#purple rose: jun

[idiotvirginpng]

[lost-in-thoughts03]

SAME DAMN TIME || YANDERE! INHUN

Next To You || Free

" Y'all don't wanna play fair."

Summary: What if these two attractive men are showing interest in you? They share the same desire to possess you. Warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, HEAVY SMUT, POLYAMORY RELATIONSHIP, AU, obsession, possessive, yandere behavior, jealousy, heavy tension, manipulation, character death, toxic relationship, betrayal, explicit content, matured language, violence, gun violence, killings, inexperience! Reader, sadistic behavior, ownership, consensual, deals, fluff, flirting, kissing, markings, older men x younger woman (LEGAL), praising, worshipping, dirty talk, oral (BOTH), threesome, bathroom sex, rough, deep, slow, PiV, unprotected, overstimulation, soft yandere! Gi-hun, Dom Yandere! In-ho/Young-il Yandere! InHun x Reader Words: 14.6k

The stale air inside the bunk room hangs heavy with heat, sweat, and tension. The clang of the iron doors echoes as two Circle-masked guards wheel in a steel cart.

They move down the line of waiting players, robotic and silent, distributing the same miserable rations—a single piece of dry bread and a warm carton of milk.

You stand quietly in line, arms crossed, stomach already twisting with disappointment.

“ What kind of pathetic meal is this?” Dae-ho grumbles behind you, holding up his bread like it personally insulted him.

“ Right?” Jun-bae mutters in agreement. “ They want us weak. Easier to break.”

You tune them out. You're too tired to care anymore—until a tap lands on your shoulder. You turn your head slowly, half-expecting another complaint. Instead, you’re met with a flash of purple.

Player 230.

His hair is bright against the dullness of the room. His eyes gleam with arrogance, and his mouth curls into a smirk that’s far too confident for someone living off bread and milk.

“ Hey…” He purrs, voice smooth like he’s practicing for a music video.

“ You got a name, or should I just call you mine?”

You blink, unimpressed. “ No.”

“ No?” He echoes, playfully wounded.

“ Damn. I didn’t even get to introduce myself yet.” He points to his chest with both thumbs.

“ Name’s Thanos. Rapper. Legend. You probably heard my track ‘Born to Break Chains’. Underground hit.”

He winks.

“ Didn’t think I’d find something so beautiful in a place like this. You’re like a rose in concrete.”

And then, with exaggerated flair, he raises his hand and forms a Korean finger heart.

“ I. Like. You.”

You raise an eyebrow and deadpan, “ I don’t.” Your voice is flat, dismissive.

Thanos chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “ Oof. Cold. I like that. I like girls who don’t like me back. Makes it more fun, y’know?”

Before you can snap back, you feel a shift in the air.

Across the room, two pairs of eyes are locked on the scene.

Young-il stands by the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly his cheek twitches. His eyes are sharp, dangerous, tracking Thanos's every move like a predator sizing up competition. His posture is stiff, murderous.

A few bunks away, Gi-hun is seated on the edge of a bed, his knuckles bone-white as he crushes the milk carton in his grip. His usually gentle eyes are stormy, filled with silent fury. His lips are pressed into a thin line, but you can see it—pure, seething jealousy.

Neither of them moves. Not yet. But the air crackles with unspoken warning.

If looks could kill, Player 230 would’ve been long gone.

But Thanos, oblivious or maybe just cocky enough not to care, leans in a little closer.

“ I’m gonna make you like me eventually.” He says with a wink. “ Even the ice queen’s gotta melt sometime.”

You step forward in line, turning your back on him without a word. And behind you—rage brews like a storm ready to break.

...

The bunk room buzzes with restless energy—metal bunks, scraping trays, quiet murmurs, and the clatter of footsteps on cold concrete. But none of that reaches you clearly anymore. Not with him beside you.

Thanos. Player 230. Still glued to your side like a damn leech. You’ve shooed him off four times. He doesn’t care.

“ Come on…” He says, voice dipped in artificial charm.

“ All I’m asking is a shot. One chance. I could treat you like a queen, babe. You deserve that. Not this hell."

You scowl, sidestepping as he leans in.

“ No thanks.” You mutter, but it bounces right off his smug smile.

“ Let me be real with you.” He purrs, lowering his voice and leaning a little too close for comfort.

“ We can meet in the bathroom later. I’ll show you the real me.”

You stiffen immediately. He steps back just a bit, wiggling his eyebrows, clearly proud of his disgusting innuendo. You open your mouth to snap at him, but you don’t get the chance.

A throat clears behind you.

Low. Cold. Dangerous.

You turn—and relief crashes over you.

Young-il and Gi-hun.

They don’t say anything. They don’t have to. The tension rolling off them is palpable. Young-il’s jaw is already tight, and Gi-hun’s stare is like ice under fire.

Without a word, Young-il steps forward and grabs your wrist—not rough, but firm. Protective. He drags you behind him and plants himself between you and Thanos.

Thanos scoffs, clearly unbothered.

“ Yo, what’s your problem?” He sneers.

“ You her dad or something?”

Young-il doesn’t answer. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at him like he’s already dead. That makes Thanos grin wider, sensing an opening.

“ Ohhh…” Thanos hums mockingly, bowing with sarcasm.

“ My bad. Didn’t mean to flirt with your daughter. Real sorry about that.”

“ Shut up.” Young-il growls, voice low and sharp.

But Thanos keeps going, now walking up and towering over him.

“ What, gonna give me a lecture now? Save it for your daughter or your grandkids. I’m not some punk you can—”

SNAP.

Young-il’s hand flies to Thanos’ throat. The smack of the grab and the gasp of pain echo together. Thanos chokes, stumbling backward, hands flying up as Young-il’s grip tightens.

You flinch as Player 124—Thanos’ buddy—comes charging in to help, but it’s over before it starts.

Young-il steps out, plants a swift, brutal kick to 124’s leg. The guy collapses with a loud yelp, hitting the floor hard and curling around his knee.

Thanos is wheezing now. Desperate. “ O-Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! I’m done, man! I’m done!”

Young-il shoves him back, sending him staggering into a bunk post. His eyes blaze.

“ Stay the fuck away from her.” He says coldly.

Thanos nods rapidly, backing off with trembling hands. No more smirks. No more jokes. Just fear. He grabs 124 and helps him limp away without another word.

Once they’re gone, the air shifts again.

Gi-hun immediately turns to you, his voice soft but tense. “ Did he say anything to you? Something serious?”

Your heart is still racing. You remember the bathroom comment. The filth in his voice. But...if you tell them, things might spiral again. You glance at the bloodied nose of 124, the red mark on Thanos’ throat.

You shake your head. “ No. Just some dumb pickup lines.”

Gi-hun’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t fully believe you, but he nods anyway. He gently pulls you into a protective stance beside him.

Then Young-il turns to you, his sharp eyes suddenly soft as they meet yours. “ Did that bastard hurt you?”

You shake your head again.

A faint smile tugs at his lips—brief, almost unnoticeable. Then he turns and walks away without another word, his broad shoulders tense but slowly easing.

Gi-hun stays beside you a moment longer, his eyes scanning the room. And just like that, you know—no matter how dark this place gets, you’re not alone.

...

The bunk room has softened for a moment—laughter echoing off the cold walls like a rare song. You're sitting cross-legged on one of the lower bunks, surrounded by a few other players.

For once, you’re smiling, even laughing, as you chew on the stale bread, pretending—just for a second—that you’re not trapped in a nightmare.

Across the room, two sets of eyes are locked on you.

Watching. Smoldering.

Gi-hun sits at the edge of his bed, but his food remains untouched. His gaze isn’t just protective now—it’s possessive. He’s watching the way your lips curve when you laugh, the way you lean into the others comfortably. And then he sees it again.

Young-il.

The man is leaning back, arms folded across his chest, head tilted lazily, but his eyes never leave you. Not even once. That same intensity—since the second game. Since the moment he joined Gi-hun’s team during the Six-Legged Pentathlon.

Gi-hun’s jaw tightens. Something boils in his gut.

Enough.

He stands abruptly, strides across the room, and towers over Young-il without a warning.

“ What’s your fucking game?” Gi-hun growls, low but furious.

“ You’ve been eyeing her since the second game. You think I didn’t notice?”

Young-il doesn’t even flinch. A small chuckle escapes him as he looks up at Gi-hun, amused.

“ No game. Just want the same thing you want.” He replies smoothly.

Gi-hun grabs a fistful of Young-il’s collar, pulling him up with fire in his eyes. “ Stay the fuck away from her.”

Young-il’s smile fades. He grips Gi-hun’s collar in return, eyes flashing.

“ Who the fuck are you to order me around? I don’t follow rules. Especially not from another player trying to get in her head.”

With a violent shove, he breaks the grip and pushes Gi-hun back a step.

The air crackles between them. Then, without hesitation, Young-il says it outright—voice raw, honest, and filled with heat.

“ I want her. Just admit it, you do too.”

Gi-hun snaps. “ I don’t—! I’m just trying to protect her!” He lies.

Young-il throws his head back and laughs.

“ Bullshit.” He spits.

“ I see the way you look at her. You hide behind your fucking ‘protection’ like it makes you noble. But I see through it. I see that lust you try to bury under your nice guy act.”

Gi-hun’s fists clench at his sides. His whole body shakes with rage, the need to strike boiling in his veins. But he doesn’t. He can’t.

Not yet.

Young-il smirks, feeding off the storm in front of him. He steps closer, invading Gi-hun’s space. He places a hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder—mocking, calm.

“ You don’t want to share her. Neither do I.”

“ But if I had to…if I had to do it with someone who’s just as fucked in the head as I am?”

He leans in, eyes cold. “ I’d share her with you.”

Gi-hun’s eyes widen. “ You’re fucking sick.”

Young-il’s smirk deepens. “ So are you. You’re just better at lying about it.”

Silence lingers, thick and dangerous. Neither man backs down. From across the room, you laugh again at something another player says. And both of them…fall silent—haunted by the same thought.

That in this place of blood and games, you are the only thing still worth fighting for. Even if it means losing what little sanity they have left.

The tension between the two men still simmers like a ticking bomb. The noise of the room fades—the laughter, the clinking of trays, the distant announcements—all of it drowns beneath the low voice that now speaks with dangerous calm.

Young-il steps around Gi-hun like a wolf circling its prey, voice slow, sharp, calculated.

“ You think standing back and playing the good guy will be enough?”

“ You think just watching her smile from a distance is gonna make her yours?”

Gi-hun doesn’t answer. His fists are still clenched. Jaw tight.

Young-il stops beside him, voice dipping into something darker, something that drips with warning and truth.

“ You wait too long, someone else will move first.”

He nods his chin toward the far corner—toward the purple-haired bastard who’s still licking his wounded pride. Thanos sits at the edge of a bunk, watching you like a predator still waiting for an opening.

“ You want him to be the one who gets her?” Young-il asks, voice low and deliberate.

“ You want him to put his hands on her? Whisper his bullshit into her ear while she laughs at his dumb lines?"

Gi-hun’s eyes twitch—just slightly—but enough.

Young-il steps in closer. “ He’s watching her too. Just like us. And the next time he tries, maybe you won’t be there to stop it. Maybe I won’t be either. Maybe she’ll be alone.”

A pause.

Then he leans in.

“ Do you want that?” He hisses.

“ Do you want Thanos to snatch her away? You really gonna stand there and let that happen?”

Gi-hun’s breathing is heavy now. He turns his head slightly, watching you laugh again—so unaware of the hellstorm brewing in the shadows because of you.

He hates this.

He hates himself for even listening. But even more, he hates the image forming in his mind: you, cornered by Thanos again, no one there, his hands on you, that voice in your ear...

“ No.” Gi-hun mutters, almost growling.

Young-il smirks. The first crack.

“ That’s right.” He says softly. “ We don’t want that.”

A beat passes. The silence is suffocating.

“ So stop pretending you’re better than me, Gi-hun.”

“ We both want the same thing.”

“ And if we both move...no one else stands a chance.”

He steps back now, just enough to give space—but his words still echo between them.

“ Choose.”

Gi-hun doesn’t answer yet.

But his silence?

It’s not resistance.

It’s the beginning of something far more dangerous.

The heavy silence between them is suffocating, charged with heat and unspoken temptation. But Gi-hun stays where he stands, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths.

His eyes—burning but steady—refuse to drift back toward you now. Not while Young-il’s shadow lingers beside him.

Gi-hun shakes his head slowly, his voice low and cracked with frustration. “ I’m not like you.”

“ I’m not doing this to own her, or claim her as some prize. I care about her.”

“ This is about protection. It’s about...connection. Something real.” His voice tightens as he continues, raw and sincere.

“ I want to keep her safe, not cage her. And if that means standing at a distance...I’ll do it. Because I still respect her.”

Young-il lets out a deep, low chuckle—a sound laced with both amusement and disbelief. He shakes his head, not even looking back at Gi-hun at first.

“ Keep saying that.” He mutters.

“ Keep telling yourself you’re different. Keep pretending that what you feel for her is so pure, so noble.”

He finally turns his head slightly, casting a side glance at Gi-hun with an unreadable look.

“ But one day, Gi-hun...you’ll realize that it’s not just protection. Not just care.”

“ You’ll wake up and feel it burning through your veins. That ache. That fucking need.”

Young-il turns fully now, slowly backing away with calm confidence. “ And when that day comes...”

“ You’ll remember this moment.”

He gives a faint, mocking smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “ The offer’s still open."

“ Take your time.”

And with that, he turns his back and walks away—leaving Gi-hun alone in his storm of thoughts, torn between conviction and the growing shadow of his own desire.

...

The noise of the day has dulled. Players are settling down, curling into thin blankets or leaning against bunk frames with weary eyes. Tension still lingers in the corners of the room like smoke that won’t clear, but for a moment, there’s peace.

You return to your bunk, body sore, but soul strangely light from earlier laughter. You spot Gi-hun, sitting alone on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely laced together. His expression is far away—lost in a place you can’t quite reach.

You approach him softly, carefully, your voice gentle like a feather. “ Hey...you alright?”

Gi-hun blinks out of his thoughts, startled only slightly. His gaze lifts to meet yours. For a second, that distant cloud in his eyes fades.

You sit beside him quietly, keeping a respectful distance, then smile and start talking—just to ease the air.

“ I was talking to Dae-ho and Jun-bae earlier.” You chuckle.

“ God, those two are ridiculous. Jun-bae’s joke about the guard’s milk obsession? I nearly choked on my bread.”

Gi-hun smiles faintly, the corners of his mouth lifting.

“ It’s good...” He says softly.

“ That you’re getting along with them. I thought you were the type who kept to herself.”

You laugh under your breath and shrug. “ You’re not wrong. I don’t usually talk much...especially not to strangers.”

You glance at him and soften your voice.

“ But sometimes...you just feel it, y’know? That someone’s safe. That someone’s good. Like you. Like them.” Your words are gentle, honest.

“ This place is meant to strip everything from us. But we can’t let loneliness consume us...not until we forget what it means to be human.”

Gi-hun turns to you, truly turns. And this time, his smile reaches his eyes.

“ You’re not like the others.” He murmurs.

“ You’re...full of life. Like you don’t belong in a place like this. You’re the definition of sunshine.”

You snort and nudge his shoulder. “ Sunshine? You’ve been breathing too much stale air.”

He chuckles, softer this time. But it feels warmer—real. Then your eyes scan the room, wandering slightly. Gi-hun notices the shift. Instantly.

“ Where’s Young-il?” You ask, curiosity on your face.

“ He’s not with you for once. I thought you two were glued at the hip.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “ Honestly, I was starting to think there’s a forbidden BL drama going on behind my back.” You laugh, teasing.

Gi-hun laughs too—but it’s tighter now. A little strained. His smile doesn't reach his eyes anymore. Because at the mention of that name, the warmth inside him evaporates.

The memory flashes in his mind—Young-il’s offer. That sick idea of sharing you. That slow, smug whisper of a temptation that clawed at him earlier.

Gi-hun’s gut twists. His hand curls slightly at his knee.

He doesn’t want to share with you.

He can’t.

You’re not something to be passed around or bargained over like a piece of candy in this twisted game.

He wants you for himself.

Not just out of desire. Not just lust.

But because being near you makes him feel human again.

And yet...his heart pulses with a dark truth he hates to admit:

Part of him did listen to Young-il.

Part of him...understood.

Your voice brings him back.

“ Hey.” You say softly, noticing his change in expression.

“ You alright?”

Gi-hun looks at you. And smiles. A smile that hides a thousand storms. “ Yeah. Just...thinking.”

But deep inside, he already knows—

He’s fighting a war with himself.

And you're the flame at the center of it all.

The bunkroom is dim now—most of the lights already flickering into their nightly dullness. Soft murmurs echo here and there, the low hum of restless bodies trying to forget they’re still inside a death game.

You’re still sitting beside Gi-hun, your legs swinging gently off the edge of the bunk as you talk. He hasn’t moved, not once. Not while you're speaking. He just listens—every word sinking into him like light through cracked glass.

He doesn’t look at anyone else the way he looks at you.

“ You know…” You say, voice quieter now, a soft vulnerability creeping in.

“ I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

You chuckle awkwardly, like you’re trying to cover honesty with humor. “ Not even a textmate. Zero. Zilch. I mean, I’ve seen love in movies—those sweet moments, the way they look at each other like they’re each other’s whole world...it’s beautiful.”

Gi-hun turns his head slightly to you, his expression unreadable but tender.

“ But maybe it’s stupid.” You continue, shaking your head.

“ Maybe it’s all just…fantasy. Love like that probably doesn’t exist in real life.”

He wants to say you’re wrong.

He wants to tell you that love does exist like that—that you, sitting right here, prove it can. That he feels something burning in his chest every time you speak, every time you smile without even knowing the effect you have.

But he stays silent. Because if he speaks now, he’s not sure he’ll stop.

You let out a sigh and glance down at your hands.

“ Anyway…doesn’t matter now. We’re trapped in this hellhole. No one falls in love here. They just try to survive.” You pause, then snort.

“ Except Thanos. That guy’s high on whatever fantasy world he made up in his head.” You roll your eyes, irritation blooming back across your face.

“ He’s fucking creepy. Always around. Always saying weird shit like he’s starring in a twisted love song. And the way he looked at me…like I was something to own. It made my skin crawl.”

Gi-hun’s hands slowly tighten into fists in his lap.

You don’t notice—your voice keeps going, filled with the pent-up frustration you’ve been holding in.

“ I told him no. Over and over. And he just laughs like it’s part of the game. Like I’m just being coy and playing hard to get. I’ve never felt so...disgusted.”

Gi-hun’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “ He won’t bother you again.”

You look at him, surprised. His eyes are darker now—not angry at you, but because of what you’re feeling. You see it now—the quiet storm in him.

The protectiveness that’s been burning beneath the surface since the very beginning.

“ If he tries, I’ll make sure he regrets it.” He says softly, but firmly.

You smile, touched by his words. Something in your heart aches with quiet warmth. “ Thank you, Gi-hun. Really.”

He nods. But deep inside, he doesn’t just want to protect you.

He wants to be the one who makes you feel all the things you dream about—the connection, the trust, the kind of love that even movies can’t capture.

The kind of love that lasts.

And maybe, just maybe, he’s already falling.

Too deep to ever crawl back.

The air inside the bunkroom is still thick, but warmer now—laughter and quiet chatter making it feel a little less like a prison, and a little more like a moment of stolen peace.

You’re still sitting with Gi-hun, your voice soft, calm, recounting something funny Dae-ho said, when a familiar figure walks up.

Young-il.

He wears that smile—the one that’s just charming enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know better. But Gi-hun does. And the second he sees it, his chest tightens and his eyes narrow.

You turn with your usual warmth, your smile offered easily.

“ Hey, Young-il!” You greet, just like you did with Gi-hun.

Gi-hun watches—frowning—as Young-il takes the open space on your other side. Not just sitting…but leaning. Subtle, smooth, calculated. His knee nearly touches yours. His shoulder brushes too close.

Gi-hun's eyes flick to the side, and he catches it—Young-il smirking directly at him. A silent, smug message: She’s not just listening to you, Gi-hun.

Gi-hun clenches his fist, jaw tightening. But he won’t look weak. He shifts slightly. Not much—but just enough for his shoulder to press gently against yours. Protective. Possessive.

Now, you’re sandwiched between two men who barely tolerate each other—both obsessed, both spiraling—but you don’t even notice. You’re too caught up in your story, laughing softly, your voice still lighting the dull air.

But the two men?

They're waging war in silence.

Young-il leans in a bit, the smirk never leaving his face, and says casually. “ Didn’t know Gi-hun had friends. Must be new at that, huh?”

You snort, laughing, unaware of the venom hiding beneath the joke. “ That’s not true! Gi-hun’s easy to get along with.”

Gi-hun’s smile is tight, eyes fixed on Young-il. “ At least I don’t pretend to be nice before stabbing someone in the back.”

Young-il chuckles, gaze cool.

“ Only if they deserve it.” He winks. “ You’d be surprised how many people do.”

You blink, your smile faltering. “ Okay…what’s with the sudden spice between you two?”

You glance between them, sensing a shift in the air for the first time. Both men immediately straighten, wearing false innocence like a mask.

“ It’s nothing.” Gi-hun says quickly.

“ Just teasing.” Young-il adds smoothly.

“ That’s how brothers bond, right?”

You eye them both suspiciously, your brow furrowed.

“ Weird way of bonding.”

Gi-hun forces a smile for your sake, but inside, he's burning. He knows what Young-il is doing. The subtle digs.

The invasion of space.

The fucking challenge.

And worse?

You’re caught right in the middle.

But this isn’t over. Not for either of them. Not by a long shot.

The tension between the two men simmers just beneath the surface, but you—still blissfully unaware—continue chatting, trying to keep the mood light.

Until Young-il tilts his head, eyes twinkling with amusement and mischief.

“ Hey…” He says casually, watching you closely.

“ Just curious…would you ever be willing to get shared?”

You pause mid-sentence, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“ Shared?” You echo, clearly confused. “ What do you mean?”

Gi-hun freezes beside you, his breath catching in his throat. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move—he just watches carefully, as if your next words will decide the fate of everything.

Young-il grins, leaning back slightly to play off the weight of his words. His tone is teasing but controlled.

“ You know, like when two people…want the same thing.”

“ And instead of fighting over it, they decide to…share it. Like, for teamwork.”

You blink for a moment, processing it.

“ Oh! You mean like group work?” You say, eyes lighting up as you finally make sense of it—though not in the way he meant.

“ Of course! I’m all about teamwork. If I’m part of a group, I promise I’ll pull my weight. I’ll be a good team member if someone wants to share with me.”

You offer a bright, sincere smile, totally missing the implications behind the question.

Young-il turns away, pressing his lips together to stifle a laugh. His eyes water slightly from holding it in. Your pure answer hits harder than any flirtation ever could.

“ God…” He mutters under his breath, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“ You really are something else.”

Gi-hun, still stone-still beside you, glances away to hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He's quiet, but deep inside?

Something stirs.

Something dark.

Something hungry.

Your innocent words. The way you agreed without even knowing what they were asking—satisfied him. Not because you understood. But because a part of him, the part he doesn’t speak about, wants to take advantage of that softness. That trust.

His body shifts slightly, knees brushing against yours. He pretends it’s nothing.

But there’s heat now.

Burning just under the skin.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn't have to.

Because now he knows:

If things continue this way…

He might not say no the next time Young-il makes that offer.

You continue chatting, unaware of the quiet electricity pulsing between the two men beside you. The air grows heavier, thicker, as you keep speaking with that same kind-hearted tone—completely oblivious to the storm you've stirred between them.

Young-il watches you with narrowed eyes, lips still twitching with amusement from your innocent answer. He rests an arm casually along the back edge of the bunk behind you, letting his fingers dangle just a few inches from your shoulder.

“ You really mean it, huh?” He says, voice softer now, almost testing.

“ Even if…the people you’re working with are a little messed up? Still willing to be on their team?”

You nod without hesitation. “ Of course. Everyone’s got their flaws. Doesn’t mean I’ll abandon them. I just want to help.”

That answer.

It hits both of them.

Gi-hun exhales slowly through his nose, trying to control the sudden, possessive warmth curling in his chest. He looks down at your hands as you talk, at the way your fingers move, the small gestures, the gentleness in your voice.

You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t realize what you’re agreeing to.

But it awakens something in him again. That same fire. The one he’s been trying to smother ever since Young-il put that offer on the table.

He should be ashamed.

But he’s not.

Young-il, meanwhile, leans in just slightly, his voice a little lower now—teasing, but edged with sincerity.

“ You might want to be careful saying things like that.”

“ Someone might take your words the wrong way.”

You turn to him, brows pinched. “ Huh, what do you mean?”

Before he can respond, Gi-hun speaks, his voice calm but laced with something darker. “ He means people like him.”

Young-il grins and throws Gi-hun a slow glance.

“ I don’t deny it.” He shrugs. “ But I’m not the only one.”

Gi-hun meets his eyes. And this time, he doesn’t deny it either. The silence that follows is thick. Tense. It hums between them like an unspoken pact that neither of them wants to acknowledge, but both of them feel—deeply.

You finally notice it—the subtle shift in the air. The tension. The way their eyes no longer hold the same light as a few minutes ago.

“ Okay…what’s going on?” You ask slowly, looking between them. “ Did I say something wrong?”

Gi-hun forces a soft smile and shakes his head. “ No. You didn’t.”

Young-il mirrors the expression, though his smile lingers longer, more satisfied. “ Not at all.”

You nod uncertainty and start to rise to stretch. As you turn, neither of the men speak. But behind your back, their gazes lock again—this time not with hatred…but with something else.

An understanding.

They both want you.

And you're too good, too kind, too unaware of the world they’re dragging you into. But if you keep smiling like that—keep trusting them like this—

You might never see just how far they’re willing to go.

Or how deep you’ve already pulled them in.

The tension that had been crackling like static between the two men starts to dissolve—at least on the surface—when you suddenly lean back and grin, your eyes dancing with mischief.

“ You two are so weird sometimes.” You tease, arms crossed as you lean into your performance.

“ The way you stare at each other, fight, banter…I’m starting to think there’s something more going on.”

They both blink.

You smirk dramatically, raising a brow. “ I mean, it’s already 2024, you guys.”

“ Pride Month may be over, but I still see rainbows every time you two are in the same room.”

You clasp your hands together as if watching a romance bloom. “ Forbidden love…rivals to lovers…poetic!”

Young-il snorts, but his grin doesn’t hide his sharp stare. He leans a little closer to you, resting his elbow on his knee.

“ If I liked someone like Gi-hun, I’d probably request to be eliminated voluntarily.”

You burst out laughing. “ God! That’s cold!”

Gi-hun rolls his eyes, but the edge in them doesn’t disappear.

“ I’d rather throw myself out of concrete than fall for that bastard.”

Your laughter comes louder now, real and unfiltered, your shoulders shaking as you hold your stomach.

“ You two are too much.” You manage between breaths.

“ You’re better than the shows I watched before coming here.”

They smile with you.

They laugh with you.

But beneath the surface?

Nothing is funny. Because the truth is, neither of them is joking.

Young-il's smirk fades the moment you look away, his eyes following the curve of your neck, your mouth, your hands as you wipe away tears of laughter. Every movement feeds the hunger that’s clawing at his restraint.

He wants you.

Not tomorrow.

Not after the next game.

Now.

Gi-hun, though quieter, is no better. Your laugh—it does something to him. It ignites a heat in his chest that won’t go away. You’re so close and yet feel so untouchable…unless he takes a step he swore he wouldn’t.

Unless he breaks the line he’s drawn for himself.

And the worst part?

You have no idea.

You think they’re joking.

You think this is all playful teasing, a harmless rivalry.

But behind every joke is a truth neither of them can keep buried much longer.

Because of the obsession?

It’s real. And it’s growing.

If this keeps going—

If you keep trusting them—

If you keep smiling like that…

It won’t be long before the line they both swore not to cross—

Is completely erased.

…

The dormitory was quiet. Most players were already asleep or faking rest to conserve energy. You were sitting in the far corner, arms curled around your knees, watching shadows move across the ceiling.

Gi-hun sat on the edge of his cot, staring at you. You didn’t see him watching—but he couldn’t stop. Then, soft footsteps approached.

Young-il sat beside him like nothing ever happened.

“ You didn’t sleep.” He said casually.

Gi-hun didn’t respond.

Young-il leaned back, arms behind his head. “ You’re thinking about it. I can see it in your face.”

Gi-hun glared at him. “ You think this is a game?”

“ This whole fucking place is a game.” Young-il’s smile was bitter. “ I’m just trying to play smart.”

Gi-hun shook his head. “ And what? You think dragging her into your twisted logic is smart?”

Young-il turned his head toward Gi-hun, eyes cold but calm. “ I’m offering something real. You think she’ll survive out there alone? Or even with you protecting her? They’ll tear her apart.”

Gi-hun stayed quiet, jaw tight.

“ But are we together?” Young-il continued. 

“ She’d be untouchable. No one here would dare hurt her if they knew she was ours.”

Gi-hun stared at the floor again. He hated how the logic made sense. He hated how Young-il knew exactly how to bend the truth into something seductive.

“ I’m not like you.” Gi-hun murmured.

“ You keep telling yourself that.” Young-il said. 

“ But you’re already standing at the edge. All I’m doing is offering you a hand.”

Gi-hun didn’t take it. 

But he didn’t walk away either.

And Young-il just smiled in the silence.

Because that was enough—for now.

The silence was unbearable. Gi-hun lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the dormitory, unmoving, eyes wide open as the bodies around him slept in broken, shallow breaths. Every creak of a bed frame, every soft whisper of shifting blankets—none of it reached him.

Only one voice did.

Young-il.

The things he said.

The truth in them.

And the sick, undeniable part of Gi-hun that couldn’t argue anymore.

Because he tried.

He tried to stay above it.

To protect you the “right” way.

To pretend this desire could be smothered by guilt or duty or some imaginary line between wrong and worse.

But tonight shatters that illusion.

And something in him snapped.

Quietly, Gi-hun sat up. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on one man—awake already, waiting for him in the shadows like he knew this moment would come.

Young-il. Their eyes met. No words. Just knowing.

Gi-hun stood and walked to him in silence, his steps heavy, as if each one dragged chains behind it. He stopped in front of Young-il, who sat casually on the lower bunk, one leg resting over the other, arms crossed, a smug gleam already in his eyes.

Gi-hun didn’t sit. Didn’t speak right away. He just stared down at him. Until the words came—low, bitter, broken.

“ You win.”

Young-il tilted his head, a cruel smile curling on his lips. “ Took you long enough.”

Gi-hun didn’t smile. “ This isn’t about you.”

Young-il stood, closing the space between them, lowering his voice. “ No. It’s about her. And we both know—if you can’t have her alone…you’d rather have her with me than not at all.”

Gi-hun flinched slightly at how true it was.

Young-il leaned in, breath close, voice dark and sure. “ We’ll protect her. Keep her safe. Let her feel wanted…needed. She won’t even know what’s happening until it’s too late to fight it.”

Gi-hun looked away. “ If you hurt her—”

“ I won’t.” Young-il said immediately. 

“ Because I want her too. Not like those other animals in this place. I want her.” He paused, eyes gleaming. 

“ Like you do.”

Gi-hun’s fists clenched. “ She deserves better than this.”

Young-il’s tone softened—manipulative, coaxing. “ Then give it to her. Together. Make her ours. She’ll never be alone again. She won’t have to worry about the others, or this place. All she’ll have to think about…is us.”

Gi-hun was silent for a long moment. Then, finally…he nodded.

It wasn't a triumph on Young-il’s face.

It was something darker.

Something possessive.

Something final.

The pact was sealed.

And neither of them knew just how far they were willing to go to make you theirs.

…

The 30-minute lights out had just begun. You were crammed tightly under the bunk, knees to your chest, heart hammering as Gi-hun had warned. 

“ No matter what happens, don’t come out. Don’t make a sound.” He had said, voice stern but laced with fear. Outside your makeshift hiding spot, hell had already broken loose.

Screams echoed—raw, panicked, violent. Bodies thudded onto cold concrete, metal bunk beds clattered, some toppling, others being used as weapons. You pressed your hand over your mouth, trying not to breathe too loudly, trying not to move.

Then you saw it.

A pair of bloodied shoes stopped right in front of you.

You held your breath. Maybe he’d keep walking.

But no.

A head ducked down.

A twisted smile curled up beneath dark, frenzied eyes. 

" Boo!" He whispered before a hand grabbed your ankle and yanked you out. 

You screamed, scrambling and flailing, trying to hold onto anything—but there was nothing.

Player 124.

He was covered in blood—some his, most not. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, then raised something glinting. A fork.

“ Pretty little thing.” He sneered, waving the fork in front of your face like a toy. “ Scared now?”

He jabbed it playfully at your side. You flinched, sobbing. “ Please—don’t—please don’t kill me—”

" Beg louder!" He screamed. His face twisted into something feral. “ Beg like you mean it!”

You tried, tears falling. But it only amused him.

“ Fucking slut!” He spat.

“ Thanos wanted you. All he wanted was a piece of you, but nooo, you’d rather cozy up with the two old freaks who keep sniffing after you like dogs. You think they care about you? They’re going to ruin you. Fuck you so hard you forget your name. That’s all they want.”

He cackled. “ You think you're special? You're just meat.”

" I'm sorry." He whispered mockingly, voice dipped in false sweetness—then lunged.

The fork came down—fast.

But rage flared in your chest. With a scream, you slammed your fist into his face. He reeled, staggered, blood spurting from his nose. He groaned and lunged again, eyes unhinged.

“ YOU SHOULD DIE!” He roared, pressing the fork toward you again, arms shaking with fury.

You hit him again—nothing.

He was a fucking monster.

Until—

SMASH!

A bottle shattered across his head.

His body dropped instantly like a puppet with its strings cut. You gasped and saw her—a female player, wide-eyed, breathing heavily. She didn’t speak. She just ran.

You scrambled to your feet, trembling, staring at Player 124’s unconscious—maybe dead—body before bolting into the chaos.

Flickering lights made the room feel like a nightmare. Bodies everywhere. Screams. Blood. Madness.

“ Gi-hun?! Young-il?!” You called, voice cracking.

Then—grab!

A hand yanked you from behind and shoved you against the wall. You coughed from the force, head spinning.

Two figures. Familiar ones.

Gi-hun. His expression was dark, jaw clenched.

Young-il. Bloody knuckles. Eyes black with fury—but locked on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“ Got you.” Gi-hun said, voice trembling—not from fear, but relief.

“ You’re ours now.” Young-il murmured.

Before you could answer, they dragged you into the bathroom, away from the chaos.

Far from the bloodshed. But not from what came next. Because in that moment, under the broken lights and the stench of blood, it was clear—this night wasn’t just about survival.

It was about possession.

Your back pressed against the cold bathroom tiles, chest rising and falling rapidly. Your clothes were stained with someone else’s blood, your face streaked with dried tears, your body trembling from the close call with death.

And yet…

It wasn’t over.

Not even close.

You frowned, confused, heart still racing. “ What…what do you mean ‘I’m yours’? What is this?” You asked, voice hoarse.

“ Is this—some kind of joke?”

You looked between them, hoping one of them—Gi-hun, usually the gentle one, would chuckle and say of course, it’s a joke, you're safe now. Or Young-il, cold and sharp-edged, would scoff and brush it off like he always did.

But neither laughed.

Neither blinked.

Their eyes burned into you. Two predators. Two men who had kept their obsession hidden—until now. The flickering light above cast harsh shadows on their faces. Gi-hun’s hands were still shaking, not from fear—but restraint. His gaze traced your face, your lips, your neckline.

“ I thought we’d have more time.” Gi-hun whispered.

“ To ease you into it. To show you. But after what just happened—after he almost took you from us…” His voice broke, eyes narrowing.

“ No more waiting.”

You took a step back, lips parting. “ You’re not making sense…”

Young-il stepped forward, voice low and tight. “ We’ve protected you. Watch you. Slept next to you. Killed for you. And you still don’t see it?” His tone twisted with something darker, something possessive.

“ You belong to us. No one else gets to touch you.”

“ I never asked for that—” You started, trying to keep your voice steady.

“ But you didn’t stop us either.” Gi-hun said, stepping closer.

“ You let us in. You let us close. Every time you smiled at me…every time you touched my hand…”

“ You were choosing.” Young-il added, dangerously close now. “ And now the game's over. No more pretending.”

Their eyes were devouring you.

Hungry.

Unapologetic.

Outside, chaos continued. Screams. Clashing metal. Someone begging for mercy.

But in here?

The real madness had just begun.

And this time, it wasn't about surviving the game.

It was about surviving them.

You stared at them—eyes wide, breath caught in your throat—as the reality of their words sank in.

“ I didn’t choose anyone.” You whispered, shaking your head slowly. “ I never—”

Gi-hun cupped your face with both hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. But there was fire beneath his skin, barely held in check.

“ You didn’t have to say it. We felt it. Every look. Every time you ran to us when you were scared. When you hid under that bunk tonight, it was because you trusted me.”

Young-il’s hand slammed against the tiled wall beside your head, making you flinch. His face was so close you could feel the heat of his breath.

“ You don’t even realize what you’ve done to us, do you?” He growled.

“ Do you know how hard it is to share you, to watch you sleep between us and not take what we both fucking want?”

“ You keep acting like this is something pure.” He continued, voice lowering into something husky and dangerous.

“ But it’s not. It’s twisted. And now it’s too late to run from it.”

You tried to move, to step away, but Gi-hun's grip didn’t loosen. He wasn’t hurting you—but he wasn’t letting go, either.

“ I almost lost you tonight.” He said, voice cracking.

“ When I saw him holding you like that…when I saw that fork…I wanted to kill every single person out there.”

“ And I still might.” Young-il said with a chilling smile.

Their eyes met over your shoulder—some unspoken understanding passing between them—and then both their gazes locked back onto you.

You felt cornered.

Not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually—owned, exactly like they said.

Gi-hun leaned in, forehead pressing against yours. “ We’ll keep you safe.” He whispered.

“ But in return…”

“ You’re ours.” Young-il finished, brushing his fingers across your cheek, leaving a smear of dried blood behind.

“ Every part of you.”

Then the door rattled violently—someone trying to get in. Another scream echoed outside. A brutal thud followed by silence. But the two men didn’t flinch. They didn’t even look away from you. It was as if the entire world had narrowed down to this small, bloodstained bathroom…and you.

There was no more pretending. No more games. Just the truth between you—and two men who were finally done holding back.

And you were trapped between them.

The air inside the bathroom grew heavier—hotter.

Gi-hun’s hands were still on your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. Young-il stood just behind you, his presence burning into your back like a brand. You could feel both of them—too close, too much—and the silence stretched unbearably long.

Your lips parted.

“ I…” You breathed, voice trembling.

“ I think I’m just being silly. I mean…maybe I’ve lost my mind here. Maybe it's the fear or the adrenaline or—”

“ Spit it out.” Young-il muttered, voice husky.

You swallowed hard. Then, with your cheeks burning, eyes barely able to meet theirs, you whispered

“ I like both of you.”

Gi-hun inhaled sharply. Young-il stilled.

You stammered, voice cracking with shame. “ I didn’t plan to. I swear. I just—I didn’t think I’d fall this hard. For either of you. Let alone both.”

Silence.

Until you saw it in their eyes.

That look.

Dark. Ravenous. Possessive.

You hadn’t poured water on the fire—you poured gasoline.

Gi-hun’s lips curved into something feral, soft dominance simmering in his gaze. “ You…don’t even realize what you just did to us.”

Young-il’s hand slid from your cheek to your throat—not tight, not threatening, just claiming.

His voice was a low growl against your ear. “ You think admitting that makes this easier? You just made it worse.”

Your breath hitched as Gi-hun leaned forward, nose brushing yours. “ We were already barely holding back.”

Young-il’s hand at your neck tilted your head slightly toward him. “ Now we’re not going to.”

Your knees weakened.

Gi-hun kissed your cheek—soft at first, then lower, brushing your jawline with trembling restraint. “ You shouldn’t have said that…”

“ But we’re so fucking glad you did.” Young-il finished, dragging his fingers down your arm, slow and deliberate, until they laced with yours and pinned your hand gently to the cold tile behind you.

Gi-hun’s forehead pressed against yours again, but this time his lips hovered just above your own.

“ Tell us to stop.” He whispered, voice thick with hunger.

“ Or we’ll ruin you.”

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Not when the heat between the three of you had already reached the point of no return. And in the midst of chaos outside—bloodshed, madness, screams—inside this small bathroom, something else entirely was about to be claimed.

You.

Their hands were on you now—exploring, claiming, trembling with heat and hunger. The air was thick, every breath laced with tension and unspoken promises.

You were pressed against the cold tile, sandwiched between two men who were no longer hiding their obsession—only feeding it.

Gi-hun kissed down your neck, slow, reverent. His hands cupped your waist like you might shatter if he held you too tightly.

“ You’re so soft.” He murmured between kisses, voice breathy, almost a whimper.

“ So perfect. I’ve dreamed about this…every night. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You gasped as Young-il’s hand slid up your thigh, firmer, possessive. He chuckled darkly when he felt your legs tremble.

“ You're shaking.” He whispered against your ear, his voice rough and low.

“ Good. You should be.”

Gi-hun whined softly against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone. “ You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say it…that you want us too.” He kissed your jaw, eyes glassy with need.

“ You're mine. Our sweet little thing…”

Young-il tugged your head back gently by your hair, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. “ You have no idea what you’ve done to us” He said, his tone dark and commanding.

“ I’ve been holding back. Watching you sleep. Fighting every damn instinct to take you right then and there.”

Your voice shook as you finally whispered, “ W-Wait…”

Both men stilled.

“ I haven’t…I haven’t done this before.” You said, eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“ This is my first time…”

Gi-hun blinked, expression softening instantly. “ Wait…really?”

Young-il’s smile curled slowly, eyes narrowing in a mixture of wicked delight and possessive pride. “ You’re untouched?” He echoed, fingers tightening on your hip.

“ No one’s ever touched you like this?”

You shook your head.

Gi-hun let out a soft, shaky moan, forehead pressing to your shoulder. “ Oh my god…baby…” He breathed, kissing you softer now, lips trembling.

“ We’ll take care of you. I promise. I won’t hurt you.”

But Young-il leaned closer, voice like silk laced with steel. “ You’re mine even more now.” He whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

“ We’re going to ruin you so well, you’ll never want anyone else.”

His fingers dragged along your spine, his tone darker, dominant. “ You’ll remember us with every breath, every sound you make, every time you close your eyes.”

Gi-hun kissed your lips at last—soft and slow—while his body trembled against yours, needy and gentle. “ You’re so good. So brave.” He whispered against your lips.

“ Let us show you how much we’ve been dying for this…”

And together—two sides of the same dangerous love—they began to claim you.

One with worship.

The other with fire.

You barely had time to breathe before the shift became overwhelming—touches turning into need, lips into hunger, and worship into possession.

Gi-hun’s hands caressed your body with trembling reverence, sliding under your shirt with careful fingers like he was unwrapping something sacred.

His mouth never stopped moving—lips kissing your collarbone, jaw, neck, whispering desperate praises with each breath.

“ So soft.” He murmured, voice thick with awe.

“ Every part of you…fits in my hands. God, I don’t want to stop. I’ll never stop.”

He pushed your shirt up, fingers trailing along your ribs, brushing beneath your chest. His mouth found your skin like he’d starved for it, leaving a warm, wet path as he kissed his way down, groaning when he heard your shaky breath hitch.

Behind you, Young-il was rougher—possessive.

One arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest. His other hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head back so he could kiss your neck with biting heat.

He wasn’t gentle. His teeth grazed you. His hand was already moving lower, slipping past the waistband of your pants with practiced confidence.

“ You feel that?” He growled low against your skin, his voice sending shivers straight to your core.

“ You’re already wet. Just from a few touches. You want this more than you’re even admitting to yourself.”

You gasped, your hips reacting instinctively as his fingers explored lower—confident, claiming.

Gi-hun whimpered softly, kneeling in front of you now, sliding your pants down your legs. His hands gently caressed your thighs as he looked up at you—eyes hazy, lips parted, his breath shaking.

“ Can I taste you?” He asked softly.

“ Please…just once. I’ve dreamed of this… begged in silence for it…”

You couldn’t find your voice—but your body answered for you. A desperate nod. A strangled breath. A tremble.

Young-il didn’t wait for permission. His hand gripped your throat lightly, tilting your head so he could watch your expression as Gi-hun leaned in.

“ You’re ours now.” He said darkly, rubbing his hardened length against your backside, still fully clothed—but clearly undone.

“ And tonight, you’re going to learn exactly what that means.”

Then Gi-hun’s mouth met you—soft, warm, reverent. His tongue was slow at first, careful. But the second he tasted you, a moan escaped his throat—needy, wrecked. He latched on, worshiping you with his tongue like your body was the only heaven he ever needed.

You cried out, hands gripping his shoulders. Your legs buckled, but Young-il held you firm, fingers teasing your chest now, biting your earlobe as he whispered.

“ Don’t look away. Watch him fall apart between your legs. Watch how much he needs you.”

Gi-hun was whimpering as he worked you open with his mouth—addicted to every sound you made. His fingers gripped your thighs like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Young-il was growling, breathing harder, his own arousal pressing into your back. “ When I’m done with you.”

He whispered, “ You’ll never want anyone else’s hands on you. Not even in your dreams.”

Your mind blurred—caught between Gi-hun’s tender worship and Young-il’s brutal promise of possession.

And all you could do was hold on as they devoured you.

Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks—nerves buzzing, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. But Young-il didn’t give you time to recover. He gripped your thighs and spread them wider as he stepped between them, pressing you flush against the bathroom counter.

The cool surface beneath you only made the heat of your skin more unbearable. You barely had time to react before he leaned in, his nose brushing yours, voice rough and low.

“ You came so sweet for us.” He murmured, eyes locked onto yours. “ But now it’s my turn.”

You whimpered as he pressed against your core, still painfully clothed but rock-hard beneath the layers. He was taunting you—grinding, teasing, watching your expression twist in anticipation.

His hand slid up your chest, over your throat again, holding—not choking—just claiming.

“ You feel that?” He growled. “ I’ve been hard for days thinking about you. And now…I get to be your first.”

Gi-hun, still flushed and panting, stood beside you, caressing your shoulder, kissing along your neck. He whispered soft, shaky words���his own need barely contained.

“ He’ll be rough.” He said gently. “ But I’m right here. I’ll hold you. I’ll keep you grounded, sweetheart.”

You nodded shakily.

That was all Young-il needed.

His mouth crashed against yours, demanding and raw, and in the same motion, he unzipped and pushed himself against your entrance—teasing, sliding over your folds, soaking in how ready you already were.

His breath stuttered. “ Fuck…so tight…so warm…I could lose my mind.”

He was big—too big—and your body tensed. But Gi-hun was there, kissing your face, holding your hand, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“ You’re okay.” He whispered again and again. “ You’re doing so good for us. Just breathe, baby…”

Then Young-il started pushing in—slow, unrelenting.

You gasped, nails digging into Gi-hun’s arm. The stretch burned, overwhelming, your walls clenching instinctively. But Young-il held you firm, letting out a guttural groan as he sunk deeper, inch by inch.

“ That’s it…take it.” He gritted through his teeth. “ Take all of me. You're mine now.”

Once fully seated inside, he stilled—panting against your mouth, forehead resting to yours. “ So fucking perfect. I’m going to ruin you, sweetheart.”

Gi-hun kissed your temple, his voice barely audible. “ She’s already ours.”

Then Young-il moved. Slow, hard thrusts that sent your body rocking into Gi-hun’s waiting arms. The rhythm grew faster, rougher. He filled you so deeply that each stroke had you gasping—whimpering. Your mind blurred with every thrust.

Gi-hun kissed you again, cradling your head in his hands as you cried out, caught between pain and pleasure. “ That’s it…let it go. Let us have you.”

Young-il grunted with every push. “ You’ll never forget this.” He growled.

“ No one else will ever make you feel like this.”

You were gone.

Completely.

Surrendered to both of them—the one who held you gently, and the one who wrecked you with every thrust. And somewhere in the haze, you knew…

There was no way back.

Your cries echoed softly in the bathroom, swallowed by the hum of chaos beyond its door. But in here—there was only this: skin against skin, heat pressed tight, and two men who wanted nothing more than to mark you as theirs.

Young-il's hips snapped forward with controlled force, every thrust deeper than the last, stretching you around his length until your body was shaking again. Your breath came in stutters—half gasps, half moans—as your hands clutched onto Gi-hun’s shirt like a lifeline.

Young-il groaned into your ear, sweat beading at his brow. “ Listen to you.” He growled.

“ You’re so fucking tight…clenching around me like your body already knows who it belongs to.”

He slammed into you harder, forcing your body to jolt back—and Gi-hun caught you effortlessly, wrapping his arms around you, anchoring you.

“ You’re doing so good.” Gi-hun whispered, lips brushing your ear, his hands running gently down your back.

“ So beautiful like this. Let him fill you, baby…let him claim you like he needs to.”

Your moan caught in your throat as Young-il shifted the angle, hitting something deep—something electric. Your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, drawing him in, needing more.

“ You’re close again.” Young-il muttered, voice strained, his rhythm never slowing. “ I can feel it. Your body’s begging for it.”

Gi-hun leaned in front of you, hands cupping your flushed face, his forehead resting against yours.

“ Let go.” He whispered, voice barely holding together.

“ Let him break you this time. And then I’ll take my turn—slow. Sweet. The way you need it.”

Your eyes fluttered, your entire body tightening around Young-il as you moaned into Gi-hun’s mouth, lost in their voices—one soft and loving, the other raw and commanding.

Young-il slammed into you one final time with a deep, primal groan—his fingers digging into your hips as he spilled inside you, his body shaking, teeth gritted.

“ Mine.” He hissed. “ Fucking mine.”

You cried out again, your second climax crashing over you, more intense, more overwhelming—your body trembling, undone. But even as Young-il rested his forehead against your neck, catching his breath, you felt it:

Gi-hun’s fingers trailing down your thigh.

His lips are ghosting over your shoulder.

“ You think we’re done?” He whispered gently.

“ I’ve waited too long to have you like this.”

Young-il stepped back, eyes still dark, lips parted as he watched your shaking form—ruined, glistening, flushed and breathless.

Gi-hun scooped you up slowly, cradling you in his arms like you were something precious and fragile.

“ You’re safe with me.” He whispered against your ear, already lowering you gently to the floor. “ But I’m not letting you go.”

He kissed you deeply then—slow, passionate—starved.

And you knew…

Round two was just beginning.

Your body was still trembling—sensitive, raw, soaked in the aftermath of Young-il’s brutal claiming. Your mind swam in haze, but Gi-hun’s touch was already grounding you again. Different from Young-il’s fire, his touch was warmth. A soft blaze that burned slow and deep.

He laid you gently onto the bathroom floor, his hands ghosting over your sides, caressing every inch with quiet awe.

“ You did so well.” He whispered, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. “ You took him like you were made for it.”

He kissed you again—soft, worshipful.

His lips moved over your cheeks, your chin, your throat, pausing at your collarbone as he whispered, “ Now I want to show you what it’s like when someone loves every single part of you.”

You whimpered, the contrast almost unbearable. Your body was overstimulated and still desperate, still open and aching.

Gi-hun was slow—achingly slow—as he removed what little clothing was left on both of you. He looked at you like he was unwrapping a miracle. His hands traced every curve, every mark, as though memorizing you with his fingertips.

“ First time…” He murmured again, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“ And you gave it to us. I’ll never forget this. Never.”

You gasped as he aligned himself against your entrance, where you were still so warm and wet from Young-il. Gi-hun groaned at the sensation, his hips trembling with restraint.

“ Still so tight.” He whimpered, barely sliding in. “ So perfect. I don’t deserve this…”

You reached for him, needing him closer. “ Please…” You whispered.

“ I need you.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, as if he was afraid to hurt you—even after what you’d just taken. He kissed you through every breath, every stretch, every new sensation. Once he was fully inside, he stilled, forehead against yours. His breath was shaky, and his body trembled above you.

“ I can’t…I’m trying to go slow, but you feel too good.” He moaned, voice breaking. “ I might lose it too fast…”

You cupped his face, drawing him into another kiss, deeper this time. “ It’s okay.” You whispered.

“ You’re already giving me everything.”

He moved—slow and fluid, grinding deep, his hips rolling with practiced rhythm that sent waves of pleasure spreading through your already ruined core.

His moans were soft, breathless, desperate. Every time he bottomed out, he gasped your name like a prayer.

“ You’re so good to me.” He cried softly. “ So good. You’re everything. I’ll never let you go…”

His pace grew faster as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him in closer, deeper. His arms cradled your body as he rocked into you with growing need—his soft whimpers filling your ears, his praises spilling endlessly.

“ So warm so tight…fuck, I’m gonna—I can’t hold it—”

You tightened around him and that was it—he gasped, body seizing against yours as he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a cry that sounded half wrecked, half in love. He collapsed gently on top of you, holding you like something precious, kissing your shoulder, your chest, your lips—everywhere.

Young-il watched from nearby, eyes still dark, but quieter now. His gaze on the two of you was unreadable—part possessive, part oddly soft.

Gi-hun pulled out slowly, carefully, brushing trembling fingers between your legs to feel the mess they both left inside you.

“ You’re really ours now.” He whispered.

Young-il walked over, crouched beside you, and tilted your chin toward him.

“ Ours.” He repeated.

You nodded faintly—mind dizzy, body claimed, heart torn between the two flames that consumed you. And outside the bathroom door, the chaos still roared.

But in here?

You had been owned.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

…

Your body was wrecked. Ruined by Young-il’s dominance, undone by Gi-hun’s reverence—and yet, neither man was satisfied. You thought it was over. That they had claimed you, filled you, used every part of you already.

But that was only the beginning.

You lay on the bathroom floor, legs parted, trembling, both of their releases leaking slowly from your swollen, sensitive core. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, every inch of you tingling and raw.

Gi-hun hovered above you, brushing kisses along your collarbone while murmuring soft praises. But then Young-il crouched beside him, his fingers trailing between your legs. The moment he brushed against your soaked folds, your hips jerked violently.

“ N-No—” You whimpered, body instinctively recoiling.

“ I…I can’t—too much—”

Gi-hun’s lips found your ear, and he whispered, “ You can. You’re so strong, baby. Just let us love you a little more…”

Young-il’s smile was dark, cruelly tender. “ You’re still clenching. Still wet. Your body’s begging for more, even when your mouth says no.”

His fingers pushed in slowly—two, without hesitation. The stretch made you cry out, hips bucking off the floor, thighs twitching.

“ Sensitive, aren’t you?” He rasped, curling his fingers just right. “ Good. I want to see how much more you can take.”

Gi-hun was already moving down your body again—pressing sweet kisses over your belly, your hips until his mouth hovered over your throbbing clit, swollen and twitching from too much.

You reached down, trying to push him back, your voice shaking. “ Please…it’s too much…I-I’m—”

But he didn’t stop.

He moaned as he licked your overstimulated bundle, slow but relentless. The second his tongue touched you, your legs jolted—back arching, a sob tearing from your throat.

Young-il’s fingers pumped deeper now, curling, stretching, pressing into the spot that made your vision blur. His other hand pinned your hip down firmly.

“ You’re already shaking.” He growled.

“ You’re going to fall apart again, aren’t you?”

Gi-hun was whimpering into you, like your taste was driving him insane. He flattened his tongue, lapping at you hungrily while moaning softly, as if each sound you made fed his desperation.

“ I can’t—” You choked, tears brimming in your eyes.

“ Yes, you can.” Gi-hun whispered sweetly, mouth hot and wet. “ Come for us again, baby…let go.”

You were spiraling—your body overstretched, nerves short-circuiting. The pressure coiled again, too fast, too much.

Young-il watched you come undone again, his voice sharp with pride. “ Look at you. Fucking falling apart from our mouths and fingers alone. So needy. So perfect.”

The orgasm hit violently—your vision whiting out, back arching completely off the floor, a strangled scream escaping your throat as your body seized in blinding overstimulation.

Gi-hun didn’t stop licking.

Young-il didn’t stop pumping.

They wanted everything.

You sobbed out their names, voice cracking, your body trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure left you breathless and twitching. Finally, Gi-hun pulled back, panting, lips slick with your release, kissing the inside of your thighs like he just touched the divine. Young-il slowly withdrew his fingers, watching you shake with satisfaction.

“ Still think you’re done?” He murmured, smirking as he licked your release off his fingers.

You couldn’t even answer. Your voice was gone, your limbs limp, your mind spinning.

But they weren’t done.

You were theirs.

And they hadn’t finished ruining you yet.

Your body was still shuddering, twitching from the aftershocks of overstimulation. Your skin glistened with sweat, flushed and slick, and your breath came in short, broken gasps. But even in your dazed state, you could feel it—the shift.

The hunger in Young-il’s eyes darkened.

The gentleness from earlier? Gone.

Now, he was all control. All intent.

He stood over you, bare and hard again, his cock already twitching back to full strength. Your legs were still spread wide, still leaking from both of them, your body so sensitive that even the air made you tremble.

“ You thought that was enough?” He said, voice low and dangerous as he gripped himself, stroking slowly while his gaze drank in the sight of you wrecked on the floor.

“ No, sweetheart. I told you we weren’t done.”

Gi-hun tried to touch you again, to soothe you, but Young-il held a hand out.

“ No more softness.” He snapped. “ Not now. I’m going to fuck her until she can’t speak. Until her body knows it’s mine.”

You whimpered as he grabbed your thighs and pulled you down toward him, dragging your hips to the edge of the counter, then lifting one leg over his shoulder.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but when you saw the way he looked at you—like prey already caught—you knew he meant every word.

Without warning, he shoved into you—deep, fast, brutal.

You screamed, arching off the tile as your walls stretched around him again. The burn was sharp, your body still far too sensitive, but that didn’t stop him. He leaned over you, caging you with his arms as he began pounding into you with no mercy.

“ Fucking tight.” He groaned, jaw clenched, hips slamming into you hard enough to shake the sink.

“ Still soaking wet from us. You were made for this. Made to be bred.”

Gi-hun knelt beside you, breathless, stroking your hair, his own cock still heavy and hard again. He kissed your temple, voice soft in your ear even as your body was rocked by Young-il’s rough thrusts.

“ You’re doing so good, baby.” He whispered. “ Taking him so deep. You’re gonna be so full…”

“ Yeah..” Young-il growled. “ You’re gonna take every drop.”

His pace quickened, brutal and relentless. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the bathroom, drowned only by your gasps, your sobs, and the filthy praises spilling from both of them.

“ Gonna fill you up.” Young-il hissed, thrusting harder.

“ Gonna pump you so full, you’ll feel it for days. Your cunt won’t forget what we’ve done to it.”

You cried out again, the pressure unbearable. Each stroke hit deeper, harder, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body didn’t know whether to run or fall apart again—so it did both.

Your walls clamped down, your body convulsed, and another orgasm tore through you—violent, wrenching, soaked in sensation. Young-il grunted, hips stuttering as your orgasm milked him. He threw his head back with a vicious groan.

“ Take it.” He snarled. “ Fucking take it.”

Then he buried himself to the hilt—deep, hard—his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside you. Rope after rope of thick, hot release filled your core, your body trembling beneath him, stretched and full and leaking everything they’d given you.

He stayed there, buried deep, panting against your neck, watching as his cum slowly dripped out of you around his cock.

Gi-hun pressed his forehead to yours, eyes shining.

And softly, with a hand to your belly, he whispered, “ You’re going to be so full of us. I want to see you round and swollen…carrying both of us.”

You were shaking, breathless, drenched. And yet your body was already reacting—clenching again. Because with them? There would be no stopping. You lay there—limp, wrecked, full.

Young-il still pressed deep inside you, breathing heavily, his release already beginning to spill from your stretched entrance. The mixture of both men’s seed dripped down your thighs, warm and thick, proof of everything they’d just taken from you. Claimed you with.

He pulled out slowly with a low groan, watching the mess he made leak from between your legs, his fingers immediately gathering it—pushing it back in with deliberate, rough strokes that made your hips jerk.

“ Don’t waste it.” He muttered, voice low and ragged.

“ You’re going to keep it. Every last drop.”

You whimpered, your body too sensitive, twitching with every small motion. You had already fallen apart again and again—but it didn’t matter. Not to them. Not to Gi-hun, who was already sliding in behind you, arms cradling your trembling body with reverent care.

“ Shh…” He whispered, pressing soft kisses down your back,

“ I’ve got you now. Let me make you feel good again. Let me fill you the way I’ve wanted to for so long…”

Your thighs parted again—automatically, helplessly—your body no longer resisting but offering. Broken open, completely pliant for them.

Gi-hun lined himself up, and you could feel him trembling—trying to be gentle, but failing. His tip nudged against your already stretched, leaking entrance, and he let out a shaky whimper.

“ You’re still so full.” He moaned, slowly pushing in. “ Still wet from him…from us…fuck.”

You cried out as he filled you—sliding past the mess inside you, stretching your sensitive walls once more. His pace started slow, agonizingly careful, but it only took a few thrusts before he lost control, overwhelmed by the feeling of your already-used body wrapped around him.

“ I can feel it.” He gasped into your shoulder. “ I can feel him still inside you.”

Gi-hun’s pace picked up, his thrusts becoming frantic—needy. His forehead pressed against the back of your neck, hips slamming into you with more force each time, driven mad by how overstimulated you were, how ruined your body had become for them.

“ You’re gonna take mine now too.” He whispered, breath ragged. “ I want to see you dripping with both of us. I want your belly full. Want you swollen with everything we give you.”

Behind him, Young-il watched, still catching his breath, but already getting hard again—his dark eyes trailing over your trembling form, slick thighs, the flushed arch of your back.

“ You’ll carry us.” He murmured. “ You’ll be marked from the inside out. Ours.”

Gi-hun’s thrusts became desperate, his soft moans now raw, pleading.

“ You feel too good.” He gasped.

“ You always did…every time you smiled at me, every time you touched me, I just— I needed this.”

You were beyond thought—body reduced to sensation. The friction, the stretch, the burn of being taken again and again.

And then he let go.

With a strangled cry, Gi-hun slammed in deep, burying himself fully as he came—hot, hard, endless. You could feel him spill into you, warm and thick, mixing with Young-il’s seed until you were overflowing.

You whimpered, twitching again as your walls clenched helplessly around him—another broken, overstimulated orgasm shaking your entire body.

Gi-hun kissed your shoulder, your spine, every part of you he could reach, whispering through breathless gasps.

“ I love you…I love you…I love you…”

When he finally pulled out, you collapsed forward, legs spread, shaking, completely used. And as the thick mess of both men’s release poured from your aching center onto the tile, they looked down at you—sweaty, spent, shaking.

Your body trembled on the floor—raw, used, leaking. Your thighs were soaked, your lips swollen, your mind fogged with heat and exhaustion. You didn’t even realize you were still moaning softly until Young-il crouched in front of you, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

His voice was low, firm—no hint of softness left in him.

“ Look at the mess you made.” He murmured, cock already hard again, glistening with his own release.

“ Clean it up.”

You blinked at him, mouth parting, breath catching.

He smirked darkly. “ We’ll show you how.”

Behind you, Gi-hun knelt, breath still shaky, but his eyes were soft, warm, flushed with leftover tenderness.

He brushed your hair back, voice gentle but firm “ You want to be good for us, don’t you, baby?”

You nodded, heart pounding. You had nothing left to give—yet you still found yourself moving. Kneeling slowly between them, your legs wobbling beneath you, your lips already parting again.

Young-il gripped the base of his cock, the tip flushed and glistening with lingering slick and seed.

“ Start with me.” He ordered, leaning back just slightly.

“ Lick it clean. Every drop.”

Gi-hun kissed your shoulder from behind, whispering sweetly in your ear. “ Just use your tongue, baby. Slow, just like this…”

He guided your head forward gently, letting you feel the weight of Young-il’s length rest against your tongue. Your mouth trembled as you began to lick—slow, kitten-soft licks from base to tip.

Young-il let out a low groan. “ That’s it. That’s good…fuck, look at you.”

“ Now swirl your tongue.” Gi-hun whispered, pressing his lips to your neck.

“ Right around the tip…just like that. Yes, baby. You’re doing perfect.”

You obeyed—lazily tracing your tongue around the head, collecting every trace of him, tasting yourself, tasting both of them. The more you licked, the more praise and growls you earned.

Young-il hissed, his voice sharper now. “ Open wider. Take it in your throat.”

Gi-hun’s hands stayed soft on your back, grounding you. “ Breathe through your nose. You’re okay. Let him feel how good your mouth is.”

You followed their guidance—bit by bit—taking Young-il deeper until he hit the back of your throat, until your eyes watered and your jaw ached.

“ Fuck…” Young-il groaned. “ You were made for this. Keep going.”

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, lips swollen, saliva slick down your chin. Then Gi-hun turned you gently toward him, his cock twitching with need.

“ Your turn.” He whispered. “ Be gentle. I want to feel your mouth love me.”

You wrapped your lips around him, guided by their voices—one firm and commanding, the other sweet and encouraging. They taught you everything—how to suck, how to hold, how to let your tongue tease the underside.

Gi-hun moaned softly, his hands in your hair, eyes fluttering shut. “ Just like that. God, baby…you’re perfect.”

They switched you back and forth—Young-il thrusting into your mouth with deep, slow strokes while Gi-hun cupped your cheeks and whispered how beautiful you looked serving them.

“ You're learning so fast.” Gi-hun said.

“ And you’ll keep learning.” Young-il added darkly.

“ Because next time? You’ll clean us off while full of us.”

You moaned around them, throat raw, mind dizzy.

Because you knew…

You wanted that lesson too.

Your mouth was sore, your throat raw, your body still aching from the intense claiming they'd given you—but still, you obeyed.

You were on your knees, switching between them, guided by their hands, their voices—Young-il’s sharp and dominant, Gi-hun’s soft and coaxing. Their cocks, slick with your spit and their own release, throbbed against your tongue each time you took them in.

Young-il gripped your hair tightly, forcing you to look up at him as he pushed past your lips again.

“ Keep your eyes on me.” He ordered, his hips moving in slow, controlled thrusts into your mouth.

“ I want to see you own this. Learn it. Crave it.”

You moaned softly around him, tears slipping down your cheeks from the stretch. You were doing exactly as he said—watching him, letting him use your mouth, drool running down your chin as he hit the back of your throat again and again.

Gi-hun was beside you, stroking your back, murmuring praise like a prayer.

“ You’re so beautiful like this.” He whispered.

“ Serving us…letting us teach you how to please. There’s no one else I’d ever want like this.”

Young-il pulled back with a sharp, wet pop, letting your jaw rest for a moment. Your chest rose and fell in shallow, broken breaths. You didn’t even have to speak.

The look on your face—dazed, obedient, hungry—said everything. Gi-hun turned your chin toward him, gently wiping the spit from your lips with his thumb. His cock brushed your cheek as he whispered,

“ Now me, baby. Slow this time. Show me how much you want to take care of me.”

You nodded, eyes glassy, and leaned in. You kissed the tip of him first, soft and reverent, like he asked. Then your lips wrapped around him again—gentle, slow strokes, your tongue swirling with practiced effort.

Gi-hun groaned above you, his hand brushing through your hair, eyes fluttering shut as your mouth worked him perfectly.

“ Yes…just like that.” He murmured.

“ You’re learning so well. You’re so good for us…”

Young-il knelt behind you again, watching as you sucked off Gi-hun with soft slurps and hollowed cheeks. His hand slid between your thighs from behind, cupping your still-sensitive, soaked core. You gasped around Gi-hun, your whole body jolting at the overstimulation.

“ Even your pussy’s learning.” Young-il muttered, rubbing slowly, taunting circles over your clit.

“ Every time your mouth gets full, your cunt drips. Filthy little thing.”

Gi-hun moaned louder as your tongue flattened along the underside of his cock.

“ You like hearing that, don’t you?” He said, voice shaking.

“ Our perfect girl…messy and eager…”

Young-il leaned down, breath hot against your ear.

“ Next time, we’ll fuck your throat together. At the same time. We’ll train you until your mouth can take us both. Until choking on us turns you on.”

That image alone sent a shiver down your spine—and your hips pressed back against Young-il’s hand, needing pulsing in waves through your core again.

You pulled off Gi-hun slowly, your lips slick, your voice hoarse but breathy.

“ I want that.” You whispered. “ Teach me everything…”

They shared a look above you—one of hunger, pride, and ownership.

And you knew your training had only just begun.

Your body was trembling—not from fear, not from pain, but from sheer exhaustion. Used, stretched, and filled beyond anything you had ever known, your limbs barely responded as you lay sprawled across the cool bathroom floor, coated in sweat, tears, and their release.

And yet…you didn’t feel broken.

You felt owned. Seen. Craved. Loved in a way that had burned you down—and now, slowly, was putting you back together.

“ Hey, sweetheart…” Gi-hun’s soft voice broke through the haze as he gently lifted you into his arms, treating you like you were made of glass.

He sat you upright slowly, supporting your back, his hand brushing over your sticky, flushed cheek. His other arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady.

“ Can you stand?” He asked gently, eyes filled with warmth.

“ Come here. Let me help you.”

You nodded weakly, letting him guide you to your feet, though your legs buckled beneath the weight of everything your body had just been through. Young-il was already behind you, steadying your hips with a firm but careful grip.

“ Easy.” He muttered. “ Don’t rush. Just lean on us.”

Together, they walked you toward the sink like guardians guarding a goddess.

Gi-hun grabbed tissues, whispering,

“ I’ll be gentle, baby.” He crouched, slowly wiping the mess off your thighs, down your inner legs, then carefully between your folds, his hand trembling just a bit at the sight.

“ I’m so sorry.” He whispered suddenly, looking up at you.

“ If it was too much…if I—if we hurt you…”

You met his eyes, still glassy and dazed, and shook your head slowly.

“ You two didn’t hurt me.” You said, your voice quiet but steady.

“ Both of you gave me everything.”

He kissed your knee, eyes fluttering shut, breath shaking in his chest. Young-il, standing behind you, ran a tissue down your back, cleaning the sweat and kisses from your spine, and gently pressing a dry towel around your waist. He was quiet for a moment before his low voice followed:

“ I got rough.” He admitted.

“ Rougher than I should’ve. If I hurt you—if it ever becomes too much—you say the word.”

His hands were careful now, unlike earlier, his grip more thoughtful than demanding.

“ I want to own you…but never break you.” He murmured.

“ You’re not just something we use. You're…ours. And we protect what's ours.”

The air was still for a moment. Heavy with the contrast between the savage way they took you earlier and the way they now moved around you like loyal knights tending to a bruised queen.

Gi-hun brought you into his arms again and kissed your temple. “ You’re okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, resting against his chest, completely wrapped in their warmth. Your body might ache, but your heart felt strangely safe—held.

“ I’ve never felt wanted like that before.” You admitted softly. “ Like…you didn’t just want to touch me. You wanted me. All of me.”

Young-il came beside Gi-hun, brushing your damp hair back. “ That’s because we do.” He said simply.

“ And next time…”

His gaze darkened, but his voice remained calm.

“ We’ll listen to every breath, every sound. No lines will ever be crossed unless you draw them for us.”

Gi-hun nodded in agreement, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “ You’re not just someone we want in our bed. You’re someone we want everywhere else too.”

You felt it then—not just the ache between your thighs or the sting of your skin—

But the warmth of belonging.

And though your body was wrecked and weak, you smiled. Because even after being devoured, they were right there—ready to piece you back together with gentle hands, whispered apologies, and promises not of possession…

But of devotion.

Wrapped in towels, your body still tender and your heart spinning with everything that had just happened, you sat on the bathroom counter while Gi-hun gently ran his fingers through your damp hair, and Young-il leaned against the wall, arms crossed but gaze soft.

The chaotic noise from outside the bathroom had long since faded into background static. In this small, quiet space, it was just the three of you—and the weight of something unspoken lingered in the air.

You finally broke the silence.

“ What are we now?”

Gi-hun paused, fingers stilling in your hair. Young-il tilted his head.

“ I mean…” You continued, eyes flicking between them,

“ What’s our relationship? I thought…you could only be with one person. That’s how it usually works, right?”

Young-il pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his expression calm but serious.

“ That’s how most people do it, yeah. One person. Monogamy.” He crouched in front of you so you couldn’t look away.

“ But there’s something called polyamory. It means…loving more than one person—openly. Honestly. No secrets.”

You blinked slowly, trying to process it.

He continued, his voice steady.

“ We aren’t asking you to be in anything you don’t want, though. If the idea of being with both of us at the same time isn’t what you want…we’ll let you choose. No pressure. I’ll step back. Gi-hun will. Whoever you want—really want—that’s who you should have.”

Your heart squeezed painfully. Just the thought of having to choose between them made your chest ache.

You shook your head, voice trembling as you spoke “ No. I can’t choose. I don’t want to choose.”

Both men looked at you, their faces unreadable.

“ I’ve seen sides of myself with each of you.” You whispered.

“ You both give me something different, and I care about both of you. It would break me if I had to lose one of you just to keep the other. That wouldn’t be love. That would be guilt.”

Gi-hun stepped in front of you, resting a hand on your thigh, his voice soft. “ You’re saying…you want both of us? Together?”

You nodded. “ If you’re okay with it…I want to treat you both fairly. I don’t want to hurt either of you. I…I want this to work. The three of us.”

A pause. A heartbeat of tension—

Then Young-il let out a breath of a laugh and shook his head with a smirk.

“ Damn. I told you she’d say that.” He muttered to Gi-hun.

Gi-hun chuckled softly and turned to you, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “ We already talked about it. A while ago.”

Your brows furrowed. “ What do you mean?”

Young-il shrugged. “ Me and him—we made a deal. That if it ever came down to you being caught between us…we’d share you. As long as you gave us consent. No fighting. No jealousy. Just…trust.”

Gi-hun took your hand, kissing your knuckles gently. “ Your choice was all we were waiting for. And now we have it.”

You looked between them, stunned. “ You two really planned this?”

Young-il leaned in, eyes burning with mischief and something deeper. “ We didn’t plan to fall for you. That just happened.”

Gi-hun smiled, softer. “ But we agreed…we wouldn’t make you choose. We’d just love you. Together.”

Your heart swelled. A tear slipped down your cheek—not from fear, or confusion—but from relief.

Because somehow, in the middle of chaos, bloodshed, and danger…

You found two men who were ready to love you completely.

And for the first time in this deadly game…

You didn’t feel like a pawn.

You felt like the prize.

…

You were laughing softly, the sound fragile but real, as Gi-hun cradled your hand in his. The two of you sat close, tangled in warmth and shared relief, the remnants of chaos and desire slowly ebbing into something calm—something tender.

“ I swear, the way you looked at me earlier—like you were gonna cry and pounce at the same time.” Gi-hun teased, his smile soft and teasing.

You chuckled, nudging his shoulder. “ And you were whimpering more than I was.” You shot back playfully, cheeks flushed.

Neither of you noticed the faint click of the door.

The bathroom door cracked open just enough to let in a sliver of cold, sterile hallway light—and Young-il was there, standing tall in the frame.

His expression was unreadable. Blank. Cold.

The warmth in the room didn’t reach his eyes now.

He kept his body positioned precisely, blocking your view from whoever was standing on the other side. You didn’t even look up—too wrapped up in the small cocoon you and Gi-hun had built in the wreckage.

From behind Young-il, a low voice murmured something—muffled, but firm.

A Square guard.

“ The 30 minute lights out is over, sir. Area is secure. We’ve cleared the bodies. Survivors are staying to their beds. Orders?”

You would’ve frozen if you’d heard it. But you didn’t. Neither of you did. Because Young-il simply nodded once, calm and precise.

“ Proceed as normal…” He said flatly. “ Tell the others I’ll return soon.”

“ Yes, sir.”

The door shut again, soundlessly.

Young-il stood there for a moment longer, his hand still on the doorknob, back turned to you. The soft sound of your laughter still echoed behind him.

When he turned around, the mask he wore melted away—back to the same Young-il who had worshiped and wrecked you only moments ago. But there was something else lingering in his gaze now—something that wasn’t there before.

Power.

He looked at you—how your legs draped over Gi-hun’s lap, your flushed skin glowing under the soft flickering light, your lips swollen from kisses and moans—and something deep within his chest coiled.

He stepped back into the space, his voice smooth and calm. “ It’s safe now. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

You smiled at him, unaware. “ Already? That was fast.”

He nodded, brushing his dark hair back, the faintest curve on his lips. “ I saw it. Guards carrying the dead bodies of the players and the lights are finally back..”

Gi-hun looked up at him, relaxed. “ Damn…”

You didn’t question it. Not then. Not yet.

Because in your eyes, Young-il was the fierce, possessive man who couldn’t get enough of you. The one who touched you like you were sacred. The one who stood side by side with Gi-hun to protect you.

What you didn’t know…

He wasn’t just a player.

He wasn’t just a lover.

And he wasn’t just another man broken by the game.

He was the one who built it.

The chaos, the violence, the rules—the very arena of suffering and desire that had pulled you into its web…

It was his design.

And you had just given your heart—and body—to the man behind the curtain.

Author's Note: Welcome to another episode of " What the fuck did I just write"? So, here's one of my experimental fanfics…the POLYAMORY relationship, because I read somewhere that someone wants a poly. Furthermore, it continues to be my coping strategy for the SG season 3 finale. Yes, it has been two weeks, but the pain is still present. The story is a little dark. Anyone who feels uncomfortable reading this is welcome to ignore this story. Please read the warnings before reading this story if you are under the age of 18. All of the events in this story are fictional. The red flags mentioned in this story are not something I would tolerate in real life. READ WITH RESPONSIBLY. Part 2?

[frost-queen]

Jumping rope (Fem!Reader x Kim Jun-hee)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @asgards-princess-of-mischief, @marshmallowkisses

Summary: Ttokttok, Nugusimnikka? Jumping rope invites the players for another game. When Jun-hee can't count on Myung-gi, you step in. Telling her to ditch her trashbag of a boyfriend and go with you. Taking Jun-hee with you on your back, you dare to tackle the bridge.

Nervous shuffling white sneakers neared the large doors. Creakingly they opened. Those in front, nearing the door with hesitation. Eyes widening with a gasp at a familiar back. A doll standing tall and mighty with her back to the entering players. A doll they were all very familiar with. They knew they couldn’t wait, getting pushed by the players behind them to enter.

Ttokttok. Echoed through the room. Players gasping at the tall boy doll up front. A playmate for the girl’s doll. Nugusimnikka? Inviting the players inside. Kkomaimnida. Deureooseyo. Both the girl and boy’s voice singing the children’s song. The swarm of players dividing to spread out over this side of the platform.

Staring at the large rope in the doll’s hands. Kkomaya, kkomaya, dwiro dorara. Kkomaya, kkomaya, ttangeul jipeora. Kkomaya, kkomaya, han bal deureora. Kkomaya, kkomaya, jal gageora. Seeing the rope and the small bridge, just wide enough for one person to stand on, made you swallow deeply. Kkomaya, kkomaya, dwiro dorara. Kkomaya, kkomaya, ttangeul jipeora. Kkomaya, kkomaya.

Their words ending with a haunting thud. The doors having closed with a thundering sound. Turning your head towards it, you truly knew you were trapped. Trapped with no way out than to venture forwards. The same woman’s voice coming through the speakers explaining the next game. Jumping ropes.

Cautiously you neared the edge. Leaning a bit forwards to gaze into the depts. The colourful depts. A bed of flowers for one to lay in. It made you shudder, quickly step back. Backing away, you bumped against some other players. Their gaze glued onto the dolls and the rope in their hands. Slowly it came in motion.

Mechanics creaking. Rope swinging gently from side to side. Slow then picked up pace to reach heights. Heights till it rotated once. Dropping swingingly down. When the rope swiped over the bridge, it made many players duck their heads down with pulled up shoulders.

Rope rotating slowly but steady pace. Nearing down once more, swiping over the empty bridge. Players swallowing nervously for they feared to make the first move. Not wanting to be kissed by roses and lay in a bed of flowers. Staring at your shoes, specks of blood on it, you suddenly realized something.

Making you turn your head in the crowd, looking for her. Look for Jun-hee. During hide-and-seek you had lost sight of her. Yet relieved to see she had made it out alive. This time accompanied by her baby. You also couldn’t look past her pain. How she winched and barely put any weight on her foot. Hopping forward with gritted teeth.

Pushing a player aside by their shoulder, you saw Jun-hee sitting down on the bench. Gi-hun with her. His hand on her shoulder, speaking comforting words to her. Jun-hee glanced down at her foot. Immediately you drew your eyes down as well.

Seeing how swollen it was. A shade of purple peeking from underneath her pants. Her body slightly trembled, speaking to her baby. She then looked up to Gi-hun. Hands going up as she offered her to Gi-hun. Gi-hun accepted the baby, laying it carefully down. Tying the two sleeves together.

Picking the baby back up, he moved his head through the hoop of sleeves. So the baby got carried on his chest. Jun-hee pulled herself up, leaving a soft kiss on the baby’s forehead. Zipping her player’s vest shut.

Glancing at the clock, you saw how many minutes had already passed. The bridge already having taken a life. Gi-hun started going for the bridge. Clearing his way. Determination on his face. You stepped aside, allowing him to pass.

Head turning further to glance at Jun-hee once more. She had seated herself down once more. Sighing soft as she pulled a bit of her pants up. Revealing her ankle all swollen and purple. Bruised. Your expression softening up at her. Your attention got briefly drawn away hearing people gasp loud.

Turning your head, you moved some people aside, seeing Gin-hun on the bridge with the baby. Jumping when the rope came. Nearly losing his balance, leaning towards the edge. Finding his balance quickly. Readying himself to jump again. Jump. Then making his way forwards till the rope came down once more.

You watched for a moment, wanting to see how he was doing. When the sudden soft grunts reached your ears. Looking over your shoulder, you saw her. Jun-hee standing up. Trying to hop, but barely be able to lift her feet up. Stumbling to the ground.

“Oh Jun-hee…” – you whispered out, seeing her push herself back up. Dust her hands off before trying again. Again her feet barely leaving the ground before the pain send her crashing down. Shoving people aside, you reached her. Grabbing her by the arms, preventing her from trying a third time.

Jun-hee looked with surprise back at you as you settled her back down on the bench. – “Stop before you hurt yourself more.” – you told her. Kneeling down in front of her. She winched in pain when you gently lifted her foot a bit up. Pulling her pants a bit up to have a good close look at her ankle.

Exhaling soft, you closed your eyes. – “You… you don’t have to say it…” – Jun-hee said, looking away. – “I know my odds.” – she added as you carefully placed her foot back down. – “It’s not impossible.” – you responded. Jun-hee pulled her fingers to her palm on her knees.

Biting her lip nervously. – “Gi-hun is coming back for me.” – she whispered out. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw how more players had reached the bridge. Gi-hun standing safely across. His path blocked by those jumping on the bridge. The rope already having taken a few victims.

Laying with the flowers. You wanted to believe her, but the time was running out. If people kept crossing the bridge, he wouldn’t be able to make it across. Seeing someone approach, made you move aside. Give Jun-hee some privacy.

Myung-Gi coming to stand before her. You started to look around, yet still remain near. Jun-hee slightly turned her head with a glare. Myung-Gi sighed loud. – “I know you are angry with me.” – he said. – “Why did you do it?” – she asked with a glare. – “For the money?” – Myung-Gi not satisfied with her answer.

Making him look annoyed away. Then his gaze was on her again. Hand pressing against his chest. – “I’ll help you.” – he outed. It made you look at them, intrigued how Jun-hee would react. Jun-hee stared in front of her, tears in her eyes. Lowering her gaze, she moved her injured foot. Hinting to him her liability.

Myung-Gi’s gaze went down to her ankle, seeing it for himself. Something in his gaze changing with reality. – “Will you carry me?” – she asked with clear intentions. Wanting to see his reaction. He had proclaimed so many times he would save her. Yet the look in his eyes, told her a different story. Her reality came true when Myung-Gi turned around. Walking away from her.

Going towards the bridge. Jun-hee’s gaze lowered, trying to bite the tears away. Knowing no one was going to save her now. Glaring at Myung-Gi, you neared Jun-hee once more. – “Your boyfriend is a b*tch!” – you called out, loud enough for him to hear.

Myung-Gi gave you a brief glance over his shoulder before joining those on the bridge. Puffing loud, you kept glaring at him. – “Proving once more he is useless! If you are asking me, you should be better off with a girlfriend.” – telling it clear to her. – “Y/n…” – Jun-hee said softly, looking with tears in her eyes up at you.

You extended your hand to her. – “I’m not letting you down. We’re in this together, remember.” – waiting for her to accept it. Jun-hee swallowed hard, taking your hand. You pulled her up to her feet. You stripped yourself from the vest. Moving it around Jun-hee’s waist. – “What… what are you doing Y/n?” – she asked.

You helped her near the bridge. Coming to stand before her. Tying the two sleeves around your waist so she was pressed against your back. You slightly bend through your knees, moving your hands in the folds of her knees. – “Carrying you across.” – you said with a clenched expression.

With a grunt and a huff, you helped Jun-hee jump on your back. Her arms going around your neck. – “Y/n this is madness.” – Jun-hee called out, panicking a bit. Settling her better on your back, you disagreed. – “Who needs a prick boyfriend when you’ve got me.” – Looking over your shoulder, you gave her a flirty smile.

Jun-hee swallowed bashful. Looking back in front of you, you exhaled deep. Eyes locking with Gi-hun from across. – “You and me Jun-hee.” – you told her, feeling her tighten her grip around your neck.

Waiting for the rope to swing by, you started running. Letting go of all your fears. Hurrying up the bridge for as far as you could. Stopping just in time. The rope nearing. Feeling Jun-hee bury her face on your shoulder. Exhaling loud, you inhaled sharply through your nose before the jump. Feet rising from the ground.

Rope swiping over the bridge. Players across watching with anticipation and fright. Feet touching the bridge once more, you stood steady. Gi-hun shuddered relieved. Some players exhaling blessed and moving their hands through their hairs from the nerves. – “You still with me?” – you asked Jun-hee.

Hearing her hum loud and rub her nose against your shoulder. The rope came once more, making you jump again. The rope passing easily. Making it further across the bridge. Stopping again to jump over the swinging rope. The speed having increased with each fleeting minute passing.

Gulping soft, you saw the gap in the bridge. Nearing it, you stopped in front of it. Panting loud. Jumping over the rope. Remaining present as you calculated the distance. Jumping in place again. – “Y/n.” – you heard Jun-hee say softly and with fear. – “Don’t worry.” – you breathed out, jumping over the rope again.

“I won’t let you fall.” – reassuring her, taking another jump. You waited one more jump till taking the jump. Leaping across, feet landing on the bridge. Wobbling a bit, feeling your balance slip, leaning back due to Jun-hee’s weight on your back. Quickly you leaned your body forwards to steady your balance.

The rope already swinging in. Out of breath, you jumped quickly. Seeing Gi-hun gesture up front to come. You didn’t pay attention to the timer for it would only distract you. Puffing loud, you started running.

Jump. Moving Jun-hee a bit better on your back. Taking a run for it once more. Moving part by part. Jump. Sweat already dripping down your face. Running down your spine. Gi-hun kept calling you over, swaying his hands over. Jump. Only a few meters. Moving closer. Nearing the edge. Jump. Taking three steps. Jump.

Timer slowly counting down. Jump. – “Last one.” – saying out of breath, barely able to form the words. Jump. Four quick steps, reaching the edge. Gi-hun grabbing you by your shoulder, pulling you away from the bridge. Eyeing the timer the last few seconds went down, before the timer stopped.

Chest rising and falling with your quick breaths. Body overheating from the exercise. Jun-hee lifted her head up, seeing how you had made it across. Gi-hun helped her down from your back. The moment she was off you, you sunk through your knees. Falling down on your back. Arms wide open, breath still quickening for you couldn’t find steadiness in it.

Jun-hee let go of Gi-hun lowering herself to you. Her eyes meeting up with Myung-gi’s hard stare. – “You carried me Y/n.” – she said, her eyes remaining on Myung-gi to make it clear to him. To stab at him what he wouldn’t do.

Jun-hee lowered her head, pressing a hand on your cheek. – “You might be right.” – she whispered, closing her eyes. Her lips kissing the corner of your lips. Her gaze then went back up to Myung-gi. – “I don’t need a boyfriend.” – she spoke with hatred towards him. – “I just need you.” – she added offering you her hand.

You accepted it, Gi-hun helping you up as well. Jun-hee wanted to jab at Myung-gi even more, wrapping her arms around you. You hugged her back, relieved that both of you had made it. With a glare to Myung-gi, you made clear to him Jun-hee  was with you now.

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

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[niteshade925]

April 20, Beijing, China, National Museum of China/中国国家博物馆 (Part 5 – Ancient Chinese Porcelain exhibition/中国古代瓷器展):

First post of the year, gotta start with something good: this is a rather famous vase from Qianlong era of Qing dynasty (1644 - 1911). It's made in the suantouping/蒜头瓶 (lit. "garlic-head vase") shape, and decorated with falangcai/珐琅彩 (basically cloisonné but done on porcelain instead of metal). The design features a nice combination of traditional Chinese chanzhihua/缠枝花 motifs (traditionally this continuous plant motif symbolizes longevity) and European art influence, specifically from rococo. This is interesting as rococo was also influenced by Chinese porcelain, making this vase another example of cultural influence going both ways.

As mentioned in my previous announcement post, my visit to the National Museum of China was very brief, everything took place in the span of one day (plus traveling to and from Beijing), please pardon the picture quality.

And from here on I will be going in chronological order. Below is an urn from the Northern Dynasties (439 - 581 AD). This urn was decorated with lotus petals all around, and was specifically a type of grave good, not made to be used by the living. Lotuses are a commonly used symbol in funerary rites due to its association with Sukhavati (Sanskrit: सुखावती; referred to as "极乐世界" or "Land of Bliss" in Chinese) in Mahayana Buddhism.

Another urn, this time from the Sui dynasty (581 - 618 AD) Shouzhou kiln/寿州窑. This urn may also have been grave good, as evidenced by the numerous Buddhist symbols all around.

Left: a small Sui-era vessel, found in a tomb. It's probably also a grave good, because of its pointy design (imagine holding that).

Right: a group of small Sui-era grave goods, these were tiny and adorable

In the middle is a Tang dynasty (618 - 907 AD) pitcher, made by the Lushan kiln/鲁山窑. This pitcher displays Lushan wares' characteristic blueish glaze, where the blue comes from different concentrations of iron oxides.

Left: a Northern Song dynasty (960 - 1127) white-glazed wine vessel called a meiping/梅瓶 (lit. "plum vase"), but in Song dynasty it was called a jingping/经瓶.

Middle: a Northern Song era white-glazed Ding ware/定窑 plate decorated with the double fish motif.

Right: this one is pretty cute, it's a container for weiqi/围棋 pieces that's shaped like a drum, made by Yaozhou kiln/耀州窑.

Left: forgot to take a picture of the placard, but my guess is that it's a bamboo-necked celadon-glazed Longquan ware/龙泉窑 vase (I might be wrong).

Right: a small Southern Song dynasty (1127 - 1279) Ge ware/哥窑 bixi/笔洗. Bixi are containers used to rinse traditional brushes. This bixi has the crackled glaze that's characteristic of Ge wares.

Left: a small haitang/海棠 flower-shaped celadon-glazed lidded container box called a taohe/套盒, made by Southern Song dynasty guan kiln/官窑 (guan/官 means "official", so "guan kiln" is best understood as the kiln that's run by the imperial court; this is important as later dynasties may have their own guan kilns). These containers can hold various small objects including food, and are stackable.

Right: a Song-era haitang-shaped rose purple flower pot, made by Jun kiln/钧窑. Jun wares are known for their glaze colors, which shift and change according to the firing temperature, this is known as yaobian/窑变 (aka kiln transmutation or "flambé"). This particular flower pot became part of Qing imperial court's collection later on.

A Yuan dynasty (1206 - 1368) qinghua/青花 ("blue and white") porcelain pot, decorated with dragons. The blue color in the famous qinghua porcelain comes from cobalt blue pigment in the underglaze.

A Yuan-era qinghua porcelain vase decorated with a flying fenghuang:

Two Ming dynasty (1368 - 1644) tall-footed bowls, the left one has a glaze known as "sweet white glaze" (甜白釉), since this shade of white was likened to the white of crystal sugar; the reign mark indicated that it was made during the Yongle era of Ming dynasty. The bowl on the right has the peacock blue glaze (孔雀蓝釉), and the reign mark indicated that it was made during the Xuande era of Ming dynasty. Reign marks are markings that indicate the dynasty and era during which a piece was made.

A side note on era names or nianhao/年号: nianhao was a way of identifying years in imperial China and was usually decided by the reigning emperor at the time. One emperor may have multiple era names during their reign if they so choose, however since Ming and Qing dynasty mostly have just one era name per emperor, Ming and Qing emperors are often referred to simply by the era name they used, for example Yongle Emperor (temple name Emperor Chengzu of Ming) or Qianlong Emperor (temple name Emperor Gaozong of Qing). Depending on the context, usage of a Ming or Qing era name may refer to the time period during which an emperor reigned, the emperor who used the era name, or even both.

Three Ming-era monochrome (called danseyou/单色釉 in Chinese) porcelain plates. Monochrome porcelain became popular in Song dynasty, and has been popular ever since, but overall three dynasties were the most famous for their production of monochrome porcelain: Song dynasty, Ming dynasty, and Qing dynasty (1644 - 1911). Recently monochrome porcelain has been gaining popularity again, since their vibrant colors fit into modern aesthetics surprisingly well.

A wall of monochrome porcelain plates, illustrating the effect of different elements and firing temperatures on glaze color.

A set of wares that may be found in a study, made in the Kangxi era of Qing dynasty (1662 - 1722). The glaze used here is quite famous, called jiangdouhong/豇豆红 (aka cowpea red), created by applying copper red glaze in high temperatures. The end result is notoriously hard to control, so some pieces may turn out to have multiple colors, mostly the shade of red as seen below and apple green. The left and back pieces are both small decorative vases (for the longest time I thought the one on the left was an upside-down bowl......lol), the small box in the front is a seal paste box, and the flat bowl on the right is a bixi.

Left: red and blue yaobian vase, made during the Yongzheng era of Qing dynasty (1723 - 1735); unfortunately due to the angle here, you can only see a little bit of the blue streak running down the front. The colors are so vibrant here that this kind of yaobian has earned the nickname of "flaming red"/火焰红.

Right: a langyaohong/郎窑红 (also called "sang de boeuf" or "oxblood") vase, made during the Kangxi era of Qing dynasty. Langyaohong glaze is known for its deeply red color, hence the names that relate it to blood.

A Kangxi era blue glazed gilt porcelain vase. I love the intricate interconnected lotus patterns (chanzhilianwen/缠枝莲纹) here. I didn't have time to take a picture of the placard so it literally took hours of pulling my hair out reverse image searching to find out when (which era) this vase was made................. (btw the text in the back refers to the painting in the background, not this vase)

Left: a youlihong/釉里红 vessel that's shaped like an apple, so it's quite literally named a pingguozun/苹果尊. This shape is rather unique to the Kangxi era. Youlihong (lit: "red inside glaze") is basically a red copper oxide underglaze.

Middle: a youlihong vase made in the Yongzheng era.

Right: a larger vase made in the Yongzheng era that combines qinghua underglaze and youlihong underglaze in one piece.

This giant qinghua vase from the Qianlong era of Qing dynasty (1736 - 1795) was made in the shape of Shang and Zhou dynasty ancient bronze ritual vessel named gu/觚. This is also one of the few pieces produced in history that had the name of the potter attached to it. The potter who made this vase was Tang Ying/唐英, and he was the superintendent who oversaw imperial porcelain production in Jingdezhen/景德镇 (basically the Ming and Qing dynasty guan kiln) during the Yongzheng era and the Qianlong era. Together with the Kangxi era, these three Qing dynasty eras are collectively called "清三代", or "the three Qing generations (of emperors)", this was the second height of porcelain making in Chinese history after the "five great kilns"/"五大窑" of Song dynasty.

A column shaped openwork fencai/粉彩 incense holder from Qianlong era, where fencai is basically overglaze enamel decoration that falls under famille rose.

Left: a Qianlong era green fencai vase that feature kaiguang/开光, which were window or panel-like designs on the piece where scenes may be painted. This particular vase also displays poetry by Qianlong Emperor himself.

Middle: a fencai shuanglianping/双联瓶 made during the Jiaqing era of Qing dynasty (1796 - 1820). Shuanglianping are conjoined vases that symbolize the coming together of matching talents or generally good things.

Right: a Qianlong era gourd-shaped doucai/斗彩 vase with kaiguang. Doucai combines both underglaze decorations and overglaze decorations.

I want to draw special attention to this leaf-shaped fencai cup in the middle that was made in the Guangxu era of Qing dynasty (1875 - 1908). The "leaf" part is actually a lotus flower, but the cool thing about it is that the green stem part is a built-in straw, so this is a highly decorative porcelain straw cup. I really do hope there are cheaper modern replicas of this cup sold somewhere, I want one

Finally, to wrap up this exhibition, here's an arrangement to show how these different porcelain pieces would be utilized in a traditional study room.

[everwhovian]

If only you take my hand PART 2 [ao3]

He chased his brother across oceans, through gunfire and shadows – and when he finally finds him, In-ho offers his hand. Jun-ho takes it. And wakes up behind a locked door, left with silence, bruises, and a coat that still smells like home.

(warnings: imprisonment, forced isolation, emotional manipulation, angst, psychological breakdown)

Part 1 | Part 2

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

In-ho exhaled slowly, steadying himself before reaching into the kit. He took out a clean cloth and dipped it into the small basin of cool water he’d brought with him. It was only lukewarm, barely enough to be soothing, but it would serve its purpose. He squeezed the water from the cloth, watching the droplets fall one by one onto the floor.

It was a small gesture. A quiet thing. And yet it felt like the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

He reached for Jun-ho’s shoulder with the cloth, hovering just above the bruise, the deep purple and yellow streaks marred with the edges of swollen skin. The bruising looked worse in the light – thick, angry. It spread out from his collarbone like a spreading wound, like the body’s desperate attempt to protect itself, to heal in ways that weren’t enough.

In-ho pressed the cloth gently against the swollen skin, careful not to press too hard, but not so soft that it wouldn’t have any effect. The cool water hit Jun-ho’s skin, and for the first time, he flinched. The movement was barely noticeable, a small twitch of muscle beneath the coat. But In-ho saw it.

“Cold,” In-ho murmured. His voice was quiet, more for himself than for Jun-ho. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like an apology.

The bruise was tender, the skin raised and angry, but it wasn’t broken. It didn’t need stitches, but it needed care. It needed gentleness. In-ho’s hand lingered, holding the cloth in place, feeling the warmth of Jun-ho’s body through the fabric, even as he was doing something that should have been routine by now. His hand hovered just above the bruise, but his fingers never touched the tender skin. There was a boundary there. One he wouldn’t cross, not yet.

He could feel Jun-ho’s exhaustion beneath the surface. The stillness in his body was a lie – it masked the way his shoulders trembled slightly under the pressure of the cloth. It wasn’t pain. It was… everything else. The weight of too many things unsaid, too many betrayals still fresh in his chest. He wondered if Jun-ho could feel it too – how much he was holding back.

The cool cloth was meant to soothe, but it felt like a faint, fragile attempt to fix something broken. Something deep.

He stayed still, watching the way Jun-ho’s chest rose and fell, the shallow breaths that punctuated the silence. He could hear the faint thrum of the air conditioning from the vents above, the distant hum of the facility, but here – beside Jun-ho – there was nothing but the soft, steady sound of his own breathing. The small movements of Jun-ho’s body. The slight tremble that had never really stopped.

Jun-ho didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

After a few moments, In-ho removed the cloth, gently dabbing at the skin to catch any excess water. Then he placed the cloth aside and reached for the wrap.

He took Jun-ho’s arm carefully, lifting it with a tenderness that felt foreign. He noticed how stiff Jun-ho’s muscles were, how his wrist was still raw from the cuffs. The bruising was dark – deeper than it should have been, pressing hard into the delicate skin.

His fingers brushed the skin around Jun-ho’s wrists, and the touch was almost instinctive. He moved quickly to wrap the gauze around, not too tightly, just enough to offer support. He didn’t look up. He couldn’t. His mind kept returning to that moment on the cliff, when Jun-ho had reached for him, when everything had seemed like it might go back to the way it used to be.

But it was all wrong now. All twisted. And nothing he did could undo it.

As he finished with the wrap, his fingers lingered at Jun-ho’s wrist for a moment longer. He wanted to say something. To offer something, anything. But the words didn’t come. Nothing seemed enough.

But just as In-ho began to pull away, Jun-ho spoke. A whisper. Barely a sound. Fragile as breath.

“I do hate you.”

In-ho’s hand froze. His gaze flicked up without thinking, searching Jun-ho’s face – but Jun-ho didn’t meet his eyes. He stared at the floor, jaw tight, throat working around the words like they burned on the way out.

“That’s not going to change just because you’re here,” Jun-ho murmured. “Or because you brought a blanket.”

Silence stretched between them.

A beat. Two.

In-ho didn’t reply. He just nodded – the smallest, barely-there movement – and let go.

His hand fell away from Jun-ho’s skin like it had never belonged there in the first place.

With a slow breath, In-ho turned away, taking a final look at his brother before walking toward the door. He let the silence settle around him like a thick fog, one he couldn’t see through, couldn’t shake off.

He was nearly at the door when something hit him square in the back.

It wasn’t hard – not enough to hurt – but it landed with enough force to startle him. A dull thud. Soft. Weighted.

The cloth. Damp and crumpled, lying in the space between them like a line drawn in water. The cold water had seeped into the concrete, blooming in a slow, spreading stain.

Jun-ho’s chest was rising and falling in tight, shallow breaths. His shoulders were tense, arms curled slightly inward like he was bracing against something – anger, sorrow, memory, maybe all three.

Then he spoke.

“Just leave me alone, In-ho.”

The name landed with a precision that no weapon could match.

In-ho’s breath caught. He didn’t flinch visibly – not quite – but something in his expression fractured. A small, quiet recoil behind the eyes. Like he’d been hit somewhere soft.

Not hyung. Not the word laced with history, with childhood, with trust. Just In-ho. Distant. Formal. Final.

It stripped something away.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight for words.

Slowly, he stooped and picked up the cloth. His fingers were steady, too steady, like every movement was holding back something desperate beneath the surface. He folded the fabric once, then again, smoothing the corners like it mattered. Like any of this could still be neat or clean.

Then he set it down on the tray beside the door. He didn’t look back. He didn’t risk it.

He stepped through the threshold.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and In-ho leaned against it for a moment, eyes closing. His own shoulder throbbed, a sharp reminder that the cost of all this – of what he was doing – was starting to take its toll.

Inside the room, Jun-ho sat motionless for a long moment.

Then, slowly, as if the words had taken what little strength he had left, he exhaled and curled in on himself – arms wrapped tight around his middle, forehead resting against his knees. The tension didn’t leave his body. It only shifted, settled deeper, as if the ache had moved from his skin to somewhere inside his ribs.

In the hallway, the weight of his brother’s voice still rang in In-ho’s ears.

In-ho.

As if hyung had been cut out of existence.

The silence left behind in the room clung to In-ho. It coated his skin, thick as sweat, long after he’d left Jun-ho sitting there on the mattress with his arms curled around himself and his eyes filled with something that wasn’t rage – but worse. Disappointment. Grief.

‘I do hate you.’

‘Just leave me alone, In-ho.’

The words had lodged in In-ho’s chest like splinters. They hadn’t been shouted. They hadn’t needed to be. They carried a quiet, exacting weight. One he had no defense against.

But there was no time to think about it now.

The final game was nearly upon them. The VIPs were already gathering. He couldn’t afford to delay.

As he walked down the long, cold hallway to the viewing room, the weight of his brother’s silence settled in his chest. He pushed it down.

But it never went away.

The VIPs were already seated, sipping their drinks, a low murmur of conversation rising in the room as In-ho entered. Their eyes flickered to him, but only for a moment before they turned their attention back to the screen. They didn’t care what he did. They didn’t care about anything but the game.

And so In-ho took his place at the back of the room, standing still, watching as the guard entered with Player 456 and Player 218. The two of them were struggling, but it didn’t matter. They would be playing.

He stood there, the tension in his body only growing as the first round started.

Because, in the end, none of this mattered. Not really.

All that mattered was the game. The game and its players. The game and his brother.

And with each passing moment, In-ho wondered if there was still a way back from the destruction he had caused.

But he didn’t know. He couldn’t know.

All he knew was that he couldn’t let Jun-ho go.

Not now. Not when he still had a part to play in all of this.

Time had turned on Jun-ho.

It no longer moved forward or backward. It just sat – thick and heavy, like wet concrete hardening around his limbs. It didn’t pass. It pressed.

Jun-ho lay on the mattress, half-curled, his arms clutched tight around himself. The bruises In-ho had treated throbbed dully under the bandages, but that pain was familiar now. Manageable. Expected. It was the other feeling that made it hard to breathe.

Fear.

Sharp. Quiet. Invasive.

It started as a flicker – the realization that In-ho hadn’t returned. Not since the morning. Not since he’d crouched beside Jun-ho and tended to his shoulder in silence. Not since Jun-ho had met his eyes and whispered words he couldn’t take back.

‘I do hate you.’

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. Not with so much truth. Not with so little rage.

He hadn’t called him hyung.

The thought clawed at his chest. He’d used his name – cold, sharp, deliberate – like a knife. And now he wanted to take it back. Swallow it down. Pretend he hadn’t meant it. Because he hadn’t meant it.

He’d used In-ho’s name like it didn’t matter – like it hadn’t once meant safety, or family, or home. Like they were strangers. Like he wasn’t his brother at all.

What if that’s what In-ho heard?

What if that was the part he believed?

The thought settled in Jun-ho’s chest like a stone, heavy and cold. That In-ho thought he didn’t consider him family anymore. That he’d given up on him. That he was no longer a brother worth holding on to.

And now In-ho was gone.

And he hadn’t come back.

Jun-ho tried to tell himself it didn’t mean anything.

That the silence wasn’t personal. That the absence wasn’t punishment.

He repeated it like a mantra – empty words, hollow comforts – but they didn’t take. They slid off his ribs, failed to root in his chest. The longer the door stayed shut, the harder it became to believe.

He watched the tray grow cold. Watched the silence stretch itself long and heavy over the walls.

The hours dragged.

And with each passing one, the silence grew teeth.

What if In-ho wasn’t coming back at all?

The thought wormed its way into Jun-ho’s chest and rooted there – cold, gnawing, tight. What if this was it? What if the tray on the floor was all he’d get from now on? What if the guards came next to take the mattress? The coat? The blanket?

What if that was the punishment?

Not shouting. Not cruelty. Just absence.

His fingers curled tighter in the fabric of the coat. It was still wrapped around him – loose but present, like a memory that refused to leave. It didn’t smell like anything anymore. Not really. But it felt like something. Like care, maybe. Or pity. Or guilt.

He didn’t know which.

But if they took it now…

His eyes flicked to the door.

Every sound in the hall made his spine go rigid. Every step. Every breath of air from under the frame. He kept expecting the handle to turn, for masked guards to march in and strip the room bare. Take what little he had. Leave him with concrete and silence again.

And still, the door didn’t open.

Still, In-ho didn’t come.

Jun-ho’s heart thudded against his ribs – not fast, but hard. A slow, deliberate dread, like waiting for a sentence that wouldn’t come. He sat up slowly, arms around his legs, chin on his knees, eyes locked on the steel door like it might move if he stared long enough.

Nothing.

Just the tray. Just the cold soup and the lukewarm rice. Just the blanket twisted around his ankles and the coat draped too heavy over his shoulders.

His shoulder ached.

But it wasn’t the bruises that scared him.

It was the stillness.

It was the idea that In-ho had heard him – really heard him – and decided that was enough.

No more visits. No more care.

Just a locked room and a brother left behind.

Jun-ho swallowed hard.

He could handle pain. Could endure cold, hunger, silence.

But this?

This endless waiting?

This fear that he’d been discarded – not as a threat, not even as a failure, but as a regret?

That was worse than anything.

Being alone with his thoughts wasn’t good for Jun-ho.

They crawled through the cracks of his mind like vines, slow and suffocating. Memories curled around guilt. Silence wrapped itself around anger. There was no direction to them – just a loop, endless and fraying. The longer he lay there, the more the air pressed down on him like a second skin.

He’d tried not to listen.

To the silence. To himself. To the maddening quiet that filled every corner of the room like mold.

But it was getting harder.

He lay half-curled on the mattress, one hand resting under the blanket, the other curled near his face. The coat was still draped over him, its weight too familiar now to cast aside. The bruises on his shoulder ached dully – a low, consistent throb that reminded him he was still here.

The hum of the facility had changed. Fainter now. The background rhythm he’d grown used to – vents, monitors, faraway machinery – had quieted, like something was winding down. Like the place itself was holding its breath.

Something had changed. And Jun-ho didn’t know what.

When the door unlocked, the sound was too loud. Too sharp. It cut clean through the stillness and made every muscle in his body tense.

Jun-ho sat up before he could think better of it – heartbeat kicking against his ribs, eyes fixed on the door.

It opened slowly.

Not In-ho.

A square-masked manager stepped inside, carrying a tray.

He didn’t speak. They never did. But there was something in the way he moved – just slightly too slow, too measured. Not the routine efficiency of a daily delivery. Not the bored indifference of the younger guards.

He walked to the center of the room, placed the tray down, and stopped.

Just… stopped.

Jun-ho didn’t blink.

The manager didn’t turn to leave.

His face, hidden behind that expressionless mask, tilted just slightly to the side. The gesture was subtle – but off. Animal. Wrong. Like a bird watching something it didn’t quite understand. Or a predator deciding whether it was worth the effort to pounce.

Jun-ho’s shoulders tensed. His fingers dug slightly into the blanket.

The longer the man stood there, the more the silence seemed to grow teeth. It chewed at the air. At Jun-ho’s nerves. At the fragile sense of control he’d clawed together just to stay upright.

“What?” Jun-ho rasped. He swallowed, but his throat was too dry.

No response. The manager didn’t move. He didn’t even shift his weight.

They stood like that – locked in a silence too thick to be coincidence. And for a moment, Jun-ho’s stomach twisted. Was this it? Was this what happened when you didn’t behave? When you pushed too hard?

And then – without a word, without even a sound – the manager turned and walked out.

The door slid shut behind him.

Jun-ho sat perfectly still, the cold edge of fear creeping up his spine like frostbite. He could still feel that mask pointed at him, still see the exact tilt of the head burned into his memory.

Then Jun-ho exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

But the silence didn’t return to normal.

It had been altered – stretched thin and sharp like wire. It settled into the room like a warning. A presence. Something left behind that wasn’t visible but was still there.

Still watching.

Jun-ho pulled the coat tighter around himself.

He didn’t touch the food. He didn’t dare move.

Because now, he wasn’t just afraid of being dragged out.

Now he was afraid of being left.

The champagne sparkled in the glass like liquid gold, catching the low cabin light with every movement of In-ho’s hand. He poured slowly, precisely, like it mattered. Like it meant something. A ritual to ground himself – keep the mask on, even if it wasn’t on his face.

The ferry rocked gently beneath them – barely noticeable, but ever present. A slow, rhythmic sway, as if the sea itself was trying to lull them into forgetting what they’d just left behind

The rain had started somewhere along the coast, soft at first, now steady. It pattered against the tinted windows of the limousine in erratic rhythm, a whisper of chaos pressing in against the silent interior.

In-ho sat back into the plush seat, crossing one leg over the other, the champagne held loosely between gloved fingers. His mask sat beside him on the leather, watching silently with its blank expression.

Across from him, slumped and shivering slightly, was the last man standing.

Player 456.

Gi-hun.

In-ho sat back, one leg crossed over the other, glass in hand, the picture of composed luxury. He tilted the flute slightly, bubbles sliding up the sides, a soft hiss against the crystal.

“You should celebrate,” In-ho said softly.

Gi-hun didn’t answer at first. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. His knuckles were scraped. His lips dry and cracked.

“That was quite the game,” In-ho continued, raising his glass slightly in mock salute.

Gi-hun’s head tilted toward the sound. His voice, when it came, was a rasp – like gravel dragged across raw vocal cords.

“Why?”

In-ho didn’t move.

“Why did you do it?” Gi-hun asked again, barely louder. “How can you?”

In-ho swirled the champagne once. Watched the bubbles rise and burst. He looked back at Gi-hun and let the faintest smile touch his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“You bet on horses,” he said simply. “It’s the same here.”

Gi-hun flinched.

“We bet on people. And you were our horse.”

He took a small sip. Let the burn spread down his throat like guilt.

“I didn’t expect you to finish your race.”

Gi-hun turned further, blindfolded eyes locking on the direction of In-ho’s voice. “Who are you?”

A pause.

In-ho looked out the tinted window. The water was black beyond the glass – endless, heavy, hiding everything. He thought of the Games. Of the first night. Of the last.

Of Jun-ho.

“It was a dream,” In-ho said. Quiet. Detached. “Just think of it that way.”

The kind of advice you only give if you’ve lived through it.

He remembered saying the same thing to himself. After his own win. After his own nightmare. Back when he still had a name.

That it was a fever dream. A story from another life. But that story never ended. Not really. It just got darker.

“And it really wasn’t a bad one for you,” he added, voice low. As if he was trying to convince them both. “Was it?”

“Who are you?” Gi-hun repeated. Stronger now. Sharper. Like his mind was starting to catch fire again.

The silence stretched between them, taut and fraying.

In-ho reached for the mask.

It slipped over his face with a metallic whisper, steam hissing faintly at the seals. The silence became suffocating. The last human note in his voice disappeared behind the polished surface.

Steam hissed from the ceiling vents.

In-ho’s gaze didn’t falter. He watched as Gi-hun jerked at the sound, confusion slicing across his features.

“What – what is this?” Gi-hun gasped, choking as the sedative mist crept down, invisible and cold. “What are you – who – who are –”

The words faltered, collapsing into silence.

In-ho watched the way the man’s muscles slackened, how his body gave up before his mind did. He waited until Gi-hun collapsed fully – breathing, but silent.

Then he just stared at him for a long moment.

Not as a winner.

Not even as a person.

Just another survivor who wouldn’t know how to live with it.

With slow, deliberate care, In-ho reached into his coat and pulled out the golden bank card – a sliver of plastic that held the weight of every life traded for it.

He turned it once between his fingers. It caught the light, gleaming like the reward it was meant to be. Blood money forged into plastic.

In-ho leaned forward.

He gently opened Gi-hun’s mouth – a gloved hand steady beneath his chin. Then, carefully, he slid the card inside.

A grotesque gift.

A goodbye.

The ferry docked with a soft jolt. Tires ground against metal. The limousine rolled forward onto dry land.

In-ho sat back in the seat, the hum of the engine beneath them a dull, constant vibration. The cabin lights cast long shadows across Gi-hun’s unconscious face, softening the bruises and grime, making him look almost peaceful. Almost.

But there was no peace in this.

In-ho’s eyes lingered on him. The way his head lolled against the seatbelt, the slight tremor of breath in his chest.

The champagne still sparkled in In-ho’s glass. He didn’t reach for it again.

Instead, he let his gaze drift past Gi-hun to the rain-slick world beyond the window. Buildings blurred by, unfamiliar and gray. And yet all he could see – all he could feel – was the cold concrete of a different room. With nothing inside but a mattress, a coat, and a boy who had once looked up to him.

Jun-ho.

His brother was still there. Still waiting. Still silent.

In-ho swallowed hard, breath catching in the base of his throat. His gloves creaked softly as he clenched his hand. He could picture Jun-ho perfectly – sitting against the wall, arms locked around his knees, eyes darting to every sound. Waiting for the door. Waiting for him.

He hadn’t gone back.

He’d thought it was better that way. Cleaner. Simpler.

But the weight of it now – the knowing – pressed down on him like the rain. That Jun-ho would hear every step in the hallway and wonder. That he’d think the silence was punishment. That maybe he deserved it.

That maybe In-ho agreed.

The limousine slowed.

A voice crackled over the radio. A driver giving clearance. Then, with a soft hiss, they stopped.

In-ho’s eyes snapped back to Gi-hun. Still out. Still breathing.

He reached for the door.

Rain roared outside, louder now. It rushed the world in silver sheets, soaking the pavement, clinging to everything. For a moment, In-ho didn’t move. He just sat there, hand on the handle, frozen.

Then he opened the door.

A gust of wind and water spilled into the cabin, sharp against the warmth inside. He stood and gently pushed Gi-hun forward, catching his weight before it could fall too hard. The man was heavy with sleep – dead weight, yet oddly fragile in that moment.

In-ho eased him out.

Gi-hun slumped onto the wet pavement, limbs folding beneath him.

In-ho didn’t look down. He just closed the door. It shut with a clean click, sealing the silence back inside.

The limousine rolled forward again, smooth and silent.

In-ho sat back in the seat, his chest rising and falling too fast for someone trying to look composed.

His hand reached for the mask.

It came off slowly – peeled back like a second skin. The cold air hit his face instantly, and with it came the burn behind his eyes.

He dragged both hands down his face, gloves damp and cold. His skin felt raw beneath them, flushed with something he couldn’t name.

He should’ve felt nothing. The Games were over. The winner was delivered. The role had been played... but as the rain blurred past the window and the last glimmer of Gi-hun’s silhouette faded into the downpour, In-ho found his thoughts circling back.

Player 456 was a fool – that much was obvious. A man dragged through hell by blind belief, clinging to ideals that had no place in a world like this. He was lucky to have survived. Luckier still to walk away. And yet… Il-nam had seen something in him. Something that made the old man tilt the scales just enough to keep him in play.

In-ho hadn’t understood it at first. But then came the final game – and the look in Gi-hun’s eyes. That maddening hope. That stubborn refusal to break. Even now, unconscious and soaked to the bone, he carried something that refused to be extinguished.

For a moment, In-ho felt a flicker of something, something that hadn’t existed before this game. It was faint, a whisper, but it stirred something that In-ho wasn’t ready to face. Maybe it was just the end of the game. Maybe it was just the exhaustion. But as he stared into the tinted window, he couldn’t help but think of Gi-hun’s eyes. And he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, there was more to this than he’d originally intended.

In-ho exhaled sharply and forced the thought away, tilting back the last of his champagne like it might wash the curiosity from his mouth. If 456 had any sense, he’d vanish like the rest – fade into wealth and silence, and never look back.

Maybe that was the real mistake... not letting himself vanish when he had the chance.

In-ho leaned forward, setting the empty glass down with a quiet clink against the tray, his fingers lingering just a second too long on the stem.

He had a brother to get back to.

And no idea how to face him.

Jun-ho sat hunched in the corner of the mattress, back pressed to the cold wall, arms wrapped so tightly around his knees that his muscles had started to cramp. He hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. Couldn’t. His limbs didn’t feel like his anymore – they were too heavy, too light, too wrong.

And the walls were too close.

Jun-ho hadn’t noticed it before – how the corners angled inward. How the ceiling felt lower. How the shadows moved when he didn’t.

He blinked. Once. Twice. The light overhead stuttered, then steadied. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just his vision again – blurring at the edges, framing the room like a dream.

He hadn’t slept. Not really. Not since... he didn’t know. The hours melted too fast or not at all. He’d stopped tracking them. The tray in the corner was still full. The last one had gone untouched too. And maybe the one before that.

His lips were cracked. He could feel them splitting every time he moved his mouth. He didn’t remember the last time he’d spoken. Didn’t want to hear his own voice anymore. It felt like a stranger’s.

The coat was still draped over his shoulders – heavy, itchy, too warm in some moments and not enough in others. He hated it. But he needed it. It reminded him of something he couldn’t name.

He kept hearing things.

Every footstep in the corridor made Jun-ho freeze. Every clank of metal – every rustle of fabric – made his blood run cold. Was this it? Was the mattress being taken away? Was the blanket being stripped? Was this when they decided he didn’t deserve even that much?

Once, he thought someone had called his name.

Not a shout. Not an order. Just ‘Jun-ho,’ quiet, soft, the way In-ho used to say it when he was little – when he’d woken from a nightmare, when he was sick, when the world had been just the two of them in a small, too-cold apartment.

He’d bolted upright, breath caught, hand reaching for the door before he realized –

No one was there.

Nothing was there.

He’d stared at the door so long his eyes watered. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He just waited. Waited for it to open. Waited for it to close. Waited for anything.

It never did.

And that was worse.

His thoughts didn’t string together anymore. They looped. Repeated. A memory, a fear, a phrase – again and again and again, like a skipping record:

He’s not coming back.

You said you hated him.

The door is still closed.

He’s not coming back.

He’s not coming back.

Jun-ho pressed his forehead to his knees. His throat hurt. He hadn’t screamed – not once – but the ache was there anyway. Raw and swollen, like he’d swallowed something sharp and it got stuck halfway down.

The silence now wasn’t just absence. It was presence. A pressure. A pulse in the air. Something watching, breathing, waiting for him to break.

Maybe that was the game now.

Not one for money. Not for survival.

Just this.

Just him.

Alone in a room with too much air and not enough sound.

No clocks. No windows. No voice.

Only the flicker of a light and the sound of his own breath – shallow, shaky, too loud in his ears.

He pressed his hands to them once. Just to stop hearing. Just to stop.

It didn’t help.

It never helped.

When he finally curled up again – smaller this time, tighter – he pulled the coat around his face and breathed in stale warmth, trying to anchor himself to something. Anything.

But it smelled like nothing now.

And that terrified him most of all.

His mind was splintering. His thoughts didn’t move in straight lines anymore. They jerked. Looping, spiraling, folding back in on themselves.

Was this the punishment?

Not pain. Not cold. Not hunger.

But this.

Being left alone long enough to come apart.

And still, the door didn’t open.

Still, In-ho didn’t come.

The silence hit In-ho first.

Not the sterile hum of machines or the muffled echo of voices behind masks – just silence. Hollow and clean. The kind that came only after the noise had been scrubbed away.

The ferry docked with a hiss of steam. In-ho stepped out alone.

The platform was slick with rain, gleaming under the overhead lights. Somewhere beyond the compound, the sea churned in the dark, restless and hungry. But here – inside the heart of it all – everything was still.

The VIPs were gone.

The air didn’t smell like perfume and cigar smoke anymore. Just bleach.

He passed the reception hall without a glance, boots echoing faintly against the polished floor. When he entered the main corridor, the gold glint of masks caught the corner of his eye.

They sat on a display table, carefully arranged. A lion. A tiger. A bull. All cleaned, waiting. Empty eyes staring ahead like guardians of a ritual not yet finished.

In-ho didn’t stop.

He moved through the halls with practiced ease, but his chest had begun to tighten with every step. The dormitory had been bleached. Every bunk scrubbed down. The glass pig lowered. Its belly hollow again, waiting for the next offering.

Everything was ready.

Reset.

Except him.

He turned a corner and came face to face with a square-masked manager. The man stood at attention, hands behind his back. In-ho met his gaze – or rather, the dark lenses of his mask – and gave a curt nod.

The manager returned it in silence.

He was the one In-ho had tasked with delivering meals. Three a day. No questions. No interruptions. Just food set on the ground and then gone. In-ho hadn’t asked for reports.

He hadn’t wanted to know.

Now he regretted it.

He hadn’t seen Jun-ho in over twenty-four hours. Not since patching him up in that quiet room and walking away.

Because he told himself it was necessary. That the last game had demanded his presence. That the VIPs had to be handled. That 456 had to be delivered.

But all of it felt like an excuse now.

His pace quickened.

He didn’t let it show – not in his face, not in the way he held his posture – but his thoughts were spiraling fast. What if Jun-ho had stopped eating again? What if the silence had grown too loud? What if the isolation had done what the cuffs couldn’t?

He hadn’t left him with anything but a mattress. A coat. A single act of care stretched over too many hours of absence.

In-ho turned the final corner. The hallway was dimmer here. The air colder.

His hand hovered over the panel beside the door.

He hesitated.

Just long enough for the fear to bloom, sharp and sudden in his throat.

Then he keyed in the code.

The lock disengaged with a soft click.

And In-ho stepped inside.

The lock clicked.

It was such a small sound – clean, mechanical, deliberate – but in the silence of the cell, it roared like a gunshot.

Jun-ho flinched.

His body moved before his mind caught up. He jerked upright on the mattress, breath caught sharp in his throat, chest heaving like he’d surfaced from water too fast. His heartbeat stuttered, then slammed hard against his ribs. The coat – In-ho’s coat – slipped from his shoulders as he curled forward, arms clutched around his knees.

For a single, breathless moment, he thought it was another hallucination – another cruel trick of silence and stress and too many hours staring at nothing. His heart jackknifed in his chest, slamming into his ribs like it wanted out.

The handle turned.

The door creaked open, and a thin blade of light carved across the floor – too bright, too sudden, after so long in the dim gray of isolation. Jun-ho squinted against it, eyes wide, stinging. His throat felt scraped raw, though he hadn’t spoken aloud in hours. Days. Time had turned to water, slipping through his hands even when he tried to hold on.

Jun-ho couldn’t remember how long it had been since he saw his brother.

Couldn’t remember if the last thing he’d said was ‘I don’t hate you’ – or ‘I do.’

He had tried to stay grounded.

Inhale four. Exhale four. Count the blinks. Count the lights. Scratch the wall, whisper old badge numbers, whisper names.

But even that had started to slip.

His brain had begun to fold in on itself – thoughts looping, doubling back, whispering things that didn’t make sense. He had seen shadows in the corners. Heard footsteps that weren’t there. Smelled blood when there was none. A whisper of smoke. The cold sweat of panic that had no origin.

He was breaking.

That was the truth of it.

He was splintering – not in some grand, cinematic way, but in the slow, quiet unraveling of someone who had been denied all meaning. All warmth. All answers.

The door opened wider.

And he braced for the mask – the square manager, cold and silent, always watching too long, tilting his head like he was peering into a lab experiment.

But the footsteps were wrong.

Slower. Heavier. Familiar.

Jun-ho blinked hard, head lifting, spine still rigid.

And there – in the doorway – stood In-ho.

Soaked from rain, his coat dark and dripping, his hair plastered to his forehead. No mask. No gloves. Just his face. Tired. Drawn. Unmistakable.

For one long, unbreathing moment, Jun-ho just stared.

He had told himself this wouldn’t happen. That if In-ho had intended to return, he would have done it by now. That he had been abandoned for real this time – not lost to the system, not swallowed by roles and duty, but discarded. Silenced. Forgotten.

His thoughts had twisted themselves into that certainty – he left because you’re a mistake, because he can’t stand to look at you, because you ruined everything.

And now, here he was.

Alive. Real.

Back.

And something inside Jun-ho shattered.

Not loud. Not clean. But utterly final – like a glass cracking from the inside, splintering in a dozen invisible places.

His fingers twitched.

He hadn’t meant to move – but his hand rose from the folds of the coat with the slow, stuttering motion of someone surfacing from deep water. He reached out – not with demand, but with a desperate, broken instinct. Like a child reaching for a parent in the dark. Like muscle memory before thought.

And In-ho crossed the room.

Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just... there.

He dropped to one knee beside the mattress and took Jun-ho’s hand. His fingers were warm – solid – wrapping around Jun-ho’s with a kind of gentleness Jun-ho hadn’t let himself remember.

Jun-ho moved like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to – like he might be punished for it. His arms came up slowly, hesitantly.

And then – all at once – Jun-ho collapsed forward.

His arms looped around his brother’s shoulders, clinging tight. Not because he thought In-ho would disappear – but because part of him still believed he might. That this was some hallucination, conjured by isolation and grief and need. That the warmth of In-ho’s coat would vanish if he let go.

“I’m sorry,” Jun-ho said. The words halting, cracked, barely above a whisper. He couldn’t tell if he was shaking or if the world was. “Hyung… I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

In-ho didn’t speak – just wrapped his arms around him slowly, like he was afraid Jun-ho would flinch. But Jun-ho didn’t. He only pressed in closer, burying his face against In-ho’s chest like he was trying to disappear into him. His breath came shallow, stuttering against soaked fabric, every inhale catching at the edges.

“I don’t hate you.” Jun-ho clenched his fists into In-ho’s damp coat. The fabric bunched between his fingers, damp and cold and real.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said again, more breath than sound. “I’m sorry –”

The words kept slipping out. Frayed. Panicked. Like they’d been waiting in his throat for hours, clawing at the back of his teeth. He didn’t look up and he didn’t let go. His voice broke on the next breath: “Please – don’t go again. Don’t leave me. Please.”

He wasn’t crying. Not really. But he was unraveling – piece by piece, in shallow gasps and shaking shoulders and the way he clung tighter, like letting go would mean slipping back into silence.

The next words lodged somewhere behind his teeth, tangled in the knot of everything he hadn’t allowed himself to feel. But they echoed in his mind with every trembling breath.

Don’t leave me again.

Please.

I’ll lose myself.

I won’t come back.

The thoughts pulsed like static behind his eyes, each one louder than the last, pressing against his ribs like they wanted to claw their way out.

Because it was true.

All of it.

There were things worse than dying.

Worse than bleeding.

Worse than bullets and bruises and pain you could see.

Things like silence.

Like being left behind.

Like the slow, careful unmaking of who you used to be – until the shape of your own thoughts felt foreign, until your own voice felt like an intrusion.

Jun-ho had been staring into that abyss for too long.

Too many hours locked in that room – not just without sunlight, but without meaning. Without contact. Without him.

He had tried to hold on. To logic. To breath. To rhythm.

But the silence had eaten through all of it.

And if In-ho hadn’t come now – if the door had stayed closed just one more hour – Jun-ho wasn’t sure he would have survived it.

Not as himself.

In-ho’s arms tightened around him – slow, steady, careful – like he could feel how close Jun-ho had come to breaking.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to explain or apologize. He just held him.

And that was an answer.

Because in that moment – in that cold, windowless coffin of a room, haunted by memory and fear – there were arms around him again. Warm. Real. Human.

In-ho pressed a hand to the back of Jun-ho’s head, steadying him, grounding him, as if to say: I’m here. You’re not alone. I’m not leaving.

And Jun-ho just stayed there – wrapped in his brother’s arms, whispering apologies into the dark – until the trembling finally slowed. Until the silence didn’t feel so cruel.

Until the fear began to loosen its grip. Just slightly.

He let his forehead rest against soaked fabric. He let go of the silence.

Because In-ho had come back.

And for now, that was enough.

In-ho didn’t move at first.

He stayed exactly where he was, arms wrapped around Jun-ho with a quiet kind of steadiness, not squeezing, not loosening – simply holding, as though he understood that sometimes presence was more powerful than any words he could offer. The embrace wasn’t tight, wasn’t desperate, but it anchored them both to something real, something still alive beneath all the silence and bruises and time lost to fear.

It was a reminder, small but unmistakable, that In-ho had come back – that Jun-ho wasn’t imagining him, wasn’t dreaming this in the final frayed corners of a mind slipping toward unraveling.

And Jun-ho stayed still, face buried in the wet fabric of In-ho’s coat, his breath stuttering against the rough cloth as he tried to make sense of the moment – of the sudden nearness, the solidity of it, the weight of his brother’s chest rising and falling beneath his cheek like a rhythm he used to know by heart but had forgotten how to follow.

There were no words.

Not yet.

Only breath, only touch – and even those felt unfamiliar, too fragile, too holy to speak over.

But eventually, In-ho moved. Not away – never away again – but just enough to shift his weight and bring a hand up, slow and deliberate, letting his fingers brush across the bruised curve of Jun-ho’s shoulder like he was tracing the outline of an injury he couldn’t take back. And then he leaned back slightly, not pulling free, just enough to look at him – or at least to try – as if waiting for something neither of them had said aloud.

“Will you come with me?” he asked.

His voice was low, almost careful, like the question might shatter if spoken too firmly. It held no command, no assumption, just the open-ended weight of choice – and that made it harder to bear. He wasn’t dragging Jun-ho. He was offering his hand.

Jun-ho didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t lift his head.

He couldn’t.

He felt hollowed out, scraped raw from the inside, like the silence had burned something permanent into his chest – something sharp and quiet and impossible to name. He didn’t know how to explain it. How to say that the idea of following In-ho should have hurt, should have sparked anger or defiance, but instead it felt like the only thing left that made sense. That somewhere in the stillness, something had broken – or maybe it had finally given up the fight – and now all that remained was the truth: he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Not in that room. Not in that silence. Not anywhere.

So he nodded.

Not a big motion – barely more than a tilt, as if it took every thread of remaining willpower to move at all – but it was enough. In-ho saw it. He always did.

And with that, In-ho let go.

He stood slowly, water still dripping from the hem of his coat, boots heavy on the concrete floor, and extended a hand the same way he once had – palm open, fingers outstretched, a gesture that echoed that moment on the cliff where everything had hung suspended between them. But this time, there was no mask between them. No weapon. No betrayal.

Just him.

His brother.

And Jun-ho, who hadn’t moved in what felt like forever, found his gaze drawn to that hand like it was the only real thing left in the world. He stared at it for a moment, trying to memorize the lines of his fingers, the tremble barely visible beneath the surface, the way it didn’t waver despite the weight of everything that had passed between them.

Then, slowly, Jun-ho reached out.

His own hand was shaking – not with fear, not exactly, but with the overwhelming sensation of need, of relief, of something deeper and older than either of them could name – and the moment their skin touched, it was like a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding finally escaped his lungs.

In-ho’s fingers closed gently around his, warm and solid and steady.

And he pulled.

Not hard. Not urgent.

Just enough.

Jun-ho stood – legs unsteady, knees weak, the world swaying faintly around him from lack of movement, lack of food, lack of anything to hold him up except the hand that refused to let go. And when he stumbled slightly, when his body remembered all at once how long it had been since it had done anything but sit and wait and break – In-ho was there, guiding him upright, one hand on his elbow, the other never letting go.

They stood like that for a moment, balanced on the edge of something fragile and necessary, before In-ho turned toward the open door.

The hallway beyond was dim and silent, the lights buzzing overhead like tired bees, the world outside that room too large and too small all at once.

But Jun-ho followed.

Not because he was ready.

Not because he forgave.

But because In-ho was beside him.

And after everything – after the silence, the waiting, the fear that had almost devoured him whole – that was enough.

He walked, one step at a time, his shoulder brushing against In-ho’s as they moved down the corridor.

And he didn’t let go.

The room didn’t hum.

That was the first thing Jun-ho noticed.

No dull mechanical buzz behind the walls. No fluorescent flicker overhead. No rhythmic clatter of footsteps in the hallway outside.

Just silence – true silence – and warmth.

It should’ve been comforting.

But comfort had become unfamiliar. Strange. Suspicious. Like a trick.

He sat on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in In-ho’s coat, still braced for something that wouldn’t come. The air was warmer than it had any right to be. There was a kettle on the desk. A shelf of books. The soft spill of lamplight across polished floors. It looked like a hotel room. A retreat. Somewhere far from where he had been.

But Jun-ho couldn’t make himself relax.

His body didn’t know how.

He’d spent too long in that box of a room – counting cracks, watching shadows stretch, listening to silence grow teeth. It had rewired something. Made him flinch at kindness. Made stillness feel like a trick.

And now this room – this normal, quiet room – felt like another hallucination. A prettier one. But no less dangerous.

He hadn’t spoken since they’d arrived.

Not when In-ho led him through the corridor, hand still holding his, palm still warm. Not when the door opened and In-ho told him gently – “You can sleep here tonight.”

Jun-ho had nodded. That was all.

Now he sat, still perched like a prisoner – like if he let himself sink into the mattress too much, someone would come rip it away again.

He stared at his knees. At his hands. Pale fingers clenched into the folds of the coat.

The bruises on his wrists were fading, dull brown and yellow now. His shoulder still ached, but it was quiet pain – old pain – the kind that lived in the background.

The sharper ache was under his ribs. Nestled where his breath should be.

He hadn’t asked any questions since the walk here.

Not about the Games. Not about the outcome. Not about who lived, who died, or how many were left.

Not even about Gi-hun.

Because somewhere in the haze of isolation – the silence, the hunger, the slow breakdown of time – that fire in him had gone out. The one that once burned with purpose. That shouted we have to stop this. That dragged him across an ocean just to bring the truth to light.

Now, there was only this.

The quiet ache in his bones. The bruises beneath his skin. The hands he couldn’t unclench. The steady hum of In-ho’s presence somewhere close.

And shame.

Because for the first time, he didn’t care if the Games kept going.

He didn’t care about the masks, or the island, or the names behind the gold.

He just wanted his brother.

He just wanted not to be alone again.

And that terrified him.

Because what kind of person traded justice for comfort? What kind of cop – what kind of man – stopped fighting just because it hurt?

His breath hitched. He pressed his forehead to his knees.

I don’t deserve this.

The thought curled around his ribs like a chain. Tight. Relentless.

Not after what I said. Not after what I stopped caring about. I was supposed to stop this. I was supposed to be better.

But he wasn’t.

Not anymore.

The door creaked open softly.

He didn’t flinch – not this time – but he still tensed, then forced himself to breathe.

In-ho stepped in, quiet and tired and real. His sleeves were rolled back, his eyes shadowed. No mask. No coat. Just the version of him that belonged to Jun-ho. The one that had whispered bedtime stories. The one that had carried him home when he scraped his knees. The one who never promised anything, but always came back anyway.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask how Jun-ho was.

He just crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving space between them.

And Jun-ho felt that distance like a punch.

He hated himself for it – for the gap between them, for the way his own silence had grown sharp. He wanted to bridge it. To crawl across it. To tuck himself against his brother’s side like he used to when the world felt too big and cold.

But he didn’t know how to ask anymore.

So instead – carefully, awkwardly – he leaned.

It was a small movement. Just enough that his shoulder brushed against In-ho’s.

And In-ho responded immediately. Not with surprise. Not with pity. But with stillness. With presence.

Jun-ho let his head fall.

Rested it in the curve of his brother’s neck, just under his jaw. Felt the warmth of skin through cotton. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. A living thing.

It made his chest ache.

His throat burned with the things he couldn’t say. That he was sorry. That he’d given up. That he couldn’t even hate him properly anymore because hate required energy, and all of his had gone toward surviving.

And In-ho didn’t move.

Not right away.

He just sat there, letting Jun-ho lean into him, like it was something he had been waiting for – a permission that had finally been given. His arm shifted, rising slowly until it settled around Jun-ho’s back, fingers curling gently into the worn fabric of his own coat. It wasn’t a firm grip. Just a presence. A tether.

Jun-ho stayed still, breathing in shallow pulses against In-ho’s neck.

And then, without words, In-ho shifted his weight and eased backward onto the mattress, pulling Jun-ho with him – not forcefully, not even intentionally, but with the kind of quiet inevitability that happened when something gave in. When a body stopped resisting.

Jun-ho followed without protest.

He let himself be guided, let gravity win, let the room tilt sideways as he lay down alongside his brother on a real bed – a mattress that didn’t bite into his bones, a blanket that didn’t smell like metal or mold. And more than that: warmth. A shoulder to tuck beneath. A chest to curl against.

His arms came up before he could stop them – slipped under In-ho’s coat, around his ribs, fists clenched like anchors at the base of his back. He buried himself in the space between collar and jaw, not caring if his breath hitched, if his fingers trembled, if the shape of him was too small, too raw, too broken.

In-ho let him.

He shifted just enough to settle beside him – on his side, facing in, knees brushing. His other arm curled around Jun-ho’s back, firm now, protective. Like a shield held in silence.

They didn’t speak.

There was nothing to explain. No apologies asked. No forgiveness offered.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Because this moment wasn’t about closure or confession. It was about presence. About not being alone. About limbs tangled in the quiet aftermath of something that could’ve ended differently – and didn’t.

Jun-ho pressed closer.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t beg.

But his hold never loosened.

And eventually, his body stopped shaking.

His breathing slowed, matching the steady rise and fall beneath his cheek. That familiar rhythm – one he’d fallen asleep to as a child, countless nights tucked beside the only person who had ever stayed.

Now, again, he let it carry him.

The coat wrapped around both of them now, heavy like armor. The bed creaked softly beneath their weight, but didn’t complain. The room stayed warm. The silence stayed still.

And Jun-ho – for the first time in what felt like forever – closed his eyes, not out of surrender, but out of trust.

He didn’t think about the Games. He didn’t think about justice.

He didn’t think at all.

He just held on.

And finally… slept.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

The viewing room felt colder than Jun-ho remembered.

Not in the way that raised goosebumps or made him shiver, but deeper – quieter. A stillness that clung to the walls like mildew. A cold born not from the air, but from memory. From the echo of screams now gone still. From the weight of everything that had happened within the frame of this glass box, and everything that would happen again.

The walls stretched from floor to ceiling, endless panes slicked faintly with condensation, as if the room itself had been holding its breath through it all – and only now dared exhale. Beyond the glass, the arena lay in disarray. Blood darkened the sand in uneven pools. A body crumpled in the center – twisted, still, already cooling beneath the buzz of dying floodlights. The room below was caught between two states of being: not quite night, not quite morning. A twilight purgatory. A pause between death and replacement.

Jun-ho stood beside In-ho, his hands loose at his sides, the coat still hanging from his frame like it belonged there. No cuffs. No restraints. No mask.

Not yet.

His arms hung heavy at his sides, every joint stiff with the weight of stillness, his shoulders aching from being held too long in one place. He didn’t look away from the scene below. Couldn’t. Because to turn from it – to blink – might mean accepting it. And he wasn’t sure if he had or not. Not entirely.

But he was still here.

That had to mean something.

Beside him, In-ho remained a statue carved in ash and iron – back straight, gloved hands folded behind him, jaw tight with a tension Jun-ho had grown to recognize. Not anger. Not fear. But control, practiced and precise. He stared at the arena with the hollow composure of someone who had watched too many endings. And was preparing for the next beginning.

The Game was over.

The last body had fallen minutes ago. The final shot fired. The silence that followed wasn’t the kind that brought peace. It was the kind that promised recurrence.

Jun-ho’s throat ached – not from screaming, not from speaking, but from everything he’d kept inside for far too long. It was the ache of unshed words, of breath held too tightly for too many days, of questions that no longer felt safe to ask.

The silence wasn’t empty. It buzzed faintly under his skin, alive and pulsing – like static, like warning, like something deep and electric that couldn’t be silenced no matter how still the world became.

He didn’t mean to speak.

But the words came anyway.

“Tell me again what happens next.”

They were quiet. Rough. As if spoken through dry paper. The syllables caught in his chest like foreign things, brittle and unsure, but they were real. Spoken. Heard.

For a moment, he thought In-ho wouldn’t respond.

But then he did

“Tomorrow,” In-ho said, low and measured, “the ship returns.”

His voice wasn’t the one he used as Front Man. It wasn’t clipped, or cold, or hollow. It was something quieter. Something older. Something Jun-ho recognized.

In-ho didn’t elaborate further, not right away. Didn’t soften the truth. Didn’t look at Jun-ho. Just kept his gaze on the arena below.

“The dormitories will be cleaned,” he continued, each word slow, deliberate, shaped like ritual. “The floors bleached. The uniforms pressed. The walls repainted. Blood washed away like it was never there.”

Jun-ho’s eyes followed his brother’s. The arena blurred slightly behind the glass. A body unmoving. A name already lost. Someone’s son. Someone’s friend. Someone no one would mourn aloud.

“And then?” he whispered.

He didn’t know if he wanted the answer.

But he needed it.

In-ho’s voice came back quieter now. As if the truth required gentleness. As if saying it too sharply might undo something in them both.

“Then the invitations are sent,” he said. “The cycle begins again.”

There it was.

The truth.

Unavoidable. Indigestible. The machinery never stopped. Not really. It only paused long enough to reload.

Jun-ho’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what he’d been hoping for – maybe that the end of the game meant the end of everything. That after all of it – after the bodies, the silence, the wounds that still throbbed under his skin – it would finally be over.

But it wasn’t.

It would never be over.

It would start again.

And yet… he stayed.

Still standing at In-ho’s side. Still watching. Still breathing.

The guilt twisted in his chest, thick and quiet. He had meant to stop this. He had crossed oceans, risked everything. For truth. For justice. For something better than this. But now? Now, he didn’t know what he was anymore. A brother. A witness. A failure.

He didn’t ask again.

Just let the silence stretch between them like a second wall of glass.

And then – after a long, trembling breath he didn’t realize he was holding – he whispered the only question that still mattered:

“… And us?”

The words barely made it past his lips. A thread. A plea. A question soaked in every doubt he hadn’t dared name aloud.

And In-ho, for the first time, turned to look at him.

Not as the Front Man.

Not as a captor.

As his brother.

“We go home,” he said.

Simple. Final. Uncertain.

Jun-ho closed his eyes.

And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes – Jun-ho believed him.

[join-the-pm]

➼ CONFERENCE ROOM 📈 ➼ BRIDAL BOBA 🌹🥤 ➼ PORT MAFIA CAFE ☕ ➼ FASHION DESIGNER STUDIO👗✂️ ➼ BAR 🥃

P.S.: The headquarters of the Port Mafia contains high-end apartments. executives have their own designated flats for convenience and privacy during conferences or emergencies.

Our first party!

At the moment Hirotsu is the leader!

• Mori ➥ @leaderofthemafia

+ Elise ➥ @cakesandchaos ➥ @portmafiaprincess

• Ace ➥ @ace-best-gambler ➥ @jewel-kings-madness ✍️

• Chuuya ➥ @a-certain-angry-redhead ➥ @chuuya-for-the-tainted-sorrow ➥ @the-real-chuuya ➥ @pmcrabchuuya

• Dazai ➥ @thebandagedprodigy (14!Dazai) ➥ @15-yrold-dazai (15!Dazai) ➥ @ebonyda-zai (15!Dazai) (under constr.) ➥ @whiskey-on-bleach-coated-ice (Bartender!Dazai) ➥ @dazais-world ➥ @no-longer-crabfries

• Paul Verlaine ➥ @the-coming-storm-verlanie

• Amethyst Nakamaru @purple-executive • Moon & Liam @pm-moon-starsteel • Seraphim Fontaine @divinityisacurse

Assassination Department

Overview: This department handles covert operations and is responsible for carrying out assassinations. Members are skilled in stealth, combat, and strategy.

Roles: Assassins, Strategists, Reconnaissance Agents

BLACK LIZARD:

• Hirotsu ➥ @fallingcamelliapetals ✍️

• Gin ➥ @daggersandmasks

• Tachihara ➥ @therunawaydog

MEMBERS:

→ Akuma @giyuutodoroki → Ari @chaos-unfiltered → Darkera!Moon and Liam @onlyifheisthere → Diego Reverie @resurrecthemuses → Hikaru Yuzuki @lostbyaccident → Taro Yashima @the-crows-said-hi

Enforcement Department

Overview: This department ensures the enforcement of the Port Mafia’s will. They handle protection, intimidation, and physical enforcement of orders.

Roles: Enforcers, Bodyguards, Bouncers

COMMAND UNIT:

• Akutagawa ➥ @h3llhoundd (fem!Aku) ➥ @sans-undertale-frfr 😒 ➥ @warriorinarmors

• Higuchi ➥ @girlinmafia

MEMBERS:

→ Akari Nakamaru @icanthearyou-imsosorry → Anna Sewell @thehorsemafioso ✍️ → Bloop @bloop-is-always-watching → Min Hua @a-thousand-perfect-notes → PM!Kunikida @ideals-of-the-night ✍️ → Rose Redbandit @petalsgluedtophone ✍️ → Spike @spikethecrackhead (inactive) → V Mayfield @vtheclown → Venn @whyhaveidonethistomyself

SECRET WEAPON:

• Kyuusaku Yumeno (Q) ➥ @basementdwellerq ➥ @blame-the-doll ➥ @q-loves-chaos

Torture / Intelligence Department

Overview: Tasked with gathering information and espionage, this department is the eyes and ears of the Port Mafia. They utilize various methods to acquire secrets from rivals and allies.

Roles: Spies, Informants, Analysts

LEADER:

• Koyo ➥ @teaanddflowers

MEMBERS:

→ Airi Tsubaki @chuuyamylovewhygay ✍️ → Calypso Beatrix @surrenderyourmindtome ✍️ → Dark era!Hoshi @youareafooltolookatme → Diana Église @angelicinvain → Egret Bradbury @upgradeurlosersoftware → Evelyn Reverie @the-pasts-revival → Fall @pumkinphone (mere informant) → Fiadh York @holderofthegrudge → Haruka Tsukino @scarlet-reverie → Hoshi Umen @whenwillyoujustdie → Kazuo Dan @man-of-a-burning-house → Kouji Teruko @autismismyb1tch → Meiya @y4sh1k1 → Mimi @kazohxh44 → Natsuo @real-world-grotesque → Nobuko Yoshiya @scentoffloweryblood → Roan Popov @survivalofthefittestisalie → Seraphina Lurline @a-fallen-angel...

Logistics Department

Overview: Responsible for the movement of goods, weapons, and supplies. They manage transportation and maintain the flow of resources necessary for the mafia's operations.

Roles: Transport Coordinators, Supply Chain Agents, Smugglers

MEMBERS:

→ Yana Toboso @justcallmeyana → Yvonne Schalk @12spirits ✍️

Research and Development Department

Overview: Comprised of inventive members who work on developing new techniques, weapons, or strategies. They may also handle the uniqueness of ability users within the organization.

Roles: Scientists, Engineers, Ability Specialists

LEADERS:

• Motojirō Kajii ➥ @lemontartroulette ➥ @motojirokajii

• Kale Honeylettuce @kalehoneylettuce

MEMBERS:

→ Jun Ishikawa @bloominghydrangeas25 (past) → Lily @fl0wers-in-the-dark → Mizuki Kokomi @mizuki-kokomi

Finance Department

Overview: Responsible for managing the Port Mafia's finances, including money laundering, budgeting for operations, and funding new ventures.

Roles: Accountants, Money Managers, Brokers

LEADERS:

• Ace ➥ @jewel-kings-madness ✍️

• Fiona Delgado @punchthekeyboardormyboss ✍️ • Shinji Kou @ore-and-jewels

MEMBERS:

→ Evelyn Garcia @creamburger

• Karma ➥ @will-freedom-come

💤 = inactive

✍️ = puts heart and soul into every rp

😒 = selective when it comes to answering asks

Are you ready to dive into the shadows of the Port Mafia? We're on the lookout for new members to add to our ranks!

If you're interested in becoming a part of this thrilling adventure, send an ask with your name, your blog name, and the department you'd like to join.

Together, we’ll weave a story that echoes through the alleys of Yokohama.

Welcome to the family! 🖤

No idea which department fits?

► Owner: @tilskkarishma

[dribs-and-drabbles]

This Week in The TCW

Jun 15th - Jun 21st

I am home from my holiday, have done all the laundry, and caught up on all of last week's shows (that I'm watching/tracking)! It's another stripy week...

Jun 15th - Boys In Love

Sometimes I see an item of clothing and it feels familiar but I can't remember where else I might have seen it (like Kit's brown 'authenticity' sweater ep 9 of Boys In Love), but then sometimes I see something and my brain immediately provides the answer - like Mon's purple zip-up sweater, which I knew straight away was worn by Sol in My Stand In (Jun 2024). A quick search in the tags and @itsallaboutbl's gif set confirmed it and gave me the ep number 😊

Later in the ep, Kim wears a t-shirt with a particular six-striped pattern in yet another colour variation, and this time potentially with a brand logo on the front. This stripe pattern has appeared in different colour variations in four other shows - so far - Bad Buddy (Jan 2022), UMG (May 2023), Peaceful Property (Oct 2024), and earlier this year in Flirt Milk (Mar 2025). @respectthepetty I've got a feeling you're not going to like this new colour either.

Jun 17th - Leap Day

But then! Just two days later we got our first colour repeat! In ep 11 of Leap Day. (The difference in colour hue is most likely due to the colour filters used in filming/post production).

Jun 20th - Knock Out

This next shirt has been very popular this past year and I was happy to see it again in ep 6 of Knock Out. First seen in Love Sea (Jun 2024), this white one has also appeared in Perfect 10 Liners (Nov 2024), Caged Again (Dec 2024), Ossan's Love Thailand (Jan 6 2025), and Jack & Joker special ep (Mar 2025). The shirt also comes in brown - Love Sea (Jun 2024) and Flirt Milk (Mar 2025) - and brown with black stripes - The Heart Killers (Nov 2024). @hughungrybear have you already discovered where to buy this one? I'm guessing another uniqlo/h&m/zara type store... (*she whispers, unable to contain her excitement* this shirt will soon cross borders and be worn in a non-Thai series!)

Jun 20th - My Sweetheart Jom

And to finish off the week, this tri-colour t-shirt was worn in ep 6 of My Sweetheart Jom - and this time I think it is a different colour to The Sign (Dec 2023) rather than a colour filter during filming/post-production. A different colour version was also definitely worn in My School President (Jan 2023).

Tagged by request: @my-rose-tinted-glasses @benkaben @pigglepiephi @jackandjoker If anyone else would like to be tagged then let me know.

[phmonth]

Pandora Hearts Month 2024 Prompts!

Wonderful art made by for Phmonth23 by @yanderefairyangel!

What is Pandora Hearts Month? Pandora Hearts Month is an event that celebrates, well...Pandora Hearts, the manga created by Jun Mochizuki! Each day is a new prompt. The first three weeks celebrate the three main trios, and the fourth is a bonus week that celebrates any ships/friendships/ot3s fans chose and love--or simply any characters not covered by the other weeks! You can create edits, fanart, drabbles, fanfictions, amvs and mms...whatever you can think of, really! This year we have a fifth week celebrating her current work: Vanitas no Carte! (If and when you make creations for VnC tag your spoilers!!)

Pandora Hearts Month 2024 Prompts:

Golden Trio Week (Alice, Oz and Gilbert), October 20th-26th:

Day 1, Sunday Oct 20th: Yellow or Bones

Day 2, Monday Oct 21st: Rose

Day 3, Tuesday Oct 22nd: AU

Day 4, Wednesday Oct 23rd: Abandoned

Day 5, Thursday Oct 24th: Moon

Day 6, Friday Oct 25th: Winter

Day 7, Saturday Oct 26th: Ravens and Writing Desks

Rainsworth Trio Week (Sharon, Break and Reim), Oct 27th—November 2nd:

Day 1, Sunday Oct 27th: The Shadows Are Watching

Day 2, Monday Oct 28th: Sweet

Day 3, Tuesday Oct 29th: Sorrow

Day 4, Wednesday Oct 30th: Blood

Day 5, Thursday Oct 31st: Reaper

Day 6, Friday Nov 1st: Spring

Day 7, Saturday Nov 2nd: Stars

Tragedy Trio Week (Lacie, Jack and Oswald), Nov 3rd—Nov 9th:

Day 1, Sunday Nov 3rd: Steampunk

Day 2, Monday Nov 4th: A Reward You Will Regret

Day 3, Tuesday Nov 5th: Hair

Day 4, Wednesday Nov 6th: Rest

Day 5, Thursday Nov 7th: Reverence

Day 6, Friday Nov 8th: Black

Day 7, Saturday Nov 9th: Weaving Fate

Fan’s choice Week, Nov 10th—November 16th:

Day 1, Sunday Nov 10th: Purple

Day 2, Monday Nov 11th: Autumn

Day 3, Tuesday Nov 12th: Vampire

Day 4, Wednesday Nov 13th: What's the Catch?

Day 5, Thursday Nov 14th: In the City of Dust

Day 6, Friday Nov 15th: Mystery

Day 7, Saturday Nov 16th: Sweet Nightmares

Vanitas no Carte Week, Nov 17th—Nov 23rd (Please tag your spoilers!!):

Day 1, Sunday Nov 17th: Holiday or Nails or AU

Day 2, Monday Nov 18th: Comet

Day 3, Tuesday Nov 19th: The Cosmos in Your Hands

Day 4, Wednesday Nov 20th: Loyalty

Day 5, Thursday Nov 21st: The Language of Flowers

Day 6, Friday Nov 22nd: Ghost

Day 7, Saturday Nov 23rd: Moonflower

(If you want to use other prompts to make a Halloweeny piece, feel free! You don't have to save that for Halloween day!)

When you post, please remember to:

Tag me @i-prefer-the-term-antihero, @phmonth, and/or @this-idiots-left-eye in your posts to make sure I reblog them! (My main blog is your best bet).

Tag #phmonth24 in your tags! I will go through that tag and check if I've missed any direct tags. (If you don't see your piece reblogged on this blog after doing both these methods, please dm me!)

As I've said, please tag your VnC spoilers!! Not everyone is caught up!!

Either put a link, or a “read more” on long fics (or long posts in general), so they're easier to reblog!

NSFW content is allowed, but please make sure it’s clear it’s NSFW/tagged that way, and is beneath a read more so anyone who doesn’t want to see it doesn’t have to!

I also made a collection on Ao3 for writers! Don't hesitate to add your fics to it!

Don’t forget to join our discord if you haven’t! It’s a fun place to discuss the series and more easily share your creations!

You are free to have fun with this!! As I said, as long as you tag it, NSFW is allowed! Tagging ships is nice too. You can pretty much do whatever you want with the prompts!

As long as you make sure the characters from the trio are your main focus, it’s okay to use other characters in your creations too!

You can join any time, and use as many or as few prompts as you want! You don't have to post on the exact day if you can’t make it! I’ll reblog things late!

Since we live across the world, you are free to post whenever the day is for you. I myself will be making posts according to my time, which is Central Standard Time in America. 

If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to send an ask here, or post in the #questions channel of the discord!

Feel free to get started on making stuff early! (But please wait to post until the month has started!) I'm so excited to see what you make! Thank you for all your support!

i-prefer-the-term-antihero

[daffodilsinspring]

GIVING TGCF CHARACTERS FLOWERS

Jun Wu - Statice ~ Rememberance

Mei Nianqing - Hydrangea - Grace and Beauty

Xie Lan - Sunflower ~ Warmth,Happiness,Longevity

Hua Cheng - Heather ~ Admiration and Good Luck

Yin Yu - Lisianthus ~ Appreciation

Quan Yizhen - White Lilac ~ Youthful Innocence

Shi Qingxuan - Bouvardia ~ Enthusiasm

Ling Wen - Purple Iris ~ Wisdom

Pei Ming - Gladiolus ~ Strength and Moral Integrity

Yushi Huang - Daffodils - Rebirth and New Beginings

Jian Lan - Orchid ~ Beauty and Strength

Feng Xin - Snapdragon ~ Graciousness and Strength

Mu Qing - Amaryllis ~ Pride,Determination and Radiant Beauty

Banyue - Delphinium ~ Open Heart and Ardent Affection

He Xuan - Protea ~ Change and Transformation

Lang Qianqiu - Freesia ~ Innocence and Friendship

Shi Wudu - Blue Star ~ Strength and Determination

Qi Rong - Orange Roses ~ Enthusiam and Passion and Excitement

[ometochtli2rabbit]

MAYA:

13.0.12.14.3

joj[5] AK'BAL|AQ'A'BAL [darkness]- jun [1] YAXKIN

galactic tone: empowerment/ the center

sun sign: NIGHT| bat/black/west

spend time contemplating the stars

NAHUA:

mahcuilli [5] - CALLI [house/temple]

Tlazolteotl | Tepeyollotl

itzthotli [black hawk]

lord of the night: Itztli

trecena [5]: Tlaloc

x: cempohualli [20]- quecholli

"Vegeta Vampire", Remedios Varo, 20th C.

"Vampire", Edvard Munch, 1895.

AK'BAL|AQ'AB'AL

Yucatec Maya - Ak'bal, - "darkness, before dawn"

Quiche Maya - Aq'ab'al - "darkness, before dawn"

Animal Association:

Bat

Color and Directional Association:

Black, West

-www.mayan-calendar.com

As today's animal symbol on the Maya Calendar is the BAT, here are some songs and bands that feature BAT/VAMPIRE:

Peter Tosh: Vampire

Crave On: Ozzy Osbourne

Luther Vandross: Power of Love/Love Power

Jack White: That Bat Black Licorice

Daniel Johnston: Devil Town

Phoebe Bridgers: Savior Complex

Sufjan Stevens: No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross

Rob Zombie: In the Age of the Consecrated Vampire We All Get High

Olivia Rodrigo: Vampire

The Who: It's Your Turn

Beck: Vampire Voltage No. 6

Lesbian Bed Death: Vampire Lover

Neil Young: Vampire Blues

Vampire Weekend ft. Steve Lacy: Sunflower

Jonathan Richman: Vampire Girl

Cage the Elephant ft. Iggy Pop: Broken Boy

Jenny Hval: Female Vampire

Foals: Heavy Water

Peter, Paul and Mary: Leatherwing Bat

Ras Kass: Interview with a Vampire

Meatloaf: Bat Out of Hell

All Time Low: Vampire Shift

Barrington Levy: Murderer

Animal Collective: Bat You'll Fly

Spin Doctors: Vampires in the Sun

Queens of the Stone Age: The Vampyre of Time and Memory

Magdalena Bay: Vampire in the Corner

Godsmack: Vampires

Patti Smith: Godspeed

Concrete Blood: Bloodletting (The Vampire Song)

Blue Oyster Cult: Tattoo Vampire

Big Thief: Vampire Empire

Tool: Vicarious

KISS: Naked City

Arcade Fire: Neighborhood #2 (Laika) & Lenin

Deep Purple: Vincent Price & Rat Bat Blue

Sia: Little Man

Pixies: I Bleed

Bad Brains: Fearless Vampire Killers

Lauryn Hill: Fearless Vampire Killer

Lady Gaga: Dance in the Dark

Red Hot Chili Peppers: Minor Thing

Paul Simon: Satin Summer Nights

U2: Stay (Faraway, So Close)

Annie Lennox: Long Song for a Vampire

Arctic Monkeys: Batphone & Perhaps Vampires Is a Bit Strong But...

The Misfits: Vampire Girl & Horror Hotel & Vampire Love

Pet Shop Boys: Vampires

Stevie Nicks: New Orleans & Moonlight (A Vampire's Dream)

The Cure: Torture & The Dream

Aretha Franklin: Rose of Washington Square

Bob Marley: Dracula & Babylon System

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: Free Fallin"

Duran Duran: Only in Dreams

Motorhead: Keys to the Kingdom & Die You Bastard

Bat for Lashes: At Your Feet

T. Rex: Solid Gold Easy Action & Jeepster

Van Halen: Drop Dead Legs

Sinead O'Connor/ Lee "Scratch" Perry: Vampire

[anormallifesworld]

enstars selfship week 2025 - day 1

i know i'm a little behind~ but i wanted to join in and post about someone i admire!! @edens-treasure aka jade rose!

week run by the wonderful @maoisarap / @enstars-selfship-event !!

Day 1 | Uniform/Outfit Steals! | polyeden

disclaimer: this is just for fun so its unedited :P

Day 1 | Uniform Steals! – you steal your enstars f/o('s) outfit! can be the ordinary unit outfit, the es idol outfit, an exclusive outfit, or even the series (on globalstars) or anniversary outfits, as long as your guy(s/girlie) owns it, you take it! or~ you can do vice versa: have your f/o steal YOUR outfit!

“hmm… i know i wanted to try on your absolute outfit, but…” jade tugged on the fabric and shifted a bit, frowning.

“what? is it not comfortable? jun-kun! fix it!” hiyori fussed over them, puffing their bow and fluffing their sleeves.

“the hell am i meant to do?” jun looked up from his phone and bit the side of his nail. nagisa put his hands on jade’s shoulders and looked at them in the mirror, also frowning a little.

“… it’s not quite right,” he murmured slowly.

“not purple enough?” hiyori pouted and peered at jade’s face. “what’s the matter, jewel?”

“it’s just—”

“your excellency! hav— oh, good morning, everyone!” ibara burst into the room and nodded his head politely. after glancing between his group members, he screwed up his face a little. “now, i do admire your curiosity and urge to try new things, but!”

he tossed his papers onto the couch next to jun and grabbed a loose piece of fabric from one of the shelves, moving over to jade and tucking it over their chest.

“i would appreciate if we kept things modest!”

“wh— ibara!” hiyori put his hands on his hips. “that was barely anything! no one else is in here, anyway, and—”

“you’re the one who picks all Those kinds of choreography,” jun finished. hiyori nodded fervently. jade and nagisa laughed a little, and they began to get changed while the three bickered.

“have you seen what jun-kun has worn on shows?!” hiyori was still glaring. ibara just sat down next to jun and opened his clipboard, beginning to scribble away. jun leaned back and let his temple fall onto his shoulder, watching him write.

“costuming is a vital part in our image, your highness! but more importantly, our jewel has expressed their discomforts with outfits as revealing as that.” ibara flipped a page, jostling jun and making him scowl a bit.

“jun-kun, don’t get all snuggly with him when he’s being irritating,” hiyori pouted, squishing himself between jun and the armrest and nuzzling into his shoulder. jun rolled his eyes and rested an arm around his waist but stayed resting on ibara.

“tada!” they all looked up as their partner emerged in a new outfit, with nagisa moving all the chains absentmindedly.

“oh, that’s mine,” jun said, smiling a bit.

“you can tell because they keep having to pull up the sleeve,” hiyori huffed, poking jun’s bicep and flouncing over to jade, fixing up their bow again.

“the choker is a bit much,” jade said, tugging at it. nagisa immediately removed it, making them smile at him.

“this is more reminiscent of streetwear,” ibara announced, momentarily distracted from his paperwork. “and since it was used for such an active competition, it prioritises ease of movement.”

“… it’s still nothing like what they would normally wear,” nagisa said, smoothing out jade’s collar. “… but if you ever would like to dress differently, we would all support it.”

“i think i’ll stick to my usual, thanks!” jade said, pulling up their sleeve again and making the room chuckle.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Alright, it's been a bad day for my chronic pain - and just extra pain in general - so I hereby declare it:

BG3 Random Fun Game Time

POV: You/Your Tav and your lover are getting ready for a fancy night out, and your lover gets to choose your outfit. What are they putting you/your Tav in? 👀

~

I'm self shipping today because I need comfort, so Gale is taking me out, and I scoured Pinterest for an embarrassingly long time to see what outfit I think he'd put me in. So here we go!

Here's links for the items I could locate sellers for:

Necklace -

Shoes -

Fascinator -

Feel free to tag your friends!

Tagging Darlings: @nightlyrayne @vixstarria @micropoe10 @brabblesblog @senualothbrok @dark-and-kawaii

♡♡♡

BONUS: What will they put you/your Tav in when you get home? 👀

NSFW 🔞

Link for Lingerie:

[raymencranpin17]

Come Home back ewa apartment always ago Raymen Pin okay Yes ewa home safe better look okay OKay. DO A 5 Namie Amuro Sophie Monk Hilary duff Brandon Routh Ed Burns Angelic Come My Way Far Away from home 12.31.2017 Western ribbon necktie Sachen Carfend 12/31/2017 Calm Down Take it easy Raymen Hate everybody anymore again okay Yes. Indie Rock Enon English Eng USA English French Canada vs Japan Korean China Park Yoochun Jo in sung Zo So ji Sub Hate Cartoon Network so Nasty horrible no good anymore again okay Yes Dance Pop DJ Euro Gay Love Male always ago okay yes Male Boy Men Man Guy okay Yes Asian American okay Yes 조인성 소지섭 박유천 #소피몽크 #린다트랑다이

#내길로와 #아무로나미에 #박유천 #더킹2017 #힐러리더프 #최원영 #인디락 #カムマイウェイ #조인성 #소지섭 #RaymenPin #Hilaryduff2004 #ComeMyWay #ParkYoochun #Joinsung #Sojisub #Ewabeach101 Uncle Waene Vance Ft Just Calm down take it easy okay Raymen Yes Krady Crestmere Trandy Crewmen Kirby Cran #KirbyCran Hate Supernatural never again okay Yes Dake Samk Castrie okay Yes Mom brother Danny Jenna Do not Lost Raymen Me anymore again okay Yes #Hilaryduff2004 #Jojungsuk GTA 5 PC Leifang Lei Fang Marie Rose Kokoro Jannlee Rig Bayman Leon Jacky Akira #DOA56crackit #DOA22hu34dGrandit Home Memory okay Yes #Westernribbonneckite #Calmdown #DynastyWarriors5empires DJ Spyroof Ryona Reverse Jung Woo Sung Bae woo sung not Ryu Jun Yeol Hoya Lee Howon Hyun Bin Son Hyun Joo Song Chang Eui Seo Kang Joon No Hair Asian K All Male Boy Men Man Guy with Bangs Long High Tigh with wavy slide head Forehead okay yes Hate Everybody otherwase he never let him come take back crisis Shelter never again okay Yes. My Mom never like you never help her not talk about Raymen Me him anymore again okay Yes Raymen Hate Everybody no good anymore He was aggessive So Boring anymore no more again okay Yes He was Throw Water around over people Pocket Sand make over okay yes. Heaven of the sky Lynda trang dai Come My Way English USA Japanese Asian Japan Come Home soon okay yes Phone a03s T Mobile not 5 years ago anymore Crying Sad Song always ago okay Yes. Headdress Be Release Come home soon Ewa beach okay Yes Their Pussy Bullshit He Raymen Angry Upset Call you pussy idiot Whorewipe like you it again anymore okay Yes Ma Danny Yes Be easily I behave calm down okay Ma Danny Yes Do not Hate me Do not Block me again okay Yes Save memory Vietnamese Khmer Cambodia Malaysia Hate Philipino Philipines anymore again okay Yes Joseph Lucas Joe Saron Ricky Blue White Red Purple Lavender be Bald always ago Bro okay Yes #SophieMonkEng Kyosuke Kagami Ingrid Enon Indie Rock #NamieAmuro Logan Lerman Dylan Everett Gay Love okay Yes Pho Beef Meat Rice and Chicken Wings Drumstick Food Pepsi Water okay Yes Ewa beach safe better always no Kids no Dogs no more again okay Yes Young Teen Granson Not Client Kid anymore Hate Arjay Raymen Hate him never again at 5 years ago anymore again okay Yes Colby Rank Gay Love Calm take it easy okay Yes Milky Way Starry Stars Pants Shirt Polo faded Guardian family Hane Boxer Ugly eek anywhere PC Cheats okay Yes Asshalfbraidwipe 蘇楷盛 ដា រ៉ូ សំណាង បឹងព្រីង ប្រុស ពៅ 더킹2017

코미웨이 #thumpsdownsamjaredleftsidearmcrossed No Armcrossed Left and Standing Tray to not at left not Red and Blue okay #NoBlueNecktieSamandNoRedNecktieDean Danny Lim Evan Ghang Keonjik Lee Crady Rang Roof Mech Christmas Decmeber Be home soon okay Yes Edit Doobi doo dont be shy Tu vivi nell aria Miani Lo Sbaglio hate them so pissed no good again okay ma Danny Richard Luga Be Family guardian always accept okay yes. Achiemeideh Yes okay #DDRryonareverse Hp Laptop Hard Disk Sandisk Cruzer Glide Angel Rainbow Home soon Tin Pete MeanSaint m34nsa1nt okay Yes Angelic Home soon back again Come home always Prayer Home Save Memory healed your voice eyes okay Yes no be again okay Ma Danny Yes Hate Eric Ancheta anymore again I wanted come back home to Ma Home always Nobody cant beat me hurt me my granson always his Mom Granson alone okay Yes #SongSeungheon Gary Sinise Nichalos Cage Harvey Mike SBS MBC KBS TVN JTBS JBTS Phi Viet Volume 11 JTBC Trandy Crewmen Kirby Crying Cay Ratellite Kleep we are Eye eyebrow Hair Mouth Shut okay Rey Pin Khmer No one cant never stop beat me anymore Get out go home Beat it. Do not Leave the House last 1 years ago Danny Ma okay Yes I used it there at home ewa apartment safe better always accept okay yes Jo jung suk Crady Raecren Bobby Raecren សុី ចាស់ Un Deux Trois Bien Gay Love Queer Romantic Romance love same time Classic Brief and Texas Plaid Polo Shirt Canvas Short Pants Jean Stay home safe ewa beach healthy okay

[unsurpass]

Jun Takahashi (Japanese, born 1969) for Undercover (Japanese, founded 1990). Dress, spring/summer 2024.

Reinforced 3-D-printed clear resin containing purple silk plain-weave roses, green silk velvet leaves, and yellow and purple silk plain-weave butterflies overlaid with yellow nylon tulle and trimmed with yellow embossed leather.

White silk satin trimmed with pink rayon plain-weave roses and pink synthetic pleated organza and overlaid with white nylon tulle embroidered with black plastic sequins and crystal, bugle, and seed beads in the forms of spiders and trimmed with white silk satin.

[synnlyrose]

LOL THIS IS SO RANDOM

Buuutttt, me and my sister are KPop Stans, we stan groups both separately and together and we're always shooting the shit w/ one another. So, one night were sitting on my bed, laughing profusely and I said "do you ever wonder what the boys of Seventeen smell/ taste like?" She literally snorted and was like "yeah" sooooooo now we have a little list started and I'm gonna share our thoughts.

Ps. This is very much for shits and giggles 🩷 oh and OPINIONS 🧡

Seventeen

S.Coups- Cherries (This is a given)

Jeonghan- Orange Creme (It's bold and soft, like Jeong hannie 🧡)

Joshua- he smells like an old book, kinda of cinnamon-y and vanilla-y (or like the 'book nook' hand sanitizer from Bath & Body Works)

Jun- Lemonade. (Fresh and sweet 🤤)

Hoshi- Apple Mango Wine (You know why 😂)

Wonwoo- Strawberry Vanilla (it just makes sense okay)

Woozi- Dark Chocolate and Raspberry (this is my sister's words and somehow agree.)

D.K- Cool Mint (cuz he's really just a CHILL guy 😌)

Minghao- Ginseng Tea ☕ (Calming and nonchalant)

Mingyu- Protein Powder (respectfully)

Seungkwan- BLUE RASPBERRY LEMONADE KOOL-AID (made correctly and I will DIE on this hill)

Vernon- Apples. Straight Apples.

Dino- Pumpkin Spice (idk why it just makes sense 🤷🏽‍♀️)

TXT

Soo-bin (my love)- Cherry Vanilla Cola (🍒🥤)

Yeonjun- Strawberry bon-bons (the candies)

Beomgyu- WARM (that's the important part) & freshly buttered blueberry muffin (my sister's man, and what she says goes 🤷🏽‍♀️) 🫐

Taehyun- Whiskey Straight 🥃

Heuning Kai - Cookies and Creme (but the ice cream, not Oreos) 🍪

Stray Kids

Christopher (My MF Ult)- Spiced Rum. (Be soooo fr, you know he does.)

Changbin- Cinnamon Rolls but with CREAM CHEESE frosting. (Thicc & in your face!)

Lee Know- Honey Jack Daniel's

Hyunjun- Caramel (I don't make the rules 😩)

Han- Butter Pecan (also cuz he's a squirrel 🐿️)

Seungmin- Grapefruit ( a lil sour and lil sweet)

Felix- Yellow. (Lemon Sorbet or whatever SUNSHINE tastes like 💛🌻🌞)

I.N- Bomb Pops! (❤️🤍💙)

Enhypen

Heeseung (my love) - Ramyeon (Respectfully).

Jay- Leather like real leather ( a smell obviously)

Jake- the mystery flavored airhead (🤍)

Sunghoon (my love)- Peppermint (cuz he's the ice prince) ❄️

Sunoo- Champagne! (Bubbly and light) 🥰

Jungwon- Strawberries with Chocolate (duh 🙄)

Niki- Saké (straight) 🫢

So, up next is NCT (Dream and 127) and I'd like to say Mark and Haechan exude different tastes/smells per group. So they will be listed twice.

NCT Dream

Mark- (my NCT man) a twink. I mean Twinkie...hehe...

Renjun- Livewire Mnt Dew (more specifically the orange one) 🧡🍊🥤

Jeno (my other love)- Sprinkles (but the good ones made a/ sugar, that look like glitter) 🪩🪩🪩

Haechan- Apple Cinnamon Tea 🍵

Jaemin (my other other love)- Chocolate Covered Espresso Beans 🫘🤤😁

Chenle- Banana Creme (I mean, if you look at him you'll see it, I swear) 🍌

Jisung- Red velvet (his voice is so smooth like velvet and dark like chocolate)

NCT 127

Johnny (my sister's man)- purple (lilacs) 💜💜

Taeyong (my sister's man)- Brown Sugar Milk Tea 🧋🧋

Yuta- Limes w/ Salt (bold and unexpectedly delicious)

Do-young (my other other other love) - Sour Apple Cotton Candy (if you know...you know)

Jaehyun (my other other other other love)- Roses ("buy a billion roses and still get her more" headass 🙄) 🌹🌹

Jungwoo- Cucumber Melon (again it just makes sense)

Mark- Pineapple Fanta 🍍🍍

Haechan- Dark Chocolate Hot Coco (made w/ Milk NOT water 😎)

BTS

Nam-joon (my baby) - Candied Cashews (look at him)

Seokjin (my love)- Peaches 🍑

Yoongi- Raspberry Wine or Whiskey Straight (just depends on the mood/vibe) 😌😌

Hoseok- Butterscotch hard candies

Taehyung- Smarties (the candy)

Jungkook- Mint Tabbacco (and bad decisions 🥴)

Ateez

Hongjoong (my love)- Chocolate Liquore 🍫🍷

Seonghwa- Watermelon 🍉

Yunho- Lemon Squares (w/powdered sugar on top)

Yeosang- Pixi-Stix (more specifically the green one)

San (my other love) Crown Royal- Blackberry (Sweet, Smooth & Rich) 🤤

Mingi- Chocolate (need I say more? 😏)

Wooyoung- Pop Rocks! 🎆🎇 (cuz it's Wooyoung)

Jungho- HARD Apple Cider

Got7

Jay B (my love)- FRESHLY cooked and salted McDonald's french fries dipped into ice cream (another hill I will die on!)

Jinyoung- Key-lime Pie 🥧

Youngjae- Black Cherries 🍒🖤

Yugyeom- McDonald's Coke (crisp) 😎

Jackson- Sour Apple Ice (either the vape or alcohol but it fits)

BamBam- GRAPE! (It's in your face and loud like BamBam 🍇)

Mark- Cookie Dough Ice Cream (🍨)

So, this is the first part, there are others I'll be adding them soon, but again this was just for shits and giggles, honestly for FUNSIES. Do y'all agree with any of these?

[saesbangs]

short fluff drabble, just to let out my fried brain from doing work, sazanami jun x asteria (fem!oc) & tomoe hiyori x tenshouin chiesa (fem!oc)

Double Café Date.

Asteria was gripping fantasy novel close to her chest, humming a melodious tone to herself as she sat on one of the available benches near Eden's practice room. It was not an easy occasion to come by, being able to go out and share some time together with her top supporter, Sazanami Jun. So it made sense how her excitement was unmatched. She even had the novel they share an interest on, to talk about it with him.

As she was waiting patiently, a familiar figure took a seat not far from her. The beautiful long blonde hair, and a pair of clear emerald eyes, must it be?

"Tenshouin Chiesa-san?! Is my guess right? Is that you?"

The other lady turned her head at the sudden call out, her surprise was drawn obviously on her face.

"Ah... yes, you'd be right. And you are, Asteria-san, correct?" Chiesa said with her lips turned into a gentle smile.

Asteria couldn't hold back her excitement. She had always been a fan of Tenshouin Chiesa, one of Cospro's Top Model. She made her way to sit closer to Chiesa.

A grin rose on Asteria's face, "I've always wanted to meet you! Tenshouin-san! What a coincidence!"

In return, Asteria only received a warm giggle from Chiesa, "Is that so, Asteria-san?"

Asteria went on and kept asking Chiesa questions about the modelling industry. It was not due to her wanting to become one, but pure curiousity. Chiesa patiently answered each of Asteria's questions.

Without realizing, time had passed. That was when Asteria went back from her curious frenzy.

"Oh, by the way, Tenshouin-san, what are you doing here? Do you have any job to do here?" She asked.

Chiesa shook her head, "Ehh, no, I'm waiting for Hiyori-kun. How about you?"

Asteria showed the novel she had been holding on to Chiesa, "Oh, Tenshouin-san is friend with Tomoe-senpai? I'm just waiting for Sazanami-senpai! He promised me he can accompany me to try out a new café that just opened recently. I will also share this novel with him!"

"... friends ^^, yes, I'm friends with him. Do you often go out with Jun, Asteria-san?" Chiesa answered awkwardly.

Asteria nodded, her smile rose wider, "Mhm! Only if the schedule allows, though. The management always make stupid busy schedule it's hard to find mutual free time. Right! Do you also have promise with Tomoe-senpai?"

"Haha, my big brother also always seems to be busy all the time. It seems an idol's schedule is always packed," Chiesa smiled seeing the excitement radiating from the purple haired lady, "I only want to meet him, we don't really have any promise for anything."

"Then! Why don't we--"

Asteria's word got cut off by a familiar, loud voice from afar,

"CHI-CHAN~!! Were you waiting for me? See, Jun-kun? That is how you should wait for me when you want to meet me!"

Hiyori declared as he waltzed closer to Chiesa and Asteria, "Oh my, I didn't know Seira-chan is also here. Wait, you must be here to take Jun-kun with you!"

Asteria furrowed her eyebrow at his claim, "Huh?? Tenshouin-san is waiting for you! So you don't need to have Sazanami-senpai with you, Tomoe-senpai! You had him for the whole day last time!"

"Okay, okay, would you two calm down a bit, now, Asteria, and most importantly, Ohii-san?" Jun walked up from behind Hiyori, now standing besides Asteria, "Look, Tenshouin-san doesn't know what to say."

It appeared, Chiesa was only smiling awkwardly on her spot, not knowing what to do with the view in front of her.

"... Oh, well, it seems Asteria-san was about to suggest something, what is it?" Chiesa looked at Asteria.

Asteria blinked for a bit, forgetting what was it she wanted to say, "... Right! Sazanami-senpai, we are about to check on the new café, right? Why don't we invite Tenshouin-san to join us?"

"WAIT A MINUTE!!! How dare you take Chi-chan with you? She's here for me! Warui Hiyori!" Hiyori scuffed at Asteria's proposition.

Jun exhaled, "What do you two say? Not that I want to, but it's Asteria's request."

Chiesa giggled, "I'd love to, I'd feel bad to reject such request, especially from a new friend."

"New café, huh? Alright, since Chi-chan also agrees!"

And so the four of them went. What was planned to be a quality time between Chiesa and Hiyori, and Asteria and Jun, had turned into a live show of Asteria bickering with Hiyori while Chiesa and Jun followed. A smile and occasional giggle let out by Chiesa. Jun could only sigh and shook his head at the view.

"This is why I didn't want to invite him. With all due respect to you, Tenshouin-san, but it feels like I'm not even there sometimes."

Chiesa smiled at Jun, "I also didn't expect it would turn like this. Are you close to Asteria-san?"

Jun scratched his head, "Well, let's just say we spend time together from time to time. I know about you and Ohii-san, though, Tenshouin-san."

"It's not like Hiyori-kun is trying to hide it at all, right?" Chiesa chuckled.

"No, it's even more of he wants everyone to know and be jealous, he can't stop talking about you at times." Jun let out a clearly tired sigh.

"HELLO! Hurry up! We're about to arrive!" Asteria exclaimed at the two figures walking behind them.

Hiyori followed, "You wouldn't want to make me wait, right?"

In response, Chiesa laughed while Jun quietly fasten his step. It seemed none of them would be able to spend the rest of the evening peacefully.

--TIMESKIP-- (a.k.a, im too lazy to write more of their bickering)

They went on separate ways from the café, Hiyori and Chiesa said they wanted to go check out the bakery. Asteria and Jun, on the other hand, went to the bookstore.

"I wanted to get closer to Tenshouin-san! Why did Tomoe-senpai block my way!" Asteria frustrated.

"Talking as if you don't know him," Jun ruffled her hair in an attempt to calm her down, "It's alright, you'll have more chance to talk to Tenshouin-san."

Asteria smiled wide in return, glimmering, showing off the smile that hooked Jun to her in the first place, "Well, now I have you all by myself, right? Jun-senpai!"

Jun's lips rose to a smile following her, "Yeah, Sei-chan, it's just us now. So what was it you wanted to talk about?"

On the other side,

Hiyori hugged Chiesa tightly, "Chi-chan! I ignored you because of Seira-chan!"

Chiesa giggled, returning his hug, "It's fine, that was a new one for me. I find it amusing, anyway."

"But I wanted to talk to Chi-chan! Unforgiveable!" Hiyori continued hugging her, ruffling his face on Chiesa's hair.

Chiesa patted his back several time, "I told you it's alright. Besides, now we can talk as much as we want to, Hiyori-kun."

IM SORRY IF THE HIYORI'S OOC I GOT CARRIED AWAY ><