate it without you. I keep glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see you there, but you never are. I wish you were.

I don’t know what I’m trying to say, it’s just that I keep thinking of you. I wonder all the time what you’re doing without me. I probably sound like a clingy little shite right now, I probably won’t send this.

If I’m not going to send it, then I suppose I can be completely honest. I love you. I don’t know when I started loving you, I think I always have. Literally from the first day at Hogwarts, I was starstruck, I think you could tell.

You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. You still are. You’re even more beautiful now, if that’s possible. It still leaves me speechless sometimes when I look at you, I literally can’t formulate any other thoughts. I just see pretty.

Every time you open that pretty mouth, I’m compelled to listen. I’m drawn to your every word, love. I can’t get enough of you. It feels like a sickness. You’ve infected me. Why’d you do that?

Seriously, why? It’s causing a whole lot of trouble. We’re supposed to be friends, you’re friends with everyone else. But not with me, it’s always been different with me, we both know that. I’ve never thought of you as only a friend.

The love I carry for you is deep and unquenchable, believe me I’ve tried. I’ve tried to just ignore it, mash it down, not think about it or talk about it or waste any more energy trying to get your attention.

But I’m done with that. I love you and I can’t hold it in anymore.

Even though I’m not sending this letter, at least I wrote it out.

Happy Birthday, love. I’ll send you a card and a better letter in a few days.

Yours,

James

I was going to read the letter aloud for Rosie, but once I see the date, I stop. We were 14. I knew he had feelings for me for a while, but I’ve never really asked about specifics. He said since fourth year at least, and here he is in 1974, proclaiming his everlasting love for me.

My eyes carefully analyze every word, every detail: the loops of his handwriting, where the page is scratched like he was pressing too hard. Where there’s a blot on the page like he was holding his quill there for a long time, not knowing what to write. Where the letters are all connected suddenly, like the words just came flooding out of him.

When I’m done, I look back up at James with tears in my eyes. He freezes, stunned by my reaction.

“What does it say, mama?” Rosie chimes in, trying to climb me in an effort to read the letter herself, as if she could read it.

I hold the letter to my heart and cover my mouth with my other hand, so Rosie doesn’t see me sob.

James just leans forward and plucks her from my lap effortlessly, murmuring about bedtime. She resists, of course, and her complaints are heard all the way up the stairs. But she was sleepy, too, and so after a few minutes of listening to his hushed voice telling her goodnight, he comes back downstairs.

I’m still motionless on the couch, rereading every word he’d written to me.

“James—” My voice cracks. I try again. “James.”

“Don’t cry, love,” he answers with a chuckle, rushing back to the couch to take me firmly in his arms.

For a moment, he just holds me, letting me take in everything. Then, with a kiss pressed into my hair, he leans back just enough to meet my eyes. A smirk tugs at his lips, his usual playful demeanor returning.

“You do realize,” he teases, voice warm and full of fondness, “that there are so many more of these, right? And I lived with these feelings for years. So now, you get to read about them. Fair is fair.”

I let out a watery laugh, shaking my head as I press my forehead against his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins. “And yet, you married me.”

I exhale, still overwhelmed, but lighter now— he always manages to make me feel lighter. James reaches for the stack of letters again, flipping through them casually before selecting another. He holds it out to me, eyes twinkling.

“Alright, love,” he says. “Next one.”

14 October, 1975

My darling,

This is going to be another one of those letters that I probably won’t send. I don’t want you to read this one, because I’m angry with you.

How do you not see it? If I could scream it from the rooftops, I would, it’s just… every time I try, I can’t. Does that make sense?

You. You’re the one who needs to see it, to see me. I can’t do anything more. I’m right here. Why can’t you bloody see that?

That Ravenclaw prat at the party tonight had his hands all over you, and you looked happy about it. Like it never crossed your mind to ask me to dance instead. You know I would’ve, angel.

Maybe I’m reading too much into things. Maybe I’m just jealous. I don’t think so, though.

I think you need to wake up and look at what’s right in front of you. Look at me, please, I’m begging you, now, darling. Just look at me once, and I think everything will be okay.

Or just tell me you don’t feel the same, and I’ll forget all about it. No, I can't. Even as I wrote that I realized, I could never forget the way you make me feel with just a look. And you have no idea. So damn oblivious.

I love every single thing about you, I wish you would just let me.

Faithfully yours,

James

I read this one quietly as well, scoffing to myself and giving him a look as I read about the Ravenclaw boy. I remember that night— it was the first time any boy had wanted to dance with me. If only I had known James was there, wanting to.

The realization hits me like a truck. Everything I put him through, even unknowingly. How he could still love me, undeniably, after all of that, seems incomprehensible to me.

“I had no idea,” I tell him through soft cries, blubbering and whimpering, feebly wiping my face with my sleeves. “I’m awful.”

James shakes his head immediately, reaching for my hands and pulling them away from my face. His thumbs sweep over my knuckles, grounding me.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, voice impossibly gentle. “You weren’t awful. You didn’t know.”

I sniffle, blinking up at him. “But I should have.”

He lets out a quiet, breathy chuckle, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You weren’t supposed to know. Not then.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes warm and full of unwavering affection. “You know now, though.”

I let out a watery laugh, shaking my head at him. “Merlin, I was so oblivious."

James smirks. “Painfully so. Good thing I’m persistent, yeah?”

I exhale, still overwhelmed, my fingers tightening around his. He nudges the stack of letters toward me once again, eyes glimmering with that same familiar mischief.

“There’s plenty more where that came from,” he teases, voice lighter now. “You’re just getting to the good part.” He pulls another from the stack and hands it to me— this one has been crumpled up and smoothed out meticulously, maybe even pressed under heavy books.

9 December 1975

I’m sorry I kissed you. It was an accident. Not really.

I’ve wanted to for a long time, I just never had a proper reason to. Tonight, after winning the game, I was excited, and I thought it was the right time. But I’m starting to think there’s never a right time with us.

Every time I try, I fail. You would hardly look at me at the party afterwards. So I know you didn’t like it, or didn’t want it, and for that I apologize.

But also? I can’t apologize for kissing you. It wasn’t planned, but I knew I wanted to. I’ve always wanted to. Merlin, I’ve thought about it so many times.

I can’t apologize for finally putting action to my thoughts. And with that, I suppose I mean to tell you… I have feelings for you.

It doesn’t matter

The tone of this one is slightly different from the other unsent letters— and significantly different from the letters I have received from him over the years. He’s being very blunt, vulnerable even.

It only strikes me when I read the last line, and it suddenly cuts off. It doesn’t matter and nothing else.

I look up at him with an indiscernible look in my eye. Confusion, maybe, or putting things together.

His lips stretch into a tight smile, and he scratches the back of his neck. “I, er, stopped writing this one, ‘cause I knew I wouldn’t have the guts to give it to you,” he admits, sounding a bit bashful at the fact.

My heart feels like melted candy: gooey and dangerously hot.

I glance at the date again wordlessly. Two years before we started dating. Two years he held onto this letter. I can imagine him right now, in his dorm, scratching It doesn’t matter and then abruptly setting the quill down, abandoning whatever thought was coming next, taking the parchment in his hands, and squeezing it with all his might, as if that might let his frustrations out. A minute later, he’d sulk over to the bin, fish the ball out, flatten it, and put it in the box with the others.

And I do remember him apologizing for the kiss in person the next day— undoubtedly one of our most awkward conversations. I told him it was fine, tried to brush it off, yet all with an air of I didn’t want that to happen. And it was true, and he wrote that. I didn’t want it to happen. Not yet, anyways.

My shoulders sag; I collapse into his arms in a crushing hug. I allow myself to feel my feelings for just a moment, and then I pull back with a sniffle, composing myself.

“I always knew that kiss wasn’t accidental,” I tease him half-heartedly, drawing a chuckle from his throat anyway.

“Here,” he says, handing me another letter, which he’d pre-selected while I was reading the last. “The next one’s better.”

3 May 1976

My dearest,

You helped me study for OWLs this year— well, you always help me study— but I aced them all. I couldn’t have done it without you. I had to write to tell you how thankful I am.

You do a lot for me, whether you realize it or not. Keeping my grades up (don’t even argue with me on this, you know you do), giving me advice about Lily. It all means a lot to me.

You’ve been one of my closest friends over the years, someone I can confide in. I haven’t found anyone else like you in my sixteen years of living, and I doubt I ever will. You’re completely unique, and I love that about you.

Your smile brightens my entire world. When you laugh, it’s like colors are brighter, and my mind feels sharper. You always manage to clear my head with just a look or a touch, it never fails. You are the one thing keeping me grounded.

There’s so much going on, all the time, constantly. Fights are breaking out across the country, dark magic running amok. Friends come and go, classes change year by year, but for me at least, there’s always been one constant. That’s you, darling.

I know I can rely on you, tell you anything and risk no judgment or harsh response. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met, I would be surprised to hear you hurt a fly— or even something you hate, like a spider. Never change that kindness.

I suppose I’m really just trying to tell you how much I appreciate you, nothing more. Sorry if it came off a bit sappy, I might’ve gotten carried away. I’ll write you a normal one soon.

Yours,

James

I trace my fingers over the ink, pressing my lips together. My chest is too full, my heart aching in the best way. When I finally look up at James, he’s already watching me.

James shifts, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s still embarrassed about it, even now. “Yeah, so, funny thing about this one…” he starts to explain the moment I look up at him, “I would… sometimes give the letters to Sirius and Remus, to screen,” he admits, scratching his neck again. “Boy, I heard a mouthful from them about this one.”

I throw my head back laughing imagining it, and James launches into a reenactment, doing his best Sirius impression, all with a hushed voice to not wake the kids: “‘Yours, James’?! Bloody hell, Prongs, why don’t you just propose in the next one and save us all the trouble?”

I try to stifle my laughter, but bright giggles still carry through the air, and his heart still jumps at the sound. It’s still true to him— colors are brighter.

We’re both trying to stifle our laughter when Rosie shifts in her sleep, sighing softly. James glances toward the stairs, then back at me, grinning like a schoolboy. “Shh, don’t get us in trouble,” he teases.

He hands me the next letter, and this one is crisp, like it hasn't been touched since the day he wrote it.

12 April 1977

Love,

The end of the year is coming sooner than any of us expected, and with that, I feel that I need to be incredibly honest with you.

For seven years, I have been biting my tongue, swallowing words I was too much of a coward to say.

Everything I do is for you, surely you know that. I just want to be near you all the time, is that too much to ask?

We’re already together all the time anyways, it wouldn’t be that big of a change. Plus, we’d get to kiss anytime we want.

I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know this is probably the last thing you’re expecting right now, but maybe you are expecting it. I think maybe you already know.

So please. Be mine, my dearest. We will be so happy, I just know it. You make me happier than anything ever has. Say yes, and I will spend the rest of my life proving that you were always meant to be mine, and that I am good enough to be yours.

With all my love,

James

I read the last words slowly, my fingers pressing into the worn parchment like I could somehow hold onto the feeling in my hands. It takes me a long moment to breathe, to look up at James, who is watching me like he already knows exactly what’s running through my mind.

“I can’t believe you never gave me this,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.

James smiles, that same lopsided grin that made me fall in love with him all those years ago. “Didn’t need to,” he murmurs. “You beat me to it.”

He taps the date at the top, and it looks familiar for a reason I can’t place. Family life is unbelievably busy; anniversary dates, birthdays, deadlines, all swimming around in my head. I can’t place it.

“This was the night you told me how you felt,” he explains softly, voice so tender it resonates through every one of my muscles.

I gasp recalling it: I had found him in the common room late one night in April, after harboring feelings for him for the entirety of the year and never acting on it. He had his hands behind his back like he was holding something.

He never had to give it to me.

I glance back down at the letter, trying to commit every word to memory. "All this time... and you kept it?"

James shrugs, but there’s no mistaking the emotion in his eyes. "Of course I did. It was never just words on a page. It was everything I felt, everything I wanted to say, and even though I never needed to give it to you, I couldn’t let it go."

I reach for his hand, lacing my fingers through his, grounding myself in the warmth of him. “We were such fools back then,” I murmur with a soft laugh, shaking my head. "All those years wasted."

James tilts his head, considering, then smirks. "I don’t know. I think it happened exactly the way it was supposed to." He shifts, turning fully toward me, his free hand brushing along my jaw before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Because it led us here. To this. To them."

We both glance toward the staircase, where our children sleep soundly upstairs, oblivious to the weight of the moment between us. The house is quiet, the warmth of the fire flickering gently against the walls, wrapping us in the kind of peace I never knew I would have.

I sigh, leaning into him. "You're right. We got it right in the end."

James presses a lingering kiss to my temple, his voice barely above a whisper. "We always would have."

I close my eyes, letting myself melt into his embrace, holding onto this moment—this love that has spanned years, that has grown and strengthened, that has carried us through everything.

Outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the world in quiet serenity, as if time itself has slowed just for us. And for once, I don’t think about what’s next. I only think about now. About him. About us.

And I know, without a doubt, that there is nowhere else I’d rather be.

♡

You looked gorgeous today, in case nobody told you. -James

♡

I’m paying attention very hard in class today. (I’m lying, I’m watching you twirl your quill and thinking about how unfairly pretty you are.) -Yours, whether you know it or not.

♡

Did you know you bite your lip when you’re concentrating? Because now it’s all I can think about. -James

♡

You laughed at my joke and I’m pretty sure that’s going to keep me alive for the next three days at minimum. Entirely at your mercy, -James

♡

if you liked this, check out my james drabble which is a little continuation / expansion of this story!!

my current series is a james fake dating trope if that tickles your fancy more!!

xoxo sunny ☀️🌻

#james potter #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #marauders #fanfic

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