#making 16 a square number | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luxerians · 5 months ago

Text

The Last Mask (16)

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

Chapter 16 - Caught You

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 17.1

PREV : Chapter 15

The fourth game finally ended after twelve grueling rounds. In total, 49 players were eliminated. It was supposed to be 48, as only four players were meant to be eliminated in each round, but one round had five players caught in the elimination zone. They couldn’t come to a unanimous decision about who would be spared, and as a result, all five were executed.

You and soldier 011 had put your masks back on – you in your square mask and her in her triangle one. The players had left and descended the stairs back to the dormitory. Only you, manager 009, and several circle guards remained in the game location. The workers quietly cleaned the conveyor belt, erasing the blood and tidying up the room.

Once everything was in order, you and manager 009 left the area, walking through the labyrinth of corridors. The silence between you was heavy, but it didn’t last long.

“Where’s 019?” manager 009 asked.

You kept your gaze forward, your voice calm and steady in disguise. “Not sure. They should’ve been back by now.”

Manager 009 didn’t press further, and the conversation ended there. The two of you continued toward the control room in silence.

When you entered, the first thing you noticed was the Front Man standing in the center of the room. The screen displaying the pictures of the surviving players glowed brightly beneath him. Beside him stood the masked officer as they both gazed at the massive screens showing live feeds of the dormitory.

Your eyes scanned the room, and you spotted manager 009 walking towards their previous station. Taking that as a green light, you made your way to your own monitor and sat down.

Just as you settled into your seat, the double doors leading to the dormitory slid open, breaking the tense silence of the room. The sound drew everyone’s attention. A manager flanked by 16 soldiers marched in and they took their positions in front of the door.

You realized what was coming next. It was time to announce the results of the fourth game: the number of players eliminated, the remaining survivors, and the updated total of the accumulated prize money.

The manager announced, “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the fourth game. Here are the results of the fourth game.”

The dormitory lights dimmed, casting the room into an eerie semi-darkness. The only illumination came from the glowing piggy bank suspended near the ceiling. All eyes were drawn upward as stacks of bills cascaded into the transparent container. The players watched, some with awe, others with blank stares, as the money continued to fill the bank.

When the flow of money stopped, the manager’s voice echoed again, cutting through the silence. “49 players were eliminated in the fourth game. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 43.2 billion won. Since there are 24 players remaining, each person’s share would be 1.8 billion won.”

A ripple of reactions swept through the room. Half of the players erupted into gasps of delight, their voices rising in excitement.

“Wow!” one player exclaimed, their face lighting up as if they could already feel the weight of the cash in their hands.

The jubilation of some players stood in sharp contrast to the shock etched on the faces of others. Gi-hun’s team, in particular, exchanged flabbergasted glances. Jun-hee and the mother were looking at the floor, still in shock about their near-death experience. Gi-hun’s jaw clenched, his gaze flickering between the piggy bank and the delighted players. Dae-ho’s expression was pale and distant.

However, Yong-sik and Jung-bae initially looked somewhat elated to hear the announcement, faint smiles creeping onto their faces. However, one stern glance from the mother to Yong-sik and from Gi-hun to Jung-bae caused both of them to restrain themselves, quickly lowering their smiles as guilt and unease replaced their fleeting excitement.

The manager continued. “You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.”

As the announcement hung in the air, a line of circle guards – the workers – entered the room. They set up the familiar voting counter at the front of the dormitory.

The manager added, “The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers. Player 456.”

Slowly, all eyes turned to Gi-hun. Whispers rippled through the group as they recognized him not only as the previous winner of these games but also as the one who had instigated the failed uprising against the game management. Some players stared at him with a mixture of awe and resentment, while others seemed to hold him responsible for the chaos and loss they had endured.

Gi-hun stood stoic, his jaw tight as if he was aware of the silent scrutiny bearing down on him. He then moved out of the crowd of players and headed towards the voting counter.

Behind your mask, you frowned in concern. Gi-hun must be blaming himself for almost everything, including the deaths of Young-il and other players. You knew he was kind and selfless, but when he became adamant about something, he could cross into selfishness. It was either that, or he had a heavy hero complex, or a gambling addiction, or he hadn’t yet realized the full impact his actions had on others. Even so, you couldn’t help but think he didn’t deserve the silent judgment radiating from the other players.

Gi-hun reached the voting counter and stopped. He stared at it for what felt like an eternity. The players behind him began exchanging confused glances, whispers rippling through the group. Even you felt a flicker of bafflement behind your mask. Gi-hun, the one who had tirelessly urged everyone to quit the games, the one who had orchestrated the failed revolt against the management, was actually hesitating?

What is he doing? you thought, your pulse quickening. He never hesitated to press X before. Why is he taking his time now?

Gi-hun’s hands hovered over the buttons, but he didn’t move. Then, his gaze slowly lifted. His scowl deepened, and his eyes locked onto one of the CCTVs in the dormitory. The intensity of his glare made your breath hitch. From the control room, one screen now displayed a clear feed of him staring directly into the lens. It wasn’t just a look of defiance; it was a challenge, a silent declaration to the management that he wasn’t finished. It was as if he wanted to show them that his fight wasn’t over – that he still had more to give.

You glanced at the Front Man, who remained as still as a statue in the center of the control room. His attention was fixed on the screen as if he too was assessing Gi-hun’s intent. The tension in the air was suffocating, the room silent except for the faint hum of the monitors.

After what felt like an eternity, Gi-hun lowered his gaze back to the voting counter. His jaw tightened as he raised his hand and pressed the X button. A lighter ping echoed through both the dormitory and the control room, signaling his vote. Without looking at anyone, he turned and walked to the X zone.

The voting process continued. One by one, the players approached the counter to cast their decision. Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Se-mi, player 333, Jun-hee, the mother, Hyun-ju, and Yong-sik all voted for X. You knew they would vote for the right thing. Including Gi-hun, that made a total of nine X votes. It gave you a glimmer of hope that you all could finally leave this place.

But the other players, they voted for O. Among them were the greedy old man with a ten-billion debt (100), his equally greedy underling (226), the late Thanos’ friend (124), and the shaman (044). Their choice was no surprise, but what angered you more was how they whispered and schemed during the process, influencing the undecided voters with hushed conversations and manipulative gestures.

In the end, the results were announced: [X: 11 | O: 13]. The outcome sent a wave of crushing disappointment through you. It had been so close to a tie, so painfully close to everyone finally going back home. To you, disguised as manager 007, the result felt like a punch to the gut.

The 13 players in the O zone erupted into hollers of delight and triumph. Their cheers filled the dormitory, their voices dripping with greed and selfishness. It didn’t matter to them that Jun-hee was pregnant. That fact had become apparent to many since the fourth game, but it didn’t sway their decision. They couldn’t care less about forcing a pregnant woman to stay here longer for the sake of their greed. Behind your mask, you furrowed your eyebrows in indignation.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed a movement. Glancing over, you saw the masked officer turning to face you. His voice, distorted by the mask, rang out. “Manager 007 and 009, continue with your next task.”

Manager 009 rose from their seat without hesitation. You mirrored their movement, rising and following them as they moved toward the back of the center. The two of you positioned yourselves behind the masked officer and the Front Man, standing like a pair of bodyguards.

The Front Man’s gaze remained fixed on the live feeds of the dormitory. Everyone could feel it, including yourself. His commanding presence that demanded respect and fear in equal measure. You stared at him from behind your square mask, your mind drifting back to the conversation you had with 011 during the fourth game.

***

[Flashback begins…]

“What do you mean he will spare me?” you asked, your voice hushed but sharp with confusion. Behind your triangle mask, your eyes widened, trying to process the weight of 011’s words. The two of you were still disguising as one another – you wearing her triangle mask, and 011 now donning your square one.

011 hesitated, a rare pause that betrayed her own uncertainty. She didn’t meet your gaze as she finally spoke. “I’ve worked under him as a pink guard for years. In all that time, I’ve never seen him issue an order like this. Telling the guards not to shoot a specific player. He’s strict, but it’s always been about fairness. He treats guards and players with the same rules. That’s why I think… even if you reveal yourself to him, he might spare you.”

Her words hung in the air, leaving you reeling. You stayed quiet, mulling over what she’d said. The idea of revealing yourself to the Front Man… Could you trust that he’d spare you? And even if he did, at what cost?

“Do you know what he would do to me if he finds me?” you asked, your curiosity laced with unease.

011 answered, “No. I don’t. But I’ve heard whispers among the guards. Rumors that it might have something to do with the VIPs. Not sure if it's true or not.”

You furrowed your eyebrows beneath the mask. “VIPs?”

She hesitated again, the silence stretching just a moment too long. Whether she regretted bringing it up or was unsure herself, you couldn’t tell.

“You could think of them as investors,” she finally said, her tone quieter now. “They fund this operation. They’re the ones who ensure it keeps going. That’s what I know so far. And from what I’ve heard, they watch these games regularly. For their entertainment.”

Your skin prickled with fear, the mere thought sending an icy wave down your spine. One thought sprang to mind almost instantly. You could be handed over to these so-called VIPs. Sold to them, perhaps. The idea made your stomach churn.

Before you could fully process the implications, Gyeong-seok’s voice broke the tense silence.

“They’re watching us?” he asked, his alarm palpable even through the distortion of his triangle mask. “Could it be that one of the VIPs likes her? And that’s why there’s an order not to shoot her?”

His words made your blood run cold. A fresh wave of fear surged through you, twisting in your chest like a vice. Your hands trembled uncontrollably and you promptly hugged them to your chest, trying to steady yourself. The thought of being singled out – not for safety, but for something darker – made your heart race with dread.

“That’s…” you started, your voice faltering. “That can’t be it. Right?”

011 seemed hesitant, her voice quieter than before as she replied, “I’m not sure. If you ask me, I don’t think that’s the case. But it’s best to stay safe and alert.”

Her words did little to calm your nerves. You sat there, mulling over everything she’d said. Fear and apprehension tightened in your chest. The thought of being under constant scrutiny – while you were supposed to guard the Front Man – made your stomach churn, but an even darker fear gnawed at you: what if you were being reserved for one of the VIPs? The possibility sent a chill through your veins. You couldn’t let yourself get caught, not by him or anyone else who might have plans for you beyond this nightmare.

“What should I do then?” you asked, your voice low and uncertain. “I’m going to be his guard soon enough.”

When 011 spoke, her tone was solemn. “Try to adapt as fast as possible. Do not speak unless you’re spoken to. Whatever he tells you to do, just do it. And always be on alert. Watch everything. Listen to everything. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”

You nodded, taking in her advice even as the apprehension gnawed at you. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about navigating a dangerous, unpredictable situation with a man who held absolute power over everyone here.

“Does he really need guards?” Gyeong-seok asked, his tone curious and innocent, as though the thought had just occurred to him.

011 glanced at him briefly before answering. “It’s customary to have two managers with him wherever he goes. He has a lot of tasks to oversee, and the managers assist with those duties. It’s as much about maintaining order as it is about support.”

Her explanation was straightforward, but it only added to your apprehension. You couldn’t afford to make a single mistake, not when you were walking such a thin line. And above all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the Front Man’s presence was more than just commanding. It was suffocating, like he could see straight through any disguise you wore.

[Flashback ends…]

***

Back to the present, you and manager 009 waited in silence, standing for a few minutes as the Front Man surveyed the live feeds and ensured every operation was running smoothly. His imposing figure was still, his masked face tilted slightly toward the screens as if scrutinizing every detail with precision.

Then, without warning, he spun around, striding toward the exit and eventually walking past you both. Manager 009 immediately fell into step behind him, and you quickly followed. The two of you flanked and followed the Captain as he descended into the labyrinth of colorful stairs, the vibrancy of the walls contrasting sharply with the dark-coloured control room.

The three of you arrived at the armory, a large, sterile room lined with racks of weapons. Rows of MP5 guns, pistols, and other equipment were neatly arranged. Multiple circle guards were stationed throughout the room, diligently performing tasks such as logging weapon serial numbers, testing firing mechanisms, and cleaning the firearms. Overseeing them was another manager who moved diligently between stations.

“Status report on the firearms,” the Captain commanded, his distorted voice filling the room.

The manager stepped forward and answered, “All weapons are accounted for, Captain. The inventory has been cross-checked, and all MP5s have been resecured. Pistols have been redistributed to guards as per protocol.”

The Captain gave a curt nod and turned to 009. “Ensure the biometric systems have been fully calibrated. Test random samples to verify their functionality.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 replied, moving toward one of the nearby stations where guards were monitoring the equipment.

You stood quietly, waiting. The Captain’s gaze swept over the room before it landed on you.

“007,” he said finally, “verify the safeties on the pistols. Ensure they’re properly engaged.”

The task was very simple, and you couldn't be more glad. You nodded and moved toward the rack of pistols. You meticulously checked each one, toggling the safeties to confirm they were engaged. It took only a few minutes to complete and then you returned back to stand behind him.

Once 009 finished their task and the armory was taken care of, the Captain led the way through another series of corridors, descending a staircase until you reached a room marked with no identifying signage. The door slid open, revealing a sprawling IT hub filled with rows of computers and massive screens lining the walls. Workers in circle masks sat at the terminals, their fingers flying across keyboards as they edited and managed live feeds from across the facility. One manager was present, walking slowly as they supervised everything.

The Captain strode into the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. “Report.”

The manager straightened up and informed, “All live feeds are edited and being transmitted to the VIPs as scheduled. Editing for clarity and focus is underway. No interruptions have been detected.”

“Good,” the Captain replied. He turned to manager 009. “Check every videos that have been transferred online. Ensure the footage meets the required standards for transmission.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 said, immediately moving to one of the editing stations.

The Captain’s masked face turned slightly in your direction, his geometrical mask facing you for a fleeting moment. Your breath hitched and you braced yourself inwardly, waiting for any task he would give to you. But instead of speaking, he simply turned away, his focus shifting back to the workers and the room’s activity.

You stood behind him, feeling tiny compared to his tall, strong figure. From where you were, you noticed the sharp lines of his coat and the way his gloved hands rested at his sides. He looked like he was completely in charge of everything, and even though neither of you said a word, it felt like the air between you was charged with some kind of energy. You couldn’t explain it, but it made you feel nervous, like he could see right through you without even speaking.

Your gaze drifted upward, catching the faint reflection of yourself in one of the monitors. Beneath the square mask, your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why had he looked at you? Why hadn’t he given you anything to do? Was he testing you?

“009,” the Captain’s voice broke the silence after a few minutes, deep and distorted as always. “Report.”

009 responded immediately, “The edits are nearly complete, Captain. All footage meets the standards for clarity and focus. There are no delays in the transmission to the VIPs.”

The Captain gave a small nod in approval. Before he could say more, his radio crackled briefly. The distorted voice of the masked officer came through. “Captain, there is a commotion among players in the hallway close to the restrooms.”

Your attention snapped to the conversation immediately. You straightened instinctively, your heartbeat picking up speed. The Captain gave no visible reaction, his body language calm and composed as he lifted the radio closer to his masked face. “Report.”

“Several O players started a fight against the X players,” the masked officer reported. “Some of them were player 124, 100, 388, 333, and 222.”

Your eyes widened beneath your mask, your breath catching in your throat. Player 222… Jun-hee. The image of her flashed in your mind. Her small, trembling form, her hands protectively cradling her pregnant belly. Fear surged through you. What is happening? Why is she involved?

The masked officer continued, “Do we intervene, captain? Further losses of players would ruin the next game.”

The Captain said nothing at first, the silence hanging heavy in the room. Then, he turned his masked face directly toward you. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place. Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt as though he was peering straight into your thoughts. You stared back at him, your heart thudding loudly in your ears. You didn’t need him to say it. You already knew what he was about to ask.

“007,” the Captain finally said. “Go.”

You bowed your head respectfully. You spun on your heel and left the room in a calm demeanor. But as soon as you were out of sight, you quickened your pace, practically jogging as you navigated the labyrinth of colorful staircases.

Your heart pounded fiercely against your ribs, every beat a reminder of the urgency of the situation. The bright, almost whimsical colors of the walls felt jarring, out of place against the heavy dread settling over you. Jun-hee… what were they doing to her? Was she hurt? Was she safe? The thought of her, vulnerable and frightened, made your stomach churn. She didn’t deserve this.

As you descended another flight of stairs, two triangle guards appeared from a side corridor. They immediately fell into step behind you. You glanced over your shoulder briefly, your pulse spiking until you recognized the marks on their uniforms.

It was 011 and Gyeong-seok; the latter still disguised as soldiers. It seemed they had caught wind of the commotion. Their familiar presence sent a small wave of relief washing over you, though your anxiety remained. They flanked you without a word. The three of you moved as one, your pace quickening as you closed in on the hallway near the restrooms.

“This way,” 011 said softly, her voice barely audible beneath the hum of the facility. You were grateful for her guidance and you followed. Your focus was razor-sharp now. Whatever was happening, you had to get there. You had to protect Jun-hee and your friends. In this place, survival wasn’t just about making it through the games. It also meant defending yourself against players who had no qualms about killing one another.

The three of you arrived at the source of the commotion, the sound of shouting and scuffling growing louder with each step. The moment your gaze landed on the scene, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. Behind your square mask, your eyes widened in horror.

Player 124, the late Thanos’ friend, was towering over player 333, his fists flying with relentless fury. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, and player 333, sprawled on the floor, tried desperately to shield himself, his arms raised defensively. He couldn’t get up; the assault was unrelenting, leaving him completely at the mercy of his attacker.

Nearby, two more O players were savagely kicking another figure who was curled into a tight fetal position. His arms were wrapped protectively around his head, his knees pulled to his chest. You could clearly see his entire form trembling as if in extreme fear. From your vantage point, you couldn’t see who it was, but the viciousness of the attack made your stomach churn.

Then your eyes darted to Jun-hee, who was on the floor a few feet away. She was crawling, her trembling hands stretched out toward the man being kicked, as though trying to shield him despite her own fear and condition. Before she could reach him, one of the O players broke away from the group and stormed toward her, his face contorted with rage.

“You bitch!” he roared, his voice echoing off the walls. “You should’ve been dead! You should’ve been eliminated, and because of you, that round restarted and all my friends are gone!”

He must be referring to the Open, Dongdaemun game, when Jun-hee, the mother, and three other players were caught in the area of elimination and you restarted the round.

Jun-hee’s flushed face turned upward, tears streaking down her cheeks as she cradled her belly protectively. She froze, wide-eyed, as the man raised his fist, ready to strike.

But then something tugged at his ankle. The man staggered slightly, his focus snapping downward. There, on the floor, was Dae-ho. Blood dripped from his battered face, his nose swollen and bleeding, but his eyes burned with determination. Despite his injuries, despite the beating he’d already endured, he clung to the man’s ankle with all the strength he had left.

“Get away from her!” bellowed Dae-ho, his voice hoarse but unwavering.

The O player sneered, kicking at Dae-ho’s hand to free himself. Then another voice joined in, “You should’ve just stayed down!”

It was player 226. He stood beside player 100, who watched the chaos unfold with greedy and sickening enthusiasm. They were encouraging the Os to continue as they were content to let the others do their dirty work.

Player 226, his sneer widening, stepped forward and raised his leg, ready to drive his shoes into Dae-ho’s already bloodied face. However, you’d had enough.

Reaching for your revolver, you unlatched the safety in one smooth motion. Raising it to the ceiling, you fired a single shot. The deafening crack echoed through the hallway, silencing the chaos in an instant. Every head turned toward you, their expressions a mix of shock and fear as they registered the weapon in your hand.

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice distorted behind the mask but still commanding. The air around you seemed to shift as you stared down the O players who you knew for sure had started this bloody fist fight. 011 and Gyeong-seok were behind you, holding their MP5s at ready. For the first time, you felt... powerful.

Player 124 and the Os who had been beating and kicking player 333 and Dae-ho backed away immediately, retreating toward the wall. Player 333 and Dae-ho, battered and bruised, struggled to their feet. Blood smeared their faces, hands, and uniforms as they limped to stand protectively in front of Jun-hee, who was still trembling near the opposite wall. Her hands were tightly cradling her belly, tears streaking her flushed face.

“Hey!” player 100’s voice rang out, filled with indignation. He jabbed a finger in your direction, his fury evident in the way his eyes widened like saucers unevenly. “Why are you interrupting us?! Aren’t you supposed to just stand aside and let us be?! Why are you stopping us now, of all times?!”

For a moment, the hallway fell silent except for the heavy breathing of the injured players. All eyes were on you, waiting for your response. You felt the weight of their stares. Behind your square mask, your mind raced to formulate an answer that would justify your interference while maintaining the facade of authority.

You stood still for a moment, your thoughts racing behind the mask. You knew that the players weren’t the only ones watching you. Somewhere, the guards in the control room were likely observing through the CCTV too. You had to justify yourself to everyone.

Then again, the Captain had told you to “go”. That must have been a green light to intervene, right? You gripped the revolver in your hand tightly, resolving to follow through with his unspoken directive.

“Unnecessary fights will no longer be tolerated,” you stated, your voice calm but firm. “The total number of players is already critically low for the next game. Any further disruptions will jeopardize the next game to run smoothly.”

“Tolerated?” player 100’s voice rang out, laced with mockery and anger. He stepped forward slightly in defiance. “Since when do you care about what’s tolerated? You guards didn’t care when people were dying during lights out, did you? What changed now?”

011 raised her MP5 slightly, the weapon’s barrel glinting under the harsh lights of the hallway. Her voice cut through the rising tension, calm yet carrying an unmistakable edge. “Listen to the order, 100.”

“Order?” player 100’s voice rose, echoing through the hallway. “Give me a break! You didn’t care about ‘order’ when people were dying left and right during lights out. What’s so different now? Is it because there is a pregnant woman here?”

“The difference is,” you said, still calm, “your fist fight jeopardizes the next game. Further disruptions won’t be tolerated.”

“Jeopardizes the games?” he spat, stepping forward slightly. “What, because one player’s pregnant? Is that it? Are we supposed to pretend like there’s no special treatment here? Because it sure looks like there is.”

Your grip on the revolver tightened slightly, but your tone remained controlled. “The rules apply to everyone equally. Any player, pregnant or not, who participates in the games is subject to the same conditions. Your actions, however, directly endanger the balance of the competition.”

“Don’t make me laugh!” player 100 shouted, gesturing wildly. “We’re all fighting to survive, and now you expect us to play fair? Give me a break. You think you can scare me? You think that gun in your hand gives you power over us?”

Your patience, already stretched thin, finally snapped. Without a word, you strode forward, your shoes striking the floor with deliberate force. The revolver in your right hand glinted faintly. Player 100 faltered, his bluster evaporating as you closed the distance between you and him.

When you were mere inches away, you stopped, your masked face level with his. The air between you crackled with tension, and the other players shrank back, their eyes wide as they watched the confrontation unfold.

“Do you have a problem listening to orders, 100?” you asked, your voice low and cutting. The question hung in the air like a blade.

Player 100 stumbled back a step, his bravado completely gone. His gaze darted to the revolver in your hand, then back to your mask. For a moment, he looked like he might try to retort, but the words never came. Instead, he glared you up and down and muttered something under his breath.

He then turned around and stormed off. Player 226 shot you a stinky side-eye before following player 100. The rest of the O players trailed behind, with player 124 flicking off player 333 as he left.

Once the O players disappeared down the hallway, you turned your attention to player 333, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee. The two men immediately checked on Jun-hee, their concern evident.

“You okay?” Dae-ho asked gently.

Jun-hee nodded but then looked at him with worry. “But you… you're bleeding.”

Dae-ho quickly shook his head, forcing a grin. “I’m fine. This is nothing.”

“Like I said,” player 333 spoke up, his voice firm but calm, “we can’t let you go to the bathroom alone. It’s better to have two men with you at all times. Everyone now knows you’re pregnant.”

“But, Myung-gi…” Jun-hee’s voice softened as she turned her gaze to him. “You’re hurt too.”

So his name is Myung-gi, you thought, filing the information away.

Myung-gi straightened his lips and gave her a small nod, his tone reassuring. “I’m fine. Let’s go back.”

The three of them turned toward you and the other triangle guards, preparing to leave. As they began to walk past you, Jun-hee suddenly winced, her steps faltering slightly as her hand swiftly moved to her belly.

Your hand shot up instinctively, steadying her by placing it lightly on her shoulder. Jun-hee froze momentarily but avoided meeting your gaze, murmuring softly, “Thanks…”

You urged her calmly as your hand subconsciously brushed gently over the top of her head, smoothing her hair back toward her neck, “Go.”

Jun-hee’s reaction was immediate. Her wide eyes snapped to your masked face, her expression filled with surprise, almost disbelief. Her stare lingered, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of confusion. Why was she looking at you like that?

“Jun-hee,” Myung-gi called. “Let’s go.”

Jun-hee hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze lingering on you as though searching for something. But eventually, she turned and followed Dae-ho and Myung-gi. You stood still, watching as they moved further down the hallway, her steps slow and careful. Even as they walked away, Jun-hee’s gaze flickered back to you briefly, again and again.

You and the two triangle guards – 011 and Gyeong-seok – remained where you were until the trio disappeared from view. The silence in the hallway felt heavy, but none of you spoke. Instead, you exchanged quiet glances, a mutual understanding passing between the three of you. There was no room for discussion here. You all knew you were being watched. Somewhere in the labyrinth of colorful corridors, CCTVs were likely trained on you. And through those cameras, the masked officer and the Captain were likely observing every move.

Without a word, the three of you began to walk back the way you came. After a few minutes, 011 and Gyeong-seok peeled off from you in different direction. You didn’t look back as you continued alone.

***

The next thing you knew, two hours had passed. Time seemed to blur as you followed the Captain wherever he went. Manager 009 was always beside you, the two of you sticking close to the boss like shadows.

During this time, the Front Man went from room to room. He gave commands and checked on tasks to make sure everything in this twisted operation was running smoothly. He never raised his voice, but the way he spoke made it clear he expected perfection. Manager 009 got most of the work, being handed one task after another. Each one seemed complicated and time-consuming, but 009 handled them all quickly and without hesitation.

And you? Over those two hours, you only got three tasks. Each one was so simple it almost felt like a joke. You stood guard at a door for five minutes, delivered a report to a nearby circle guard, and checked a number on a screen. None of it took much effort. You finished each task easily, but the simplicity of it all left you confused.

Why was the Front Man treating you differently? Was it because 009 had already proven how capable they were, while you hadn’t yet? Or was there something else going on? The thought kept nagging at you, even as you tried to focus on blending in. You couldn’t decide if you should feel relieved that your tasks were so easy or offended that you weren’t trusted with more responsibility.

It reminded you back when you were tending to your part-time job. Even here, you were still worrying about how you looked in the eyes of your “boss.” Old habits, it seemed, were hard to break.

However, thirty minutes into this, the three of you were ascending towards the control room when the Front Man suddenly halted in his tracks. The abrupt pause in the all-purple hallway made you and 009 stop as well. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as the Captain slowly turned around to face you directly.

“007,” he said in his deep, distorted voice. “Head to the control room and take the elevator. It will lead you straight to the host's room above. It requires inspection. Check the lighting, furniture placement, and any potential issues. Check every room. Make a mental note of anything that needs attention, and inform the workers to handle it later.”

You blinked behind your mask, caught off guard by the sudden request. Now this was a difficult one. The host’s room? You had never been there but you didn't want to question him for fear of endangering your disguise and even show him that you were incompetent. So you kept your thoughts to yourself, lowering your head.

“Understood, Captain,” you replied.

The Captain stared at you for a moment longer before he turned to manager 009. “Continue with me to the next game's location. Ensure all workers are ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 responded. Then, the two of them went back the way they came from down the hallway. You watched them for a second before turning toward the path that led to the control room.

You walked into the control room and saw managers sitting at their monitors, focused on their screens. You glanced around and noticed an elevator tucked beside the door you had just walked through.

Stepping up to it, you noticed the panel beside the door had only one button – an ‘up’ arrow. You pressed it. The doors slid open right away, revealing an elevator so bright unlike any other setting in this place. The inside was decorated in black and gold, looking fancy and elegant. The walls shimmered under soft lighting, and the floor was polished like a mirror. It felt too luxurious for this facility.

You stepped inside, glancing around quickly. There was only one floor option. You pressed the button, and the doors closed with a quiet hiss. The elevator moved up smoothly and seconds later, a small chime sounded and the doors slid open again.

The sight before you was stunning. The entire area was decorated in black and gold, making it feel grand and important. Directly outside the elevator was a long hallway with black doors on either side. At the end of the hallway, the space opened into a massive living room.

The living room looked like something out of a magazine. A huge television screen covered one wall, reflecting the soft glow of a fancy chandelier hanging above. Beneath it sat a single-seater sofa, placed right in front of the television. A small nightstand stood beside it. Other furniture was placed around the room – a table, a low cupboard with a diorama on top of it. The furniture and decorations were neatly arranged, making the living room look simple yet elegant, with the black and gold colors giving it a fancy and important feel.

You hesitated at the doorway, staring at the overwhelming luxury before you. Everything about it felt strange. You had seen wealth before, but this was different. It wasn’t just expensive. It was personal, like stepping into someone’s private space. Not only that. It felt like someone was watching you, even though you were completely alone.

The sound of the elevator doors beginning to close startled you into action. Without thinking, you quickly stepped forward into the hallway, the doors shutting behind you with a quiet finality.

Walking past the hallways and into the living room, you moved cautiously, inspecting the space. The sofa was perfectly neat, the cushions untouched. The nightstand held nothing above it. Then, the diorama caught your eye. It was a detailed miniature version of what seemed like a group of men playing musical instruments with a lady as a singer. Looking around, you realized there was another cupboard with a wired telephone.

Everything looked pristine, with no obvious technical issues in sight. Still, you wanted to inspect as much as possible per the Captain’s order.

In a way, you felt a small sense of satisfaction. Unlike the simple tasks he had given you before, this one required more effort. It almost felt like a test. It’s as if he was finally trusting you with something more significant. Not only that, but he had allowed you to enter this exclusive, luxurious space. Perhaps, through this task, you could learn more about this place and the way it operated.

You started by thoroughly examining the living room. You checked the lighting and other electronic systems. The television was in perfect condition, and the diorama sat undisturbed. The shelves were dust-free, and every piece of furniture was arranged with precision. It was as if no one had ever disturbed the space.

Satisfied with the state of the living room, you walked back into the hallway. Your gaze landed on the series of black doors lining the corridor.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to proceed further. Then, you remembered the Captain’s instructions – Check every room. That was as clear a green light as any.

You stepped up to the first door and pushed it open. The room inside matched the rest of the place, following the same black and gold aesthetic. It appeared to be a study with an expansive wooden desk in the center and several bookshelves lining the walls. Everything was arranged neatly with no signs of disarray. You checked the lighting, the air circulation, and the furniture’s condition before moving on.

The second room was a bathroom, designed with the same black and gold aesthetic. A large, polished black marble sink stretched along one side with gold-trimmed mirrors above it. The walk-in shower featured sleek glass doors and golden fixtures and a luxurious bathtub sat in the corner. It looked so deep and inviting. Like the study, this room was also flawless.

The third room contained what seemed to be a small, private meeting area. A circular table sat in the center, surrounded by four chairs. The walls were adorned with subtle gold accents, and a sleek control panel rested on the far side of the room. Like the others, this space was pristine with no indication of recent use.

Then, as you moved to the next door, you found yourself stepping into... a dressing room? Across from the door stood a mannequin dressed in a sleek black suit, its head adorned with a golden mask resembling an animal. Positioned on a raised platform, it gave the impression of something highly significant. Heavy black curtains flanked the display, adding to the dramatic presentation. To your left, a dressing table with a large mirror reflected the dim lighting of the room.

You glanced around and noticed a door, partially hidden behind the curtain. Curiosity tugged at you as you stepped closer and pushed it open. The moment you crossed the threshold, you stopped short. The lighting in this room was noticeably dimmer. It took you a moment to fully process what you were seeing.

A bedroom.

A wide single bed was covered in black sheets, one pillow neatly propped against the headboard. A wardrobe stood to one side. A nightstand rested beside the bed. On the opposite side, a study desk held a large PC monitor. Several books were arranged precisely on both sides of the desk, accompanied by a lamp, a box of tissues, and a set of writing utensils. The air carried a distinct scent – leather, or perhaps a trace of cologne. In this room, the scent and presence of the Front Man lingered unmistakably.

On the other side of the nightstand was a solid black door. Before stepping through, you decided to check the bedroom thoroughly. You scanned the furniture, electronics, and every small detail, making sure everything looked normal.

Once satisfied, you finally approached the door and opened it. What lay beyond surprised you. A narrow brick hallway stretched to the right, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. At the end of the hall, a staircase led downward toward another door.

Glancing over your shoulder, you checked for anyone nearby. You felt like you were sneaking around, but technically, you weren’t. The Captain had told you to check every room, and this was no exception, even if it seemed strangely hidden. Like no one was supposed to access it except the boss himself.

Taking a deep breath, you descended the stairs slowly. When you reached the bottom, you hesitated before pushing the door open. The room was completely dark. Your hand searched along the wall until you found a switch. With a quick flick, the lights came on, casting a yellowish glow over the space.

The walls, like the hallway, were entirely made of brick. Rows of shelves lined every side of the room, filled with neatly stacked files, books, and documents. One wall was blocked by a shelf of drawers, each labeled, though the text was too small to read from where you stood.

Careful not to disturb anything, you walked further inside, scanning the shelves and the layout. Everything was perfectly arranged, untouched, as if no one had been here in a long time.

Once you were sure nothing was out of place, you turned back toward the door, ready to leave. But just as you moved, something unusual caught your eye. Sitting on a shelf close to the door was a small black box wrapped in a neatly tied hot pink ribbon. Unlike everything else in the room, this object looked so out of place, so different than other documents here.

You wondered why this box seemed so different from the other documents in the room. Curiosity sparked, you moved toward it and carefully grabbed the box.

Lifting the lid, you found a single framed sheet of paper inside. The heading at the top read, “Round 6.” Below, two neatly organized tables filled the page, and in an instant, you understood what it was. This was a record of winners from this game, dating all the way back to 1988.

Your mind immediately flashed to Young-il. He had told you he was the previous winner of this game in 2015. His name had to be here. Maybe seeing it would bring you some comfort, even if only a little.

You quickly scanned the list, searching for the year 2015. Your eyes landed on the correct row, and you followed it across to the winner’s name.

Except… it wasn’t his name.

“Hwang In-ho?” you murmured, confusion washing over you. That wasn’t Young-il. No. It was supposed to be Oh Young-il.

Your grip on the frame tightened as your mind raced. Who was Hwang In-ho? And why wasn’t Young-il listed as the winner of the game he claimed to have survived?

Wait. You lifted your gaze from the framed paper and stared into space, a sudden coldness running down your spine. Was he lying to you? Was he never a previous winner? But he knew so much about the game.

A thought struck you. Your eyes darted to the shelves filled with records. There had to be complete participant records somewhere in this room. Setting aside the box and framed paper, you rushed toward the rows of meticulously arranged files, scanning them carefully.

Each file was labeled neatly along the spine. After a quick search, your fingers stopped on a section titled “List of Players.” Your heart pounded as you searched for the year 2015. It was easy enough to find since the files were organized chronologically.

You pulled out a thick folder labeled “List of Players 1, 2015” and flipped it open. Page after page detailed the participants, but you quickly realized you had forgotten Hwang In-ho's player number.

Rushing back to the framed paper, your eyes locked onto the number next to his name. 132.

You hurried back to the file, flipping through pages as you repeated the number under your breath. Your fingers trembled as you searched frantically.

Finally, you found it. Player 132.

Your breath hitched as your gaze landed on the ID player photo attached to the upper left corner of the page. Your eyes widened in shock.

It was Young-il. A much younger version, his face softer, carrying a faint, hopeful smile. But then your gaze drifted to the name printed beside it.

Hwang In-ho.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. But… wasn’t his name supposed to be Oh Young-il?

The loud, jarring noise of the door swinging open sent a violent jolt through your body. Your breath caught in your throat as your heart slammed against your ribcage. You had been so completely absorbed in the record that the sudden intrusion felt like a gunshot in the silence.

Your head snapped toward the entrance, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights behind your mask. There, striding purposefully into the room, was the Front Man.

His masked face turned directly toward you, his entire posture exuding an imposing authority. The door shut behind him with an ominous finality, locking you inside with him. The weight of his presence sent a wave of overwhelming fear crashing over you.

You had been caught.

Your hands trembled as you slowly straightened up, the weight of the file slipping from your grasp. It hit the floor with a loud, unceremonious thud.

The Front Man took a step toward you.

Instinct took over. You took a step back.

Another step forward. Another step back. He was closing in, his slow, deliberate pace like a predator closing in on its prey. The fear gripping your chest made your breaths shallow, quick, and sounded deeper and distorted behind the square mask you're wearing. You kept moving backward until your spine met the cold, unyielding brick wall. Your breath hitched.

He did not stop.

His approach remained unhurried, measured, yet filled with intent. The air around you thickened as if the shelves around you were closing in. You felt suffocated. You pressed yourself against the wall, fingers splaying against the rough brick as if searching for a way to melt into it, to disappear entirely.

Then, in his deep, distorted voice, he finally spoke.

“007,” he said, his tone slow and deliberate. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?”

A cold chill gripped your heart, squeezing until you thought you might choke on your own fear. He knew.

You swallowed hard but your throat felt dry as sandpaper. Your body refused to move, paralyzed under his scrutiny. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to run but there was nowhere to go. No escape. You were trapped in the narrow space between the shelves and him.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your mind raced, searching for a way to turn this around, to escape, to do something other than just stand there, vulnerable and completely at his mercy.

Your breath came in rapid, shallow pulls as your eyes darted across the dimly lit room, searching for any escape. The shelves boxed you in, towering with records of past games, past players, past victims. There was nowhere to go.

The Front Man were closing in on you, his presence suffocating you.

“You should’ve known you’d lose in this hide and seek game,” he said, his tone eerily calm yet heavy with unspoken threats.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. If you got caught now, what would happen? Would he spare you? 011 had said he would. But at what cost?

Your mind spiraled into terrifying possibilities. If you were spared, would he hand you over to the VIPs? Would you be nothing more than a prize, a twisted plaything for their amusement? The thought sent ice through your veins.

No. You had fought too hard. You had killed to protect yourself, to protect the people you loved, and to protect your body as a woman. You had survived this long and you weren’t about to surrender now. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to move, to fight.

Your breaths turned sharp, loud and unnatural through the mask. The Front Man took another step, his slow, measured pace sending a fresh wave of panic through you.

Then you remembered.

Your pistol.

The standard issue sidearm every square guard carried rested in the pocket of your jumpsuit’s bottom. Your grip tightened.

You braced yourself. The Front Man was getting closer, his figure looming over you, casting an inescapable shadow.

“You’ve been running long enough among these trashes,” he said, voice thick with certainty, with finality.

That was your moment.

You lunged for your pistol, fingers wrapping around the grip, yanking it free as you unlatched the safety in one swift motion. The cold weight of the gun grounded you. Without hesitation, you lifted it and fired.

But the Front Man moved with inhuman speed, ducking just before the bullet could meet its mark. His arm shot out to the side. You had no time to register what he was doing. Instinct took over, and you fired again.

Your shot met resistance, but not flesh. He had grabbed a thick file from a nearby shelf and raised it as a shield. The bullet struck the stack of papers, piercing but not stopping him.

Then he charged.

Like a predator finally closing in, his movements were terrifyingly fast, like a beast that had played with its prey long enough. He lunged forward, his dark form swallowing the space between you in an instant.

Your pulse spiked, adrenaline crashing through you. The walls of records blurred as your only thought became survival.

You had to move fast.

However, he caught you first. His gloved hand clamped around your wrist, twisting it just enough to force the revolver from your grasp. The weapon clattered to the floor. You gasped, breath hitching at the sudden loss of control – and at something else. His movement was eerily familiar.

Before you could dwell on it, he shoved you back. Your head was about to strike the brick wall and you instinctively shut your eyes tight. But instead of harsh impact, you felt a firm yet controlled buffer. His other hand had moved to cradle the back of your head, protecting your head against the wall with his gloved palm.

Your pupils dilated as the realization sank in, but there was no time to process. The Front Man was right there, his geometrical mask so close to yours that you could feel the heat of his breath through the distorted air of your own mask. His other hand wrapped around your throat. Not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind you that you were completely at his mercy.

Your legs were tangled. One of yours had slipped between his, and one of his was between yours, locking you both into place. The space between your bodies had nearly vanished, and the sound of rapid breathing filled the archive room. It belonged to yours and his, mingling together in the stillness.

A charged silence stretched between you. The tension was suffocating. Your chest rose and fell against his as adrenaline within you remained.

“You have allies,” his deep voice rumbled, low and unwavering, “among my guards.”

Before you could react, his gloved fingers slipped from your neck to the edge of your jumpsuit’s hoodie. A chilling realization gripped you. He was about to pull it down. To take off your mask. To expose you.

No.

Clenching your teeth behind the mask, you scrambled for a plan, for anything to break free. And then you felt it. His thigh, firm and brushing against yours.

With a sharp inhale, you moved. You slammed your knee against his, knocking his leg away, creating just enough space between your tangled bodies. Without hesitation, you raised your foot and kicked him squarely in the abdomen.

A grunt escaped him as he staggered back. You took the brief moment of respite to move. You turned sharply, gripping the nearest shelf, and with a raw, breathless yell, you shoved every file within reach off the shelves.

Papers and heavy binders cascaded toward him, crashing against his body, momentarily throwing him off guard. You didn’t wait to see how he recovered.

Heart pounding, you lunged past him, sprinting toward the door. Your fingers gripped the handle, yanking it open as you bolted up the stairs. Just as you reached the top, a heavy set of footsteps thundered behind you, fast and relentless, closing the distance far too quickly.

You didn’t dare to look behind you. Bursting through the door, you sprinted into the bedroom, but before you could make it halfway across the room, a force yanked your jumpsuit from behind. Your momentum was ripped away in an instant, fabric tearing as you were violently pulled backward and shoved onto the bed.

You landed sideways on the bed with a deep, distorted yelp behind your mask. Panic surged through you and you immediately scrambled to push yourself up but something heavy pressed down against you, shoving you back onto the mattress.

The Front Man.

He loomed over you, his weight pressing into you, keeping you pinned. You thrashed, twisting and bucking wildly beneath him, muffled grunts of struggle escaping your lips. His grip found your wrists and forced them down against the sheets.

Your legs were your last weapon. You kicked out violently, aiming for anything. His stomach, his ribs, even his groin. But he was faster as if he had anticipated your moves. In one swift motion, he maneuvered between your flailing limbs, pressing his legs firmly between yours to keep you restrained.

Even as he overpowered you, you refused to submit. You twisted, arched, struggled with everything you had, but he was stronger – far stronger. Unlike other men who had tried to take advantage of you, he wasn’t sloppy, he wasn’t careless. He was calculated and precise.

He held you there, unmoving like a boulder above you, as you thrashed beneath him. You fought with every last ounce of strength in your body but he didn’t budge. His sheer force pinned you down, absorbing each desperate attempt to break free.

Your breath came in sharp gasps, muscles screaming in exhaustion. Soon, your struggles slowed, jerky and uncoordinated, until they faded into mere trembling beneath his weight. Every attempt at escape had drained you, leaving your limbs weak and sluggish.

The only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths mixing with his heavy ones. Your chest rose and fell erratically, each inhale loud and desperate. His grip on your wrists didn’t waver. You glared up at the geometrical mask hovering inches above your face.

You felt the heat radiating between your bodies and the closeness. He remained still. The weight of his presence pressed into you, making your exhaustion feel even more overwhelming.

Your heart pounded wildly against your ribs, the realization settling in. You were trapped completely. He finally caught you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. But in that heavy silence, an unspoken intensity hung between you.

He moved your wrists above your head, securing them in a firm grip with just his right hand. Your weakened struggle did nothing to deter him. His free hand reached for your hoodie, and this time, you didn’t resist. Your chest still heaved from exhaustion, breath escaping in rapid, uneven pulls as he pushed the fabric back.

Once your hoodie was down, his fingers slid to the back of your mask. With practiced ease, he unclasped it and pulled it away from your face. The mask left your skin, and he tossed it aside, letting it clatter somewhere in the distance.

Cool air kissed your damp skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat that had built beneath the jumpsuit. Sweat glistened along your face and neck, strands of hair clinging stubbornly to your skin. The sudden exposure made you hyper-aware of how raw and open you felt, your breath finally unfiltered, free in the space between you.

You glared up at him, your eyes burning with defiance despite your exhaustion. But he only stared. His mask tilted so slightly as if studying you. At this moment, his silence felt even more suffocating than any words he could have spoken.

Then, to your shock, he moved his left hand to the side of your face. His gloved fingers brushed against your damp skin as he gently tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. Your breath caught in your throat. This action – so soft, so familiar – sent a jolt through you. Only one person had ever done this before. But why was he doing it?

Slowly, he withdrew his hand and moved it to his own hoodie. Your glare faltered when he pulled it down out of the blue. You could hardly believe it when he reached for the clasp at the back of his mask, unfastening it with ease. Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs, as he slowly lifted it away.

And then, you saw him.

Your entire body locked in place, your breath caught in your throat. The world around you shrank, all sense of logic dissolving as your mind struggled to grasp what you were seeing.

It was him.

Young-il.

The man you thought had died. The man who had protected you, shielded you, fought alongside you. The man you had—

Your chest tightened, an overwhelming rush of emotions surging through you all at once. Relief, disbelief, betrayal, longing. The edges of your vision blurred and all you could do was stare, wide-eyed.

He looked just the same, but his hair was now slicked back neatly with oil, giving him an air of maturity and refinement that made him seem almost like a different man.

Your entire body trembled, overwhelmed with a torrent of emotions too vast to contain. It's like every emotion crashed into you all at once, leaving you breathless. You had mourned Young-il. You had thought he was gone forever, lost in the bloodshed of the uprising. Yet here he was, standing before you, alive. Breathing. Real.

But with that relief came something heavier, something darker.

Your chest tightened as realization set in. He had been behind that mask all along, watching, orchestrating, controlling the very nightmare you had been trying to survive. The games, the deaths, the suffering. Had all of it been at his command? Your mind raced, replaying every interaction you had with him back then, every moment of trust, every fleeting instance where you had allowed yourself to care. Had it all been a lie?

Was he ever truly one of us?

Your throat felt dry, your breath uneven. Why had he disguised himself as a player? Was it all some kind of elaborate test? A way to manipulate those around him? Or had there been something else – something deeper? Had he once been a victim of this place, just as you were? Or had he been in control from the very beginning?

Young-il stayed still above you, staring at you, his expression raw. The subtle tremble in his face betrayed the inner turmoil he tried so desperately to contain. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to speak, to offer some kind of explanation, but no words came.

The silence stretched between you, thick with tension, with questions left unspoken, with truths too painful to acknowledge.

His eyes, always so guarded, flickered with something you couldn’t quite decipher. Regret? Pain? Guilt? You don’t know anymore.

Your breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything crashing down at once.

“You…” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “You were behind it all?”

His expression faltered, the conflict within him breaking through for just a moment before he steadied himself. But you had seen it. The hesitation, the uncertainty, the battle he was fighting within himself.

And it terrified you.

Because despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the horror of what he had done… He still looked like the man you had fallen for.

He leaned down, his face inching closer to yours. You realized in that moment that you hadn’t moved at all. His grip on your wrists was weak yet you remained still, your body slack. The moment you saw his face, it was as if Young-il had turned off your resistance. After all, before all of this, he was the one who made you feel safe.

His warm breath mingled with yours. His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, searching, waiting. Your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, your mind racing. Should you resist? Should you let him?

The tension between you both thickened as he halted just an inch away. He hesitated, waiting for the slightest sign of resistance from you. When none came, he finally moved. Tilting his head slightly, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against yours. You kept your eyes open, staring ahead, seeing his face so close to you. His lips were firm, yet soft, pressing against yours with calm restraint.

You should resist. He orchestrated this entire operation. He had bloods on his hands. He betrayed you.

Yet, memories flooded your mind. The way he had taken care of you, how he protected you time and time again. How he shielded you from danger, ensured you were safe, treated you like someone precious. Was it real? Or had it all been part of a larger deception?

But you wanted to believe. Wanted to believe that when he said you were his purpose, when he told you that you were worth protecting, that he wanted to take care of you more than as friends – you wanted to believe it was all real.

You were lost in the trance of the moment until he deepened the kiss, his lips pressing more insistently against yours. You could feel it. He could barely restrain himself the longer he kissed you. A quiet sound escaped you as he pulled you further into it. And you found yourself liking it. Your lips parted shyly and he took the invitation, his tongue delving into your mouth with increasing hunger.

His grip on your wrists disappeared, his hands moving to unzip your jumpsuit instead. Yet, you kept your hands where they were, fingers brushing against the sheets above your head, as your eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the moment and to him.

NEXT : Chapter 17.1

PREV : Chapter 15

Story Masterlist

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 you guarding the Front Man and you remembered a flashback when 011 told you that you might be spared because of the VIPs? Do you think that's the case? And what about the brawl between Myung-gi, Dae-ho (while protecting Jun-hee) against Nam-gyu (124) and the O players? Do you think scene like this will appear in Season 3? Also I want to know your thoughts on you finally confronted player 100 in that scene. And why did Jun-hee kept glancing at you afterward? Next, why do you think the Front Man suddenly gave you the task to inspect the host's room? And now, the moment you all have been waiting for. What do you think about the Front Man confronting you in the archive room? Then you two had a brief scuffle - and he did not even try to harm you - and then you were pinned to his bed. What do you think about the scene of you two on his bed, finally seeing one another's face? Do you like this direction I take to reveal his face? I've been thinking a lot about this moment and could finally write this down. What do you think about the kiss?

Besides that, I want to know. How many of you are underage? You might want to avoid the next chapter. Now I wonder how to separate the NSFW scene from the next chapter so underage readers couldn't read it.

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

235 notes · View notes

artbyblastweave · 8 months ago

Text

So, Wildbow pretty famously retconned Browbeat to death because he got sick of fan jokes about every new character secretly being Browbeat under a new identity. I've got mixed thoughts on that.

Unfortunately for all, my de facto reaction to that kind of meta-level contrarian stunt is "Power Move TBH," even if it was broadly comorbid with a proximity to the fandom that kind of blew out Ward's kneecaps with a .50 cal. Overlooking the fact that I think it was really sincerely funny, there's an argument to be made that it trims the fat; adding an additional heroic casualty for a grand total of seven out of twenty two named heroes operating in Brockton Bay at the time of arc 8. Browbeat is also specifically an independent hero who was headhunted for the Wards relatively soon after his debut- a distinct dynamic from the other wards who get pulverized, from the superheroic family business of New Wave, or the adult professional superheroes who bite it. This is a very Taylor shaped guy, the same kind of just-starting-out teenaged cape with an uncertain future. Him getting unceremoniously pulverized for the bad luck of having a front-line power therefore presents a bit of a "there but for the grace of god" moment for Skitter, if you choose to look at it like that. This is the kind of thing an editor would probably make him do anyway, if he wasn't cut entirely. But the thing is that I am kind of attached to the original outcome for Browbeat, which is that he dips. I think it actually adds some subtle verisimilitude to the story. The number of heroes we actually see is significantly lower than the alluded-to headcount in the early arcs; more indie heroes are alluded to then ever actually appear, and a combination of Leviathan casualties and departure during the ensuing civilian exodus is usually how I've seen that discrepancy squared. But it hits better if a named character cuts and runs. In the story as currently written, every hero who lives, remains in Brockton Bay to try and hold the line. I kind of liked the version of the story where that wasn't the case, where you can infer that at least one of these teenagers went, you know what, I'm not so completely committed to heroic altruism at the age of 16 that I'm gonna hang around to do it in a town without running water, I'm going to pursue a less horrible gig elsewhere. That's not really a thing that happens too often in Big-two comics, and if it were to happen it would likely be painted as a notable departure from expectations. But one of Worm's major themes is that unlike in the comics, there's a gigantic spread of motivations and personality types amongst the officially designated heroes, and it's a nice reminder that all those different personality types are going to have different thresholds for throwing in the towel and moving on to greener pastures. Or it was, until he just died instead

#worm #wormblr #worm spoilers #browbeat #wildbow #parahumans #thoughts #meta #worm meta #effortpost

245 notes · View notes

ywpd-translations · 2 months ago

Text

Ride 817: Takadajou's strategy

Pag 1

1: I see them, Jou-san!!

2: Ahead!!

3: Kyofushi is 200m ahead of us!!

And Naruko is 100m ahead of them

4: Let's switch, Naruko

Now it's my turn!!

6: Hakogaku is switching the lead

Now the one running in front is

Pag 2

1: number 12, Hakone Acadey's control tower, the third year Takadajou Rei!!

Pag 3

1: Woah, they changed the lead so quicky!!

Oh....

2: Is this how you change lead?

So efficient

Just now, that Takadajou guy

3: passed number 11 on the left, so close it looked like they were going to collide

4: He matched the deceleration of his partner and moved ahead smoothly, as if slipping

Pag 4

1: Like the pocket of your clothes you're used to have store your phone in

2: Unlike MTB, road racing involves a lot of wind resistance for a long period of time

3: Since 60% of the wind resistance is met by the person in the lead, the ones riding behind don't lose much energy

4: In a long match of road racing the loss of energy accumulates, so even small actions like taking turns should be done without wasting energy

5: Moreover, just now they didn't simply “switch”

6: He moved ahead while accelerating and intentionally leaved a gap behind for a moment

7: To close it....

Pag 5

1: We behind had to step on!!

3: Basically, he's making us consume our energy

So while switching, he's also attacking

4: This guy is the type to use his head well while running, yon!!

Pag 6

1: Now, what should I do?

2: The distance is 200m, and ahead of that it's 100m

3: Should I wait until Kyofushi catches Naruko and then swallow them?

4: Or should I decelerate on purpose and let Gunma get ahead?

5: Or, like Kyofushi, should I tear off the ones behind us and join those ahead?

Pag 7

1: Alright, here's a quiz, Yuuto

Which one of the following is the correct way to catch those ahead of us?

2: Wait a sec, Jou-san

3: There are three options!!

4: You should stop grinning and asking quizzes when the race is reaching its climax

I told you before, didn't I?

5: You told me?

6: That if you have an answer then just do it

We really are at the climax – there are....

Pag 8

1: 2km until the finish line!!

2km left until the finish line of the Inter High's first day!!

Pag 9

1: They're chasing the three people ahead!!

The distance is around 100m!! Kanagawaa!!

They're so fast!

2: They're coming into view!!

3: Indeed

Right?!?

4: It's a shame to see your perplexed expression, Yuuto

The quiz's answer....

5: Me? Perplexed?

.. was none of the three

Ah!?

It's the fourth one...

Pag 12

1: “Only catch....”

Pag 13

1: “Kyofushi”

Pag 14

2: Hakogaku accelerated in a moment...!! And they.... they caught Kyofushi!!

3: Who's that four-eyes with the square glasses

He's terribly fast!!

4: Ehi!! The quiz is alright, but if you plan on accelerating please tell me!!

I really am perplexed!!

5: …. mi

6: …. mi

7: Oi, look, Kyofushi's assist moved back a little

Pag 15

1: I couldn't... catch up..... with the red guy.... mi

2: Hacchobori-kuun....

3: And then.... they caught up from behind...

…. mi

4: This guy.... that face....!!

So...rry

5: Puku, but there's still work to do?

This is bad!!

Recover!!

Hacchobori-kuun, if

6: we fall behind in a moment like this..

Recover!!

This guy....

Pag 16

1: is losing sight of the goal!!

2: Tch

3: Kyofushi's number 46 is falling behind!!

What's going on!?

4: Losing sight of the goal....!!

5: When running in road races both stamina and emotional strength are pushed to the utmost limits!!

Especially before the finish line!!

Pag 17

1: For cyclists, their “goal” supports their minds

If they don't have that....!! That's the reason he fell behind

3: So the ones who you should be the most wary of are the ones who have their goals!!

Pag 18

2: Are you kidding me, Kyofushi really was swallowed? The Kyofushi who was supposed to be chasing me!?

3: That was Hakogaku's four-eyes Jou!! The guy Kabu talked about!!

4: Oruaaaaaa!!

Pag 19

1: Kyofushi's aim was to “absorb the lead”.... if they did that, it would have been too late

Completing an event creates the next goal

2: So I absorbed Kyofushi first!!

3: Now if we go a few hundred of meters further we'll be able to naturally absorb Naruko, too

Ugh!! This guy thinks so much it pisses me off!!

4: Even so, isn't it cruel that among the three options the right one was the fourth one?

5: I prepared the fourth one on purpose

Pag 20

1: Because in road races things always go beyond expectations

2: I don't really get what he's saying, but

As expected, when his bangs fall down, Jou-san snaps

3: By the way, your acceleration earlier was amazing, do you have a name for it?

4: Yeah

5: “The euclidean speed of sound”

The origin is always euclidean!!

59 notes · View notes

suzuran777 · 5 months ago

Text

BL game magazine Cool-B will be ceasing publication this month

After 20 years, BL visual novel magazine Cool-B is publishing its final issue at the end of this month. As someone who was always looking forward to the new information featured in the magazine, I'm sad to see it go, though I do understand the reasoning behind it. Due to rising manufacturing costs, in 2024 Cool-B was re-branded to Cool-B Kiwami, and the publishing schedule was changed to quarterly instead of bi-monthly. So for some time, it seemed like the magazine would continue with this new schedule. However, unfortunately in October 2024, another announcement was made on their social media in which they mentioned that the magazine would end publication in January 2025, as the contract with their publisher was also coming to an end.

Compared to 20 or even 10 years ago, the BL visual novel market has changed a lot and the number of newly released games is much smaller nowadays. Despite that, Cool-B continued publishing information, working closely with BL visual novel writers and artists to publish short stories and illustrations. The opinions of fans were important to them too, as they would organize yearly popularity polls and included game sales statistics and information about which new games people were looking forward to the most. The magazine's editors always seemed passionate about their work and even in their final statement, they mentioned that they want to find a way to continue, though right now they are unsure how.

Cool-B started publication in 2005, though its predecessor Binetsu Ouji released its first issue in 2002. Around this time, there were several other magazines which published information about BL visual novels, which I've written about in this blog post. All of them were eventually discontinued, which resulted in Cool-B becoming the only BL visual novel magazine. The other day the official Twitter/X account revealed the cover of the final issue, and instead of featuring a single game on the cover, they decided to include all of the previous covers. The text "最終号:BLゲームは不滅です" roughly translates to ''Final issue: BL games are immortal" implying that there will always be BL game creators who are passionate about their projects who will continue making new games in the future. And I think they're right, as earlier this week Parade (known for NO, THANK YOU!!!, Room No.9 and Lkyt.) announced their fourth game "lesson" which is scheduled to be released this year. The cover of the final Cool-B issue also teases a completely new project by Yura from Tennenouji (known for Miracle No-ton, Luckydog1 and Friendly Lab) as well as a completely voiced remake of a BL visual novel that was released in 2001 called Seraphim Spiral. Carnelian's new project Tokyo Gentou (or Tokyo Phantasmagoria) is also scheduled to be released this year, as well as the second part of Ooe which many BL fans are looking forward to, as part 1 was incredibly well received.

Including the final issue, Cool-B published 118 issues of the magazine between 2005 and 2025. They also had their own otome game magazines, Sweet Princess and Bitter Princess. As it's a bit difficult to see what's on each cover in the image above, I uploaded another image which should make it a bit easier to see. I also compiled a list of all the games/game franchises featured on each cover which you can check below. Some official game titles are rather long, so sometimes I wrote the name fans typically use when they refer to these games, but I think you should still be able to find it on vndb (visual novel database) if you want to learn more about these games.

1) Gakuen Heaven. 2) White Shadow. 3) Hanamachi Monogatari. 4) Torus Zero. 5) Lamento. 6) Messiah. 7) Gakuen Heaven. 8) Laughter Land. 9) Messiah. 10) Lamento. 11) Lamento. 12) Kichiku Megane. 13) Magia Mystica. 14) Ore no Shita de Agake. 15) Square na Kankei. 16) Maid★Hajimemashita. 17) Messiah. 18) Fanatica. 19) Togainu no Chi. 20) sweet pool. 21) Messiah. 22) sweet pool. 23) Kichiku Megane. 24) Luckydog1. 25) Hanakage. 26) Luckydog1. 27) Gakuen Heaven. 28) Hanakage. 29) Luckydog1. 30) STEAL! 31) sweet pool/Lamento/Togainu no Chi. 32) Luckydog 1. 33) Gakuen Heaven. 34) Togainu no Chi. 35) DRAMAtical Murder. 36) Gakuen Heaven.

37) Luckydog1. 38) Shingakkou. 39) Luckydog1. 40) Taishou Mebiusline. 41) Luckydog1. 42) DRAMAtical Murder. 43) Luckydog1. 44) DRAMAtical Murder. 45) DRAMAtical Murder. 46) Luckydog1. 47) DRAMAtical Murder. 48) Omertà. 49) DRAMAtical Murder. 50) Gakuen Heaven. 51) Luckydog1. 52) Si-Nis-Kanto. 53) Omertà. 54) Taishou Mebiusline. 55) Luckydog1. 56) DRAMAtical Murder. 57) DRAMAtical Murder. 58) Luckydog1. 59) Tsumi naru Rasen no Ori. 60) Togainu no Chi. 61) Gakuen Heaven. 62) Tokyo Onmyouji. 63) Luckydog1. 64) Luckydog1. 65) Taishou Mebiusline. 66) Luckydog1. 67) Togainu no Chi/Lamento/sweet pool/DRAMAtical Murder. 68) New World Order. 69) Luckydog1. 70) Luckydog1. 71) Taishou Mebiusline. 72) Omega Vampire.

73) Luckydog1. 74) Togainu no Chi/Lamento/sweet pool/DRAMAtical Murder. 75) Taishou Mebiusline. 76) Luckydog1. 77) Hashihime. 78) Paradise. 79) Luckydog1. 80) Luckydog1. 81) Paradise. 82) Nie no Machi. 83) Luckydog1. 84) Omega Vampire. 85) Luckydog1. 86) Nie no Machi. 87) Luckydog1. 88) Luckydog1. 89) Uuultra C. 90) Tokyo 24-ku. 91) Friendly Lab. 92) Lkyt. 93) Uuultra C. 94) Dystopia no Ou. 95) Uuultra C. 96) Slow Damage. 97) Luckydog1. 98) Tokyo 24-ku. 99) Hashihime. 100) Luckydog1. 101) Luckydog1. 102) Hashihime. 103) Friendly Lab. 104) Suito wa Hakumei. 105) Haiiro no Arcadia. 106) Hashihime. 107) Hashihime. 108) Hashihime. 109) NU:Carnival. 110) Tokyo Satsujinki. 111) Friendly Lab. 112) Luckydog1. 113) Hashihime. 114) Psychic Eclipse. 115) Luckydog1. 116) Ooe. 117) Luckydog1/Friendly Lab/Miracle Noton.

Some additional information which I thought was interesting -There are three games featured on the cover of the magazine that were never actually released and cancelled, which are White Shadow (2), Torus Zero (4) and New World Order (68), so you won't be able to find these on vndb as it unfortunately deletes these entries. I did include all three of them in a previous post about cancelled/unreleased BL visual novels if you want to check them out! (I just noticed all the typos in these older blog posts…please bear with me). Two of these game developers are still around, as Core recently returned as Procyon, and Holicworks still releases games, so perhaps some of their ideas were re-purposed, or scrapped for other ideas. There's actually a fourth game which hasn't been released yet which is Suito wa Hakumei featured on issue 104, though its status is currently unknown.

-In total, 31 of the covers feature characters from the Luckydog1 games, therefore Tennenouji is also the creator that was featured the most on the covers. Friendly Lab also has 3 covers (4 if you include the one with all of the Tennenouji game characters), therefore the total number of Tennenouji covers is 34, which is almost 40% of the covers. I'm assuming that Cool-B staff always worked closely with Yura, but Luckydog1 does have many different games, with the covers featuring Luckydog1, Gian-carlo's LUCKY HAPPY LIFE, Gian no Tame Nara Sekai o Kowasu, Luckydog1 + Badegg, Mr. Giancarlo and the Vita and Nintendo Switch ports of the first game. In the 117th issue, Yura did mention that the series was finished now with the release of the PC version of Mr. Giancarlo, and that she wants to focus on a completely different series now.

-The company with the second largest number of covers is Nitro+CHiRAL, with a total of 20 covers (about 23%). Among the Nitro+CHiRAL, games, DRAMAtical Murder has the most covers, advertising the first game, fandisc, anime and vita port. Of course, Nitro+Chiral is also known for its crossovers between their own games, so there are multiple covers which feature characters from different games together, promoting events such as the Chiral Night. Some of these feature the Chiral Night's mascot Naito-kun as well.

By the way, the magazine would always come with different postcards if you pre-ordered it from a specific website, and these postcards would feature new art from even more games, so fans had a lot of things they could collect. These were limited-edition, but you can still find people selling them second-hand on websites like Surugaya, Yahoo auctions, Mercari and more. Other than publishing magazines, Cool-B also released several artbooks, such as the Hashihime, Uuultra C, and Taishou Mebiusline official artbooks. I'm not quite sure what will happen to the sales of this as other stores like Stellaworth also sell them and they're often out of stock, but only time will tell.

To conclude this, I do hope they will be able to continue publishing information as they're clearly passionate about what they do. I always had a lot of fun guessing what kind of game would be on the next cover, as well as collecting postcards of games I liked. It's kind of sad that any future games won't have this, as the magazine would often publish original short stories and promotional material about these new games too. Even if the development of some games took a long time, it never really felt long as we would usually get updates every two months when Cool-B was released. Cool-B would often publish new chapters of manga too, such as the Paradise and Hashihime manga, so I do wonder what will happen to these and if they will be published somewhere else.

#cool-b #coolb #nitro+chiral #tennenouji #blinfo

102 notes · View notes

bestanimal · 2 months ago

Text

Round 3 - Reptilia - Pterocliformes

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Our next order of birds, and our last within the clade Columbimorphae, are the Pterocliformes, commonly called “sandgrouses”. The order has one living family, Pteroclidae, containing 16 species split between 2 genera.

Sandgrouses are short-legged, squat, ground-dwelling birds similar to their pigeon relatives. They have small heads and necks and sturdy, compact bodies. Their wings are long and pointed and they have powerful wing muscles, making them capable of rapid take off and a fast and direct flight. They have a dense layer of under down which helps insulate them from extremes of heat and cold. Their belly feathers are specially adapted for absorbing water and retaining it, allowing adults to carry water to chicks that may be many miles away from watering holes. They have feathers covering their legs and, in some species, their toes as well. They are distributed throughout Africa, Madagascar, the Middle East, and Eurasia, where they are restricted to treeless, open country habitats, such as plains, savannahs, and semi-deserts. Their cryptic, sandy coloration allows them to blend in with these environments. Their main diet consists of seeds, but they will also eat greens, bulbs, berries, ants, and termites.

Sandgrouse are gregarious, feeding in flocks of up to 100 birds. As they travel to water holes, they call to members of their own species and many hundreds or thousands synchronise their arrival at the drinking site despite converging from different locations scattered over hundreds of square miles of territory. They rely on this “safety in numbers” approach to make it harder for predators to catch them while they drink. Sandgrouse are sexually dimorphic, with males being larger and more brightly colored than females. They are monogamous. During the breeding season flocks will break up into pairs. Their nesting site will be a slight depression in the ground, sometimes lined with a few pieces of dry foliage. 1-4 camouflaged, near elliptical eggs are laid. Both parents will incubate the eggs and, in most species, the males incubate at night while the females sit on the eggs during the day. The chicks are precocial and will leave the nest as soon as they have all dried out. The parents do not feed them, instead teaching them what to eat. Males will often go out to collect water to bring it back to the chicks, who will drink from his breast feathers. The chicks are too small and young to thermoregulate at first, and their parents shade them during the hottest part of the day, and brood them to keep warm at night. The chicks remain with their parents as a family group for several months, and reach sexual maturity within 1 year.

Sandgrouses are part of the clade Columbimorphae, which also includes the Columbiformes and Mesitornithiformes. The Columbimorphs have roots in the Cretaceous, with modern groups appearing in the Eocene.

Propaganda under the cut:

Sandgrouses favor reliable watering holes, and tend to disregard temporary water sources which may appear periodically. This is a survival tactic, because a dried up water source in an arid region could result in dehydration and death.

The Burchell's Sandgrouse (Pterocles burchelli) (image 4) in the Kalahari Desert sometimes travels over 160 km (100 miles) daily to reach a water source.

The Chestnut-bellied Sandgrouse (Pterocles exustus) appears to be highly resilient against diseases. It is not susceptible to Newcastle disease or fowlpox, and seems to be relatively resistant to common communicable diseases among poultry.

Pleistocene fossils of the Black-bellied Sandgrouse (Pterocles orientalis) have been found, dating back about 500,000 BP.

Spotted Sandgrouse (Pterocles senegallus) are often preyed on by the Lanner Falcon (Falco biarmicus). When drinking or feeding in a flock, one bird will usually fly high overhead as a lookout. If it spots a falcon coming it will give a warning call. The sandgrouse on the ground will all freeze in place, and their camouflage is so effective that the falcon will be unable to spot them and move on.

#animal polls #round 3 #reptilia #Pterocliformes

72 notes · View notes

abswrites · 3 months ago

Text

sweat, chapter one - spencer reid

summary: (musician!spencer) spencer reid wants two things in this world. number one: to be a world-famous musician. number two: to kiss his childhood best friend. but the price of fame is higher than either of them expected.

✧˖° author's note: this is part one in what i imagine to be a loooooonggg fic, so buckle up. i write in vignettes, so the story (most likely) won't go chronologically. also, get ready for ANGSTTTT in the later parts.

✧˖° contents/tw: substance abuse, addiction (fame has not been kind to spencer), fem!reader, high school!spencer, high school! reader, lowkey a prologue but shhhhh, not proofread.

✧˖° words: 3.7k

October 12th, 2016 - New York, New York

Sweat.

Slick, salty, sticky sweat.

Spencer couldn’t get his mind off of it if he tried; how it clung to his aching, sluggish body as he moved. It was like he was drowning with every drop that dripped off hollowed cheeks.

He couldn’t focus on anything else.

Well, that, and scoring some more coke after the show.

Every step was built into his muscle memory at this point. Where he stood on stage, how high he’d raise his hands after the guitar solo, how loud the massive crowd would scream like banshees.

It was getting old. He was getting old.

Physically, he was in the best shape of his life, if you exclude the drinking, the smoking, the snorting, the unprotected fucking.

He didn’t even need an alarm clock anymore. The pounding in his head worked just fine. But with every puff or snort or swallow, that feeling of light and exuberance faded away that much more.

So he started drinking doubles.

And look where it got him: lip-syncing in front of 20,000 of his devoted fans.

This was never what he had in mind.

He figured he’d be in his last year of college, studying music with a small gaggle of nerds and a sweet, brown-eyed girl by his side. Mornings spent reading in bed, afternoons spent studying at a coffee shop, and nights filled with laughter and Dungeons and Dragons. Maybe a beer or two if he was feeling wild.

“Thank you all so much for coming out tonight, I love each and every one of you.” He lied, his voice echoing through the entirety of Madison Square Garden, a venue he used to dream of playing with his buddies.

The banshees erupted once more. He tried to ignore his splitting headache.

Just pick a spot and smile.

His eyes darted along the barricade, a plastic smile etched on his face. He waved, he mouthed “thank you,” he even winked to a particularly perky redhead.

But as soon as his eyes landed on the private section in the corner, his smile faltered, but never fell. Not completely, anyways.

A few of his buddies, a few girls he’d fucked, a few more he planned to. All of them clapped and cheered, though, not nearly as enthusiastically as a “best friend” should. Especially on his birthday.

His eyes glanced over to the security guard standing with a clipboard and list of VIPs. Nobody else was in line to get in.

He wasn’t sure if it was the coke, the heavy bass, the blinding spotlights, or maybe all three. But his heart stopped beating.

She didn’t come.

His first thought was anger, like an involuntary reflex. She’s a bitch, anyways. Always holding me back.

But it didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to rethink. When was the last time he’d shown up for her birthday?

When was the last time he’d called?

When was the last time he’d seen her?

When was the last time he knew anything about her life?

A wave of guilt flooded his senses, making his already-erratic heartbeat quicken. He couldn’t believe she never showed. This was the gig he always dreamed about as a kid. A dream he dreamed with her.

But could he really blame her?

August 2nd, 2007 - Las Vegas, Nevada

“I’m telling you, y/n, it’s gonna happen.” He said, his voice squeaking in a mixture of determination and 16-year-old excitement. The Vegas sun beat down on him, leaving his lean frame covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His sunglasses slid down the bridge of his glistening nose.

“Well, I’ll be sure to get tickets when it does.” I said, lazily fanning my own sweat-streaked face with my hand. My t-shirt clung to my torso, parts of the white fabric turning grey and translucent from my wet bathing suit underneath.

The left side of Spencer’s mouth curved upward.

“Promise?”

My expression mimicked his.

“Promise. But I should at least get discounted tickets,” I chuckled. “You know, some kind of longest-running fan sale.”

Spencer smiled, leaning back against the shitty, cheap, plastic pool chair. A few drops of water clung to the small smattering of chest hair he’d grown over the last six months. I could remember the night he called me about it, excited at the prospect of finally becoming a ‘real man.’

“Please, you’re gonna get a whole VIP section to yourself.” He said. “Well, maybe you’ll have to share it with whoever Avery’s hooking up with at the time.”

A soft snort escaped my nostrils.

“He’s such a horndog.”

Spencer nodded and shrugged. “Can you blame him?”

I rolled onto my side, facing Spencer as I rested my hand on my palm.

“Yes, I can.” I teased. “Avery’s got the whole douchebag drummer act down to a science. I just don’t get why so many girls like it.”

“Girls like douchebags.” Spencer said, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose.

“No, we don’t.” I retorted.

“Avery’s track record begs to differ.”

I narrowed my eyes at Spencer, sitting up from the plastic poolside lounger.

“That’s because Avery’s idea of dating involves flirting, fucking, and running away as soon as there’s an inkling of something serious.

Spencer chuckled. I wasn’t wrong, after all.

Aside from me, Avery was Spencer’s oldest childhood friend. Born in the same town in the same year, growing up on the same street with the same interests… it was destined to happen. It wasn’t long until they started playing music together in Spencer’s garage or Avery’s basement.

But while Spencer retreated within himself, embarrassed by the trials and tribulations of puberty, Avery thrived. Every weekend there was another girl, another party, another wild story to share.

He knew that I couldn’t stand him, but it didn’t stop him from idolizing everything he did. Spencer wanted to be cool, just like him.

“Oh come on, he’s not that bad once you get to know him.” Spencer said coyly.

I slid my sunglasses on, turning to sit up and take off my water-stained t-shirt before lying back down on my stomach, letting the intense August sun warm my skin like a heat lamp.

“You’re right. He’s worse.” I said before nuzzling my head against my arms.

Spencer’s eyes dropped from behind his sunglasses, tracing every inch of my exposed back. Every pore, every divot, every curve caught his eye. He felt his heart skip a beat at the sight, trying to ignore the fact that the only thing between him and my breasts was a small string bikini loosely tied atop my shoulder blades.

“He’s just not a relationship kind of guy,” Spencer coughed, forcing himself to look away from my skin, grateful for his polarized sunglasses. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, my head buried beneath my crossed arms. “But the way he does it… it’s sleazy. He gets these girls to ignore their better judgement enough to trust him, gets into their pants, and then shuts them out after.”

Spencer’s smile faded as he registered my words.

“Okay, yeah, that’s not great.” He admitted, rubbing some sweat from the back of his neck.

“It’s hurtful,” I replied. “Which is why I don’t understand why you idolize him so much. You’ve got such a big heart.”

“I do not.” Spencer protested, as if it was a bad thing to be a gentleman. Ah, teenage masculinity.

“You called me in tears when you turned Rebecca Flores down.” I quipped back, peeking my head out from behind my arms with a toothy smile.

Spencer grimaced, his face scrunching up.

“God, don’t remind me of that,” He said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I still feel bad.”

I laughed, lifting my head up more. Spencer’s eyes darted across the smattering of freckles across my cheeks - a trademark of a fun summer.

“First of all, she’s gay now,” I giggled. “Second, you cared about her enough to want to avoid hurting her feelings. Sure, I’m sure it sucked for her in the moment, but you did the right thing. The kind thing. That’s not something you should be embarrassed about.”

Spencer scrunched his mouth up again.

“I guess.”

“I know,” I responded, sitting up to face him, patting him gently on the shoulder. “That's why I like you way more than Avery.”

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened at the touch as he looked into my eyes. He hoped the blush forming on his cheeks could pass for a sunburn.

“Yeah, well,” he started, his lips curving into a bashful smile. “I like you more than Avery, too.”

March 20th, 2009 - Las Vegas, Nevada

To say the waiting was killing us would be the understatement of the century.

For 4 months, Spencer and I had spent every moment dreaming about UCLA. The research programs, the music school, and the idea of getting to explore LA together… it was everything we wanted. It seemed so close yet so far out of reach.

“You gotten anything yet?” Spencer asked, his voice ringing out over the phone. It was shaky and giddy.

“Not yet. We’ve still got 4 minutes.” I said, my voice even shakier. My eyes were glued to the computer screen as I waited for the email to pop up. There was a beat of silence, the dull crackle of the phone filling the void.

“I don’t think I’m gonna get in.” I said, trying to mask the dejection in my voice.

Spencer’s eyes widened as he held the phone closer to his ear.

“What? Why wouldn’t you?” He asked.

“Because I’m nowhere near as smart as you.” I mumbled.

Another beat of silence.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. Don’t lie to me, Spence.”

“I’m not lyin-”

“Yes, you are.”

There was another beat.

“I’m coming over.” He said quickly.

“Wait, Spence, don’t-”

The dull buzz of the dead line rang out from the plastic landline on my nightstand. I sighed, setting the phone back on the receiver with a click.

The silence was maddening. I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my head on them, finding no comfort from the soft fleece of my pajama pants.

Despite the fact that it was only in the mid-40s outside, I could feel the sticky sheen of sweat clinging to my palms and the back of my neck. My heart was hammering in my chest as I prayed to any god that would listen.

Please let me get in. I don’t want to say goodbye yet.

Since we were 6 years old and Spencer’s family moved in a few streets over, we’d been inseparable. We played in sprinklers, we rode our bikes, we wrestled for the last bomb pop from the ice cream truck.

We snickered to one another about the throes of puberty; our first zits, our first armpit hairs. We shushed one another excitedly as we recalled the details of our first kisses. Both were sloppy, wet, and disastrous. But we didn’t care.

We helped one another get ready for our first and last school dances. I tied his tie and pinned his boutonniere , he slid the corsage on my wrist and zipped up my dress. Our mothers must have snapped a thousand photos of us. We spent the whole night dancing (poorly, I might add) and the early hours of the morning laughing and throwing popcorn into one anothers mouths.

It was that night, hours after the junior prom ended, that I realized that I may like Spencer. Like, like him.

At first, the thought mortified me. I cannot like him! He’s like my brother!

But I found myself doodling hearts on the margins of my physics homework every time he’d walk me through the problems. It was hard to focus on calculating velocities when he sat just inches away. Especially when he finally ditched the Axe body spray and started wearing real cologne.

But now, a little less than a year later, the thought didn’t embarrass me anymore. If anything, it made me sad. I was too chicken-shit to ever make a move, too terrified at the prospect of ruining over a decade of friendship. It was better to bite my tongue until it bled. It was better to fill locked diaries with pages and pages of how nice his hair looked or how handsome his smile was. It was better to think of him late at night, letting my heart race and eyelids flutter as my hand dipped below the loose elastic of my waistband. It was better to imagine the feeling of his lips on my cheek, my neck, my-

No. Enough. Snap out of it. It’s not going to happen.

I let out a deep sigh, my shoulders slouching as I rubbed my eyes to try and knock some sense into myself. I need to focus on what’s right in front of me.

Even if it means I won’t see him much after graduation… that this could be the beginning of the end.

The idea of losing him stung worse than any wasp ever could.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The sound of small pebbles hitting the window pulled me out of my episode of teenage angst.

“You know, I’ve got a front door. You should try it some time.” I scoffed, sliding up the windowpane as his long and lanky form bent over to crawl inside.

“This is more fun.” He responded, his dirty converse leaving behind some specks of Nevadan dust as he stepped into my room, his clunky, sticker-covered laptop tucked under his arm.

I rolled my eyes, eyeing him knowingly. He slipped his shoes off.

“You heard anything yet?” He asked, plopping down on my quilted comforter, resting his laptop on his stomach as he opened it.

“It’s not 8 yet.”

“God,” he groaned, clearly impatient. “Can they just hurry up already?”

I sat down next to him, albeit a little timid. Spencer was a genius. He was guaranteed acceptance at any school he wanted. Me, on the other hand…

“Are you still nervous?” He asked, sitting up to face me. His eyes were a little tired, but still warm and kind like always. As I glanced into them, I couldn’t help but think about how much I’d miss seeing them everyday if I didn’t get in. I nodded sheepishly, letting my eyes drop back down to my clasped fingers in my lap.

“Look at me.” He instructed, his voice firm but quiet.

I did as I was told.

“You’re gonna get in.”

I started to protest, letting my eyes drop back down to my lap. He pulled my chin, turning my head to face his.

“Look at me.” He repeated. As his long fingers grazed my chin, I felt my heart skip a beat and another sheen of sweat start to form on the back of my neck. I did my best not to gulp nervously like a cartoon character.

Spencer wasn’t normally one for much physical contact, but I seemed to be the exception. He didn’t ever say anything when I’d hold onto his arm to steady myself on the bus, or when I’d tuck a particularly curly and wild strand of his hair behind his ear. It was this contradiction that left my head spinning when I wracked my brain to figure out if he might like like me back.

“You’re the smartest girl I know. If they don’t let you in, it’s their loss, not yours. You hear me?”

Still completely dumbfounded by his fingers - which still lingered on my chin - I nodded silently. For a moment, I let my eyes flick down to his lips. His perfect, pink lips. My whole body screamed at me to throw caution to the wind and shove mine against his. But I didn’t let my gaze linger. I couldn’t.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Thanks, Spence.”

Before he could say anything else, the sound of the small cuckoo clock on my dresser filled the room.

“You ready?” He asked, stifling a nervous, toothy grin. As I turned my head back from the clock, I saw his eyes flick up ever so slightly.

What had he been looking at?

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I sighed.

Without another word, Spencer took my hand in his own, squeezing tightly as he opened his laptop and refreshed the page.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

My world blurred as Spencer cheered at the sight of his acceptance letter. He was going. He was really going. With or without me.

“I’m in!” He laughed, still holding onto my hand tightly. “I’m going to LA!”

I smiled despite the agonizing feeling of panic building in my chest.

“I’m so happy for you, Spence.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

“What does yours say?” He laughed, still holding onto my hand tightly.

I pursed my lips uncomfortably.

“I don’t think I can open it.”

He stared at me, his expression falling ever so slightly.

“(Y/N), just open it. You’ll feel better just knowin-”

“No, I wont.” I snapped, my voice nervous and icy as I dropped his hand, standing up from the bed. I ran my fingers through my hair.

His eyes widened as he recoiled from the echo of my voice. I never snapped at him, even when he really deserved it.

“Why not?” He asked, standing up next to me, trying to force my eyes to meet his.

I bit my tongue, lamenting the building frustration in my veins.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” He said before even thinking about it. “Tell me.”

His gaze was microscopic, looking so far inward I fear he could see right through me. I had to turn around just to gather the courage to speak.

“It’s just,” I mumbled, wracking my brain for the right words to say. It felt like I was writing my college essay all over again. “I’m gonna be sad if I can’t be with you in the fall.”

I stared anxiously at my window, not daring to turn around and face him. It was silent. I bit my lip, hoping he was just trying to think of the right thing to say.

“Well,” he started, his voice quiet.

Oh god. This can’t be good.

“Good thing you won’t have to.”

What?

“What?” I snapped my head around.

There he was, sitting with my computer in his lap, the screen facing me.

Congratulations on your admittance into the UCLA class of 2013!

“Oh my god,” I said, my voice breathy as I yanked the laptop out of his hands in disbelief. Was I dreaming? Was this real? “Oh my god!”

I don’t know whose smile was wider, mine or his. In this moment, it felt as if anything was possible, as cheesy and cliche as that sounds. For the first time in my life, it felt like everything was in the right place. It felt like I was in the right place.

Especially as he wrapped his long arms around me and squeezed.

“I told you!” He chuckled into my ear, squeezing me tightly. “You can’t get rid of me that eas-”

For the first time in my life, I did something without thinking.

I kissed him.

Almost immediately, he pulled back, his eyes wide and his lips smeared with some of my lip gloss. He stared at me in disbelief, as if my face was a text in a foreign language that he was trying to decipher. I felt my heart sink.

The shame and embarrassment followed shortly thereafter.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,” I stuttered out, covering my mouth as if it would undo the massive mess I’d just created. Involuntarily, my eyes darted towards the floor. I couldn’t stand the sight of his face as I imagined the horrified expression contorting his delicate features.

“I don’t know why I did that, I’m-”

I didn’t even get a chance to look into his eyes before it happened.

My senses went into overdrive as I felt his lips smash against mine.

Needy. Hungry. Desperate.

Without so much as a thought, my hands found their way into his hair, each finger intertwining with one of his shaggy curls. I pressed my chest against his, allowing myself to stop thinking and just feel.

His hands snaked their way onto my hips, pulling me closer against him as he leaned back against the bed, almost losing his balance. Each one of his fingers had electricity in it, sending fiery jolts of excitement and pleasure into my stomach. My lips pulled back just enough for a breathy gasp to escape my lips.

His eyes widened ever so slightly.

That was all it took.

Before I even registered the movement, he’d pulled me onto the bed, our heads resting on my pillows as we stared into one another’s eyes before locking our lips together once more.

Maybe it was the teenage hormones, or maybe it was the fact that I was convinced I was dreaming, but I felt like I couldn’t stop myself. His lips felt like velvet against mine; soft and lush. The smell of his cologne - sort of a musky teakwood - fluttered into my nostrils, causing the butterflies in my stomach to flap their wings even harder.

As I let my senses guide me, the kiss slowed, fading from a fiery fervor to something tender, deep, and loving. A sweet kiss from a sweet boy.

For a moment, he pulled back his lips, resting his forehead against mine. His wide brown eyes stared into mine, a mixture of excitement, relief, and understanding splayed across his face. It was the most intimate thing I’d ever experienced.

“Wait,” He sighed out, clearly a little out of breath. His cheeks were flushed and warm under my fingers.

“What is it?” I asked, worried I’d done something wrong or that he’d say this was all a huge mistake.

“Are you just kissing me because you got into college?”

My brows furrowed. He mimicked my reaction.

“You know, for a certified genius, you’re kind of an idiot, Spence.” I said, my lips contorting into a wide, toothy grin. I couldn’t help but laugh.

After a moment, he did, too.

“Good,” He chuckled in relief. “Because I don’t think I could keep myself from kissing you again if I tried.”

He pressed his lips against mine again.

Maybe I was right.

Maybe everything is right in the world.

Maybe - no, not maybe…

I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

so this is quite literally the first fic i've ever posted on this hellsite (but defo not the first one i've written lol) so if you like it pls let me know! also, i'm taking requests. fire away, friends. <333

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #tw substance abuse #musician!reid #musician!spencer #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

59 notes · View notes

nevieeland · 5 months ago

Text

title: thought i was dead

pairing: bourgeoisie!m.yoongi x street rat!reader

synopsis: another day, another patrol. big black trucks roll down unused roads, sharply trained eyes moving over the battered streets in search of particular fugitives of the law. fugitives that are on the other side of the city, roaming streets where they 100% don't belong.

rating/warnings: mature (16+) ; action, violence (there’s a very brief fight scene), profanity. um... there's also implications as well as explicit mentions of police brutality and abuse of power in regards to the patrolmen and the citizens of the valley, gambling at a casino very briefly, talks of death, and reader is morally grey. not proofread.

last updated: 27.01.25

word count: 5.3k

there's the usual sounds of big wheels rolling down the gravel of the streets, heads popping out of old and broken windows to catch a glimpse of the big black trucks that seem to come down the block every other day, circling neighbourhoods like vultures looking for their next meal. mothers keep their children hidden behind them, and teens run out of the door to spew obscenities that the dark suited officials in the suvs won't be able to hear. everyone ushers whoever they can grab into the nearest building, hoping to escape their line of sight, and ultimately, the crossfire of whatever rebellious street rat had caught the attention of the inner circle today.

there were numerous repeat offenders within all corners of the sunken slums, gangs and squads who'd often draw too close to the fence or vandalise one of the many statues of the governor strewn about the village. it had gotten to the point that even the most generous of individuals had given up on hiding them, finding it not worth the trouble. if the patrol wanted to find someone, they would, and there was no two ways about it.

how many times had a child, barely a teen, ben forcefully dragged from the arms of their mother, simply for committing the crime of being curious? loitering was one of the more serious crimes frowned upon by the inner circle, guards stationed at every corner of the fence, guns in hands and eyes watching for any fool who'd gotten too inquisitive and wandered too close. one of the first things any inhabitant of the valley is taught are the three big laws.

all of those within the valley sect must remain at least ten metres from the circle fence at all times, law number one.

if the patrol felt kind, then the worst punishment someone would receive was five nights in the cage, cold and alone and given only scraps for food until their release. if not, then you'd be taken to the public square and beaten and lashed for the rest of the village to gaze upon; a cautionary tale to any upcoming ruffians or seemingly invincible rebels.

you usually hear the vans before you see them. but not today. today you watch the guards open one of the big metal gates and let the trucks drive in, an expression of determined resolution making it's way across the planes of your face. you're barely obscured by the pile of rubble and bricks beside the old hospice, another member of your ragtag crew hidden within the rotting wood of one of the crates.

"sure, okay, lets say we get to the gate. the trucks roll in, we're on the outskirts of town while they look for us inside," taehyung says from beside you, flicking the ash of his cigarette down onto the worn carpet beneath your bodies. "but what then? how are we supposed to actually get into the inner sect?"

there comes hums of agreeance from a few of the others, and you thread wiry fingers through the knots in your hair. the gates would only be open until all the trucks had come in, and after that they'd shut and the guards would be back on duty. entrance would be the same as it usually was; impossible.

you pause, and a silence blankets over the makeshift basement hideout. there's the heavy weight of expectant gazes on your back, and you huff in frustration as your mind comes up blank. taehyung was right, they could only wait by the gate for so long before they were spotted, and the bruises littered across their skin like paint on a canvas had yet to fade from their last encounter with the patrol.

two weeks in the cage was starting to seem less and less worth it.

a short huff escapes your lips, hands moving over taehyung's and snatching the cigarette from his fingers with a deft quickness as you bring it to your lips and take a deep drag. then, short and curt, "you know me, tae. i'll figure it out. i have to, don't i?"

the guards open the doors and exit the suv to check the back tire—a flat. as you hoped.

the rock you placed on the road was subtle, blending in with the rest of the gravel. the roads in the valley are rough, and no one here owns a car—patrols only come bi-weekly, so there’s no point in maintaining the roads. but it worked in your favor this time. the last of the suv’s wheels had rolled over the sharp edge of the stone, and now joining the patrolmen at their side were the guards, the gate left open and now only being watched by one instead of the usual three.

they'd need a new tire, you knew that for sure. and that gate would remain open until they had one.

there comes a hushed whisper from your side, and your eyes snap suddenly to the familiar figure on your left, his lips pulled into a boxy grin. "gate open," he affirms, gesturing with his head to the breakdown. "and bad guys distracted. that's act one. have we got an act two?"

you don’t answer right away. instead you tap taehyung on the back with an apologetic smile. "don't worry about it. just follow my lead."

a furrow of brows and a pursing of lips together in annoyance. taehyung's distaste with your ominous secrecy is evident. but he trusts you. "right. go when you say go. follow your step."

your fingers graze up the worn fabric of his jacket, a more genuine smile gracing your lips as the digits tangle into the hairs at the nape of his neck. "right. just do as i do, okay? and don't get mad at me."

there's a question on the tip of his tongue, his brows kissing the more they furrow, but whatever plagues his mind never has the chance to escape his thoughts, because suddenly there's even more of a commotion where the truck has broken down.

“hey, you!” one of the guards shouts, his gun raising. the other patrolmen follow suit, weapons drawn and pointed at the female figure drawing ever closer.

the woman doesn’t notice the threat. she stumbles forward, her eyes bleary and her hair a matted mess. her head swings around as if loose on a stick, laughing crazily. “you think you’re tough, huh? all of you scum—just ‘cause you’ve got money and cars?”

the guard behind the gate steps forward after her, and there's an opportunity offered in the slight venture. he's a little way out now; if you're careful you could graze past him and into the inner sect. the immediate choice is made. if you’re going, you need to go now.

your hand raises, fingers twisting in a signalling gesture. it's time.

but taehyung’s hand shoots out, grabbing at your wrist. “hey, isn’t that—” comes the start of a question, but your biting tone quickly cuts him off.

"we don't have time for this," you hiss, trying to tug him along. "we can talk once we're past the gate. come on."

and when taehyung realises that it's either come along or get left behind—and potentially caught—he moves with a frustrated grunt, slipping into place behind you as the others emerge from their hiding places.

and it's only once you're so close to the fence you pause, feeling a shiver running down the expanse of your spine. from a distance the gate in intimidating. it looms as tall as some of the buildings and is an ever present shadow over the valley. no one had ever doubted it's sheer size.

but now, next to it? it's like the wired skeleton of a giant looming over you, going on and on up into the sky to a point where it's almost dizzying to look at. it feels like you’re about to walk straight into the mouth of a beast. but you shouldn't hesitate, you need to break out of your stupor and go—

"see?" comes a slurred voice, and a sense of dread settles into your stomach once you see the intoxicated woman's finger pointing directly at you. "those kids think you ain't tough either. that's why there's so many of 'em."

shit.

your legs are moving all on their own, shooting up from their crouching position and propelling you forward, forward, forward. you hear a shout from behind, then the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked, and you don't need to look back to know that there's weapons pointing at the four of you.

shit, shit, shit, shit.

"hey you," comes the voice a guard, loud and angry. "stop right there!"

you can't stop. not now. stopping is accepting death, so you run. you don’t even look back, knowing the others are following behind you, mirroring your every step. you're almost there—just a few more meters to the gate. then you'll have done it, and this will all have been worth it.

a sharp crack rips through the air. a gunshot.

you don't look back to see if it's aimed at you or the woman. you just keep running. and you don't stop, even when you feel the overwhelming burn in your side where the bullet's barely grazed by you. you stumble but keep pushing forward. you're so close to the inner sect now.

right there—

and then, with one last push, you’re over the border.

but it’s not over yet.

the gunshots are still ringing, and the heavy footsteps behind you tell you that the chase has begun. you don’t stop running. you can’t. you allow yourself a quick moment to turn, to catch a final glimpse of home.

the last thing of the valley you see before you're bolting is the woman's crumpled body on the ground.

if there's one thing you're good for, it's athletics.

the adrenaline of crossing into the city keeps your legs moving even when your lungs begin to burn and your muscles begin to ache, long enough for you and the others to lose the group of men and stumble haphazardly into a small side alley between a restaurant and a small boutique.

venturing as far back into the shadows as you can, you collapse against the brick wall in a heap, breaths leaving your lungs in short, painful gasps. there's silence, for all but a moment, and then you're laughing. a bitter, frantic laugh that bursts from your throat, raw and desperate.

what the fuck was that? if they see us anywhere they're going to fucking kill us.

there's nothing funny about this at all. you've practically signed your death certificate and now you're fugitives in a city where you shouldn't be, law enforcement lurking at every corner, and yet you can't help your laughter.

it’s a burning feeling, tearing through your lungs and making liquid sting at the corners of your eyes, a sound almost desperate in it’s hysteria. if you don’t laugh, you know for sure you’ll start crying, head swimming with a myriad of emotions you don’t know how to even begin processing.

everything hurts really fucking bad. your muscles feel like they’re pulling each other in entirely opposite directions and there’s a migraine so sharp behind your eyes that you feel like you’re getting an astral lobotomy.

you feel almost high, everything in your body working at max.

“damn it,” taehyung growls from the corner, his anger cutting through your hysteria. “what the fuck was that?”

you purse your lips, kissing your teeth at the question. "what was what? the part where we got shot at or the part where we became possibly the most wanted people in valles?"

he’s having none of it.

“don’t act smart. what the fuck was she doing there?”

you really wish you had a cigarette. you'd need at least twenty and a pool full of alcohol to deal with taehyung and his moral compass.

at least with the rush of the chase you were granted a temporary moment’s reprieve from the fact that your actions had led to the death of a woman. a not very nice, nor a very well liked woman, but a member of the valley nonetheless. a neighbour. it had been three years since the last patrol–induced death. it was something that caused an excitement throughout the small town. a step forward is a step forward.

and now you’ve just forced a step back. you can only imagine the patrol’s fury, and the thought of picturing the result of their fury on the citizens of your sect makes you physically ill. so you don’t allow yourself to think about it.

instead, you try and think of an answer to tae’s question that doesn’t end with him absolutely blowing up on you.

“she was high,” you start, voice low and calculated. and you weren’t lying—that much was obvious to any person with a working eye. “she probably stumbled out on her own and wandered too far. it probably wouldn’t be the first time. you saw her, didn’t you?”

but the narrow of taehyung’s eyes tells it all. he doesn’t believe you.

“look, tae,” you murmur, “you’re worked up on an adrenaline rush, i get it. but don’t take it out on me, okay?”

“don’t—” an incredulous sputter cuts off his words, and you watch for a moment as he grapples to keep his temper under check. “don't take it out on you? what the fuck? she’s dead because of you—”

“—it’s not my fault she ratted us out!—”

“— yet you’re talking like it’s not your fault!”

“yeah?” you challenge with a raise of brows, “well the sect is better off without her anyway! all she ever did was get high and harass the kids and schmooze up to the patrols. she threw people into the cage for a fucking carrot from the higher-ups. yeah, maybe she’s dead. so. fucking. what.”

for a second, it looks like taehyung’s about to hit you, but then his rage boils over into a scream of frustration. before you know it, his hands are at your throat, squeezing hard. your nails dig into his skin, and you fight with all the energy you have left, kicking him in the stomach until he’s forced to step back, groaning when his head hits the wall behind him.

he's lunging at you again, but this time you're prepared and meet him with a sharp fist to the face. you can feel the warm trickle of a few stray drops of blood dripping from his nose, but it doesn't deter you from delivering another blow.

but taehyung’s not done. his eyes are wild, and you know he’s not going to stop until something breaks.

"stop!" gyuri sobs, covering her face so she doesn't have to see the two of you fighting. "just fucking stop! we can't fight like this when we're so far from home. you two are the only ones with a semblance of an idea of what the fuck we're doing, so just stop!"

the fourth of you, nobu, nods in agreement, his arms crossed and a contemplative shadow draped over his features. "she's right, you know. we've made it too far to start infighting. that's gonna get us killed. we need to figure out what we're doing next."

with a sigh, your hands fall to your side, gaze flicking to taehyung to watch as he wipes at his bleeding nose. with an apologetic smile, you extend an arm towards him, an offer of an olive branch.

it stings when he slaps it away.

"whatever," he murmurs, not once letting his eyes move to where you are. "nobu's right. we need a move."

there's a myriad of different thoughts in your head right now, body slinking further into the shadows as you finally allow yourself to collapse and focus on something other than the tense edge in all of your muscles.

like the sight of the woman's lifeless eyes. or taehyung's fury. or what the fuck you're supposed to do now. you can't go home for a while, patrol cars will be roaming the streets like guard dogs, and it's only a matter of time before the guards will start hunting every street in the inner sect in search of the four of you.

you sigh, exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"first thing's first," you murmur, closing your eyes and trying to quell your growing headache. "we need to ditch what we're wearing. that's the first thing they'll recognise."

there's different sounds of approval, and a begrudging grunt from taehyung, and the decision is unanimous.

your clothing raid had been successful, you and the others managing to grab some things from a box behind one of the more high end boutiques after you'd roamed around a few of the back allies.

it's only now you realise how different the inner sect is from the valley, after the fog's cleared and your hands are shoved into the pockets of your dress pants.

the buildings were massive, for one.

where the valley had crumbling old bungalows and a few basement houses, the inner circle was filled with skyscraper after skyscraper. looking at any building had you straining your neck, the the glassed windows were so reflective, the sun practically blaring into your eyes from every angle.

it's better if you keep your head down, anyway. your clothing was innocuous enough for you to blend in with the crowd so long as your face isn't fully visible.

that's another thing. the clothing.

you'd seen suits of course. the patrol governed your city adorned in the black textile from head to toe. but to see everyone dressed so formally, women in long dark coats and men with vests and cuffed shirts, makes your skin crawl with discomfort.

you'd wear the same pair of tatted jeans for weeks at a time, the only wardrobe rotation being the communal clothes you and your crew would share and swap.

at some point, the four of you had split up. you'd all find a place to stay for the night, and meet back up at the alley in the morning to debrief and decide what to do next. another unanimous agreement.

finding a place to sleep for one would be easier than finding a place for four.

you know that's what you should've been doing, but something about the casino's bright lights and loud music has you almost immediately gravitating towards it.

there's a bouncer at the door, and for a moment your heart drops, but as you approach he simply gives you a nod and allows you in.

for the first time since your arrival in the inner sect, you feel yourself relax.

almost instinctively, your hand drifts to the back pocket of your borrowed pants, fingers brushing the fabric in search of a cigarette. when they come up empty, you huff in quiet frustration, the realization striking a little harder than you’d like. right. those were left behind—along with just about everything else that tied you to the valley.

you’re still caught in the thought when a hand extends toward you out of nowhere. the sudden movement sends a cold surge of panic through your veins, and you whirl around with wide eyes. The crowd blurs for a moment as your gaze locks on the figure in front of you—a dark haired man standing far too close.

his expression holds no malice. if anything, there’s amusement dancing in his eyes, as though startling you was an intentional act of mischief. the corner of his mouth lifts into a casual smirk, and he tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re a puzzle worth solving. his hand remains outstretched, unwavering. he gives it a slight shake, and only then do you notice what he’s holding.

it’s a silver cigarette case, polished enough that the casino’s lights shimmer across its surface.

for a brief moment, you see your own reflection in it—wide eyed and slightly on edge, a sharp contrast to the man's easy demeanour. he tilts the case open with one hand, revealing a neatly arranged row of cigarettes nestled inside. the gesture is smooth, practiced, like it’s something he’s done a thousand times before.

“need one?” he asks, his voice low and rich, carrying just enough charm to make you wonder if this interaction is as accidental as it seems.

no, thanks, you almost decline, but your hand moves on its own and picks up one of the cancer sticks with a familiarity all too strange considering the stranger you're taking them from.

"have you got a—"

"lighter?" the man interjects, and he retrieves the small metal tool from his breast pocket, yet again holding it out to you.

you take it with a grateful skepticism.

the man chuckles at your sidewards glances, his smile all to warm and all too charming. it's uncanny, and the weight of his gaze makes your skin almost crawl.

with the cigarette lit and placed lazily between your lips, you pass him back the lighter, and he takes it, eyes shifting from your hand to your face. "i don't think i've seen you in here before," he muses with a short hum. "you not from around here?"

you don't respond, taking a long drag of your cigarette and rushing for an answer that won't land you in deep shit.

"i uh... i'm from the other side of the city. i don't usually come out this far," you bluff with an exhale of smoke, hoping your voice doesn't sound as shaky as you feel. "it kinda of just drew me in."

another hum from the stranger, and he plucks the cigarette from your fingers to place it between his own, and a shiver runs down your spine at the intimate contact.

"could tell you're not from here. your pockets are probably emptier than your purse, hm?" he inhales a cloud of smoke, and you watch as it pours from his nose when the cigarette is passed back. "have you ever even been to a casino, miss?"

you answer honestly. "no."

the man exhales slowly, his smoke mingling with the flashing lights and hum of conversation around you. he studies you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering just enough to make you feel uncomfortably exposed. then, without a word, he slips a hand into his coat pocket.

when it reemerges, he’s holding a neat stack of bills, bound with a thin band. your stomach tightens at the sight of it. he peels off two crisp hundred-dollar notes and presses them into your hand.

"here," he says, his tone easy, like this is the most normal thing in the world. "consider it a welcome gift."

you stare at the money, blinking in confusion. it feels heavy in your hand, heavier than it should, and for a moment, you consider handing it back. "i—why?"

you've never seen so much money in your life. in the valley, all exchanges were done with rusty coins older than the houses themselves. seeing bills for the first time is an almost out of body experience.

you try to school your shock into a more nonchalant expression.

his smirk deepens, and he nods toward the rows of slot machines lining the casino floor. "because watching you wander around clueless is almost painful," he teases, a glint of amusement in his eye. "come on. i'll show you how to use one of these."

before you can protest, he lightly grips your elbow and steers you toward one of the machines. the screen glows bright, its colors shifting in hypnotic patterns. coins and lights jingle in unison, the allure of chance pulling at your senses.

the man stops in front of a sleek black-and-gold machine and gestures for you to sit. hesitant, you lower yourself onto the cushioned stool, the leather creaking faintly under your weight. he leans against the machine beside you, his posture loose, the picture of confidence.

"alright," he begins, sliding one of the bills into the machine’s slot with practiced ease. The screen comes alive, displaying an absurd number of credits. "this one’s simple. all you have to do is press the button."

you glance at him skeptically. "that’s it?"

"that's it," he confirms with a grin. "but don’t let the simplicity fool you. these things will eat your money faster than you can blink if you’re not careful."

you hover your finger over the glowing button, hesitant. "and if I win?"

he chuckles, the sound low and rich, as though the idea itself amuses him. "then you might just owe me a drink."

you scoff at that. as fucking if.

but against your better judgment, you press the button. the machine whirs to life, its reels spinning in a blur of bright symbols. your heart skips as you watch them slow, each one ticking into place.

the man watches too, his expression unreadable, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t tell if he’s helping you—or setting you up for something you can’t quite see.

the reels slow one by one, their bright symbols clinking into place like tiny bursts of fate being decided. a lemon, a cherry, a golden bar—your breath catches as the last reel spins just a little longer, teasing you. finally, it lands on another golden bar.

lights explode from the machine in a dazzling display, and an obnoxiously cheerful chime erupts, signaling a small but thrilling win. the credits on the screen climb higher, and for a moment, you’re caught between disbelief and elation.

the man beside you laughs softly, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of smoke and cologne. "beginner’s luck," he says with a smirk, but the glint in his eye makes you wonder if luck had anything to do with it.

he pauses for a moment, and you feel his eyes rake over you in a way that hard your skin crawling. then another drag of the cigarette—your cigarette, that he never gave back—before he clears his throat.

"you said you're not from this part of town, right?"

shit, shit, shit. you're fucked.

still, you give a polite nod, keeping your face as even as you can.

he leans in closer still, and you can feel the almost burning touch of his hands keeping him held up on your shoulders, his breath coming out in hot puffs against your ear.

what. the fuck.

"those clothes..." he whispers, lips barely ghosting the skin of your earlobe as one of his hands pull at your dress shirt's collar. "they're from a boutique downtown, can't be bought anywhere else."

you scoff. "my clothes are none of your business," you snap, body tense and your eyes trained forward. don't look at him.

the man chuckles again, but instead of leaning closer he finally pulls away. "quite the opposite," he muses, tapping his cigarette against the back of your chair. "those clothes are from my business."

oh, you're mega fucked.

your legs almost push up on instinct, your body filling with an overwhelming urge to just fucking run.

but a hand on your shoulder stops you. "relax, little miss," he reassures, but his tone of voice is anything but kind. "i won't tell if you won't. call it our little secret, hm?"

your breath stutters, and you try to gauge if he's lying, your hands gripping the edge of the stool so tightly your knuckles ache. "why would you care?" you mutter, staring at the floor to avoid his gaze.

you've stolen from this man. and he knows. and now he's holding it over your head.

he doesn’t answer immediately, taking his time with the cigarette before flicking the ash to the ground like he owns the place. he probably does. when he finally speaks, his tone has shifted, smooth and cool but with an edge that feels like a warning. "because I make it my business to know everything that happens in prometheus."

his hand slides off your shoulder, and he steps back just enough to let you breathe, though the weight of his presence remains. then, extending the hand not occupied by the cigarette, he offers a slow, deliberate smile. "min yoongi," he says, as if it’s a name you’re supposed to recognize. "emissary of the prometheus region. and you are?"

the introduction is almost casual, but the title lingers in the air like a dagger above your head. you blink, trying to mask the churn of your thoughts, and push the stool back slightly, standing up. "i don’t have a name," you say flatly, though your voice wavers just enough to betray you.

yoongi arches an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as if your defiance is more entertaining than offensive. "mysterious," he murmurs. "i’ll take that as a ‘you don’t trust me yet.’ fair enough."

he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a sleek, black wallet. before you can say a word, he’s fished out another thick stack of bills, folding several into a neat pile. "here," he says, holding the money out to you. "enough to get you a room for the night. you look like you need it."

you stare at the money, blinking in confusion, and you stammer. "why?"

yoongi shrugs, already turning to leave. "let’s call it an investment," he says over his shoulder. "we’ll see if you pay it back someday."

the air feels heavier as yoongi's figure fades behind you, his casual farewell lingering like an aftertaste you can’t shake. the casino is alive with noise—coins clattering, glasses clinking, laughter rising above it all—but it’s muffled now, distant, as though you’re hearing it through water.

each step you take feels both too quick and agonizingly slow, your body moving on autopilot while your mind races.

you don’t look back. you can’t. you don’t need to confirm whether his eyes are still on you, though you can feel the weight of them, like an itch at the nape of your neck. were you too obvious? did you flinch? say too much? you replay the interaction in fragments, searching for cracks, for missteps, for anything that could have given you away.

the chill of his calm voice gnaws at you: “those clothes are from my business.”

how much did he notice? the question pounds in your head, over and over. what was he thinking?

the fluorescent lights of the restroom hit your face too suddenly, harsh and unforgiving. you stumble to the nearest sink, gripping the edge as if it might steady the turmoil inside you. you raise your eyes to the mirror but immediately regret it.

the reflection is foreign. your face looks ghostly, gaunt—like you’ve been pulled too tight and might snap at any second. you shake your head and lower your gaze. don’t think about that now. focus.

you’re fine. he didn’t do anything. if he knew, he would’ve said something.

but would he? he didn’t need to. the way he looked at you was enough to strip you bare, like he could see every secret, every stolen scrap.

you splash cold water on your face, letting the shock of it clear the static in your mind. the water drips down, leaving streaks across the stolen fabric you’re still wearing. you stare at it, swallowing hard.

you have to hold it together. you can’t afford to fall apart here.

forcing your breathing to slow, you take one last glance at the mirror. it’s not reassurance you’re looking for—it’s resolve. you’ve survived worse. you’ll survive this.

you turn, the tiled floor cold beneath your feet as you slink into a stall and lock the door. pulling down the seat, you collaps onto the closed toilet, letting out a shaky breath.

the money is still in your hand, crisp and alien, as though it belongs to another life entirely. you shove it into your pocket before leaning your head back against the wall, closing your eyes. for the first time since you entered the inner sect, the adrenaline begins to ebb, replaced by an exhaustion so deep it feels like it’s carved into your bones.

the distant hum of the casino fades as your body gives in, and before you know it, sleep pulls you under, the cold, hard memory of the day melting into a fitful, uneasy rest.

A/N: i have never been to a casino so i have no idea how the machines actually work, but i tried my best!! there's a lot of things that need to be expanded on but i just wanted to get some worldbuilding done first :)

taglist: simply send an ask or reply if you want to be part of the taglist!! @wobblewobble822

#𝗣𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗘’𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗘𝗠 (n). TIWD !#nevie writes.#min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #bts au fanfic #bts x you #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts x fem!reader #bts fanfic

95 notes · View notes