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sheepispink · 2 months ago

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Waking up (repost)

part 6 of supersoldier!reader x tf141/ghost(ghost is main culprit but they’re all there.) SORRY FOR THE RETAG THE POST GOT MESSED UP SO I REPOSTED IT

cw: mention of a seizure, mention of foaming at the mouth, probably some medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies too, gender neutral reader

a/n: this series is sfw nor is there any romantic relations mentioned.

glossary: old codger- an old man who doesnt know what he's talking about or talks crazy

PREV NEXT part one Series Masterlist

———

The strength is gone, your pulse is faint and your brain has shut off the map of trains running through your head on a daily basis, everything silent. Except one thing— your memories. The last of your energy is used on tormenting you, day and night or night and day; you don't know what day it is, don't know what’s even happening or if you really are even still alive right now. You’re not even sure when the last dream ended or how long it lasted, all you know is that it’s like a cycle, repeating the gunshot, the whimper of the fox, faint cries of the men you’ve killed, Ghost’s yells, Price’s stern eyes boring into you, Gaz and Soap’s shared laughter and always, always the squeak of the operating table and the rustle of scrubs as the nurse and doctor approach.

It’s torment, repeating over and over with no means of end in the slightest. Whilst before you at least had the temporary relief like the missions with Ghost or even the small conversations with Soap when he made you pay full attention to him, there was nothing now. It feels like months inside of your head even before you got trapped in this cycle, experiencing turmoil even when you were actually awake and living. But this was like everything had crossed the line, the conditions had worsened to the point of no return and now you could barely think in between each flashback. There was no trying to distract yourself when you were headfirst against the enemy; no more preparation as you fight and fight and fight, the battle never ending as you continue to clash but never fully meet the other.

You don't know if you’re breathing, or if your body really is your own right now, the turmoil doesn’t feel real and that’s probably because it isn't. This is just in your head— all a figment of your imagination.

Was any of this real though?

There’s no feeling in your fingers, nor your feet, and weirdly enough you don't really feel any physical pain this time. Not even when the scalpel breaches your skin.

The question returns again. Is this real? Are you real?

Your thoughts are dwindling out.

Is this real?

Are you real?

——————-

Again. You wake in the infirmary. Gaz will come through the doors, comfort you when you panic. Soap will take over— Ghost will yell.

You can't sit up this time. There’s binds around your wrists, around your ankles too. Everything is shrouded in silence, a sterile smell attacking your nose like a threat.

It’s black again now.

——————-

There’s muffled voices, like the day you got shot. Your arm still throbs sometimes, at least it used to, when you were really a person.

It sounds like Price, and you’re sick of his voice. Sounds like Gaz too— that’s good. You think maybe, if you were born a different person, you’d consider him a big brother. Maybe— you don't really know much about what those are, but you’ve heard they’re good people. If you had one, you probably would’ve been safer.

—————-

Flowers. It’s a momentary image that breaks the usual cycle of nightmares— if you even call it that anymore. It’s lavender to be exact. It smells good— somehow you can manage to process that even if you still can't feel it. Your fox used to smell like lavender, when that intern first gave it to you. You’ve never smelt it since it faded off the plush, but you’d never forget it either.

It smells really good.

———

——-

Soap sits before your small bed in the spare room. Originally you were in the infirmary for the sake of fixing up the bad wound on your back. Ghost hadn’t told him all the details, but there wasn't much to ask when he had rushed in with you seizing in his arms and frothing at the mouth. You had forgotten to take one of your monthly medications— according to the calendar in your room you marked completely different dates despite having a reminder right there. It wasn't a serious seizure despite how it sounded but everything to do with you was uncertain, due to the modifications made.

It almost makes him upset, if he’s being completely honest. He spoke with Price about it once, when they had a mission together and they waited overnight in a safehouse. “They’ll never escape the military, will they?” His Captain has shook his head, confirming what Soap already knew to be true but didn't want to actually believe. “If they leave they’ll only die. Too unstable.. thus too reliant on others. Without a handler they’d never regulate themselves properly, even antibiotics can clash with the serum—it could make them severely ill.”

Johnny could get by the usual criminals who deserved a bad beating, or even an innocent family who didn't deserve their end. But this was more— you never really got peace, still living in the torturous cycle until the military deemed you were ‘ready’ to die. It was a fate worse than death, in his opinion. A time ago,he had hoped that he and Gaz could make a difference for you, but he’s not so sure anymore.

———-

Cold air tingled your arms, making the hairs rise and slowly guide you through the barrage of thoughts and memories. You hadn’t blinked once this entire time, but it was too much now, all of these faces and horrors returning. It felt cowardly, almost as if you were giving up everything you knew but you couldn't handle it– seeing all of it again, experiencing it and reliving the trauma. Ghost, he stands before you, but he doesn't speak, his mask staring back at you like a deadly reminder. Your throat bobs nervously, hearing the yell of his command word echo around you. That decides your every action, in and out of battle.

This time it makes you flinch so hard your eyes squeeze shut, terrified more of your lack of freedom than any of the horrors you’ve witnessed since your miserable birth.

—-------------

“Why’s it beepin so loud?! Didn’t they say their heart rate barely ever changes?” Soap shouts, having been extremely frustrated with the lack of any progress regarding your state all week. Price is on a bloody mission, so only him and Gaz are here to handle you this time. It’s been two weeks since you were brought in here, and still there’s not been a single sign of you waking up– only the eerily steady pulse letting them know you’re okay.

“Sir–we’re trying, please, let us do our work.”

“Get off of them.” A cold voice cuts through the room, the heart rate monitor beeping loudly still.

“But sir– the heart is-”

“I’m their handler. Get off of them, now.” Ghost wants to slap their prying fingers away from you, just like he did to the stupid scientist who had the audacity to try and ask him to let him take over your care. The explanation resonated in the silence, as well as the sharp glare the fool received before Ghost had promptly stormed off that day. “Johnny, what’s going on?”

“Their heart rate keeps wavering, Lt.” Soap explains, worried as he walks over to you, still as stone yet your heart is lurching in your chest. “They told Gaz that their heart rate has been altered to stay steady, or even more so than usual.”

“That’s..” He had read the files; it was true that they had attempted to alter how your heart worked and had temporarily made it so that it wouldn’t raise too high and cause issues especially in stressful situations where seconds counted. However, this past week he’s been looking into anything related to you in the slightest. Every file that has scattered his desk has your name on it, every action links back to figuring out more and every night he dreams of the same scene.

“It was true once, yes, only for a mere week though. Now it’s merely a placebo effect to keep them calm enough when things get messy.” He grunts, and Soap just blinks at him, not expecting that answer in the slightest. Really? All that for it to just be a placebo effect? It is true that you’ve never been in a serious condition when you’re unconscious, so it’s clear this whole time your heart rate has never breached the worry point.

“Right, so what the hell are we gonna do?”

Ghost grunts in response, almost jealous of how easily Soap worries over you, like he’s been the one taking care of you since you first entered this base. Though it feels more like a sickening guilt for not being the person he should’ve been. “Just..” He sighs, pulling up the chair that Price usually occupies and slumping into it. “Hold their hand. It’s a nightmare, it’ll pass.”

So he does, his hand gently intertwining with your limp one before rubbing your palm, trailing up to your elbow and then back again. It seemed to be too severe to be a mere nightmare–- the alarms beeping loudly like sirens—and yet somehow your hand twitched for the first time before your heart rate began to lower. Soap lets out a long breath , taking a seat on the edge of your bed, rubbing the back of your hand over and over to soothe the fears you were experiencing. “The doctors would’ve stuck another damn needle in them.” Ghost scoffs, his hands clasped between his knees as his gaze momentarily watches the small rise and fall of your chest.

“How did you know?”

That shouldn't even be a question–Ghost should know every little detail about you down to how you like to tie your shoelaces, not the ignorance he’s been displaying. It fills him with great shame; you were entrusted to him, and he had failed you. “In their files.” He grunts, his gaze fixed on the floor now. You wouldn't even want him to be here right now, but it’s the least he can do and also the most he’s ever done for you.

“Ghost..” Soap begins, looking directly at the Lieutenant. As much as he wants to yell at him for being a complete blockhead, he can't deny that many things have never been in your favour. There’s not many who would’ve given you the chance in life you deserved, and in another life you probably even consider it amazing the Lieutenant even changed his ways. The military wasn't known for its kindness. “Price could’ve done better too; don't take all the blame. Ye know, the only thing that matters is how we fix it. It’s not like you didn't try.”

He had wanted to cut him off, yell about how wrong he was but lord, he wasn’t incompetent enough to not be able to handle a conversation without blowing up. Not like his father. “My ‘trying’ was closer to using ketchup to get a stain out the carpet.” The analogy at least gets a small huff out of Soap, but as much as he wants to laugh too he knows he can't. He doesn't deserve to; you don't deserve to hear that. “If they had that seizure alone.. If they had forgotten their pills for a few days longer.. They’d be hospitalized, Johnny. I did that to them.” His thumbs press against his brows as he lets out a sharp breath, trying to come to the reality of it without wanting to tear open his chest. “I could’ve prevented so much of it. If only I had read those stupid files.”

Johnny sighs, looking down at your arms that have goosebumps littering them– maybe he should shut the window.

—-------

You’ve been shrouded in darkness since you flinched, and you’re afraid to open your eyes. But everything has been so serene this time, in fact you feel awfully tired, the warm kind like you’re in front of a campfire. At least, that’s what you’ve read in books–how fuzzy feelings are usually described.

Maybe you’ll do it this time, brave the darkness rather than be ordered to. Though maybe it’s only because you cannot fathom anything worse than what you’ve experienced than perhaps death itself.

—-----

It’s a Friday night and they don't dare to leave your side in the free time they get. Price is still out, thankfully Gaz has returned though. Right now he’s catching up on some well needed rest, jet lagged to the maximum. Soap’s hand always rests on yours now, and he’s tried to convince Ghost many times to do the same. This time they’ve got a game of chess going, although it’s just on Soap’s phone– his idea too of course. According to him, you might do better with some noise than the usual silence held in this room. Ghost had caved pretty quickly, staring in utter confusion as Soap knocked off yet another one of his pieces.

“Oi– you cannot make that move, you’re lying.”

“Yer just a sore loser, Lt. Admit it, I'm just too good.” His smile grows wide, looking at the lack of possible moves left especially since he had played so well. Ghost finally moves, though not without muttering about there being ‘no point anymore’, and he’s about to play his own move when his hand feels weird. Like.. ticklish? Soap just momentarily glances only to see that your fingers were touching his hand, properly. Grazing gently, your pinky eventually curls around his own. The monitor beeps a little louder, and your pulse seems to rise a little higher. Ghost notices Soap’s distraction, glancing over to see the tiniest hitch in breath and squeeze of your eyelids.

The both of them stay deadly silent, only the soft beeping as your eyes squint open, a few blinks clearing the blur clouding your vision. If you had noticed them by now, you must be ignoring it because you kind of just stare at the ceiling for a few moments before settling on Soap’s hand holding your own. “Kid..? You feeling okay?” Lord, he doesnt know why he even asked that; it was pretty damn obvious you haven't been okay and he can already see Ghost wanting to facepalm.

A small hum is heard from you, a little cracked, but it’s a response. “Yeah.”

“Bet ye starving, ay?” Soap rubs your hand a little more, though still concerned about your small responses. “I’ll get ya some.” He’s about to slide off when Ghost stops him.

“No. I’ll go.”

He stands, heading towards the door— he’s not stupid, he saw how you flinched at his voice breaking out. He has to do it right this time— he has to.

——-

Soap doesn’t let you try to eat yourself, instead scooping up spoonfuls as he sits beside you on the small bed. You’re still hooked up with an iv drip, despite doing a lot better than the first time you were in the infirmary, and you don't attempt to argue with Soap this time. Infact, you’re just really, really quiet. “Drink some water too, kay?” He lifts the bottle up to your mouth, making sure you drink a good amount. Even though you just came out of a coma, you look really, really tired. Your eyes are dull, even more than the usual, and your eyelids hang low, just aimlessly staring at the soft blankets covering you. There’s no scratchy patient dress now, nor paper thin sheets that only serve to keep you cold.

Before this happened, you were a lot more responsive, even attentive, when he talked with you. Him and Gaz would come by some evenings, when all of your tough work was over, and just tell you about absolutely anything and everything. Even with the reputation that precedes you, the excitement on your face was endearing—especially after everything they’ve witnessed you go through. It was a relief that you were actively asking questions, and curious about what else they did.

Now you stayed silent, barely even glancing twice his way as you just followed whatever he decided you needed. Eventually he puts the spoon down, his teeth chewing at his lip as he glances up at Ghost. He’s doing his best not to look at you either, but it’s clear this has to be resolved. And it’s now or never.

Soap slides off the bed, leaving an abundance of space beside you, and walks over to nudge Ghost. “C’mon, you gotta talk to ‘em.”

“Johnny—I’ll only make it worse.”

“Don’t care Lt. Look at ‘em- do ya really think they’ll just get better like this? You said it yourself, things gotta change. Yer gonna have to talk with them properly; they dont have a handler for nothin’.” He pats Ghost’s shoulder firmly, before heading for the door and leaving with a soft click.

Silence fills the space between you two after he leaves, feeling like he’s on a mountain whilst you’re struggling in the mere dirt— back to your square one. ��No doctors are allowed in here without one of us here.” He firmly states, not bothering to look at you when he knows that all he’ll see is misery laying in your eyes. “You marked the wrong date for your pills and you had a seizure. So expect to be staying in this room for another month, and you won't have any training or missions either.”

That elicits a response from you, a very obvious one because that’s something you didnt expect in the slightest. “No missions—“

“No. Not like that.” He cuts you off firmly, but not harshly, sighing before he looks up at you finally, only wearing the black balaclava today. “You’re staying right here, in this taskforce. End of story. But you’re also getting the rest your body needs.”

Your eyes narrow, you don't want rest, damnit. Even now after knowing that they definitely wont send you back— if you’re trusting them that is—- you cant physically handle a second of rest any longer. You need movement, stimulation, something to interfere with the silence in your head that eats away at your sanity like a parasite.

He doesnt need to ask you to notice your hesitation though, his own eyes narrowing. “You have nightmares, dont you? We noticed in your sleep.” Silence rings out this time, not a response, only you staring at your hands absentmindedly, the warmth that had ripped you out of it. “Johnny held your hand. It helps, doesnt it? I.. read your files, it said that there was an intern nurse who’d do the same to you. They recommended it in bad situations.” His voice grows softer by the second, unable to keep his harsh edge after everything he now knows. The suffering, the pain, the endless cycle of torture.

Still, there’s no answer, only sheer silence from you. “Alright, i get it. But just because you’re a super soldier.. dont think you dont need it. I need you in top form, everyone needs you in top form. That means even if a pat on the back from him helps, you do it, okay?” He didnt want to be so forward and demanding, changing into something you ‘had’ to do for the sake of the program. But he also knew you were less likely to actually listen unless he did— you ran on the fact that you were still worth something, still worthy of being a soldier. It was lies, you were obviously worthy either way, but he’d do anything to make you okay again.

You nod just slightly and he sighs, stepping up to walk towards the small table on the other side of the room. He returns with his hands clasped, before opening them to reveal the small fox plush you had ripped open during your panic. “Gaz stitched it up and stuffed it. He wasn't sure if you’d hate him for touching it, but he couldn't stand to see it so worn either.” You gently take it in your palms, the little plush the size of your hand and exactly the same as you remember it. Though you're disappointed when you bring it to your nose only for no scent to emanate. “I’ll give him my thanks.”

—————————————

Gaz had passed out as soon as he had gotten home that evening, not even finding out that you had finally woken until lunch the next day. “They’re awake?! Have they said anything?” Ghost stabs at his food awkwardly, and if this was two weeks ago he wouldn’t have even bothered to answer, let alone give out any news about you anyway.

”No. They barely speak.” He states simply, though swallows sharply after, tension hanging in the air between Soap and him. The hope on Gaz’s face falls; he and Soap were only just figuring out the true nature of your being, of the creation you really were. To be honest, all of them had a little bit of hope that you’d just wake up better. You’d be relieved that Ghost had come to his senses, you’d be happy that they were all now treating you like you should’ve been treated— like a human— and all of this mess would just be solved. But that was nothing more than a stupid ideal, like seeing pigs fly. The more they learnt about you, the faster they figured out that nothing was as simple as a minor problem with how complicated you actually were.

“Hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, we should jus’ let time tell.” Soap huffs out, not any more happier about this situation. He felt naive to even believe you had been getting better, and he couldn’t call himself any better than his own LT for not seeing the constant conflict in your head.

————————

Time did tell something, but it was definitely not what any of them were hoping for in the slightest. The days dragged on and still you remained silent, just observing and listening as they came and went. Occasionally they'll ask you questions, and you’d answer them but never anything more. No opinions, no reasoning unless asked and never a question back to them. In short, you were fine to talk, you just didn't hold the conversation. Ghost would’ve let out a sigh of relief if you were like this when you first met him, in fact he’d be so happy to get rid of your questions that he’d probably parade your obedience around the task force. But now everything was different, and he wouldn’t dare ask for your mindless obedience again, and yet he’s received it like some mocking gift, laughing in his face at his selfish actions.

Everytime he looks at the bags beneath your eyes, all he sees is the human crumbling before him—such raw life emanating from you after months that he convinced himself that you’re nothing but a fabrication of a person. Then to hear your plea, not for kindness and lenience–not even to let up his harsh tactics and the death he forces into your hands— just reassurance. You just wanted the safety of knowing a team wouldn’t leave you behind, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t even convinced you of that. As the ranks grew, it grew increasingly harder to trust others; that was the truth in how it worked. But still even the Captain, who had experienced far more than Ghost would ever know, had trusted them, his task force. Ghost trusted you’d do what you were told, it was a known fact, but you couldn’t even trust them enough to know that they never leave you behind so easily.

It disgusts him really, when he looks in the mirror all he feels is pure shame. And it’s even worse when Soap looks at him like that, when Gaz’s face falls to a frown and Price shares a firm glance. He knows– he knows everything he had done to you was inexcusable and yet he still feels like he should feel it more. Every day he wishes he sported the marks of your anger, to even have a reminder of your pain on him, but no you couldn't even do that to him. In all your betrayal and distress, you hadn't even raised your hand once to harm him.

There was one thing you refused to talk about, just looking down or muttering that ‘It doesnt matter’ when the topic arose. Your nightmares. Every time one of them tried to hint at it, your fingers would flex uncomfortably and your gaze would flitter away, begging to escape and yet stuck sitting in that bed until they deemed you okay. Not to mention you were increasingly restless, not only from being bored out of your mind without your daily workout, but you tossed and turned more as each day passed. Everyday your face seems more worn, your eyes duller and losing the life you had struggled so hard to maintain.

—------------

“Evening, kid.” It’s late now, almost eight pm and you’ve been in and out of naps for the entire day, though not without being shaken forcefully by yet another vision. “Captain.” You give him a nod, lowering your head in respect before falling silent once more–it hurts him slightly how you’ve stopped using his first name. However, the dinner that always comes with his visit never follows nor the pills that allow you to get at least three hours of sleep in.

He notices the way your eyes flicker behind him, knowing that you’re exhausted and run down as it is, and just smirks. Sure, it’s true that denying the basic needs from someone who is clearly struggling with themself is probably a bit cruel, but it’s for your own good. He’d be stupid to underestimate you as well; you’d be able to keep up with your normal activities even without a week of food. So he’s not getting any more lenient with you, not even if the pitiful look on your face makes him want to drop everything and buy you every snack you’ve ever wanted. “Thought i told you to call me John? No dinner today, kid. Well unless..”

Your eyes narrow, obviously hungry or, at least, you’ve craving the burst of flavours Soap’s been introducing in all of your meals since you got shot.”Unless what?”

It’s the first time you’ve actively responded since you first woke up a week and a half ago, and the glint in his eye is enough to tell you that he’s glad. “Unless, you tell me about what happened last night. Properly.” He takes a seat at the edge of the mattress, your body language a lot more comfortable than the last time you were injured–they ensured that you wouldn’t be in those sterile rooms again or awake when doctors came by. “I won't sit around and let you do this to yourself, you know.”

“Ghost did.”

Price’s eyes narrow, not oblivious to how fast you had responded this time, as if the words were coming from your heart for once. He hates that you’re right too, since Ghost had confided in all of them the interaction you had, knowing it was only right that he didnt hide what he had done. This should never be about him anyway; it was about helping you. “Everyone knows you’re hurting. I know you’re acting–”

“I’m not acting.” You say blankly, just staring at him now and he blinks, not expecting you cut him off. Of course, you must’ve been, how else would none of this affect you—at least how would this not affect the blank look on your face? The effects were clear from your body’s reactions, but you never expressed it emotionally.

“So you’re tellin’ me that you don't care that you’re on the verge of sleep every waking second and you still can't get any?” That makes your eyebrows twitch just slightly, your eyes glancing at the window again, like you always do when the conversation turns anyway near this way.

“Just..” He says slowly, reaching out to rub your leg over the thin blanket covering you– he makes a mental note to get you a thicker one. “Tell me,kid. Talk to me, please. I want to know, what pushed you into that state? I know it was Ghost but missions have never had that bad effects on you.” You’re still quiet and he takes his hat off, like he had done last time he tried to comfort you, placing it to the side whilst he pulled out a container of food from his bag. “Please.”

His tone makes your gut ache, your heart throb, and your brain hurt from the conflict inside of you. So you do, you tell him. From how you overheard them that day, and thought they’d send you back, when you decided to purposefully harm yourself so you couldn't fight properly but you just kept going, even to how you woke up on the floor in your room after blacking out post battle. It’s now or never, so you let it all spill now the band aid been ripped off, explaining how your mental state grew worse when they told you to recuperate, unable to distract yourself from the constant distress until you spiralled to a point of no return.

He listens carefully, not interrupting for a second or pulling strange faces except for the softening of his eyes and the occasional narrowing too. You appreciate that, someone whose willing to just sit and listen without giving pities you dont need. That’s never what you’ve needed. “You’re so strong.” Is the first thing he says, and it almost startles you, wondering if that’s all he had actually taken away from it. You didnt feel strong, but perhaps in his head, he meant you were capable. And you were— you could take all those blows and you were still here, but you werent strong, no. You were weak.

“To be able to starve yourself of food and sleep, just to fight for yourself. It’s admirable. Though not something i’d want you to do, obviously.” He chuckles softly, watching your eyes that train on him. His finger reaches forward, gently prodding in the middle of your chest, where your ribs lay. “You have will power; that’s the rawest form of strength, and not something to look down on. Forget your abilities, and the modifications, that is what is keeping you alive.”

“What?”

You blurt it out, because you quite literally cannot believe his words in the slightest. It doesn't make sense— at all. The modifications, all the effort and tests they ran on you.. wasn't the reason for all you’ve done?

“Don't look at me like I'm a crazy old codger.” He laughs, properly and runs his fingers through the messy locks of your hair, straightening them out before sitting back properly again.

“It’s true. But that doesn't excuse anything, what Ghost did was wrong. We were all wrong too. We should’ve noticed and stepped in, we were just glad you were okay after everything.” He sighs, giving you a fond look that you just nod at, and he notices you don't take too well to sympathies. “Last night though.. you scratched yourself badly again. Why didn't you speak to us before? Why now?”

That’s what pushed him over the line, he could stand not pushing your boundaries if you wouldn't talk about the nightmares. This was the truck all over again, sending you into a frenzy where you hurt your own self. It was visible, the long red scratches on your neck and disappearing down your shirt. They also lay on your face too, the skin raw and healing with time.

“I..i’ve been different— after what..happened. It’s happened once before.” You explain, making his eyes narrow in concern since he never heard of you shifting like your demeanour suddenly had.

“I passed out during my torture training once,” Your words are slow, reliving the memory yourself. “When I woke, it was like I was back to the first serum the doctors gave me. I couldn't react, my face was a blank slate and.. my mind was running at rampant speeds, i couldn't think straight. It was only until a week after the training that I snapped out of it, waking up with scratches on my face..”

It seemed to Price like this was some sort of fight or flight sequence, forcing you into quiet submission but to never make any sense of reaction, specifically engineered for high stress level situations such as torture. To think what Ghost had pushed you to was comparable to torture was a hard pill to swallow, but he had to ignore it for now.

“So you.. you werent really here for the past few weeks, until recently i guess.”

You nod slowly, agreeing to his words but he can still tell you’re conflicted, stuck in that middle ground of fighting for your sanity and trying not to get hurt in the process. “The priority is your sleep—if we can get rid of the nightmares, your state of mind will fix itself.”

He’s right, but you refuse to take the proposal the others want. They had offered it last week, having Soap sleep on a bed beside you, not directly but just enough for his presence. Apparently during your coma, he had held your hand, and that’s why sometimes you had actually only seen darkness and not the horrors that lay waiting. But.. it seemed wrong to use him like that, just for your sake. Besides, as much as you may have warmed up to them before, you didn't entirely trust them right now. Speaking with Price was out of pure necessity, since you really weren't going to get any better if you kept trying to push through these nightmares on your own. But apart from that, you didn't feel that curiosity anymore, that need to be involved with them and have an actual team. Infact, facing Ghost felt so difficult sometimes that you wished they would just command you to listen, let life leave your eyes and let the thoughts fade. It sounded so much easier, a dream really. But maybe that was too easy of a way out for you, and the Ghost loved to torture it seemed.

Price watches the thoughts move behind your eyes, how hard you’re deciphering his words despite how you should be too exhausted to speak. It amazes him, and yet sickens him too. No one should be like this.

“How about something else..hm? You ever slept with something really warm?”

---------------------

buy me a coffee! Series Masterlist

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a/n: another chapter will be coming in the following day or so!! this chapter ending up being 5.7k words so i decided to split it up. Next one will likely be around 3k. Thank for the support!!!!

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #task force 141 x reader #call of duty x reader #cod fanfic #simon riley angst #cod angst #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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livwritessometimes · 8 months ago

Text

At Least One Of Us Got Our Happy Ending

: Part 15 (Lando's Version)

: Spring Fling is finally here…that’s a good thing right?

: Prev | Next

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - You can refer to Interesting *Cue Evil Laugh* to get the context for a certain part.

…

As Y/n and Lando watched Oscar pull his girl in for a kiss, she couldn't help but join some of their friends in hooting for the new couple. It was nice to see Oscar finally be with the girl he'd madly been head-over-heels for—Y/n could recall countless conversations they'd had about this. Smiling at the scene, she felt Lando pull her close to him, his hand resting on her waist.

"Should we get back to the table?" Asked Lando

Looking away from the scene in front of her, Y/n nodded at him and started leading him to their table.

There sat Max, one of Lando's friends who he constantly played games with, and his date.

Taking a seat, Y/n said, "It's so nice to see Oscar finally be happy."

"It is! I'm glad he came today," Lando said, looking at Oscar.

Max laughed to himself, leaning back against the chair he said, "I guess it's nice when things work out the way they're supposed to, huh?" He said, looking at Lando.

Lando narrowed his eyes at Max, "Max..." He said in a warning tone.

Confused by the exchange Y/n asked, "Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

Max shrugged casually, taking a sip from the flask he had snuck in, "Oh, it's just funny how it all started you know? I just didn't think you guys would actually make it," Max finished.

Lando could feel his heart beating faster, "Max," He said again this time with hint of anger.

Y/n couldn't help but tense up, looking between Lando and Max. "What does he mean by 'How it started' Lando?" She asked.

"Oh nothing, you know how I am, I love to talk nonsense," Max said realizing that he might have said a little too much.

"Lando...What does he mean by that?" Y/n asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando sighed deeply, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words. He felt angry—angry at Max for opening his mouth when it was not needed, angry at himself for agreeing to do such a stupid thing.

"Y/n..." He started, his voice hesitant. Reaching out for her hand, he said, "It wasn't supposed to mean anything...I had no idea that I would actually fall in love..." He said. He could see the dread wash over Y/n's eyes.

*flashback*

*present*

Y/n felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. All hope and dreams for an amazing night disappeared in an instant. She sat there in silence as she let Lando's words sink in.

"So I was just a 'Dare'?" She asked, still in disbelief.

Lando avoided her gaze, his throat feeling dry. "I—I never imagined that it would turn into this," He said. "At first, it was just a stupid dare, I was just angry about the complaint, but I never thought that..." Lando's voice trailed off. He was not sure what he could say or do to make any of it sound better.

Y/n could feel her eyes sting with tears, "So does that mean all this time, every single conversation we've had, every single moment we've spent together...It was all just a game to you?" Y/n said as tears trickled down her face.

"No!," Lando said suddenly, a little too loud for his liking. He tried to reach out for her hand, but she pulled away, "I didn't mean for it to be like that. It was just a dare at the start, I admit, but the more time I spent with you, the more I realized that I just couldn't continue. I was going to tell you, I swear Y/n," Lando said. "I just didn't know how...." He trailed off again.

"So if you hadn't "fallen in love" with me, would you have still gone through with your plan?" Y/n asked, her voice a mixture of anger and hurt.

Lando opened his mouth but no words came out. He didn't have an answer. Deep down, he knew that no answer would make things right. The damage had already been done.

Y/n stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Congrats!" She spat, her voice filled with bitterness. "You've won your stupid dare. I really hope it was worth it Lando," she said as she started walking towards the exit.

"Y/n please wait!" Lando pleaded.

"NO!" Y/n said, finally letting go of the emotions she had been holding onto till now. "Don't you dare follow me. You've lost the right to do that," she said, her voice cracking at the end.

And with that, she made her way out of the hall, taking Lando's heart with every step she took.

…

650 notes · View notes

satoruxx · 10 months ago

Text

THE SPACE BETWEEN COMFORT AND CHAOS.

✧ PAIRING: wolf!toji fushiguro x f!reader | 4.3k words

✧ SUMMARY: wolfhybrid!toji, hybrid au, flashback centric, grumpy x sunshine, animalistic behavior, mentions of injuries, violence, societal inequality, arguments, hateful speech towards hybrids, dysfunctional families, and a shit ton of angst and anger, lil fluff at the end !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: hiii it's my birthday this weekend so i'm dropping chapter 4 as a quick thank you for all the support !! i love you all so much <33 this one is very toji centric and gives a lot of his past and lore to explain why he is the way he is and what led him to find reader !! there is a lot of inequality in this chapter so keep that in mind as you proceed. as always i would recommend checking out the previous parts before reading this :33

prev. | series masterlist.

the smell of blood makes toji's eyes crack open. it fills his nostrils, heavy and metallic, and it makes his hair stand on end. despite being so used to that scent, it still makes him uneasy, because sometimes he cannot tell whose blood it is.

once his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he can't fall back asleep, though he knows he still needs rest. a series of cracks echo from his joints as he sits up, pulses of fatigue swimming through his muscles. pushing up from the ground, he casually approaches the metal bars of his cell.

his cage.

his nose twitches, the smell of blood stronger now that he's closer. a loud yawn rips from his throat, eyes catching some guards dragging another hybrid who had fought that day. he watches them throw the unconscious animal into his cell, not sparing another glance as they turn away. the sounds of their boots gets on toji's nerves, but he does not even have enough time to pity the poor creature.

another set of guards approach his cell. he's sure that they might once again tell him off for being too aggressive, or for not following orders, or for another whipping, but he's saved this time because they're just escorting a hybrid.

a familiar hybrid.

"what's wrong?" toji drawls, lips tugging into a casual smirk. "did y'lose?"

the tiger hybrid hisses angrily in return, as though personally offended, and bares his teeth. his striped ears starkly contrast his pinkish hair.

"like hell," sukuna answers proudly.

toji is about to comment on the various bloodied scratches littering sukuna's body, but one of the guards roughly shoves the tiger into his cell.

"get in!"

sukuna turns to pin him with a murderous glare, tone even and chilling. "touch me again and i'll kill you."

the guard scoffs, unbothered, before shutting the barred door behind him. sukuna's anger rises, but he does not say anything else, choosing to stare daggers at them until they've disappeared around the corner. toji understands the feeling. it would be a piece of cake to rip their throats out, especially for predators as vicious as wolves and tigers.

but they can't. one scratch on a human and they'd be put down.

a beat of silence passes. toji is sure the hybrid sitting across the hall is also thinking about the same thing, so used to biting his tongue just to stay alive.

(he remembers the first day sukuna got thrown in, hisses and snapping teeth as he cursed the guards with all sorts of creativity. toji had been underground long enough to see the same spectacle over and over again, and so he hadn't really given a damn at that time. the two passed weeks in silence, purely focused on their own individual fights and then immediately falling asleep once back in their respective cells.

toji was no expert at reading people, but he could tell that the tiger was as stubborn as he was—they refused to acknowledge one another.

and when they were finally pitted against each other, it was a messy fight. toji still remembers the way the crowd had roared at their aggressive attacks, every draw of blood eliciting some sick twisted pleasure within them.

toji had been used to putting in the bare minimum during his fights, finding it relatively easy to win against other predators. but that fight against sukuna was the first time he struggled a little bit.

the tiger will never admit it, but the feeling was definitely mutual.

so after the brawl, when they were both quietly sitting in their cages and hissing at their wounds stubbornly, there was a brief moment of acknowledgement.

"where the hell did you learn how to fight like that?" the tiger had eyed toji warily, thick brows furrowed in a way that made him look extra grumpy.

after that, it seemed that there was a mutual sense of respect between the two of them. they are not friends per se, definitely not. both toji and sukuna know that if it came down to it, they would kill the other in the arena if it meant staying alive.

but there was an understanding that they were both on the same level. and it seemed that those who ran the fights understood that too.

after all, fights between the two of them were always a very popular spectacle.)

even now, sukuna doesn't look at toji, too busy muttering a string of insults aimed at the guard from earlier. toji ignores them, used to it. they remain in that same silence, not uncomfortable, but not really comfortable either.

toji takes a seat, crossing his legs and leaning against the cold bars. he can still hear the sounds of the guards footsteps echoing through the halls, and that just makes him crave freedom—another familiar feeling.

he should be used to it by now. craving what he cannot have.

sukuna seems to know what he's thinking, because he scoffs with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "don't start."

"you don't ever think about running?" toji ponders, dragging his claws across the stone floor. the tiger's ears twitch, sensitive to the sound, and he throws toji a scathing scowl.

"run? where the hell would we go?" the tiger grumbles, crossing his bulky arms. "you know they'll just find us again. it's pointless."

"but it's happened before," toji insists, scratching behind his ear absentmindedly. there have always been whispers floating through the compound, of hybrids with guts of steel that took it upon themselves to make a run for it. though several were caught and devastatingly punished, there were those who they never saw again. the idea that they must be somewhere where light shines and wind blows is strangely comforting.

"yeah rarely," the tiger snorts in return. a quiet hiss of displeasure escapes his lips as he notices the claw marks running up his arm, and he carefully begins licking at his wounds. "most of the time those fools get caught. and then they get punished."

toji shrugs noncommittally, leaning his head against the bars. "worth the risk."

sukuna curiously peers at him from over his injured arm, heavy brows furrowed. "you really think it's that much better up there?"

"anywhere's better than in here." toji says it resolutely, and sukuna, normally so snippy, says nothing to rebuke him.

before the conversation can continue, toji's nostrils fill with a familiar scent—cigarettes, ironed clothes, faint whiskey. he suppresses a roll of his eyes.

"look who it is." he sarcastically cranes his neck, watching as shiu kong approaches his cell with a nonchalant smile.

"you sure do look relaxed for someone who just had me do a shit ton of paperwork." shiu leans against the wall, eyeing toji through the cell. toji does not like that he has to look up to meet his gaze, so he gets to his feet and casually crosses his arms.

"what the fuck did i do?"

"lots of people enjoyed your fight yesterday. with the polar bear?" shiu pulls out a cigarette, and toji's nose crinkles. "you've got an increase in bets, y'know?"

"who cares?" toji mutters, pushing away from the bars to pace around his cell.

it's not like any of the hybrids get that money.

"i do," shiu chuckles, cigarette balanced between his lips. "you're helping me get paid."

"lucky you," toji sarcastically shoots back. shiu snorts in amusement, crossing his arms.

"anyways, i'm thinking this is a good time to host a big fight for you. the timing is good." toji's "manager" (if that's what you can call him) eyes the wolf as he exhales a puff of smoke. toji's eyes narrow in return, a feeling of anticipation and mild irritation crawling up his skin.

"so you two—" shiu nods his head towards the wolf and the grumpy tiger sitting across the hall. "—prepare for a show, alright?"

sukuna curses colorfully, and toji rolls his eyes. "relax. i'm not giddy to fight you either, asshole."

"yeah because you'll lose," the tiger hisses, baring his teeth.

"oh yeah? that's not what happened last time." toji grins wolfishly, watching sukuna's anger rise.

"because you fucking cheated!"

"aw, little cat can't handle a few bites?" toji's amusement becomes more palpable, enjoying the argument—a very common occurrence for the two of them. "that's why dogs are better."

"i'll kill you," sukuna utters ominously, his striped tail puffed and curling in an aggressively defensive display.

"try it," toji smirks back.

"alright easy boys," shiu chuckles, shaking his head in mild exasperation. "save that energy for the actual fight. people eat that shit up."

"and somehow we're the animals," sukuna grumbles, deciding he's done with the conversation as he heads over to the corner of his cell and curls up on the ground.

"well yeah," shiu shrugs, unfazed. "you should be used to that by now."

they are.

"anyway i figured i'd let you know." the older man turns to face toji. "i know most of the fights are pretty easy for you. but since you both are top tier fighters, prepare how you need to."

"it's not like we've never fought before," toji replies dryly, ears twitching. "i know how it goes down."

"well okay." shiu adjusts his suit jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets.

from the corner of his eye, toji can see sukuna listening in, face impassive.

"you two give me a good show, alright?" shiu casually waves over his shoulder, before heading off back in the direction he came.

"whatever," sukuna grunts, turning on his side. toji watches the tiger's tail lazily flick—side to side. "i hate dogs."

toji lets out a dry chuckle. "well i'm not the biggest fan of cats either, asshole."

again, they aren't friends, but the bleakness of their situation makes it easier to tolerate one another.

a week later, they both face off in the area as promised. shiu claps toji on the back before he heads in, a gesture that makes the wolf's skin prickle, but he brushes it off. he could have someone worse be in charge of him, but shiu is a bit easier to get along with than most of the humans down there. though toji isn't naive—the only reason shiu is so casually cheery around him is because toji is his biggest moneymaker.

that's what it all came down to.

sukuna and toji have both fought enough times to know how to play to the crowd's wishes. they bark and snarl at each other like they are truly wild, claws and teeth and blood everywhere because they know that's what gets the humans going.

that's what gets them to open their wallets at least.

sukuna takes the victory this time around, which is not inherently unusual—they both have a fairly even split of victories and losses. they play up their enmity, and everyone goes wild.

even though hybrids are the shackled ones, somehow these humans remind toji of puppets—so easily manipulated.

the two of them stand and rile up the crowd at the end, acting like they truly are nothing but feral animals who know only to growl and snap at each other. as soon as they hear the sounds of money being exchanged and the roar of conversation they are escorted back to their cells.

toji's ears ring with the sounds of groans and cheers, the same familiar words grating his ears.

"i told you sukuna would win this one!"

"yeah but i said toji would draw first blood, so pay up!"

imbeciles. savages. nothing humane about them.

in their cells, both of them do their best to clean up their wounds. but a fight this aggressive usually results in equally rough damage.

"i think you fractured my rib or something," toji grunts, wincing as he sits down. sukuna throws him an unimpressed look through the bars of his cage.

"not my fault you're weak."

toji's middle finger flies up automatically, and sukuna's lips pull up to one side. "ask them for medical if it's that bad."

"yeah right," toji snorts, licking away the blood that has been dripping from the corner of his mouth. "like they'll listen."

it's more of a curse that hybrids have a better pain tolerance than humans. the medics here never take their injuries seriously for that exact reason.

no instead, they are expected to clean up as they can and prepare for the next fight, letting their body heal as well as possible. humans have always been so hypocritical.

they both relax in a welcome silence. toji suddenly realizes how tired he is, jade eyes straining as he attempts to fix himself up. he knows the rules—damaged merchandise is treated as such.

his ears pick up the faint sound of footsteps approaching, and he realizes that it's probably shiu coming over to update them about the earnings of their fights.

but he is entirely surprised.

"wow, you're definitely a sight."

toji's eyes narrow, teeth gritting. his mood plummets, ears straightening and tail going rigid. the sound of that voice makes every bit of hatred in toji's body come bubbling to the surface. he glares over his shoulder, spitting out each word with extreme difficulty. "what the fuck do you want?"

naoya zenin looks down his nose at the wolf, a greasy smile on his face. naobito zenin stands just behind him, arms crossed with a barely visible look of disgust on his face.

toji's cousin conveniently ignores the accusatory question, peering around the cells and hallway with feigned interest. "these conditions are terrible!"

he finally pins toji with his gaze, an evil smile pulling at his lips. "well, that's to be expected for animals."

"what the fuck do you want?!" toji growls, claws digging into the ground. naoya's eyes light up at the anger, knowing full well that those claws can never come anywhere near him.

"temper! temper!" the blonde gasps, tutting at toji like he's nothing more than a child. "haven't you learned how to control yourself by now?"

"let me out of this cell and i'll show you just how much control i have." the wolf's voice is no more than a rumble, dark and ominous because there is nothing in the world that toji hates more than his own family.

naoya shakes his head, feigning a look of disappointment. "so violent. it's a good thing we put you in here. who knows how dangerous you could've been to us."

the words hit their mark, a jab of self-hatred. toji's green eyes flit over to his uncle, sharp and accusatory.

the one who ratted him out to this godforsaken place.

toji knows when normal families have a predator hybrid born into their home, they lie and cheat and hide them away from this life—too desperate to keep their child away from such danger. after all, it's not the child's fault they were born a predator.

but not toji's family. not the zenins, who took one look at him and waited for the second he turned 18 before hauling him off.

nothing but a bunch of rats.

he knows that he was worth a lot of money. a healthy and fit wolf hybrid, broader and stronger than most of his own species. and of course, his family was quick to sell him off, glad to be rid of this curse on their family—the only shame.

toji had grown up knowing he was hated, but he never thought a family could do something so horrible to one of their own. he stopped seeing the best in people after that.

"you brought this on yourself," his uncle states now, emotionless. his opinion on hybrids has not changed one bit, and yet he shamelessly comes to the compound to collect a portion of the winnings that toji earns. "born with tainted blood."

"you're acting like it's my fucking fault, old man," toji spits out, hackles raised. he wants them to leave, because all he feels when looking at them is nausea.

"it's your damn mother's fault. couldn't keep away from my brother. she ruined him," naobito's emotionless voice takes on a tone of hatred, and toji tenses. "filthy dog whore."

toji's reaction is instantaneous. he's at the bars in a second, teeth bared and spewing curses as he makes a mad grab for either of them. he doesn't care—all he wants to do is tear them to shreds. toji can feel his wounds open further, can feel blood dripping over his skin, but all that seems miniscule when they are in front of him.

the cause of every single misfortune he has ever had.

naoya hops out of the way, laughing—it is a mocking, grating laugh that echoes throughout the hall as he watches toji desperately struggle. "see see! this is why you're dangerous!"

naobito shakes his head, as though he's thoroughly disappointed, but he does not say anything else.

"anyways, well done today!" naoya continues, grinning as he crosses his arms. "you earned a lot of money for us."

toji glares at him, dropping his arm and taking a step back. somehow, being further in his cell is much more comforting than being in their line of sight. he keeps his lips tightly shut.

naoya's voice turns taunting as naobito heads off without another word. "such a shame my dear cousin wasn't born normal like the rest of us." he follows his father without a care in the world, knowing how well his words sting. "had to be born an animal freak."

the hallways is empty. toji takes a few steadying breaths, pushing the anger away because he knows that there is truly no point in keeping it. it's not like this anger has done him any good. maybe if he had gotten angry earlier, he would have zenin blood on his hands—the thought gives him a sick sense of satisfaction.

"your family fucking sucks…" sukuna pipes up from across the hall. toji scoffs out a laugh, but it is far from amused. he turns away.

suddenly the blood on his hands makes him feel disgusting—so much more animalistic than human.

"tell me about it," he mutters, back turned. his ears pick up the sounds of sukuna curling up in his corner, and in a few minutes, quiet rumbling snores follow.

toji sighs, approaching his sink and staring at the cracked mirror he's grown used to seeing himself in. he takes in his reflection, disgust rolling in his stomach.

he thinks he'd probably be considered decently attractive if he was a regular old human. but the dark furry ears, the sharp canines, and all the scars ruin him. adding his haggard clothing and feral eyes and all the blood and dirt on him, he can understand why he is considered so untouchable.

an animal in every right.

he turns the sink on. he is briefly reminded of another time, a time where he lived in a family house and slept in a futon that was warmer than anything he's ever slept in. he can remember wearing things other than rags, occasionally a yukata and other times a t-shirt. he can remember eating a home cooked meal and drinking sake and feeling sunlight on his skin.

and yet even in those better times, he has always had to hear the words of his family cursing his existence. cursing his mother's name for seducing his father and ruining their bloodline with her animal blood.

the only dark stain on the pristine zenin family.

toji sighs, scrubbing the blood from under his claws—like clockwork. the water in the sink turns a mocking shade of pink, and as horrible as it is to say, toji is glad the blood is not his.

he wipes his paws across his ragged clothes, and stares at himself in the mirror.

he isn't ashamed to admit it—but he hates what he sees.

naoya's laughter rings in his ears as he shuts his eyes.

"hey toji?"

his eyes snap open. when the haze clears he sees your features come into focus, soft and curious. your scent floods his nose, and a pleasant shiver runs up his skin. there is a quick sense of relief when he realizes that he had been dreaming of a time in the past, and he steels himself, expression indifferent as he sits up. he briefly recognizes the stark contrast between the hardness of the stone floor in his cell and the softness of your couch—his tongue sits heavy in his mouth.

"what?" he grunts, rubbing at his eyes. he tries to throw you a mock irritated glance, but either it comes off too mild or you've become good at ignoring it. "when'd you get here?"

"a few minutes ago. i got takeout." your lips pull into a teasing smile. "unless you'd rather go back to sleep?"

he pins you with a scathing glare, and annoyingly enough, your smile becomes wider. he stands up, popping his joints and following you to your kitchen table, before diligently taking a seat—in his chair.

toji silently watches you bustle around, grabbing utensils and plates to evenly distribute the food. his stomach growls eagerly, and he realizes just how hungry he is—he recognizes that his body is getting used to being fed so often, and he does not know how to feel about that.

toji's eyes zero in on silly details, not knowing why he does it. your hair is a little messy, not as neat as when you left for work that morning. you've taken off your jacket, the absence of the restrictive fabric making your movements easier. he thinks you've probably had a good day, because your expression, though fatigued, is still relaxed—a small, almost miniscule smile remains on your face.

there a strange satisfaction the settles in his chest when he notices that. he doesn't know why, but the idea that you've had a nice day rather than a difficult one puts him at ease.

"how was your day?" you speak up, briefly making eye contact with him.

(toji does not understand why the small contact makes his stomach flip.)

he grunts, nonchalant. "not bad. didn't do much."

"the injuries are good?"

toji rolls his eyes, dropping his chin into his palm as he pins you with an intrusive stare. "yeah yeah. you ask this every day."

"well it can be good one day and not good the next," you reply defensively, frowning at the chicken you're currently dropping into his plate. but you look satisfied to hear his answer.

toji chuckles mutely. "sure kid."

(the nickname came randomly. you never commented on it. he didn't either.)

he hesitates for a second, before clearing his throat. "how was yours?"

you glance up at him, too quick for him to analyze the expression, but he thinks he catches a faint trace of pleasant surprise. "it was good. boring but not bad at all."

he nods awkwardly—the internal satisfaction grows stronger. his stomach rumbles again as you walk over and place his plate in front of him, and the smell hits his nose immediately—his hunger is all consuming.

(your scent is one of the few human scents he has truly found pleasant.)

and yet he finds himself patiently waiting until you plate your own food, sitting across him quietly. he presses his hands together, bowing his head as he mutters a quiet "thank you for the food" before tucking in.

(he does not say your name, but he thinks he is thanking you—his own twisted version of a god.)

he stays quiet for most of the meal, focusing on the unique and savory taste of the food. months ago he would not have imagined being able to consume such delicacy, but all you have done since you walked into his life is show him that he can have much more than he ever dreamed he could.

you blabber about random things as you eat, telling him about something you saw or what you did throughout the day. he listens.

you're in the middle of updating him about some stupid work drama, which, as embarrassing as it is to say, toji has been looking forward to hearing about. he does not interrupt you, trying to rack his brain for all the details you've spilled the last time.

(it's pathetic how quick he finds them. something about listening to you talk that makes everything else seem useless in comparison.)

"so anyways her husband found out and got mad. but then she basically tried to deny it and said that he was accusing her of nothing." you shove a mouthful of rice into your mouth, rolling your eyes. your tongue flicks out to lick at your lips—toji's eyes shamefully trace the movement. "it's a whole thing now because obviously the dude she was having the affair with works with us too."

"what a bitch," toji answers. your eyes crinkle with amusement, eager to hear him participating. you've probably since realized that he does find your gossip interesting. but it's more than that—he does not know why it's so easy to talk to you.

"right? i hate cheaters," you mutter, stabbing at your chicken.

he does too. something about being a dog that makes loyalty so damn important to him.

(maybe that's why he feels physically ill when he thinks about leaving your side.)

you continue rambling about your cheating coworker with a newfound conviction. toji listens, occasionally dropping a dry remark, and you either laugh or nod emphatically. his lips quirk upward at every reaction. he continues eating his food—slowly so that he can match your pace. which is odd, because he was so damn hungry before.

but even as he quietly chews on the flavored meat, he finds that satiety comes a lot quicker when he quietly listens to you talk.

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861 notes · View notes

keen-li · 2 months ago

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All Aisle Ever Need 03 | jjk

chapter: 3/ ?

summary:

pairing: Jungkook x fem reader.

story type: series.

genre: exes to lovers, second chance au, right person wrong timing, lack of communication, forced proximity, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut.

rating: m. Mdni

wordcount: 3.7k+

warnings for chapter: troubled parental dynamics/figures. It's implied that they are both grown, Jungkook is older than reader (the age is subjective). cussing. found family, flashbacks. none really from here on.

a/n: this is when we get into a little more of the back story.

A/n: it's not a friday but here you go...

date: 13/05/25

note: this is not the first chapter

prev | next

story under cut.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Waking up early on a no-work day is great, though it does feel like a self-inflicted punishment today. Your body aches, and you can hardly move your neck. Your bed has always been comfortable and brought you nothing more than that. But last night, the sleep you got was in intervals. And that's rare for you. Each beginning had you slipping off because of how tired you were, but then your eyes snapped open from a dream.

The dreams varied from random childhood memories to Jungkook leaning against the door frame and smiling at you, still in the outfit you gave him. It felt too real. The waking you would say that was a nightmare, but the dream never caused you an inch of discomfort. It's nothing but a dream.

Maybe the smile was a threat. Everything feels like a threat to your life, to never let it be the same again. Because from now on, your life won't be the same.

Regardless of being able to sleep or not, you like waking up early. You have more time in the day that way.

You still don't know how to process yesterday. You try to remember the happy moments, but they get covered with his face. Yesterday, you were so angry at him and at everything, and today you're still upset. Now it's more about yourself. Maybe you should just take this oppo—no.

You don't have to take shit; this doesn't mean a single thing. It was a fucked-up coincidence.

You’re married to your fucking ex... sigh.

You're a meme to the universe at this point.

But of course, your ex is the best choice but the worst at the same time.

You thought sneaking out extra early to take your dress to the laundry would help you deal with this, but no... it’s making you feel worse because now you have to wonder if Jungkook is awake or not.

He sleeps longer than you; it’s not a surprise.

Something in you wants to avoid him at all costs, and after he leaves your house, you plan on doing that. But right now, you have to deal with it.

You’ve never been the type to kick people out, but you've never been shy to tell them when they've overstayed. Has he overstayed? Honestly, he should’ve never stayed, but—your fault again.

You’re kinder than you thought you would be. Because you should’ve called that Uber yesterday.

You sit in your car, thinking about whether you should go in or not, and you’ve never felt more childish. It’s your house; you shouldn’t be afraid to just walk in.

You don’t have to speak to him anyway; just walk in and do your stuff.

“Morning.”

You should’ve stayed in the car longer.

You scare yourself; the first thing you hear is his voice. You thought he'd still be asleep.

His voice is slow and flows out casually, clearly still in the hands of sleep.

You glance at him once, still stuck and taking your time to close the door. He eyes you from behind your island counter, wondering why you stand frozen.

“Thought you ran from me.” He smiles, licking the drop of coffee off his lip.

He thought you ran? Did you?

“You went into my room?” You finally move from your spot and into the kitchen. You’re so hungry. You knew you should’ve stopped by a café, but heaven knows what stopped you. Because now that you’re here, you don’t feel like anything you eat will sit in your stomach.

How would he know you weren’t here unless he looked into your room? You haven’t done your bed shit... did he go in your room? You don’t know why you panic at the thought of someone seeing you at a low point.

Because you’re not yourself right now.

Maybe you were running away.

“Wouldn’t dare.” He chuckles, staring deeper into his coffee.

He knows better than to. You already expressed that he wasn’t a guest here, so he doesn’t plan on doing anything further to anger you. Even making this coffee was a question mark for him.

“You left the door open,” he explains.

You freeze.

“I did what?”

“You left the door open,” he repeats. What? Are you about to yell at him?

You scoff, shaking your head. “Doesn’t sound like me.” You brush him off because you would never do that.

“Just telling you.” He retreats; it’s not something important to have a discussion on, but he thought you should know. If he wasn’t here and you did that, who knows what would’ve happened? You do live in a more secure apartment building, but nothing’s 100%.

He knows it’s something you wouldn’t do, but you look ‘not yourself today.’ Is it because of him?

You ignore everything; that's the affirmation of this whole thing, right? So that’s what you’re going to do. And something that helps you with that is your coffee.

So, pulling open your cabinet, you search the perimeter for the coffee bags you had. You swore you had them. They'd be almost done by now, but they’re there.

“You finished the coffee?” you turn sharply to the only person with a cup of coffee.

“I’m sorry.”

Great, now you’re going to have to drink tea. It’s fine; you like it, but coffee has always been a better stress reliever. And of course, it just had to be him to ruin the only thing you found solace in.

You accept it and choose to just reach for your mug—“It’s fin—are you using my mug!?”

“Am I?” He stares at the mug. It’s the first one he saw, and it was pretty. He didn't realize it, though. Are you upset? At this point, everything is a landmine in this house.

You roll your eyes. “You’re kidding, right? Is this how you act elsewhere?” He doesn’t respond. “Don’t be so comfortable.”

“You can have it...” There’s definitely a better way for you to set your boundaries with him, but like you said, it’s your house. Honestly, he should just go home. Nothing about being here feels welcoming.

He wants to give it back, but you’re already grabbing another.

You're both silent as you make your cup.

Words itch at Jungkook's throat as he just watches you. There's a lot he wants to say, but where to start? The thought of your reaction has him doubting if he shouldn’t just go home.

Mornings with you were once different from this. Back then, he'd be hovering over your shoulder as you both made breakfast. He preferred you sat, but you didn't like the idea of just sitting when you could help out.

And even when Jungkook forced you to just sit down and watch him, you couldn't just sit. So you would repack his pantry.

He smiles.

“You need to refill your pantry,” he suggests, not as hastily as you hear it, but as an observation. And maybe a conversation filler.

“With some new stuff as well.” Years back, when he would come to yours, he’d find the same type of food you have right now. He’s not sure if you’re just a super fan of the brands, and that’s cool, but you surely can’t have the same taste.

“I’ll be fine.” You walk past him.

You didn’t want to think much about it last night when you gave him the pants, but now you realize you should’ve sacrificed some sleep to find him a shirt. You hate it, but you've got eyes, and he's right in front of you. You hate how you notice how much he's changed. He's bigger—muscles, of course. Not that the pants are hiding much. Geez. You really don't like the best for you.

You never thought tattoos were something that were interesting to look at. Your mother said they were a useless commitment. But now, looking at Jungkook... they aren't that bad. But maybe it's just him. He looks good in them; you'll give him that.

But away from that type of thinking, you do hate that he doesn't seem uncomfortable at all. He's too casual with this.

And the flashbacks to days when you’d stay over at his (which was all you ever did). Thoughts of you laughing at something stupid he said or him—No. No, think.

“How did you sleep?”

Him speaking doesn’t help you in any way. It’s exactly what you don’t want to do.

“We don’t need to speak, you know?” You spit out. What are you even looking for? You can’t keep walking around.

Breakfast—you wanted to make breakfast.

“We’re going to have to.” It’s a truth you want to avoid. But it’s possible if you both agree that you don’t have to talk about anything. Doesn’t he realize that that’s better?

Still walking around, you pretend to not hear him. “Did you leave my room how you found it?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at how you ignore him, but he’ll bite.

“Thought room service was going to do that.” He laughs, and you’re not amused. You can dish out so many remarks but can’t take them.

Not trusting him at all, you’re quick to take a peek at the guest room.

It’s clean. It’s clean.

“Not gonna cuss me out?” The smug look on his face has you rolling your eyes. Fine, he did one small thing you didn’t expect of him, so what?

“I don’t usually leave my pillows like that, but you tried.”

He laughs lightly.

Shit has never been this awkward between him and a woman before. And he’s never not known what to do. But you always seem to take him out of himself, honestly. You’re really going to be the test of if he’s changed or not.

Finally deciding to get serious, you open your fridge, and you groan at the sight. Not much to see, honestly.

“I told you, you need to refill.”

Being so caught up with the wedding, you forgot to go grocery shopping. In truth, you didn’t think you would need to. After the wedding, you thought you and your husband would move in together or find somewhere else to live, and that would be that. You didn’t want to waste food.

Maybe it was dumb to think that.

But it’s fine. You just grab a snack.

“We can go out for breakfast,” Jungkook suggests warmly, walking over to the sink to rinse it.

“Who’s we?”

He pauses.

“You wouldn't want to?”

You don’t answer for a second, but your stomach does a good job at speaking for you. You hate it sometimes.

Jungkook chuckles internally, and it threatens to slip past his lips when you try to deny it. If it was life or death, you would really rather die than let him help you. It’s a shame.

“Just because we’re married doesn’t mean you need me in your plans.”

“I would do this for anyone,” he's quick to correct.

“So generous.”

He rolls his eyes. But he won’t let your stubbornness stop him. “I’ll bring you back something then.”

You raise a brow, but you can’t deny the idea speaks to you. Even through your frustration, you won't deny that Jungkook is caring. He's a lot of things you can't seem to put together.

The day you left, you promised you'd never try to decipher what Jungkook was or was not because it didn't matter. It doesn’t matter.

“You’re coming back?”

Jungkook thinks for a second. He has overstayed, huh? Maybe he's running away from going home too. “Now that you’ve said it, no.”

It’s what you wanted; why is your chest tightening?

“But I would appreciate it if you could drive me back to mine.”

“J-just call an Uber.”

“Are we gonna discuss this again?” he chuckles. “We know how it’ll end.” He teases for your kindness last night.

"You slept with him?"

You roll your eyes at Jisoo’s reaction to you telling her Jungkook slept at yours.

Taehyung hasn't said much since you called them. You have no clue what has him busy behind the camera.

When coming back home, you stopped by the store just to buy food that will last you till you have to leave for the honeymoon.

You sigh. You're excited to be going out of the country, but the circumstances aren't ideal, so you wonder if you will enjoy it. You want to because it's been a while since you went on a trip and just relaxed.

While dropping him off, Jungkook offered for you to come in, and he could make something for you. But just like him, you didn’t want to have to speak to his mother, so you dodged that.

"What the heck? No, I didn't." The scowl on your face tells them how you feel about the idea.

Why the hell would that be the first thing she would think to ask?

"He just didn’t want to go home. And honestly, I get it." You shake your head at the memory of Jungkook's parents. His dad's cool, but his mother...

"His mother is kind of a bitch?" You question if that's how you should refer to her. It's not like it's wrong. You wouldn’t say it to her face or Jungkook's, but you do think it. Jungkook would get it, right? He's said it to you before.

"Is that how you're addressing your mother-in-law?" Jisoo laughs teasingly, and you follow.

"Honestly, if you met her, you would agree." You say defensively. You respect elders, but Jungkook’s mother? Lol.

"So he's got mommy issues?" Taehyung finally speaks.

You pause to think. "I guess you could say that." You frown when you think about it. And when you think more, you connect the dots and realize... "She's like my dad."

Small hums fall out of your friends' mouths.

It's only now that you're realizing how similar you and Jungkook could be. But you don't know much about him still. Why the hell did you love him in the first place? You barely knew a single thing about what you should’ve known about him. You guess you knew him; that’s enough, right?

You met his family. He's never met yours; maybe you're the one who wasn't serious.

You're shocked his mother didn't walk up to you at the wedding. Maybe she didn't remember you? But with the way she analyzed you that day, she should be able to remember.

What does she think of you now? Everything she says is so backhanded, honestly; you don't care to know.

"You seem to be feeling better."

"Yeah, you were a bitch yesterday."

You laugh out when Taehyung abruptly spits out his drink. You almost spit out your latte. "I was not." You definitely were. And the side eyes they give you are evidence of their disagreement.

You're not normally like that, but when you are, you're glad you have friends to tell you. They're never shy to do so. "I'm sorry for that. I was just so—"

"It's okay; we understand."

You pout and share a smile with them.

"So would you care to share what happened between the two of you?"

Oh—you could only dodge so far.

"If you want to," Jisoo adds, so you don't feel any pressure.

You have no issue with sharing it with them. Who else would you tell? But it’s definitely going to be embarrassing.

"It's nothing Shakespeare-worthy." You blush, embarrassed, hands over your face. Are you really going to have to relive it?

It really isn't anything special. You'd been with him for two years. Two years, and you were inching away from being anything serious the more days went on.

It was confusing because everything about you two felt serious.

You shared 'I love yous' (him first). You spent most of your time together and talked often. Jungkook would never go a day without sending a "hi" text. Everything felt set in stone and serious.

Flashback: Two Years Ago

"You okay?" Jungkook coos, brushing the loose hair off your face.

"Huh?" You finally tear your eyes off the one spot you've been staring at.

Jungkook, noticing the blank look on your face, pulls you in playfully. "You look sad." You laugh when he nuzzles his nose into your neck. "I don't like when you're sad."

Laughing, you pull him away and speak through a giggle. "I'm not sad."

He pauses his attacks to look at your face. "Then what's wrong?" He stares at every inch of your face and watches it closely as it falls once again. There's definitely something bothering you, and his brows furrow at the thought.

You stare at the wrinkles on his white duvet. How do you ask what you want to ask?

You pick at your cheek.

"Don't do that." He strokes the cheek that your teeth attack, and immediately you stop.

Whatever it is you want to say requires a more serious tone. So he sits up, the material sliding down his torso. You sit up as well.

"You can talk to me, you know, right?" He reassures you. You rarely get this nervous or awkward. But of late, he can definitely feel a shift on your part, which has led him to draw back a bit. But not enough to make you feel like he doesn't care.

He wouldn't say he's the best at this, but he tries; he wants to be good at this.

Honestly, he doesn't like where your silence is going. What are you about to say?

"I know." You know you can talk to Jungkook about anything, but there are things that are just so hard to talk about with someone you doubt could be there the next few years. You hate to trauma dump on somebody, and then the next moment, you're breaking up, and he's using those things against you. Would Jungkook do that? You're not sure.

Jungkook has honestly been a breath of fresh air for you in terms of relationships. But you're getting older, and you can't keep playing around. You're not even in an established relationship.

You never questioned the non-commitment in the beginning because you never thought things would last between you two. It was just a hookup, but the things turned casual, and soon casual hookups turned into casual conversations and casual laughter. Months turned into a year. And things would have been great if you both clearly didn't feel deeply for what you had.

It's honestly the most complicated situationship. You were basically a couple without the title.

Why? On your part, you would say you were scared things would change once you brought up commitment, or maybe you weren't the commitment type. You have no clue what it is you want, that's why it's hard to bring it up. But maybe whatever he says may push your mind to one direction.

"Talk to me, baby." He says, pulling you into him and placing a kiss on your temple.

You hate this. Hate this confusion. So you pull back and get off the bed.

Jungkook's confused by your actions. He sits at the edge of the bed.

"I can't do this."

Communication is so crucial, but you've been too carried away to do so. You never had goals or intentions for this relationship; it just happened, and you just let it. It was nice to not have expectations for anything.

How the hell did you survive this for almost a year?

But things are getting confusing, and now you realize.

"What do you think we are?" It's a genuine question, one with weight and could change a lot. You never really knew; you hooked up, but it never felt like that, and honestly, it was never always that. You always hung out and did non-sexual stuff. You talked, you laughed, and you even cried in front of him once, though it was because of a movie. If somebody saw the way you hung out, honestly, they would pin it as a friendship. Were you two friends? A fucked-up way to be friends.

"Huh?"

Yeah, you're just as confused.

"Where's this coming from?"

You roll your eyes.

"Don't you wonder?" You take a seat by his desk that's at the end of his bedroom. Jungkook watches your every movement. There's a lot of stuff he'd like to notice, like the way his shirt slides up when you sit down or the way your skin glows from the rays of sun from his window. But he can't; all he's thinking about is your question.

What are you actually?

"I don't know," he responds, and you scoff. "We never talked about it, really."

"We should talk about it."

If you weren't upset over nothing before what he says after surely guarantees that.

"What's there to say?" He chuckles. What's there really to say?

You scoff. "Well, do you want to be something?"

Jungkook pauses, stands, and walks over to you.

Just like you, he never really thought much of this in the beginning. But as time went on, he did grow feelings for you. And it was nice to not have a label or to even think of labels. It's not like he cheated or was disloyal to you. He was all yours, just without a label.

And there's nothing wrong with that to him. Labels aren't that serious. He doesn't need a label to treat you right. He's been doing that just fine.

"Huh? You want to be something?" He caresses your cheek as you look up at him. Why does he make your knees weak? That fucking smile. He's always too calm and always know show to calm you.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "I don't know, Jungkook. I just... I don't want to keep pretending like this is nothing when it feels like so much more."

A embarrassing to say but you feel like you can trust him with it.

He nods slowly, processing your words. "I get it. I really do. But what if we just keep it like this for a while longer? No pressure, no labels. Just us."

You want to argue, to push for something more concrete, but the sincerity in his eyes makes you hesitate. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you both need more time to figure things out.

Maybe labels don't mean much.

"Okay," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. "But we need to be honest with each other."

"Deal," he replies, a smile breaking across his face. "I promise."

But being honest with eachother was the last thing that happened...

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/n: we're now going to get into more of the back story so the following chapter will be flashbacks. I know its not a Friday but I wanted to get this out cause i missed Friday...

A/n 2: i'm sorry if this chapter was ass, this week's been busy and mentally draining. if you didn't like it please don't tell me and if you did like it please let me know.

i'm getting to the point where i'm getting insecure about everything i put down, so i hope i get through that but anyways i don't mean to sob... I will keep writing it though, I'm not giving up...

anyways I hope you enjoyed.

same time next week?

Lets discuss in the replies 🖐😊

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @granataepfelchen @jksusawife @notsevenwithyou @llallaaa @kmpj9 @lryf @smileyshaven @dragonflygurl4 @mar-lo-pap @blueberriesm @vantelover1306 @bjoriis @alana4610 @khadeeeeej

note: to join taglist just inbox.

every note, reply and reblog is appreciated.

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luxerians · 5 months ago

Text

The Last Mask (18.2)

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

Chapter 18.2 - Humanity [NSFW]

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 19

PREV : Chapter 17.2

SFW ver. : Chapter 18.1

[Hwang In-ho’s Flashback…]

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was years ago. Now…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, that moment came.

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

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

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

And something inside him tightened.

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

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

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

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

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

Once these games are over, he would find them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Oh Young-il.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

“[Your name].”

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

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

Gi-hun stared at you, his expression solemn.

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

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

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

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

Pathetic.

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

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

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

More than it ever should have.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But now?

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

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

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

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

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

Does he like you too?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did he like you?

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

So he acted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In-ho didn’t take it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got two?”

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

Your eyes widened. “We can do that?”

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

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

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

***

[Back to present…]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Front Man speaking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“My manager uniform,” you clarified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” you pressed softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught. “Eliminated? As in…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

That was all the answer you needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

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

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

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

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

“Captain, the VIPs have arrived.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seconds passed. Then a minute.

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

Then, finally, he inhaled slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, no answer. You shook your head.

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

Silence stretched between you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You perked up. “Workers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With that, the plan was set.

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Be careful.”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” the masked officer asked.

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

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

Jun-hee is giving birth.

SFW ver. : Chapter 18.1

NEXT : Chapter 19

PREV : Chapter 17.2

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

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

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

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jkwrites-m · 1 month ago

Text

Another Time (8)

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: soulmates, past life, thriller, smut, fluff, angst

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: When Y/N and Jungkook begin sharing vivid dreams of each other, their connection feels too real to ignore. When tragedy from a past life begins bleeding into the present, they’re forced to unravel the mystery of love, betrayal, and fate.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+ angst, cursing, name-calling, fighting, physical harm, verbal assault, physical assault, attempted sexual assault, main character death, murder, lying, gore, blood, knives, emotions 💔

A/N: it’s THE flashback so please read with caution guys⚠️. This is a heavy chapter so please pay attention to the warnings 🫶 -m

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

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“Y/N?” His voice cracked like dry glass.

Her sobbing paused, not because she’d calmed, but because she’d heard him. Slowly, she pulled away from Jimin and turned her face toward Jungkook.

Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, but it wasn’t the crying that knocked the breath from Jungkook’s lungs. It was her eyes. The look in them.

Hatred.

It was sharp. Foreign. The kind of look you never forget, because it splits your soul in half.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping forward, reaching slightly. “Baby, what-”

“Don’t,” she snapped, her voice low and venom-laced. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Y/N... What’s going on?”

Her lips trembled, then curled with disgust. “You’re really gonna stand there and pretend like you don’t know?” Her voice raised sharply. “Do you think I’m that fucking stupid, Jungkook?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, confused, hurt flooding his voice. “I- I just got here- ”

“The coke,” she screamed, her voice raw. “The fucking cheating. The lies. All of it. I know everything now.”

Jungkook's heart slammed against his ribs. “What- what do you mean everything?”

She stepped toward him, each step like a storm surge building. “I saw the pictures. Jimin told me everything. You weren’t careful. You didn’t even try to hide it. All that time I spent trusting you… loving you since we were kids and this is what you do?”

Jungkook was already shaking his head. “No. No, no, no. That’s not true. I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t- Y/N, I swear to God, I didn’t touch anyone.”

“Liar!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “You’re a fucking liar, Jungkook!”

He flinched, physically stepping back as if the words struck him.

Jimin stood now, positioning himself slightly between them. “You don’t deserve to stand here and act confused,” he spat. “You don’t deserve her.”

“You think I’m going to take this from you?” Jungkook barked back. “You’ve been jealous of us for years. This is what you’ve always fucking wanted!”

“I’m not the one who did lines in a hotel room with two half-naked girls while my fiancée was waiting at home!” Jimin snapped.

“That didn’t happen!” Jungkook shouted. “You're making this shit up! And you know it!”

“Enough!” Y/N screamed, hands over her ears like their voices were knives. “Just shut up! Both of you!”

The room fell into silence except for her sobs. Jungkook took a tentative step forward.

“Y/N,” he said, voice shaking. “You’ve known me since we were kids. You know I wouldn’t do this to you.”

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” she whispered, tears pooling again. “You’re not him. You’re not the boy I grew up with. You’re not the man I thought I’d marry.”

He fell to his knees.

It wasn’t performative- it was real, painful, raw. Jungkook’s hands reached toward her, palms up, begging. “Please. Please don’t believe him. You’re all I have. I love you.”

She shook her head violently, backing away from his hands like they were fire. “You threw that love away.”

“No- please,” he whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I’m not that person. I swear. He twisted something, he- he framed me, Y/N. You have to believe me!”

“I don’t have to believe anything,” she snarled.

“I’ll go to rehab. I’ll cut everyone off. I’ll do anything, just- just don’t walk away from us.”

She stared at him in silence for several seconds. Then, without blinking:

“Get out.”

Jungkook’s breath hitched. “Y/N...”

“I said get the fuck out!” she screamed.

He remained kneeling. “Please... just talk to me…”

“I hate you!” she roared. “I hate you for what you did to me!”

The words were a blade, and Jungkook felt every inch of it. He stayed frozen, his soul bleeding out in silence as Jimin stepped closer to her side.

“Don’t make me say it again,” she hissed.

Slowly, Jungkook stood. His knees popped under the strain of standing with a shattered heart. His shoulders slouched forward like the weight of two decades had just landed on his back. He looked at her one last time, hoping, praying, silently begging for a flicker of mercy.

None came.

He turned, and each step toward the door felt heavier than the last. The silence was deafening, and when the door clicked closed behind him, it sounded like a tomb sealing.

Outside, it had started to rain.

Jungkook stepped into it without hesitation, letting the cold drops mix with the salt of his tears. For the first time in years, the dreams that had always comforted him... were nowhere to be found.

═══════

Jungkook barely made it to the end of the driveway.

Rain soaked him instantly, slicking his hair to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. But none of it registered. He stood there, unmoving, staring at the gravel like it held the answers he didn’t have. His chest heaved, his heart crushed under the weight of her words.

I hate you.

They echoed like gunshots in his head.

But no matter how much it hurt, something deeper gnawed at his insides. A voice, quiet at first, then screaming. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Y/N’s voice in his memory hadn’t just been angry. It had been afraid. Shaken.

And Jimin… the smugness in his face. The way he held her. The timing of it all.

No.

Jungkook turned on his heel.

He didn’t walk back. He ran.

His wet shoes slapped against the porch as he bolted through the door he hadn’t even bothered to lock behind him. Rainwater dripped down his face, fogging his vision, but the moment he stepped back into the house, all sound sharpened like glass breaking.

Yelling.

Not just raised voices.

screaming.

His blood froze.

“Y/N?” he called, already sprinting toward the back of the house.

The bedroom door was half-shut, light flickering inside. The noises were clearer now, her voice high-pitched, panicked, desperate.

“Jungkook! Help! Please! Stop! Get off me!”

And then he heard her scream.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slammed through the door with his shoulder, the door banging against the wall so hard the handle embedded into the drywall. What he saw made his soul explode in rage.

Jimin was on top of her, pinning her wrists down with one hand, his other tugging at the hem of her shirt. Her legs kicked violently beneath him, her voice hoarse from screaming.

“GET OFF HER!” Jungkook roared.

Jimin barely had time to turn before Jungkook tackled him, launching himself like a missile. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Y/N scrambled back against the bedpost, chest heaving, face pale.

Jimin recovered fast. With a guttural snarl, he reared back and smashed his fist into Jungkook’s face.

Crack.

Jungkook's head whipped to the side. His lip split open.

Jimin didn’t stop- he punched again, and again, fists fueled by something darker than jealousy.

“You ruined everything!” Jimin screamed, spit flying.

Jungkook's body reeled with each blow, stars dancing in his vision.

Y/N screamed again, this time for him. “Stop! STOP!”

Her hand closed around the lamp on the nightstand, the heavy ceramic one Jungkook’s mother had given them. Without thinking, she swung.

CRACK.

The lamp exploded against Jimin’s skull, shards flying as he stumbled forward with a grunt, hands flying to the back of his head.

“You bitch- !” he hissed, staggering.

He turned, wild-eyed, and slammed his fist into Y/N’s cheek before she could move.

She hit the wall hard and dropped to the floor, her hand clutching her face.

“Y/N!” Jungkook tried to move, but his limbs were slow. Dizzy. The world tilted around him, blood dripping from his nose. His head throbbed where Jimin had hit him, the edges of his vision blurring.

Jimin moved to Y/N again, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her backward with a violent pull.

“No!” Jungkook surged up with what strength he had left, pulled back, and let his fist fly.

The punch connected hard, right into Jimin’s nose. The crunch was immediate.

Jimin howled in pain and reeled backward, hands flying to his face. Blood poured between his fingers.

“You piece of- ” he lunged, slamming into Jungkook and sending both of them crashing into the dresser. Jungkook’s back hit the corner hard, but worse, his head struck the mirror behind them with a sickening thud.

His knees buckled.

Everything spun.

Jungkook dropped to the floor, dazed and blinking through what felt like fog. He barely registered Jimin turning back to Y/N.

“No- no-” he slurred, trying to push himself up.

Y/N tried to crawl away, sobbing now, her cheek already swelling, blood staining her lip.

Jimin stood over her, nose crooked and eyes full of madness.

“You should’ve picked me,” he spat.

And then he punched her again.

This time, she went limp.

Jungkook’s vision tunneled in on her body, crumpled, unmoving.

“No...” he whispered, voice broken. “Y/N...”

The darkness crept closer.

═══════

The dim, flickering light from a lone bulb cast long, jagged shadows across the living room walls. The silence was thick, pierced only by the sound of slow, calculated footsteps and the rustle of rope.

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered.

Her head throbbed, her jaw ached, and something was digging into her wrists. She tried to move, but her body didn’t respond the way it should. Her legs were numb, her arms stiff. She blinked hard, tears spilling without permission as awareness crept back in like smoke.

She was tied.

Her arms were bound behind the back of a dining room chair, ropes cinched tight around her wrists and ankles. A strip of cloth gagged her mouth, cutting into the corners of her lips. Her breathing quickened into a muffled panic.

Across from her, Jungkook stirred.

He, too, was tied, his chair placed deliberately to face hers- their eyes met instantly. His lower lip was swollen, blood dried at the corner of his mouth. His left eye was beginning to purple. But what gutted her most was the way he looked at her: with helplessness, horror, and raw apology.

She sobbed behind her gag. He let out a low, strangled sound behind his.

Then a voice emerged from behind them, casual, almost annoyed.

“Oh, come on,” Jimin said, stepping into view between them, the kitchen light throwing his shadow across the room. “You two crying like that... it’s not going to help anything.”

His tone was light, matter-of-fact, like he was explaining weather conditions instead of orchestrating a kidnapping.

Jungkook growled low behind the cloth gag. Y/N flinched, her breathing jagged, head twitching in search of an escape that didn’t exist.

“I really didn’t want it to come to this,” Jimin said with a sigh, dragging a chair into the center of the room and spinning it around so he could sit on it backward, his arms resting on the backrest. “But people don’t listen, do they? Especially when they’re stubborn and selfish.”

He glanced at Y/N, his eyes softening in a sickening way. “I was hoping you’d come easily. After everything I showed you… after what you saw him do... I thought you’d run. I thought you’d come find me.”

She let out a muffled cry, shaking her head wildly.

“You were supposed to,” he whispered, almost hurt. “You were supposed to know. We’re the ones who are meant to be.”

He turned toward Jungkook, who was already straining at the ropes, muscles flexing with futile fury.

“You weren’t even supposed to be a problem,” Jimin said coldly. “Honestly, I thought it’d be easy. Jennie was all in. I didn’t even have to push her that hard. She thought you were hot and rich and probably bored. I told her you liked her, that you were only with Y/N out of pity. She believed it.” He laughed once. “People believe what they want to believe, huh?”

Jungkook's whole body shook from the effort to scream through the gag. His eyes burned with hatred.

Jimin ignored it.

“I thought Jennie would seduce you. I didn’t think you’d actually push her off. I underestimated you there. Maybe you’re not as much of a piece of shit as I thought.” His face twitched, then turned bitter. “Still a piece of shit, though.”

He stood and began pacing.

“I started small, you know? Just casual. Friendly. The guy at work who makes jokes. The one who laughs at your dumb stories. The one who buys the drinks and listens. All while keeping her safe.” He pointed at Y/N again. “Always keeping her safe.”

Y/N was sobbing now, trying to shake her head, trying to scream at him through the gag. He didn’t hear it or didn’t care.

“I brought coke to the bar once. Just a little. I knew you wouldn’t say no if you were drunk enough. And you didn’t. You tried it.” Jimin’s smile curled into something cruel. “That’s all I needed. Just one mistake. All I needed was one picture. Just in case I needed to show her what kind of man you are.”

Jungkook thrashed against the ropes, veins bulging in his neck.

“I built the whole thing,” Jimin continued, breathless now, lost in the fever of his own confession. “Every story. Every picture. Every whisper. Jennie was convinced you loved her. That you hated Y/N. That you were only waiting for the right moment. And when that didn’t work... I made it seem like Jennie was the one stalking you.”

He looked at Y/N again, tilting his head. “Remember the flowers on your porch? The notes? The phone calls? The car that got keyed outside the grocery store? “Mine” in the mirror? You thought it was her, didn’t you?”

She froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“I did all of that,” he whispered. “Me. I watched you. I followed you home more nights than you’ll ever know. You always looked over your shoulder, but never far enough.”

Y/N shook with silent terror, fresh tears pouring.

“I wanted you scared. I wanted you to doubt him. And when you did... when you finally screamed at him and made him leave... I thought finally. I thought you’d see that I was always there.”

He knelt beside her chair now, his face inches from hers, the smile gone. What was left was hunger.

“I’ve loved you since the moment you smiled at me in sophomore year. You don’t remember it. But I do.”

Her whole body recoiled.

“I’ve waited. Years. I’ve been patient. But you never saw me. It was always him.” His voice was now trembling, with frustration or rage or both. “And I’m done waiting.”

Jungkook’s chair tipped from how hard he lunged forward, his muffled scream furious. But the ropes were tight, expertly knotted.

Jimin stood again, his expression composed now, almost serene. “This didn’t have to be violent. I wanted you to choose me. But you’re not thinking straight right now.” He gestured between them. “That’s okay. We’ll just take some time. Together. And once it’s just us, and he’s gone, you’ll see.”

Y/N let out a moan of pure despair, her body wracking with sobs.

Jimin’s smile twitched.

“I’m going to make us tea. When I come back, we’re going to talk. All three of us. Properly.”

And with that, he turned and walked back toward the kitchen, humming to himself, the sound of a kettle being filled breaking the silence.

Jungkook and Y/N were alone again, chairs facing each other, eyes locked. Both gagged. Both bound. But something electric passed between them.

Desperation.

Love.

Survival.

And rage.

═══════

Jimin returned from the kitchen with no tea in hand. Only a hunting knife.

The blade gleamed under the low living room light, clean, curved, clinical, as if it didn’t belong in the hands of someone who once called himself a friend. But now, nothing felt unfamiliar. Not the madness in his eyes. Not the way he walked with purpose. Not the silence stretching between each step.

He crouched beside Y/N first.

She flinched when his fingers touched her gag.

“Shh,” he cooed. “I want to hear your voice. Don’t scream. It ruins the moment.”

With agonizing slowness, he untied the cloth from behind her head and pulled it free. Her jaw quivered, her lips trembling from the dried blood that had crusted at the corner.

“P-Please…” she rasped.

Jimin’s eyes glinted as if her fear was music. Then he turned to Jungkook, his movements sharper, colder. He yanked the gag from Jungkook’s mouth like tearing tape from skin.

Jungkook immediately spat blood toward his shoes.

“You piece of shit,” he growled, voice hoarse, throat raw. “Let her go. I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jimin laughed.

Loudly.

It echoed through the room like something unhinged. He backed away, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Oh no. Jungkookie’s mad,” he taunted, tilting his head. “You’re gonna kill me? While tied to a chair?”

Jungkook lunged forward, straining against the ropes. They didn’t budge.

“What are you gonna do, huh?” Jimin sneered. “Cry again? Beg some more? Punch me with your words?”

Y/N’s voice cut through the madness- trembling, quiet. “Please… Jimin. You don’t have to do this. We won’t tell anyone. Just let us go. Please.”

Her eyes shimmered, brimming with both terror and humanity.

But Jimin’s gaze didn’t soften. “It’s too late for that.”

Jungkook turned to her, eyes locking with hers in the dim light.

And suddenly, the rage fell away.

What was left was love.

Unbreakable. Radiant. Honest.

His breathing slowed. His voice lowered.

“Y/N…” he whispered.

She turned to him instantly, her eyes wide, drowning in sorrow.

“I don’t know if we’re going to get out of this,” he said. “But I can’t let you go without saying everything.”

Jimin rolled his eyes and muttered, “Oh great, here comes the Romeo monologue.”

Jungkook didn’t stop.

“You shaped who I am,” Jungkook said. “From the moment I met you, I became someone. You are my air. My purpose. Every breath I’ve ever taken that mattered, it was because of you.”

Y/N sobbed, the sound nearly silent.

“I was an idiot,” Jungkook continued, voice unraveling. “I lied about things I thought didn’t matter. I was stupid. I should’ve told you everything, every mistake, every scar. But what I never did- what I never could do- is cheat on you. I would never disrespect you. Never hurt you. You’re my best friend. My everything.”

Jimin began to pace, his smirk faltering.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. My soul. My constant. I’d burn the world to the ground before I ever hurt you. And I’m so sorry for ever making you doubt it.”

He started crying — real tears, hot and raw, dripping from his bruised face.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much it scares me. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want a life with you.”

“I love you too,” Y/N whispered through her sobs. “You’re my whole world, Jungkook. I believe you. I forgive you. I choose you.”

They looked at each other like the world had narrowed to just them- the ropes, the fear, the madness- all falling away.

Jimin stood still, silent, something unreadable in his eyes.

And then, his expression shattered.

“You’re better than him,” he barked at Y/N. “You know you are. Look at you. Look at what he’s done! And you're still- still choosing him?”

Y/N nodded, slowly, eyes fierce despite the tears.

“Yeah,” she said. “I choose him.”

“Me or him?” Jimin screamed, his voice shaking the walls.

“Jungkook.” She didn’t blink.

Jimin’s hand lashed out.

The slap landed so hard Y/N’s face jerked sideways and her lip split. Jungkook roared from his chair, thrashing until it tipped sideways and he crashed to the floor.

“You dumb cunt,” Jimin snarled, inches from her face now. “You don’t know what you had in front of you. You’re a tease. A bitch. You’ve always been one.”

Y/N whimpered, turning her face away, but he followed.

“He drags you down. He makes you less. And you’re too stupid to see it.”

“Go to hell,” she hissed.

“You ruined your life,” Jimin spat. “And it’s your fault. You could’ve had something better. You could’ve had me.”

Y/N turned her face back to him. Not with fear, but with rage.

“Fuck you,” she said. “I will only ever love Jungkook.”

And that was the end.

Jimin stepped back.

Something inside him broke.

His eyes emptied out.

“Well then,” he said softly, “if I can’t have you…”

He raised the knife.

“…then no one can.”

“No!” Jungkook screamed from the floor, but it was too late.

Jimin lunged forward and plunged the blade into Y/N’s abdomen.

She screamed, a gut-wrenching, primal scream that filled the room and shattered the air.

Blood soaked her shirt immediately.

“No- NO!” Jungkook was screaming, crying, voice tearing from his throat.

Y/N gasped, her body trembling violently.

Jimin pulled the knife out and stabbed again.

Then again.

Three times.

She slumped forward, her breath catching in shallow, broken sobs.

Jimin stepped back, panting, covered in her blood, eyes wild with something feral and irreversible.

Jungkook was screaming incoherently now, trying to push himself upright, his arms and legs still bound, his voice a mix of horror and helplessness.

Y/N whimpered.

Then lifted her head, barely.

Her eyes found him.

And she smiled.

Even as the blood ran from her lips.

“Jungkook…” she whispered, the words a wisp of breath, “My favorite person…”

He stopped struggling just to hear her.

Her voice was shaking, thin, but laced with love.

“We’ve been glued together since we were kids… swapping secrets, racing through the neighborhood, falling in love under those big oak trees…”

Tears streamed down Jungkook’s cheeks, his face twisted in agony.

“You’ve been my best friend… my partner in every silly adventure… my everything…”

“Y/N, please…” he sobbed. “Hold on. Please, just hold on…”

“I want you to know…” she gasped, blood dribbling from her lips, “my heart’s still beating just for you… wild and full…”

She smiled, barely.

“I promise to love you with every bit of me… forever…”

“Don’t go,” Jungkook whispered, his voice crumbling. “Don’t leave me. I need you…”

“We won’t get our big wedding day…” she said slowly, “but we’ve already built a life full of love… and that’s what matters…”

Her head was beginning to slump.

Jimin stood off to the side, motionless.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered, but she forced them open.

“We’ll find each other again,” she whispered. “I know it…”

Jungkook was sobbing now, tied down, destroyed.

“Look at me…” she said, barely audible.

Her breath hitched one last time.

“I’m yours… always…”

She closed her eyes.

“…and I can’t wait to see you again… just past the horizon.”

Silence.

Her body went still.

And Y/N- Y/N was gone.

═══════

Jungkook’s scream cracked the ceiling.

It wasn’t a sound of rage or defiance, it was the sound of something breaking. A soul splintering. A life unraveling. He shook against his restraints, blood and tears running together as he stared at the woman across from him- the woman who had been everything.

The woman who was now gone.

Y/N’s body slumped motionless in the chair, blood spreading in a slow, blooming pool beneath her. Her eyes were closed, lips parted as if still caught mid-whisper. That last promise, those final words — they echoed through his mind on loop.

“I’m yours… always…”

“NO!” he roared, his voice hoarse, tearing from his throat until it was raw. “NO, PLEASE!”

His chest rose and fell violently. He was gasping, coughing, sobbing all at once. Snot and blood dripped from his mouth. He didn’t care.

“She’s dead…” he whispered. “Oh my God. She’s dead…”

He dropped his head forward, forehead pressing into the rope that bound him. He wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted to claw his way into the floor and disappear forever.

Behind him, Jimin stood frozen.

Knife still in hand. Blood spattered across his shirt and neck. His breath came in quick, shallow bursts. Something inside him flickered. Not triumph. Not relief. Just… silence.

“I…” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean…”

His gaze flicked to Y/N’s lifeless body. The knife clattered to the floor with a metallic clink as his hands trembled.

“I loved her,” he whispered.

But there was no answer. No one to comfort him. No delusion left to protect his mind from what he’d done.

He lunged forward again, not toward Y/N this time, but toward Jungkook.

Jungkook barely moved.

He didn’t fight. Didn’t flinch.

Jimin’s fist crashed into his jaw. Then again. And again.

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” Jimin bellowed. “She was mine! YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!”

Jungkook’s head whipped to the side with each punch. Blood painted his lips anew. His chair wobbled from the force but didn’t fall.

Still, he didn’t react. He just stared at her.

Jimin let out a roar of frustration, his fists falling limp at his sides. “Say something!” he screamed.

But Jungkook had nothing left for him.

Only her.

“My beautiful Y/N…” he whispered through swollen lips.

His voice was hollow, but full of love. Of memory. Of pain.

“We were just kids when we fell in love, racing through the backyard, whispering dreams under the stars…”

Tears slid down his cheeks like rivers carved through stone.

“…stealing kisses that felt like forever.”

Jimin stood still now, frozen by the sheer weight of Jungkook’s grief.

“You were my best friend, my partner in every wild moment… my whole world.”

Jungkook’s body trembled, wracked with sobs, but his voice stayed soft.

“You slipped away before I could say these vows… and now, with my own time running short… I’m holding you close in my heart… speaking the words I wish I’d said…”

The room fell quiet. Jimin’s breathing had slowed.

Jungkook continued, every word cracking him open wider.

“I promise to love you with every breath I have left. We didn’t get our wedding, but every giggle, every glance, every quiet second we shared was our promise. Our always.”

His gaze never left her.

“I carry you in the breeze… in our favorite songs… in the way the sunlight feels like your smile.”

His lips trembled, blood running over the edges.

“I’m not scared… because I know I’ll see you soon.”

A weak smile crossed his face, more painful than peaceful.

“I can almost hear you laughing, waiting for me… just beyond the stars.”

He inhaled deeply, raggedly.

“Save me a spot, my love…”

His eyes fluttered halfway shut as his head bowed.

“I’m coming to you, ready to hold you again.”

Jimin stood like a ghost in the room.

He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t speak again.

He walked out.

Just walked out.

Leaving Jungkook bound, broken, but not beaten because even in grief, even in death, love had spoken louder than madness.

═══════

The silence in the room was thick and suffocating.

Jungkook sat motionless in the chair for hours, his wrists raw from struggling, his face caked in dried blood and tears. His eyes had not left Y/N’s body. Not once. He had barely blinked. Her form remained bathed in dim, amber light- her hair matted with blood, her shirt soaked with it. But still, to Jungkook, she looked like the girl who used to draw stars in the dirt with him under their childhood oak trees. The girl who hummed when she braided her hair. The girl who kissed him like he held the universe in his mouth.

The door creaked.

Then-

Clap.Clap.Clap.

Jimin strolled back in slowly, a slow sarcastic applause echoing across the hardwood floor.

“Well…” he said, dragging out the word like a theater critic. “What a performance. That little monologue?” He chuckled. “You almost had me crying.”

Jungkook didn’t move.

Jimin walked a slow circle around the room, then stopped beside Jungkook and crouched down.

“But you know what the problem is?” he said, tapping the side of his head. “I see through you. Always have. You’re not some tragic lover. You’re not this noble, broken hero. You’re a fucking narcissist.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away from Y/N.

“You think you loved her?” Jimin spat. “You couldn’t even respect her enough to be honest. You let Jennie throw herself at you and you didn’t stop it. You let her touch you. She told me everything.”

Jungkook closed his eyes briefly, the memory stabbing at him like broken glass.

“I didn’t…” he muttered. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t have to!” Jimin shouted, rising to his feet. “You liked it. You liked the attention. The flirting. The ego trip. You wanted to keep both of them orbiting around you like some fucked-up little sun.”

Still, Jungkook didn’t bite.

He only whispered again, lips barely moving:

“I love her.”

Jimin’s face twisted. “You don’t know what love is.”

Jungkook’s eyes finally lifted- slowly, painfully- and fixed on Jimin with a hollow kind of defiance.

“I do,” he said, blood running from the corner of his mouth. “It’s her. It’s always been her.”

Jimin snarled, spinning on his heel and pacing.

“Then why’d you cave so easily, huh?” he said. “One drink, and boom- coke up your nose. Y/N asked you to distance yourself from Jennie, and you didn’t even try.”

Jungkook said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Because Jimin wasn’t done.

“You were supposed to be her protector. Her home. And instead you fed your own ego every damn time. You let her wonder. Let her ache. And the moment things got complicated, what did you do?” Jimin gestured wildly. “You buried the truth.”

“She still loved me,” Jungkook whispered.

“She shouldn’t have!” Jimin roared.

Silence again. Heavy. Grating.

Jungkook’s head sagged forward, his voice almost inaudible:

“I love her.”

“You’re a liar,” Jimin spat. “You’re just afraid to be alone. You loved how she loved you. That’s all it was.”

“I love her,” Jungkook repeated.

Jimin kicked the side of his chair hard enough to rattle Jungkook’s whole body. He didn’t flinch.

“You didn’t deserve her!” Jimin screamed, his voice cracking. “She was mine. She just didn’t know it yet. I could’ve given her a life without pain. Without you.”

Jungkook slowly lifted his gaze again, his face battered, his eyes bloodshot and met Jimin’s stare.

“You never knew her,” he said, voice shaking. “She would’ve never loved you.”

Jimin looked stunned for a second, and behind that, something unhinged simmered. He turned and faced Y/N’s body, silent now.

“I knew her better than you ever did,” he muttered. “She just never gave me the chance.”

Jungkook shook his head weakly.

“She gave her heart. To me. You can kill us both. But that truth doesn’t change.”

Jimin stood still.

He didn’t scream again. He didn’t speak.

He just stared into the silence, drowning in it, as the man he hated whispered love like a prayer to the girl he couldn’t have.

═══════

Jimin was silent.

Too silent.

He stared at Y/N’s lifeless body, her blood staining the wooden floor like spilled ink. His hands trembled. His jaw clenched. His eyes shimmered with something broken and wild, not sadness anymore, but fury boiling under the weight of guilt.

Without warning, he turned and punched Jungkook hard in the face.

Jungkook’s head snapped back, pain exploding in his cheekbone. The chair creaked beneath him, groaning under the force. Blood splattered from his lip.

“You smug bastard,” Jimin snarled. “Sitting there… whispering love like it means something now.”

He stormed toward the knife, still glinting under the faint overhead light, resting in the pool of Y/N’s blood.

He picked it up.

It was still wet.

The red clung to the blade like it belonged there.

Jimin stared at it for a moment, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. His breath came in ragged pulls. The moment froze, the grief trying to claw its way through his fury.

And then he snapped.

He turned back to Jungkook with the blade trembling in his grip, raised it and slashed.

The tip of the knife cut a jagged line across Jungkook’s cheek.

“AH- !” Jungkook screamed through clenched teeth, blood instantly blooming from the wound.

Jimin’s face twisted. “You feel that? That’s what it’s like to be alive. Something you clearly forgot.”

Jungkook gasped, his chest rising and falling, the cut burning like fire, blood dripping down his neck. He didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. He just stared back, defiant and delirious, whispering:

“I love her.”

Jimin growled, enraged.

He plunged the knife down again- not into his chest, not anywhere fatal but deep into Jungkook’s thigh.

Jungkook screamed.

His entire body seized, the pain blooming like a lightning strike. Blood gushed from the stab, soaking his jeans instantly.

“Let’s see how much love you have left,” Jimin hissed.

He stabbed him again in the other thigh.

Then his side, narrowly avoiding any organs but ensuring agony.

Jungkook screamed again, the rope tearing into his wrists as he jerked violently.

Jimin stepped back, chest heaving.

Jungkook sagged in the chair, his head lolling forward, blood dripping from every angle now. His skin was pale. His shirt was soaked.

But his lips still moved.

“Y/N…”

Jimin lost it.

He kicked Jungkook’s chair.

Once.

Twice.

Then again- until the chair tipped, slamming sideways onto the floor with a loud crack. Jungkook’s head hit the ground hard, a gasp of pain escaping him.

“You think you're a fucking hero?!” Jimin shouted, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “You think you’re the victim?”

He dragged Jungkook by the ropes, yanking the chair backward like dead weight.

Jungkook groaned in pain, his body a storm of fire and bruises.

Jimin pulled him into the kitchen, his boots slipping on the blood trailing behind.

The kitchen was colder. Sterile. The tile unforgiving beneath the chair’s legs.

Jimin let go of him and kicked him again, the blow landing in Jungkook’s ribs.

Jungkook coughed- a wet, rattling sound.

The knife was still in Jimin’s hand.

And now, the space between them had narrowed to a breath.

“After everything,” Jimin hissed, leaning down, his face inches from Jungkook’s bloodied one. “She still loved you.”

Jungkook’s eye, the one that wasn’t swollen shut, looked up at him.

And despite everything… he smiled.

“She’ll love me in the next life, too.”

Jimin screamed.

Jimin screamed- a sound of pure madness, not human anymore.

He hurled the knife across the room. It clattered against the wall and dropped into the sink with a metallic crash. His hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. For a moment, he stood there, panting, jaw clenched, eyes wild and twitching.

Jungkook lay on the kitchen floor, tied to the fallen chair, barely conscious. His legs were soaked in blood. His face was a mangled palette of bruises and cuts. But through the swelling, he still wore that look- that small, broken, bleeding smile. The kind that said: You failed.

And that broke Jimin further.

“You think that makes you better than me?” he seethed, stepping toward him again. “You think that little smirk makes you her knight in shining fucking armor?”

Jungkook groaned but didn’t respond.

“I was always there,” Jimin hissed, crouching low. “I saw her when you didn’t. I listened when you didn’t care. I watched her fall apart over you. Every tear, every moment you ignored her, dismissed her, made her question herself- I was there.”

He reached down and gripped Jungkook’s hair, yanking his head up so they were eye to eye.

“And she still chose you.”

He slammed Jungkook’s head against the tiled floor.

Jungkook let out a strangled gasp.

Again.

Another slam.

Blood smeared across the tile now, a glistening red halo spreading beneath him.

“Say something!” Jimin roared, shaking him.

Jungkook’s mouth opened, barely.

And then:

“I love her.”

The words were hoarse, cracked, nearly inaudible but they were real. Soft as a prayer. Stronger than the pain.

Jimin roared and stood up. He began pacing, hands clawing through his hair, breath wheezing.

“You think love means this?!” he screamed, spinning toward the body in the chair across the room- Y/N, lifeless and stained with the blood that had once tied the three of them together. “You call that love?”

Jungkook’s eye fluttered, his head rolling slightly as he tried to lift it, just to see her again.

Jimin saw it.

And he snapped again.

He kicked Jungkook’s ribs- hard.

Crack.

Jungkook screamed.

He couldn’t tell if it was pain or grief anymore.

Jimin dragged the chair fully upright and then, with brute force, threw it forward, sending Jungkook crashing against the side of the refrigerator. The metal dented. Jungkook crumpled to the ground again, chair legs splintering beneath the impact.

Blood pooled beneath him now.

But his lips were still moving.

“Y/N… I love you…”

“STOP SAYING THAT!” Jimin screamed.

He ran to the sink, pulled out the knife, and came back, standing over Jungkook, blade trembling in his grip.

“You don’t get to love her anymore,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t get to say her name. Not after you wasted it.”

Jungkook coughed blood and barely looked up, but when he did, Jimin froze.

That look again.

That calm defiance.

That knowledge that even if Jimin killed him, he had lost the one thing he wanted most.

“She’s still mine,” Jungkook croaked.

Jimin dropped to his knees, raising the knife again with a wild, shaking hand.

And this time, there was no threat.

There was intent.

═══════

The kitchen lights flickered slightly overhead, casting harsh yellow tones on the glossy red smears staining the floor. Jungkook lay slumped against the refrigerator, his head lolling forward, blood dripping steadily from his mouth. The broken chair beneath him creaked with every twitch of his broken body. The knife had already kissed his skin too many times. His clothes clung to him like wet bandages, saturated with his own blood.

Jimin stood over him, panting, shirtless now. His face looked hest heaving, skin painted with Y/N’s and Jungkook’s blood. The knife trembled in his grip, the handle slippery with sweat.

“You’re pathetic,” Jimin said, pacing again. “Bleeding out for a girl who saw you as some fucking golden boy. You didn’t even deserve her.”

Jungkook didn’t answer. His lips trembled as they tried to form her name again.

“You really think you’re dying for love?” Jimin scoffed. “You’re dying because you were weak. You let yourself be seen as perfect and she believed you.”

Jungkook coughed again- a rattling, wet sound. Blood dribbled from his chin and painted the tile beneath him. He leaned against the fridge, barely able to keep his eyes open.

Then he turned his head,slowly, and caught sight of the wall clock.

1:15 AM.

It etched itself into his mind.

That time.

That moment.

The hour he realized the world had ended.

He closed his eyes.

“I don’t want to live without her,” he rasped.

Jimin paused.

Jungkook raised his head again, meeting his eyes- bloodied, exhausted, but clear.

“Just kill me,” he begged. “Please.”

Jimin stared at him.

There was silence for a beat, long and heavy. The weight of death hovered between them.

But Jimin didn’t lift the knife.

Instead, he grinned.

“Kill you?” he echoed. “No.”

Jungkook’s head dropped. His shoulders sagged, despair crashing over him like a wave.

“You don’t get to die next to her,” Jimin growled, stepping closer.

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly.

“You’re not even going to have the privilege,” Jimin hissed, “of dying in the same room as her.”

He leaned in close, mouth near Jungkook’s ear.

“She’s in there,” he whispered, “waiting for someone who deserved her. Not a junkie liar who couldn’t even tell her the truth.”

Jungkook’s whole body shook with pain and anguish, his tears hot as they ran down his bruised skin.

“I loved her,” he gasped. “I still do…”

Jimin straightened again, disgust warping his face.

“She died thinking you were garbage. And now, so will you.”

He grabbed the ropes still knotted around Jungkook’s torso, yanked hard, and began dragging him across the slick floor.

Jungkook groaned, the wounds in his thighs tearing open again. His side screamed in agony. Blood streaked behind him like a trail of a dying animal.

Jimin dragged him through the hallway, past the living room, past the motionless silhouette of Y/N still strapped to her chair.

Jungkook didn’t even have the strength to reach for her.

He just whispered, as he passed:

“I’m sorry… I love you…”

Jimin pulled him into the guest room at the end of the hallway- cold, dark, impersonal. No trace of memory lived there. No laughter. No love.

Only silence.

Jimin let go of him with a grunt and stepped back. Jungkook collapsed in a tangled heap, head slamming against the floor with a dull thud.

“Die here,” Jimin muttered.

Jungkook rolled onto his back, groaning, blood soaking through every fiber of his clothes.

His eyes found the ceiling.

His lips moved again.

“Y/N… I’m sorry… wait for me…”

Jimin’s eyes twitched.

He raised the knife.

“Go to hell.”

And then he plunged the blade straight into Jungkook’s chest.

Jungkook gasped, hard, as the steel pierced directly into his heart.

His entire body arched violently once then dropped flat.

His mouth opened.

And for a moment, no sound came out.

Then:

A whisper.

One final breath.

“I love you…”

The blood poured from his chest in waves now — hot and fast and final.

Jimin backed away, panting, watching the life drain from his body.

The color began to fade from Jungkook’s lips. His hand twitched, then went still.

His eyes blinked once… then stopped.

The clock in the hallway read:

1:27 AM.

Twelve minutes since he asked to die.

Twelve minutes since he last saw her.

Jungkook Jeon- the boy who once kissed Y/N under oak trees, who made her laugh, who whispered dreams into her skin- was gone.

And in the end, all that remained was silence.

═══════

Silence.

Stillness.

Then-

I gasped.

My eyes flew open and I sat up fast, lungs seizing like I’d just been pulled from the bottom of the ocean. My chest was heaving. My skin drenched. My heart was racing so violently it felt like it would break through my ribs.

I looked around, wild, confused.

Not a kitchen. Not blood-soaked tile. Not ropes cutting into my wrists or the taste of iron in my mouth.

My room.

Our room.

Moonlight washed across the walls. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead. The air was cold but it wasn’t because I was dying.

I wasn’t dying.

The clock on the nightstand read 1:27 AM.

And then I felt it.

Warmth. Soft and close.

I turned my head.

She was there.

Y/N was sleeping right beside me, tucked into the blankets, her face half-hidden in the pillow, lashes fanned across her cheeks. One hand rested near her mouth. She was breathing slow, steady.

Alive.

My entire body broke at once.

A sob clawed its way out of me before I could stop it. I buried my face in my hands, shaking, the tears falling fast and hot. My fingers dug into my scalp like I was trying to peel away the nightmare still clinging to me.

But this wasn’t a nightmare anymore.

This was real.

She was real.

I reached for her before I even realized I was moving. My hand slid across her waist gently, afraid to wake her but needing to feel her- needing to know. Her skin was warm. She shifted slightly under my touch, murmuring something soft in her sleep.

I let out a broken breath and kissed her forehead.

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “God… I love you so much.”

She didn’t stir.

She didn’t need to.

She was here. And that was everything.

I lay back down beside her, my arm draped around her, holding her close. My heart was still a thunderstorm. Sleep was impossible now. Not after what I saw. What I felt.

It wasn’t just a dream.

I kept my eyes on her face, on her soft breathing, and whispered again, like a prayer:

“I’m yours. Always.”

═══════

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These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

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Posted: 05/27/2025

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook ff #jungkook #bts ffs #bts ff #bts #jkwrites m #another time m

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