#this is for deadly games if i ever return to it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wqnsho · 6 months ago

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crossroads | hwang in-ho x fem! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after losing his wife, hwang in-ho buried his emotions. but when he meets you, a player in his deadly games, his carefully guarded walls begin to crumble, forcing him to confront feelings he thought he’d left behind. *.✧ word count: 20.3k (i'm deadass) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, mentions of exploitation and abduction, implied suicide, additional character (player 143 - hanni) , usage korean words and suffixes, angst, fluff. reader has no canon age but has a kid. backstory is inspired by acrobatic silky from dandadan. your number will be 132. *.✧ note: requests are open! (please). I wrote this to the entirety of squidgame season 2, so it's gonna be long. (from the second game till the end). i wanted to add an oc decided to add my baby hanni instead so i hope it doesn't come off as cringe. part 2 will be posted once season 3 comes out :D i love in-ho so much he's so yummy. masterlist | request here

As everyone shuffled into the area for the second game, Hwang In-ho smirked beneath his mask, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. Among the players, Gi-hun stood out, his gaze darting around the unfamiliar room. Instead of the playground with shapes on the walls that promised, the players were met with two gigantic circles on the floor. Discontent quickly erupted as the crowd realized they’d been tricked. Voices rose in anger, some calling him a fraud, others voicing their disappointment. Most dispersed in frustration, but In-ho, ever the calculated observer, comforted his "friend" with feigned concern. Inside, however, he was ecstatic.

In-ho, operating undercover as "Young-il," watched Gi-hun carefully. He observed the way his mind worked, his expressions shifting as he processed the situation. Every movement and every decision captivated him. This “hero” was an enigma In-ho couldn’t stop studying.

The guards began dictating the rules of the second game. Instead of the anticipated Dalgona candy challenge, players were introduced to the Six-Legged Pentathlon. Teams of five would have their legs tied together and had to complete a pentathlon on a circular path within five minutes. Failure meant elimination.

The scramble to form teams began. In-ho found himself grouped with Gi-hun and two others, players 388 and 390. They needed one more member, and player 388 eagerly volunteered to recruit. Soon, he returned with player 096. Before they could finalize, a loud yet nervous voice interrupted them.

"Excuse me, can she join your group?"

All eyes turned to you and another woman, player 222. Your determined gaze contrasted with 222’s startled expression.

In-ho’s eyes scanned you, noting the [hair characteristic] [hair color] hair framing your tired but kind [eye color] eyes. Your presence radiated something unusual for this cutthroat environment. As 222 tugged at your arm, whispering protests, you stood firm, making it clear your decision was final.

"I'm sorry, but we're already—" In-ho began, only to be cut off.

"Please," you pleaded, your voice steady. "She's pregnant."

The words hung in the air, silencing any objections. Reluctantly, they agreed, replacing 096 with 222. You bowed deeply in gratitude, offering an apologetic smile to 096 before turning to leave.

"I'm really sorry about that," you said earnestly. "But if you'd like, can you team up with me? I'm very skilled at gonggi. I promise! Cross my heart!"

Player 096 hesitated before nodding, following you to form a new team. As you and 096 walked away, two pairs of eyes lingered on you—In-ho’s, as he silently praised your selflessness, and 222’s, her expression a mix of guilt, gratitude, and betrayal.

In-ho couldn’t shake his fascination. Your kindness, despite in a setting like this, reminded him of someone dear, slowly stirring feelings he thought long buried.

Luck favored In-ho’s team; they were the last to compete. This allowed ample time to strategize as they observed the others. Your team’s turn came, and In-ho found himself unexpectedly invested. You and your teammates executed the challenges flawlessly, clearing the first four games in under three minutes. As your team moved on to the final station, In-ho couldn’t suppress a small sigh of relief. But that relief quickly turned to tension when the last player started messing up.

In-ho’s gaze never wavered from you. He knew your team was skilled, but with only 30 seconds left, the stakes were higher now. His heart raced, the pressure mounting as the seconds ticked down. Would they pull it off? The jegi soared into the air, and In-ho held his breath, watching with bated anticipation. The first kick, then the second, the third… each landing perfectly, and still, there was no room for error. It was the final kick that would determine everything. His pulse quickened as your teammate sent the jegi flying, and with one flawless strike after another, they nailed the fifth and final kick.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but all In-ho could hear was the pounding of his own heart. The relief that washed over him felt far too intense. He paused. Why was he cheering so loudly? Why was he worried? His eyes lingered on you as your team crossed the finish line, your victory adding warmth to his chest that he couldn’t explain.

His mind raced, trying to shake off the strange emotions. But then—[eye color] clashed with his black ones, and the world around him seemed to stop for a brief, breathless moment. There was no game, no betrayals, no stakes. It was just the two of you, alone in your own world. You gave him a small wave, and his chest tightened. He waved back, but the gesture felt like a lifetime of unspoken words.

As you were escorted away, the warmth lingered, and In-ho stood there, rooted to the spot, wondering why his chest felt so heavy and yet so alive.

Back in the main area, you found yourself bonding with a cheerful teen, Player 143. Since the first game, you, 143, and 222 had found a quiet camaraderie. You found 143 comforting 222 at the corner at the finish line and decided that you’ll protect those two with all your might. 143 had a bubbly energy that reminded you of home. Her lighthearted teasing about your "crush" on 001 made you laugh, despite the grim circumstances.

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, you little rascal," you replied, ruffling her hair. Her youthful spirit was a balm in this harsh environment, offering a welcome distraction from the tension of the games.

The conversation shifted as she shared bits of her past. Hanni, as she revealed, told you that her debt stemmed from an exploitative contract with her peers, which promised fame and opportunities but left her and her friends in the dark about everything. Despite the weight of her story, she kept her optimism, her dreams still burning brightly. You couldn't help but wonder how someone so young had ended up in such a terrible game, but something was inspiring about her ability to hold onto hope in such a hopeless place.

When she asked about you, you hesitated for a moment but then decided to share. "My name’s [Name]," you began. "I’m a fashion designer and a part-time preschool teacher. I also… have a talent for guns."

Hanni’s eyes widened in surprise. "Guns? How does that fit into designing clothes and teaching kids?"

You chuckled softly. "It’s a long story. Let’s just say I’ve always been drawn to shooting ranges. It started as a hobby, and somehow, it turned into something I’m pretty good at."

You paused, feeling the weight of the conversation shift. The topic of your debt hung in the air. You faltered, not sure whether to open up, but the teen’s unassuming curiosity made you want to share more.

However, before you could speak, the last group of players returned, signifying the end of the game. Hanni immediately perked up, her attention shifting to Player 001 and their group as they found a place to sit together, which was conveniently located just a few steps from your bed. She gave you a sly grin before playfully pointing toward him with her eyebrows.

"Hey, hey, unnie! Look, it’s your man!" she whispered-yelled, clearly enjoying playing matchmaker.

You chuckled before waving her off with a signal to be quiet. The last thing you needed was for word to get out about your little crush, especially in the middle of a deadly game.

As you shushed Hanni, she had other plans. With rapid hand gestures, she invited Player 222 over to your small corner. The unsuspecting woman gave the two of you a confused look before excusing herself from her group of men and heading your way.

When she reached you, you both greeted her gently, concern evident in your voices.

“Welcome back unnie! Congrats on finishing the game, I knew you could do it!”

"How are you feeling? Is the baby alright? Are you in any pain?"

Player 222, shook her head and waived off your concerns, giving a small smile. "I’m alright. Thank you for asking."

Hanni, the chatterbox, didn’t waste a moment. "By the way, unnie, can we know your name? I really don’t know what to call you other than 222. You don’t have to tell us if you’re not comfortable, though!"

Player 222 chuckled softly at the teen's eagerness. "Well, I suppose I could introduce myself." She smiled and then shared her name—Kim Jun-hee. She explained how she had been scammed, abandoned by her boyfriend, and now found herself here, in this deadly game, pregnant and alone.

You offered her your sympathy, relating to her pain. You’d been in similar situations, dealing with your own painful experiences with men over the years. "Unfortunately, we all have our stories," you said, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. "We just have to keep going, don’t we?"

The three of you sat there for a while, chatting about your pasts, your dreams, and your shared longing for a life outside of this twisted game.

"When I get out and get justice, I’ll become a popular idol with my friends!" Hanni declared excitedly, her eyes shining with ambition.

You and Jun-hee exchanged surprised glances, both of you impressed by her optimism despite everything. "You’ll definitely make it, Hanni. You have the spirit for it," Jun-hee encouraged her with a smile.

"Of course we will! And when you’re on TV, you better send us some VIP tickets for your show!" you added, making Hanni beam.

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

Hanni shot her a playful look. "Of course! Will this pose be enough?" She asked as she gave a dramatic pose, and you all laughed.

"Hey!" Hanni looked at the two of you with an exaggerated pout. "You’re not doubting me, right?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "No, no, I’m sure you’ll make it. Just don’t forget us when you're famous, alright?"

As Hanni and Jun-hee bickered over the finer details of idol life, you couldn’t help but smile with a bittersweet feeling in your chest. These two didn’t deserve the cards they’d been dealt, and they certainly didn’t belong in this twisted game. But at least for a brief moment, you all found comfort in each other’s company.

You silently prayed for them—no, for all of you. For everyone here who didn’t deserve to be part of this nightmare. You hoped you could all make it out alive and live better lives. But deep down, you knew the path ahead would be treacherous, and the price of survival would be steep.

The conversation ended when the pink guards entered the room. Everyone watched in anticipation as the guards displayed the updated prize pool: 20.1 billion won, or 78,823,530 won per person, with 255 players still alive. The room was suddenly filled with murmurs. Most were in disbelief that the money per person was still under 100 million, some even demanded a recount. The guards paid no attention to the chatter and continued speaking.

"We always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. Therefore, you will take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not. Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here, please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner."

Once the guard finished speaking, Jun-hee ushered the two of you to join their group. Hanni nodded with a smirk before standing up. You rolled your eyes, hoping she won't cause a scene once she made her way down. "The two of you go first. I'll follow you shortly," you said, making hand gestures for them to go ahead. Thankfully, the two of them followed without question, although you were sure Hanni whispered something to Jun-hee as they walked down the stairs.

With the girls out of sight, your gaze drifted back to the piggy bank hanging from the ceiling. ‘78 Million won...’ The number flashed in your mind, but instead of the excitement you’d hoped for, a deep sense of emptiness settled within you. Your hand unconsciously rubbed your stomach as memories of what was lost surged into your thoughts.

A pained expression flickered across your face as you stared at the money. It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough to make up for everything you had sacrificed, everything you had lost.

“Just one more game...” You whispered to no one in particular.

The moment you made your way down to the others, the group welcomed you warmly. You offered a polite smile and greeted them back. As was customary, you bowed to the familiar men you had met earlier.

"Thank you again for accepting Jun-hee into your group earlier. I’m glad you all got out safely," you said, your voice sincere.

"Ah! No, no, don’t worry about that, it’s all fine!" Player 390 immediately replied, his voice light and reassuring. He waved his hand dismissively. "If anything, we should thank you! That girl quickly finished her game, gave us much more room to breathe."

You smiled at his words, feeling a small spark of warmth. "Really? Well, I’m glad. Before we found you, she kept boasting about her skills in ddjaki and how she won multiple times with the salesman. Glad to know she wasn’t lying."

Jun-hee rolled her eyes at your comment before giving you a playful shove. You laughed, brushing it off before turning your attention back to the group.

"My name’s [Name] by the way. [Last name], [Name]. I’d rather you call me that rather than this stupid number," you said with a teasing grin.

The rest of the group followed suit, introducing themselves in turn. Player 456 was Gi-hun, Player 390 was Jung-bae, Player 388 was Dae-ho, and last but not least, Player 001 was Young-Il—whose name, when revealed, earned an unexpected pinch from Hanni. You tried not to show any discomfort at the gesture, but you couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. Who were you to ruin a teenager’s fun, though?

As everyone continued to chat, the conversation quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm. It was just nice to talk with someone, anyone, who wasn’t a threat to your survival.

“Woah, ex-marines, huh? I don’t tell this to anyone, but I have a collection of guns at home…” you mentioned, trying to make light of the situation.

“That so?” Jung-bae remarked, his tone casual, as if discussing firearms was just another part of his day.

“Woah, that’s so cool! When did you start collecting?” Dae-ho chimed in with enthusiasm, genuinely interested.

“Let’s see... maybe when I was 19? That’s when I got introduced to shooting ranges, and that’s where my addiction started,” you replied with a nostalgic smile. The conversation felt like a brief escape from the madness of the games.

But then, just as quickly as it began, the conversation slowed. You couldn’t help but notice that, in the midst of it all, everyone was still acutely aware of the situation—life or death hung over every word. You looked up once more at the piggy bank. The money glinted in the low light, but it didn’t comfort you. It only served as a reminder of how far you had come and how much you had lost.

You stared at it for a while, lost in thought. The weight of everything—the game, the choices, the people who would never make it out—pressed down on you, and it was hard to escape the ache in your chest. Your mind wandered, consumed by memories and questions, as you stood frozen in place. Too engrossed in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice familiar black eyes fixed on you. In-ho watched your every move intently, shamelessly staring as you absentmindedly stared into oblivion. His gaze was steady, silently studying you from where he stood. But you were too lost in your thoughts to feel it. There was something about you, something he couldn’t quite place, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It wasn’t the same as before—his cold indifference slowly shifting into something else he didn’t know how to name.

Maybe it was the way you carried yourself despite everything. Or maybe it was the faint sadness he saw in your eyes, something that mirrored his own. But as he continued to watch, something unfamiliar stirred inside him—an unsettling warmth that didn’t make sense, something that he thought he stopped feeling a long time ago. He quickly turned his attention away, pretending to focus on the group.

But that warmth lingered, an ache in his chest that refused to fade. What was it about you?

Hanni gave you a playful shove, snapping you out of your trance. Her bright smile flickered for a moment, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You could feel her gaze linger on you, a slight shift in her expression that suggested she noticed something was off. You returned a hesitant smile, one that you hoped would mask the swirl of thoughts in your mind.

As the group huddled up, you quickly placed your hand on top of the pile, trying to shake off the discomfort despite the underlying tension. Hanni’s smile faded as she watched you, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Something in her seemed to pause, a flicker of doubt creeping into her gaze as if she was starting to see through the facade you were putting up.

It was as if she could tell that there was more to looks, something that wasn’t quite aligned with what you let on. But, instead of pressing, Hanni gave a soft shrug, her playful demeanor returning. Yet, the doubt lingered in her eyes, like she wasn’t fully convinced of the person she found comfort in.

"In one, two, three... Victory at all costs!" Hanni and Dae-ho shouted, their voice full of energy despite the dark atmosphere.

"Victory at all costs!"

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

Young-il's gaze swept over the six of you, his eyes calm, but with an unwavering trust and determination in them. He nodded subtly at Gi-hun, as he began to move forward without hesitation. As he stepped up to cast his vote, you exchanged a brief, fleeting moment of eye contact with Young-il. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, but there was something else there too. You couldn't quite place it, but it made your chest tighten. The moment passed quickly, and you looked away, focusing on the task at hand.

When it was finally your time to vote, you felt the weight of everyone's eyes on you, but you didn’t allow yourself to meet anyone’s gaze. You couldn’t stomach the judgment, the disappointment that would be there. Instead, you stepped forward, heart pounding, and pressed the "O" button, committing to the choice you knew you had to make. A cold knot formed in your stomach as you did, but your mind remained focused. You weren’t about to back down now, no matter what the others thought.

As you turned and walked back to your side, you kept your head low, trying to hide the turmoil brewing inside. You heard some murmurs around you, a mix of disbelief and anger from your teammates, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. The guilt gnawed at you but so did the hope that this one last game would be enough. You glanced at the piggy bank hanging overhead, feeling the weight of the prize pool, but also the weight of your decision.

The voting ended with 140 votes for “O” and 117 for “X,” meaning the third game would proceed tomorrow. Some players cheered, relieved that they could move forward, while others were disappointed, worried for their survival. You stood frozen as the room around you buzzed with varying reactions. You could feel the stares of your team members who clearly weren’t happy with your decision. You couldn’t meet their eyes, couldn’t bear to see the betrayal there.

Jung-bae’s hand suddenly clapped on your shoulder, pulling you out of your reverie. You looked at him, searching his face for some sign of judgment. Your eyes went down and stared at the "O" patch on his tracksuit. His gaze was full of understanding, a silent comfort that you couldn’t quite put into words. He gave you a quick nod before turning his back, signaling the two of you to move forward, away from the team.

You ignored the whispers, and the betrayed looks from Dae-ho and Hanni. You couldn’t let it matter now. Call it selfish, call it greed, but 78 million won was not enough. Just one more game, and then maybe, just maybe you could end this.

Once the guard handed you your food, you took it mechanically, your hands numb as you walked back to your bed. You couldn’t face anyone—not Hanni, not Jun-hee, and especially not the ones who still believed in you. The weight of their disappointment was more than you could bear. Before you could even sit down, a loud voice called out for you.

"Hey! [Name]ya!" The sudden intrusion startled you. You turned, your heart racing in your chest, and saw Jun-hee and Hanni behind you. The former’s concern was written clearly across her face.

“Why?” she asked softly, her voice trembling.

You avoided her gaze, not trusting yourself to speak. “I... I have my reasons,” you said, your voice cracking just a little, even though you tried to sound convincing.

Hanni, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, muttered under her breath, "I hope it’s worth it." Her words were heavy with something you couldn’t quite define—was it disappointment? Concern? Either way, it cut deeper than you expected. You wanted to say something, anything, to make her understand, but you couldn’t. Not now. Not when everything felt so fragile.

Before you could open your mouth, two sets of hands grabbed each of your arms, forcing you to stand up. With a startled yelp, you asked, "What are you doing?" in a nervous tone. The two remained silent, their grip firm as they dragged you toward where the group was sitting. You quickly noticed that Jung-bae was also being pulled along by Dae-ho, confusion and tension radiating from him. It wasn’t until you reached the group that the weight of everyone’s gaze settled on you. You couldn’t escape the questioning looks from your teammates.

You and Jung-bae exchanged guilty glances before finally looking your teammates in the eye. “I… I’m very sorry, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, Young-il,” you started. Jung-bae hesitated for a moment before following your lead, offering a quick bow. “I’m sorry too, Hanni, Jun-hee, Young-il… Gi-hun, I’m sorry.”

When nobody acknowledged your apologies, Jung-bae went on to explain his reasoning, his voice faltering slightly. “You see, I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and kid. If I play one more game, I think I’ll be able to settle my debt. So—”

“Jung-bae.” Young-il cut him off sharply. His tone was cold, his expression unreadable, as if disappointment weighed heavy on his words. “You of all people shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t righteous, not twice, not even once.”

The words stung more than Jung-bae expected, and the silence between them grew thick. Without waiting for Jung-bae to respond, Young-il turned to you, his gaze steady and searching. “And you,” he began, his voice quieter but no less firm, “You’ve made your own choice,” He continued, his voice measured, “but don’t try to justify it as something you had no control over.”

You looked at him one more time before looking down, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest, tightening your throat. Your mind raced, but there was no way to explain it—not to them, not to yourself.

“I know…” you whispered, the guilt rising like a tide, swallowing your words. “And I’m truly sorry…”

The sincerity in your apology felt hollow. You had made the decision. No one had forced you, but the pull of the money, of the chance to end it all, had made it feel like a necessity. And yet, as you stood there, with their disappointed gazes burning into you, it felt more like a betrayal than a choice.

“But looking at the results, even if you two voted against it, we would still have been outvoted,” Young-il said, his voice calm, like he had already made peace with it.

“Right? So it’s not really our fault,” Jung-bae added quickly, trying to make light of the situation.

Dae-ho, who had been quietly observing, scratched his head and gave Jung-bae a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Honestly, I get why you did it. Even for me, ¥78 million isn’t enough. So when I went to vote, I really thought about going for ‘O’ too.”

Hanni and Jun-hee didn’t say much. They nodded, agreeing in silence but not wanting to add anything more. Everyone was feeling the pressure. The reality of it all was sinking in too fast.

Jung-bae, still holding on to hope, added, “Next game, I promise. I’ll—”

“Next game?” Gi-hun’s voice cut through the air, sharp and honest. “Next game, we might have to kill each other.”

The room went still at his words. Everyone seemed to freeze. Gi-hun was right, and his words hit harder than anyone expected. No one spoke right away; the thought of what might happen in the next game was too much to face. The quiet grew heavy as the reality of what they were really up against settled in.

You opened your mouth to say something but stopped when Young-il spoke up. “Gi-hun, that’s a bit much. We all know there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s just stay focused. We need to eat, get ourselves together, and prepare for the next round.”

With that, he handed his milk carton to Jun-hee, saying he didn’t drink plain milk. Jung-bae did the same, offering his bread to Hanni, saying he didn’t deserve to eat. Everyone’s gestures, though small, felt like they were all trying to comfort each other in their own way, but it only made the situation more real.

Dae-ho, trying to lighten the mood, asked for Jung-bae's milk carton, but when the male shot him a glare, he stayed quiet, not wanting to argue.

A soft laugh slipped out of you, and without thinking, you handed your milk to Dae-ho. He immediately accepted it with a soft, grateful smile and mumbled a quiet thanks.

You found yourself sitting next to Young-il, feeling more tired than you’d ever felt before, the mental and physical exhaustion had settled into your bones, dragging you down. The male was silent beside you, his presence heavy yet comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel his gaze on you. It wasn’t intrusive, just there—steady, unyielding, like a silent support.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice low and steady. “You did what you had to do.”

You blinked at him, not sure whether to be relieved or uncomfortable. “Did I?” you asked softly. “I voted to keep going. I went against you all. I wanted to believe it would be worth it, but I’m not sure anymore.”

“You can’t change it now,” he said, his tone gentle, almost comforting. “We all made our choices. It’s over. What matters now is what we do next.”

For a moment, you felt a knot in your chest loosen. He turned to you, his gaze unwavering, “You made a choice,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And no one else can tell you whether it was right or wrong.”

The simplicity of his words hung in the air. You couldn’t fix what had been done, but hearing those words from him somehow made it feel a little less like you were alone in your decision. The guilt that had gnawed at you seemed to quiet, even if just for a brief moment.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. There was a quiet sincerity in it, more than you realized. It was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t known you were craving.

He nodded once, acknowledging your thanks with a slight tilt of his head. “Don’t mind what Gi-hun and I said earlier,” he murmured, his voice steady but softer now. “In a place like this, it’s hard not to be on edge. Everyone’s just trying to survive.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. “Yeah… I get it. It’s just hard to not feel like the bad guy sometimes.”

“You’re not,” he said simply, his gaze meeting yours for a moment before shifting away. “We all made our choices. Doesn’t make anyone better or worse. Just… human.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and before you knew it, the two of you had slipped into an easy conversation. It wasn’t much, shared observations about the others, light teasing about Dae-ho being comparable to a golden retriever, favorite movies and hobbies, but it felt like a break from the weight pressing down on you both.

At one point, you let out a genuine laugh, surprising even yourself. Young-il turned his head, his gaze curious as he asked, “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, a small smile still lingering on your lips. “I don’t know,” you admitted, brushing a hand over your face as if to hide the slight flush there. “Maybe it’s just everything… or nothing. Maybe I just needed to.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening slightly, though he still didn’t smile. “Laughing over nothing, huh? Guess there’s worse ways to handle this mess.”

“You should try it,” you said lightly, teasing just enough to test the waters.

He huffed, not quite a laugh but close, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe one day.”

For a little while, it was just the two of you, sharing quiet moments and fleeting bits of lightness in the shadow of everything else. The sound of quiet conversations and muted movements surrounded you, but it all felt distant, like you and Young-il existed in a world apart from everyone else. Eventually, the men began excusing themselves to head toward the bathroom. Young-il stayed seated a moment longer, his reluctance obvious in the way he lingered.

“You’re stalling,” you teased softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

He huffed, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Go. They’re waiting for you, and if you stay any longer Dae-ho might wet the floor.”

He chuckled. For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze meeting yours. “Fine,” he said, shaking his head as he stood slowly, there was a flicker of something—playful or thoughtful, you couldn’t quite tell. As he walked away, you watched him join the others, the soft smile still lingering on your face.

Once the coast was clear, Hanni slid over almost immediately, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Jun-hee joined her just as quickly, both of them zeroing in on you like a pair of mischievous siblings ready to pounce. “You’re smiling,” Hanni said, a teasing tone lacing her words.

Jun-hee, tilted her head, her expression somewhere between amused and curious. “We’ve been with you since the first game and that’s not like you. Care to explain?”

You blinked, immediately feeling awkward. “Really? Now? In a place like this?”

Hanni leaned closer, her expression turning more playful. “C’mon, we’re not gonna bite. Just curious.”

With a chuckle, you let out a dramatic sigh before rubbing your temples. “This isn’t the time for that. We’re stuck in a death game, not a dating show.”

“So, what you’re saying is if we are in a dating show you would totally go for him?”

You raised an eyebrow at Hanni, a smirk tugging at your lips. "I never said that," you replied, shaking your head in disbelief.

Jun-hee joined in, her voice teasing but not unkind. “Come on, don’t play coy with us. You have to admit, something’s up.”

You let out a sigh, but this time it was more amused than anything. “You two are unbelievable.” You leaned back, trying to shift the mood. “Look, it’s not like that. We’re just… having a conversation. It's not that deep.”

But they didn’t back off. Hanni gave you a knowing look, her eyes twinkling. “Having a conversation my ass! You’re out here giggling like a highschooler!”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

You crossed your arms, trying to hide the smile creeping onto your face. “I’m not giggling, I’m just—” you paused, trying to find the right words, “I’m just… enjoying the conversation, alright?”

Jun-hee leaned in, her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. “Uh-huh. Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help yourself from laughing again. “Just so you know, we’re stuck in a life-and-death situation, and I’m way past the age of having crushes and all that nonsense.”

Hanni leaned back with a satisfied grin, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Sure, whatever you say! We’ll let you off the hook for now, but don’t think we’ve forgotten.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. Despite the playful banter, the weight in your chest lightened. The tension between you all had shifted, and for the first time in a while, things didn’t feel so heavy. The teasing was light, comforting, and in the middle of everything that was going on, it was exactly what you needed.

You gave her a half-smile. “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?”

Jun-hee joined in with a gentle laugh. “Probably not. But it’s good to see you smile for once, even if we’re making fun of you.”

“You two are such troublemakers, you know that?”

Hanni shrugged innocently. “What can we say unnie? We just like seeing you flustered!”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed on your face. “Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Lights out in ten minutes. Please prepare for bedtime.”

Currently, you and the group were passing out mattresses, following Gi-hun’s insistence that all of you sleep on the floor together, huddled under one of the bed frames with someone keeping watch. While the rest of you questioned whether such precautions were necessary, none dared to speak up, not wanting to provoke Gi-hun’s temper.

As you handed a mattress to Dae-ho, who passed it to Jung-bae, the latter decided to voice what everyone else was thinking. “Hey, is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there.”

Gi-hun didn’t look up as he smoothed a blanket onto the floor. “Once the lights go out, someone might attack us.”

That caught everyone’s attention. Kneeling down to sort through pillows and blankets, You, Dae-ho, Jun-hee and Hanni paused, curiosity piqued. “Why would anyone do that?” Dae-ho asked cautiously.

Gi-hun let out a humorless chuckle. “The prize money goes up every time someone dies. It’s part of the game they designed.”

You frowned, giving his words some thought. At first, his claim seemed far-fetched, but the more you considered the desperation you’d seen in yourself and in others—the way some eyes lingered too long on the prize board—it started to make an unsettling kind of sense.

“That’s insane,” Jung-bae muttered, shaking his head. “Nobody’s that cold. Nobody’s gonna—”

“Nope, Gi-hun is right. You shouldn’t be so sure,” you cut in, your tone sharper than usual. All eyes turned to you. “We’re lucky to have each other, but outside of this group? Desperation changes people. If someone thinks they have a better chance alone, or if they’re blinded by that kind of money, they won’t hesitate.”

Young-il narrowed his eyes at you, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “You’re saying we should expect someone to try and kill us tonight?”

You shrugged, your expression grim. “I’m saying we’d be stupid not to prepare for it.”

The weight of your words settled over the group like a heavy blanket. Even Hanni and Jun-hee, who usually tried to keep things light, exchanged uneasy glances. Gi-hun nodded as if your words confirmed everything he’d been thinking.

“Well,” Dae-ho said after a moment, his voice forced and upbeat, “at least we have each other, right?”

“Exactly,” Gi-hun said, setting down the last mattress. “We stick together, we’ll make it through. Now, everyone settle in. And keep your eyes open.”

Reluctantly, the group followed his lead, arranging themselves in a tight circle under the frame. You caught Young-il’s eye as he sat down across from you, his expression unreadable but his gaze steady.

Morning arrived faster than you expected, and soon, the guards were leading you to the next game.

The circular room you entered was unsettling. Bright, white walls surrounded a massive platform in the center, and atop it stood three eerie carousel horses, their painted eyes glossy and cold. Around the perimeter of the room were several doors, painted with plain colors.

You stared in quiet dread, trying to piece together what this setup might mean. The atmosphere was heavy, the air almost suffocating.

A light shove jolted you back to reality.

“You okay?”

Young-il stood beside you, his hand brushing your arm. His face, though calm, held a trace of worry as he took in your frozen stance.

“Stay close to me,” he said firmly. “And don’t freeze up now. I know it’s hard, but mistakes…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Just don’t make any. Not here.”

You nodded, swallowing hard, and forced your legs to move as the guards directed everyone to the platform.

The rules were announced in the same monotone voice you’d grown to fear. This game wasn’t just a test of strength or skill—it was a race against time. Mingle. A game where players had to form groups according to the number that appeared and enter a room within 30 seconds. Failure to do so meant death.

The tension in the room became unbearable as the platform filled with nervous shuffling.

Hanni, standing beside you, clutched at your jacket with trembling hands. Her grip was tight and desperate, her pale face mirrored the fear you felt but tried to bury.

You placed a steadying hand over hers. “Stay close to us okay?” you murmured, glancing at her wide, frightened eyes. “We’ll figure this out.”

The platform began to spin, the movement disorienting as the room blurred around you. An eerie, childlike song played from unseen speakers, the melody jarring in its mockery of innocence.

Just as nausea began to creep in, the platform screeched to a halt.

Panic erupted immediately. Players screamed and shoved, desperate to find others to form a group.

“We need two more!”

“Who has five?”

Gi-hun moved quickly, scanning the chaos. He approached a nearby cluster of players, tapping one on the shoulder. “How many are you?”

“Four,” Player 120 replied.

“That makes us eleven,” Jung-bae said, pulling the rest of you closer into a huddle.

Before you could fully regroup, others swarmed around, shouting over one another in frantic bids for survival.

“Join us! We’re five!”

“No, come with us! We’re seven!”

The crowd was chaos. People were being pulled apart and dragged into groups as the countdown loomed. Hanni clung tighter to you, her breathing uneven. Suddenly, Player 120 ran off and dragged a woman toward your group. Her face was pale, and her steps stumbled as if she could barely keep up with the force pulling her forward.

“Here! This makes twelve!” Player 120 shouted, shoving the woman into your group before anyone could react.

“Come on,” you urged, grabbing Jun-hee and Hanni by the arms. “Let’s go. Stick close to me.”

Gi-hun directed your group to room 44. One by one, you made sure everyone got through the door, your eyes scanning for anyone falling behind. Once inside, Young-il slammed the door shut.

The locks clicked as the timer hit zero.

A chilling silence followed before the sound of gunfire tore through the room. Cries of desperation from players left behind filled the air, only to be abruptly silenced.

Hanni trembled violently, her hands covering her ears. You knelt beside her, brushing her hair back in an attempt to soothe her. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” you said, though your own hands weren’t quite steady.

The tense quiet was broken by a sudden, sharp voice.

“You are all alive thanks to me!”

The outburst came from the woman 120 dragged, her wild eyes scanning the group. She began to approach Jun-hee with a strange intensity, her smile twisted and unsettling.

You immediately stepped in front of the girl, blocking her from view. Your movements were calm, but your heart pounded as the woman’s gaze landed on you instead.

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “There’s a reason you’ve lived this long,” she said, her tone cryptic. “A reason you were brought here.”

Her words hung heavy in the air as she looked past you, her focus shifting to Gi-hun.

Before she could say more, the announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, listing the eliminated players. The doors unlocked. Everyone returned to the platform.

Another round began.

All seven of you froze, exchanging frantic glances. The tension in the room was suffocating, everyone hyper-aware of the seconds slipping away.

"I'll find one more," you said abruptly, already moving before anyone could protest.

Gi-hun called after you, his voice strained with alarm, but you were already lost in the chaos.

"Wait—!" Hanni started to follow, but Gi-hun grabbed her arm.

"No!" she yelled, pulling against him. "You go! I’ll wait for [Name]-nim!"

"But—"

Young-il stepped in, placing a firm hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder. "Go, Gi-hun. She won’t move unless [Name] is back. I’ll stay with her."

Gi-hun hesitated, his jaw clenched. He looked between them and the dwindling time before nodding sharply. "Take care of them."

Without another word, he ushered Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and Jung-bae into a room. Once inside, Gi-hun hesitated to shut the room, opting to keep it open for a bit as he watched over your group.

Meanwhile, Young-il stayed by Hanni's side, his sharp gaze darting through the chaos, searching for any sign of you. The noise of panicked shouts and pounding footsteps filled the air, but he barely noticed. Instead, his attention was fixed on the spinning platform and the frenzied crowd.

Hanni clung to his arm, her small frame trembling against his. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, her grip tightening with each second that passed. Young-il glanced down at her, his usually stern expression softening for a moment.

"You’ll be okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm around them. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, giving her a firm yet gentle pat.

Hanni didn’t seem to hear him. Her lips moved in a near-silent mantra, repeating over and over, "Please come back. Please come back."

Her words hung heavy in the air, a fragile plea against the backdrop of chaos. Young-il’s jaw tightened as he turned his focus back to the crowd. He had to believe you would return, not just for Hanni's sake—but for all of theirs.

Inside the room, Dae-ho’s voice broke the silence. "Will they make it?" he asked, his tone trembling. Gi-hun didn’t respond, his gaze fixed outside, searching for any sign of you. With ten seconds left, hope began to waver—until a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Hey! I found someone! Let’s go!"

Bursting into sight, you ran towards an empty room with Player 256 in tow. Without hesitation, you grabbed Young-il’s outstretched hand, pulling everyone toward the door. The locks clicked shut just as the timer hit zero.

Inside, your legs gave out, but before you hit the ground, you felt a strong pair of arms catch you. Young-il steadied you, his worried face inches from yours.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low but urgent.

You nodded quickly, pulling yourself upright. "Thanks," you said, flashing a weak smile before turning to Player 256, who looked pale and shaken.

"Are you alright? Sorry for dragging you like that. I just saw you on the floor and didn’t think twice."

The young man gave you a pained smile, his breaths still uneven. "I’m fine. Thank you—really. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead."

You patted his shoulder gently, suppressing a sigh. "What’s with young people getting into so much debt these days?"

Before you could say more, a small figure collided with you, wrapping their arms tightly around your waist.

"Don’t ever leave me again, unnie." Hanni sobbed, her voice muffled against your shirt. Warm tears soaked through the fabric as she clung to you.

Your heart twisted at her desperation. "I can’t promise you that, Hanni. But Jun-hee’s always there when I’m not okay?" you murmured, gently running your hand through her hair, trying to soothe her.

Her grip on you loosened a little, but her wide eyes stayed locked on you. “I know… but I still need you two with me,” she whispered, her voice shaky but full of that same hope she always had.

You gave her a soft smile, brushing away a tear that had fallen down her cheek. “We’re not going anywhere,” you said, holding her just a little tighter.

The announcer’s voice suddenly boomed through the speakers, listing the names of the eliminated players. The stark reminder of the game’s stakes sent a chill through the room.

As the list ended, you glanced toward Young-il. His eyes betrayed the fear he had been holding back, relief washing over his face as he met your gaze. For a brief moment, it felt like the world had paused, the chaos outside fading into the background.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He gave a small nod, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The sound of the doors unlocking snapped you both back to reality. Player 256 bowed deeply to you before sprinting off, murmuring another hurried "thank you" as he disappeared into the crowd.

Taking Hanni’s hand, you and Young-il moved quickly to find the rest of your group. Voices called your names, and you followed the sound until you spotted them.

"There they are!" Jung-bae shouted, relief evident in his tone.

Young-il barely had time to react before Jung-bae threw his arms around him in a tight hug. Meanwhile, Jun-hee rushed toward you and Hanni.

The three of you broke into a tangle of hugs, clutching each other tightly, the fear and relief of survival intertwining in an unspoken bond.

“I knew you were gonna be okay!” Jung-bae exclaimed in relief, pulling Young-il into a tight hug. Jun-hee did the same with you, and you returned the hug, pressing a few affectionate forehead kisses on her before patting her head gently. Gi-hun looked at you and Young-il, his face breaking into a relieved smile. “I was so worried. I’m glad you all made it.”

“Luckily, [Name] found someone in time. If she stayed with us a little longer, she might’ve had a hard time,” Young-il chuckled, praising you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “If anything, I was lucky. I found the guy on the ground. I hope he’s okay.”

The two of you then turned to Jun-hee, asking if she was alright. She reassured you, telling you how glad she was that the three of you came back safely.

“Wait a minute.” Young-il’s voice cut through the conversation. Suddenly, all eyes were on him. “If the next number is eighth, then we won’t need anyone else, right?”

Everyone looked at him with confused expressions. “Why?” Dae-ho asked, genuinely curious. Young-il didn’t respond immediately; instead, he just nodded, thinking.

Jung-bae snapped his fingers, pointing at Jun-hee’s stomach. “Ah, it’s in her tummy.”

A sudden realization spread across Dae-ho’s face as he finally understood. “Ohh, that’s right. That makes eight.” The group shared a lighthearted laugh, while Hanni rolled her eyes, quietly laughing to herself. She muttered something about how corny the joke was. You couldn’t help but laugh, pinching her cheek and telling her to just go with the flow.

“What if it’s twins? Triplets?” you joked.

Amid the laughter, a pair of lingering eyes belonging to Player 333 was watching the group with an unreadable look on his face.

The atmosphere shifted slightly before you were all instructed to return to the platform. The tension in the air was palpable. Another round started.

“You three, go–” Gi-hun began, but Young-il cut him off.

“No. I’ll go. You stay with them.”

You all looked at him in surprise, not wanting to leave him behind. However, there was no time to waste. With a determined nod, you immediately grabbed Jun-hee and Hanni before running toward the nearest room. Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and Dae-ho followed closely behind, while Young-il ran off to find two other players.

You three finally approached the only vacant room near you. As you opened it, your blood ran cold. A figure was curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, its stillness unnerving— as if they had already given up already. You glanced at the timer—20 seconds. Your heart raced. Grabbing Jun-hee and Hanni’s arms, you yelled for the curled up figure.

"Hey!" you shouted. The person stirred and looked up at you, confusion in their eyes. You raised the arms you were holding, signaling clearly. The person understood, standing up and moving toward the door. You pushed Jun-hee and Hanni toward the player, making sure they would be safe with her. Once inside, Player 380 quickly closed the door. As you ran away, you heard their voices calling out to you.

“Hey unnie! Come back!”

“[Name]nim!”

You cursed your heart for being soft and getting attached, you cursed your mind for wanting to be a hero. With 13 seconds left, you turned and ran as fast as you could, hoping to find a room, or maybe even Young-il.

10 seconds.

You frantically scanned the area, but there was almost nothing. No sign of Young-il. No sign of anyone else making their way to a room. No group of two finding their last member.

8 seconds.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed your arm. You were shocked but didn’t hesitate. You had no time for hesitation now. You kept your pace, determined to survive.

6 seconds.

You spotted someone standing idly, diagonally to you. Wasting no time, you shouted to them. Together, you ran toward the person, desperate to find the last empty room.

4 seconds.

The two of you reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her toward the nearest open door.

2 seconds.

The three of you rushed inside.

1 second.

The doors slammed shut behind you.

The timer rang. 0 seconds.

Back in room 27, Hanni and Jun-hee peeked anxiously through the window, watching the chaos unfold outside. As the announcer listed the eliminated players, they held their breath, waiting. The second your number wasn’t called, they exhaled in relief.

Inside your room, you collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. This was the consequence of playing the hero. You were too old for this, yet here you were again, caught in the madness. Once your breath steadied, you looked at the player you had dragged in. You froze in shock. It was Player 149—the mother of Player 007. The two were peas in a pod, but you hoped nothing bad would happen now that they were separated.

Deciding not to disturb her, you let her have some space and turned to the person who had saved you. Standing up, you immediately bowed in their direction. When they didn’t make a sound or movement, you slowly lifted your head.

To your shock, you were met with Young-il’s face.

Your shocked face clashed with his angry one, but before you could process it, you leapt at him and wrapped him in a tight, warm hug. His initial surprise faded as he returned the embrace, his anger melting away. As he gently patted your hair, he quietly asked, “What happened?”

“The room we entered was already filled with someone. I wanted to stay with Jun-hee and Hanni, but there were no more rooms nearby. I couldn’t let Jun-hee run anymore, so I left them there and ran,” you explained, your voice muffled against his shirt.

He patted your head again before slightly pushing you away to look at your face. Still holding you, the two of you locked eyes. “You’re lucky I was there to save you like a superhero.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “Thanks, superhero.”

You gave him a sweet smile before pulling away and knelt in front of the older woman. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

She snapped out of her thoughts and bowed, immediately responding, “Yes, yes. I am. Thank you so much for saving me.”

“Where’s your son?”

“Sorry?”

“Weren’t you with him?” Young-il asked, his concern growing for their safety. You watched her closely, hoping nothing bad had happened. Her eyes bounced between you and Young-il as she tried to formulate an answer. “Oh, well, I lost him. He told me to wait while he brought one more person, but in all the chaos, I lost him.”

“He didn’t come back?” Young-il’s question made her stand up abruptly.

“My son isn’t that kind of person!” she said, standing defensively. “We may be poor, but he has a good heart. He’d rather be bullied than hurt another person. He’ll never harm anyone, so watch what you say about him!”

You stood up quickly and gently placed your hands on her shoulders, trying to ease the tension. “Ah, it’s nothing like that, ma’am. It’s just that the two of you have been together from the start, so we were worried when we saw you alone. We didn’t mean to upset you.”

She looked at you for a moment before averting her gaze, calming down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Young-il added, apologizing as well.

The doors opened then, signaling it was time to move on. With a bow, you grabbed Young-il’s hand, pulling him toward Jun-hee and Hanni’s room. When you saw the two of them, your eyes met, and without hesitation, you let go of Young-il’s hand and hugged them both tightly. You whispered your apologies as they cried into your neck. Young-il watched the scene with a bittersweet smile, the sight of you and the others reminding him painfully of his late wife. It felt like a love he could never return to, yet he couldn't look away.

Once they stopped crying, you gently pulled away and pointed them toward Young-il. Without hesitation, they ran to him, wrapping their arms around him and thanking him.

The four of you then returned to the platform, where you met the rest of your group. A silent understanding passed between your team and player 120’s team, as you all stood next to each other, ready for the next round. The music started. The platform began to rotate.

“Three women and three men, go!” Gi-hun shouted. Luckily, you all had enough members so only finding the room was the problem, Jun-hee and Hanni stuck close to you as you followed Young-il, Gi-hun, and Jung-bae to a room.

When you returned to the platform, you immediately noticed the lonely figure of player 120, with player 095 nowhere near, you assumed the worst. Standing close next to her, you offer comfort by rubbing her back. “It’s gonna be hard but please stay strong, she now lives through you.” She gives you a pained nod as you placed yourself between Hanni and Young-il.

“What do you think will be the next number?” Jung-bae asked you all.

It was quiet for a moment as everyone contemplated the answer. Without hesitation, Hanni spoke up. "Two."

Gi-hun looked at her, silently asking her to explain her answer. Instead of her, Young-il’s voice broke through the tension. "Yeah, she's correct. It's two. There are 50 rooms, and 156 people are still alive. Everyone will have a pair, but there won't be enough rooms. That's how they conduct these games."

Everyone else looked at him, some expressions confused, others with a hint of surprise, as if they hadn’t expected him to be the one explaining. And they were right.

The group stood in silence for a second, each person wondering who would pair with whom. The fear of the rooms being occupied quickly spread so without a second thought, Young-il grabbed your hand and hurried you away. Hanni called your name, and the others followed suit. Dae-ho grabbed Hanni, Jung-bae grabbed Gi-hun, and Player 333 grabbed Jun-hee as they all ran to secure an empty room.

You and Young-il reached the open door of an empty room, but before you could step inside, another player tackled you to the ground. As Young-il rushed to help you up, the player bolted for the room you had been eyeing. Without hesitation, Young-il grabbed the man, yanking him away and throwing him outside with unexpected force.

"Go in!" Young-il shouted at you, as he held the player in his grip.

Your heart was racing, adrenaline flooding your system. You scrambled to recover and quickly glanced around, making sure the coast was clear. With urgency, you rushed inside, positioning yourself near the door, ready to barricade it in case someone tried to steal the room from you. You signaled for Young-il to come in, and as he rushed in after you, you slammed the door behind him, using your body to hold it shut while the player left outside shouted curses at you.

Suddenly, Young-il pulled you into his arms, his hands gentle but firm, as he placed your head against his shoulder. You melted into him, the brief respite giving you both a moment of peace. But that moment quickly shattered when your eyes caught a figure in the corner of the room.

Your breath hitched. In a panic, you pushed away from Young-il and shouted at the figure, your voice trembling, "Leave! Get out!"

The timer was ticking down, and every second felt like an eternity. Panic surged within you as you watched the figure not move—your heart raced. The seconds were slipping away.

12 seconds.

"No way, we got here first," the man argued, his voice laced with defiance.

“Well your partner is not here isn’t he?! Get out!” you demanded, your voice firm despite the tension.

11 seconds.

“Shut your tramp whore! We got here first! Make yourself useful and get out of the room!” he spat back, growing angrier.

10 seconds.

Without a word, Young-il lunged at the man, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him toward the door, his strength overpowering the man’s resistance. You watched in horror, your eyes flickering between the timer and the brutal scene unfolding before you. With only three seconds left and the man still struggling. Young-il didn’t hesitate. His actions were swift and decisive, final and cold. With one swift move, the room fell silent, and the door locked.

0 seconds.

Young-il stood over the lifeless man, his face distant, his expression hollow. It was a look that didn’t belong on him. In the short time you’d known him, he’d always had this warm, protective energy, this quiet tenderness that made you feel safe. But now, his usual caring nature seemed clouded by something else.

Without thinking, you crossed the room to him, gently taking his hands in yours. You could feel his tension, his unwillingness to meet your gaze. Your heart ached to see him like this, and you whispered softly, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice barely above a whisper, as though he was apologizing for something you hadn’t even asked him to do.

“What for?” you asked, trying to meet his gaze. He avoided it, looking down at the body in the room, his face shadowed with regret.

“You did what you had to do, Young-il. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here. We’d be dead. So, thank you.” You squeezed his hands, trying to convey the depth of your gratitude, even if the words felt too small.

“But—” he started, voice faltering.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” You could feel his fear—fear that you might look at him differently now. You could see it in his eyes, that vulnerability he tried to hide. You slowly reached up, your hand finding his cheek, your touch gentle and comforting. His eyes closed as he leaned into it, the tension melting from his body for just a moment. "Murder is something I’m used to, Young-il. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine… as long as you’re here."

The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken words. The closeness, the way your fingers lingered on his skin, the way your breaths synced together—it felt like everything was leading to this moment. Slowly, instinctively, you both leaned in, drawn to each other like magnets.

But just as your lips were about to meet, the loud sound of the doors unlocking shattered the moment. You both froze, hearts pounding in your chests, reality crashing back in. You pulled away quickly, your face flushing with embarrassment.

You stepped back, flustered, and gave a quick bow, mumbling, “I—I should check on Hanni and Jun-hee.” You turned to leave, nearly tripping over your shoes in the rush. That shared moment lingered in the air, and even as you fled, your heart still raced with what almost happened, you could feel the warmth of his gaze lingering on your back, the connection between you stronger than ever.

After the third game, you found yourself back in the fort Gi-hun had organized. The group was scattered, tending to their own thoughts or conversations. Across the room, Jun-hee was deep in conversation with Player 333, the man you now knew was her ex-fiancé—the one who’d abandoned her. Hanni stood by your side, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern as the two exchanged words that seemed both loaded and cautious.

Meanwhile, Gi-hun instructed the others to count the remaining players and determine how many wanted to continue playing.

“There are 55 players who voted in favor of continuing,” Jung-bae reported as he returned.

“Are you sure?” Gi-hun asked, his voice tense.

“I counted twice.”

Dae-ho pointed to the “O” patch on Jung-bae’s uniform. “Did you count yourself?”

Jung-bae glanced at the “O” patch on his chest, pausing before muttering, “Fifty-six.”

“Fifty-seven,” you added, raising your hand while still keeping an eye on Jun-hee and her conversation.

Dae-ho exhaled heavily, frustration evident. “We have forty-five on our side. We’re outnumbered by twelve.”

The weight of the statement settled over the group like a cloud of despair.

Young-il stood up, breaking the silence. “It may seem like a big gap, but if six of them change their minds, it’s tied. Seven, and we win.”

“But what if some of the X votes switch to O?” Dae-ho countered.

“They likely won’t,” Young-il replied evenly. “Those who voted X wanted out even when the prize was smaller. Now they can leave with even more money. Why risk their lives again?”

You joined in. “Me, and Jung-bae will definitely vote X. That’s two already. If four more switch sides, it’s a tie. Five more, and we win.”

Gi-hun nodded decisively. “Then let’s go try to convince them.”

“No,” Young-il said firmly. “That’s too risky. Most of them want to continue playing. If we start making moves, they won’t sit back and let us sway their votes.”

Gi-hun’s frustration boiled over. “So we just stand here and pray they change their minds? What if we lose again? Are we supposed to march into another game like sheep?”

Hanni hesitated before speaking, her voice soft but steady. “Gi-hunnim, I don’t think it’s wise to provoke them. They might do the same to us, and they have the upper hand. People are here for money. If we start something, it could lead to a fight before we even vote.”

Her words calmed the rising tension, and the group fell into silence as guards entered the room, signaling the start of the next vote.

After the third game, only 100 players remained. The prize money now totaled 35.6 billion won, meaning each player will earn 356 million won if they would go home now. Jung-bae approached Gi-hun, his face grim yet determined. “With that kind of money,” he began, his voice low but certain, “some might change their minds. If we can convince six more people to vote X, we’ll tie. Seven, and we win.” His words hung in the air, filling the room with a fragile sense of hope.

The guards soon interrupted, announcing that the voting would proceed in reverse order of player numbers. The tension thickened as Gi-hun approached the booth, the echo of his footsteps amplifying the silence. “Player 456, please cast your vote,” one guard intoned, his monotone voice chilling in its detachment.

One by one, players approached the booth, many clinging to their original decisions. The scoreboard slowly reflected the changes. When it was Jung-bae’s turn, he strode forward with purpose, slamming his hand on the X button. As he returned to Gi-hun’s side, he showed off his X patch and declared, “Seven more to win,” his voice carrying the first flicker of confidence the group had heard in hours.

Player 380 voted X. Relief swept through your group—six more to go.

Player 185. X. Five more.

Your turn came, and you didn’t hesitate. X. Four more.

Player 125. X. Three.

Player 120 followed, then Player 015. Each X vote brought you closer to the tie. When Player 007 slammed the X button, he shouted, “Let’s go home!” and tore off his O patch triumphantly.

“That’s seven!” Jung-bae yelled, grinning in excitement. “We did it!”

The celebration was short-lived. The next player, an elderly woman, calmly voted O. The room fell silent as her choice appeared on the scoreboard: 49 for X, 50 for O.

Everyone turned toward the last player, Player 001. The atmosphere shifted, the tension nearly suffocating. The air felt heavy with anticipation as he slowly made his way to the booth. Young-il’s slow steps toward the voting booth felt endless. Every step seemed deliberate, as though he were savoring the weight of the moment.

Hanni, looking at Young-il, quietly gripped Jun-hee’s arm, her face pale. “What’s wrong?” Jun-hee asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

Hanni hesitated before speaking, her words barely audible. “Young-ilnim... he scares me sometimes.”

Jun-hee frowned. “Why? Did something happen?”

“When we were waiting for [Name]nim during the third game, I thought I saw him making eye contact with the guards,” Hanni murmured. “It was like... like they knew him. I don’t know, maybe I imagined it, but it didn’t feel right.”

Jun-hee’s brows furrowed, her protective instincts kicking in. “We should tell [Name]nim.”

“No!” Hanni shook her head rapidly. “I don’t want to ruin what they have. [Name]nim deserves to be happy. If I’m wrong, I don’t want to mess things up.”

Jun-hee looked at her with a mix of worry and understanding, her hand coming to rest on Hanni’s shoulder. Before either could say more, the sharp sound of Player 001’s vote echoed through the room.

A stunned silence followed before the scoreboard updated, displaying an even 50 for X and 50 for O. Young-il turned to the group, a smile on his face as he raised his hand in an okay sign. Your side erupted into quiet cheers, exchanging looks of disbelief and relief.

“It’s a tie. We did it!” Dae-ho exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders in excitement. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking him back as a rush of emotion coursed through you.

Relief swept through the room, but a palpable tension lingered as everyone waited to hear the outcome of the tie.

"Wait, since it’s a tie, what does it mean?" Player 100 asked.

The guard responded flatly, "Clause Three: If the voting ends in a tie, players will vote again. To give you time to think, the vote will be conducted tomorrow." He glanced around the room, his gaze cold and impassive. "Until then, please consider your future carefully."

As dinner commenced, your team welcomed new members—Players 120, 149, 007, and 246. The mood was a bit lighter, though tinged with underlying anxiety. Small talk carried the group through the meal, with some making half-hearted jokes to distract from the harsh reality of their situation.

“I’m surprised by the food today,” Hanni remarked, biting eagerly into her roll of gimbap. “I thought it would be bread and milk until the end.” You gently nudged her to slow down, worried she might choke.

Jun-hee, chewing thoughtfully, leaned closer to Hanni. “I was so scared earlier, especially with Young-ilnim. I thought for sure he’d vote O like the first time.” She hesitated, then whispered, “Hey, we really should tell her—”

“Tell me what?” you interjected, raising a brow.

“N-nothing!” Hanni stammered, her cheeks coloring as she avoided your gaze.

“Hmm, I’m watching you two,” you teased, making a gesture before turning your attention to Dae-ho, who was animatedly chatting with Jung-bae.

“I really thought you were going to vote O, like on day one,” Dae-ho admitted, glancing at Young-il. Jung-bae, clearly done with the male's rambling, stuffed a piece of gimbap into his mouth before addressing Young-il directly. “Thank you, Young-il. You gave us another chance.”

Young-il shook his head slightly, his expression neutral. “I just want to stay alive. The money’s enough now, so I need to get out of here. Alive.” His eyes flickered briefly to Gi-hun as he emphasized the last word, the intensity of his gaze sending a chill through the group.

The moment was interrupted by Player 246, who spoke up, his voice laced with apprehension. “Do you think we’ll be able to win the second vote?”

Reality hit like a blow, extinguishing the fragile flicker of hope that had momentarily lit the group. A somber silence followed until Young-il broke it. “We’ll have to go for broke,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “Like Gi-hun said earlier, we should try to convince some of them to change their minds before the second vote.”

“Will they, though?” Player 007 asked, his skepticism clear. “Most of them are blinded by the money now.”

“My son,” his mother chimed in with an oddly cheerful tone, “When you’re hungry, you start to miss home. All we have is this good roll of gimbap, and everyone will feel the pangs of hunger tomorrow.” Her logic was far-fetched, but no one dared contradict her.

007 stood and tried to address the opposing team, using the oll of gimbap as leverage. However, instead of having the result he expected to get, he got the total opposite. The men shouted over each other, their voices rising to a chaotic crescendo. Gi-hun, visibly conflicted, stared at his gimbap before unrolling it. Inside was a fork, its sharp prongs gleaming ominously. A weapon.

Unbeknownst to most, a fight had broken out in the bathroom. The announcement of eliminated players startled everyone into silence. Gasps and murmurs filled the room as the piggy bank suddenly rang. With 95 players remaining, the prize money now stood at 36.1 billion won, increasing each player’s worth to 380 million won.

“What’s happening?” Jung-bae whispered, his voice trembling with unease. His question hung unanswered as the bathroom doors opened. Players emerged, bloodied and bruised, their faces marked by fear and rage.

Player 124 from Team O stumbled into the middle of the room, his voice shaking with anger. “Listen, Team O!” he shouted. “When we were in the bathroom, these X bastards tried to kill us! They killed some of us, including my friend—”

“Bullshit!” Player 047 from Team X shouted back, cutting him off. “You’re the ones who started it!” He gestured toward where Team X sat, his voice rising with fury. “They threatened one of our people! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

The room erupted in chaos. People were shouting, pointing fingers, and some even started pushing and shoving. The tension in the air was thick, and it felt like everyone was on edge, afraid of what might happen next. You could feel the anxiety creeping in as everyone seemed to turn on each other.

In the midst of the chaos, Player 100 quickly rounded up the O team, ordering a headcount. Player 047 did the same with the X team, trying to keep control. The numbers were close, with 47 players on the O team and 48 on the X team. The X team now had the advantage in the voting.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said, sitting down. “That means we lost three, and now they have the upper hand.” A player on their team pointed out, “We still have a better chance. We’re one vote ahead now.”

Jung-bae, trying to stay positive, spoke up. “As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote tomorrow.” The room quieted down as everyone whispered amongst themselves, the weight of the upcoming vote heavy on their minds.

Suddenly, the announcement broke the silence. “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up, trying to rally his team. “Listen, no one can change their mind, okay? We’ll win tomorrow. Stay strong, we’ll make it through.” His words were filled with determination, and the room filled with a low hum of agreement from his team.

Once everyone started to settle down, Dae-ho leaned in, speaking in a low voice to your group. “Those guys are acting really suspicious. They’re planning something, I can feel it.”

Jung-bae, not paying much attention to the others, just waved him off. “Whatever. Once we win tomorrow’s vote, it’ll all be over.” He sounded confident, but you could tell he was just trying to keep the morale up.

You turned your gaze to Gi-hun, his face unreadable. You knew he was thinking about the situation carefully. After everything that had happened, you weren’t sure what he was planning. But something about the way the O team had been looking at you all, with a certain malice in their eyes, told you that there was more to this than just a vote.

Finally, Gi-hun spoke, his voice calm but filled with tension. “Once the lights go out, they’ll attack us.” The group went silent at his words, the weight of his statement sinking in. 007’s eyes widened in disbelief as he asked, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” You replied this time, everyone looked at you waiting for your explanation. “These people, they didn’t vote O because they wanted to play. They voted O to get more money. And now that they know killing increases the prize, they’ll do whatever it takes to do it.”

Young-il, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up. “Then we should attack first. We need to take them by surprise.” His suggestion was met with agreement from Player 047, who nodded, adding, “We have the women and elderly on our side. If they attack first, we’ll be at a huge disadvantage.”

But Gi-hun wasn’t on board with the idea. “No. We can’t start a fight like that.” Everyone looked at him, confused. “We need to stay calm. If we kill each other, that’s exactly what they want.”

Jung-bae frowned, clearly not understanding. “Who are they? Who are you talking about?”

“The makers of the game,” Gi-hun said bitterly, his eyes burning with anger. “They’re the ones who want us to kill each other. They’re watching us right now.”

The room fell silent as the others absorbed this revelation. You felt a chill run down your spine. “Where are they?” Dae-ho asked, his voice tight. You could hear the fear in his words, even if he was trying to hide it.

Gi-hun didn’t flinch. He simply looked up at the ceiling, his gaze steady. “Up there,” He murmured, his voice barely audible but filled with conviction. Slowly, everyone looked up at the ceiling, following his gaze. Gi-hun’s eyes were fixed on the higher levels. “The control rooms are above us. Their leader wears a black mask. If we capture him, we’ll have leverage.”

Young-il’s skepticism was evident. “How are you going to fight them? They’ve got guns.”

“We’ll take their guns,” Gi-hun answered plainly, locking eyes with Young-il. His words weren’t a suggestion—they were a plan.

“From the masked men?” Player 246 asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Gi-hun nodded resolutely. “Yes. We’ll catch them off guard. They won’t expect it.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Young-il said, shaking his head. “Even if we manage to steal their guns, we’ll be outnumbered.”

Gi-hun’s eyes hardened. “What’s your plan, then? Sit around and wait to die? Watch as they pick us off, one by one? Is that your idea of survival?” His voice was harsh, the desperation in his words cutting through the tension.

The silence that followed was thick, as everyone contemplated the harsh reality they faced.

120 spoke up, her voice uncertain but full of fear. “Do we even stand a chance?”

“We do,” Gi-hun said, his voice unwavering. “If we strike first, we catch them off guard. They’ll never see it coming. The people running this game think we’re powerless, but we have the upper hand now. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“How do you plan to take their guns?” Young-il asked again, his skepticism still evident.

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate, as if he had already thought it through. “Once the lights go out, we’ll have our chance.”

Lights out in 5 minutes.

As everyone made their way to their beds, Jun-hee excused herself, telling you she needed to talk to someone. You offered to go with her, but she waved you off, saying she’d be quick.

You turned to Hanni, who had a distant, absent look in her eyes. She wasn’t fully there, trapped in her own thoughts. You rubbed her back gently to snap her out of it. Poor Hanni. She was so young, and she didn’t deserve any of this. She shouldn’t have been thrown into this nightmare.

She deserved a future, a chance to grow and live, not this. It pained you to see her face filled with confusion and fear. There was so much darkness surrounding her, and she was so small, so vulnerable. It made your heart heavy.

“Stick close to me, okay?” you whispered, your voice soft but firm as you brushed her hair behind her ear. “If you can’t find me, go to Jun-hee, okay?”

Hanni nodded, but her expression didn’t fully match her words. You could see the uncertainty in her eyes. You gave her a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead, trying to offer what little comfort you could. Rocking her gently, you tucked her in, smoothing the blanket around her, and gave her one last kiss before heading to your own bed.

Lights out in 10.

The countdown echoed. You lay down, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. The seconds felt like hours.

9. What if this is the night? The thought couldn’t help but cross your mind, but you pushed it aside. You couldn’t afford to think that way now. You had to stay focused.

7. The sound of your heartbeat in your ears was almost deafening, the pressure of the countdown like a vice around your chest.

5. Keep it together. You told yourself. Focus. You had to be ready.

4. You thought about Hanni, about Jun-hee. What would happen to them if you didn’t make it? The thought alone made your chest tighten.

3. You forcefully removed them from your thoughts. This was not the time to think about them, they'll be fine, they'll be safe. They'll get out of here alive.

2. The darkness was getting closer. The room was quiet, but you could feel the tension, the electricity in the air. Everyone was waiting, bracing themselves.

The lights flickered and then went off, plunging the room into darkness. Your mind immediately went to Gi-hun’s words: Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quickly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us.

It was quiet.

Then it was loud.

The sounds of screams and footsteps filling the air as people were attacked and killed left and right. You could hear the unmistakable sounds of struggles, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. Panic rippled through the room. You prayed silently, hoping that Young-il, Hanni, Jun-hee, and everyone else would make it through the night. You clung to the hope that you would survive, that you wouldn’t be one of the unlucky ones who wouldn’t make it to the morning.

After minutes of waiting, the sound of doors opening signaled the end of the wait. You immediately crawled out from under the bottom bed following phase 2 of Gi-hun's plan.

Playing dead, you stayed as still as possible, listening for the guard’s footsteps. When you heard one approach, you tensed. As the guard scanned your ID, you reached out and grabbed them, pulling them into a headlock. They struggled, fighting to break free, but you tightened your grip, whispering a soft apology. With one swift movement, you snapped their neck. The familiar crack echoed in your ears. Without hesitation, you grabbed their gun, firing at nearby guards, taking them down one by one.

Quickly, you crawled under another bed, planning your next move. The guards on the upper beds were your next target. You fired a shot at an unsuspecting guard, laughing quietly as they looked around, confused. Before they could react, you shot again, taking them out.

From bed to bed, you moved stealthily, inching closer to the stage. Hidden in the shadows, you waited, watching the guards�� every move. You knew patience was key—waiting until they were close enough. When the retreat announcement echoed through the room, you sprang into action. Leaping from your hiding spot, you unleashed a spray of bullets, taking down the remaining guards one by one. Even as they tried to retreat into the gate, you kept firing, not giving them a chance to escape.

But just as the last guard made it to the gate, you pulled the trigger, only to hear a click. You were out of bullets. Panic surged through you. You needed to reload, but before you could, you heard Gi-hun shout, "Hold fire!" You stopped, nodding as you obeyed his command.

Jung-bae and Player 246 rushed forward and forced the last guard to his knees, making him raise his hands in surrender. Slinging your empty gun over your shoulder, you quickly ran to the back, where Hanni and Jun-hee were waiting for you.

“Unnie!” Hanni whispered-yelled as you came into view, her eyes lighting up in relief. Jun-hee was right behind her, giving you a big smile and waving you over with an expression full of warmth. You didn’t hesitate, pulling both of them into a tight hug. The moment felt comforting, but the danger still lingered in the air. You held their faces gently, searching for any signs of injury.

“Are you both hurt?” you asked, voice steady but filled with concern.

In the background, you could hear Gi-hun telling everyone to come out, reassuring them that you wouldn’t hurt them. His voice was low but commanding, a sense of authority settling over the group.

Jun-hee and Hanni shook their heads before telling you they were okay. You exhaled softly, a sigh of relief escaping you as the weight in your chest lifted slightly. You gave them a small smile.

“When you mentioned collecting guns and gunmanship, I really thought you meant some online FPS game,” Hanni said, trying to lighten the mood, a playful glint in her eyes. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Really now? Well, I might be old, but not that old. I’m still strong enough to do these things,” you said, flexing your arms with an exaggerated grunt. Your muscles were hardly impressive, but the action was enough to make the three of you laugh. It felt good—too good for the situation you were all in.

You continued to smile as the laughter settled, but your thoughts flickered back to the reality. “Alright, you two, go ahead. I’ll catch up with you soon. I need to collect the guns and ammo from the guards first,” you said, your tone firm but affectionate. You ushered them toward the center before you set about your task.

As you moved toward the fallen guards, your hands quickly went to work, collecting the weapons and ammo. You moved with precision, and were so in the zone that you barely noticed a figure following you.

“Are you alright?”

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you jerked your head toward the sound. In an instant, your fingers gripped the handle of your gun, and you pointed it at the source of the voice. When you saw who it was, your tension loosened, but only slightly. Your breath came out in a shaky exhale as you lowered the gun.

“Young-il, you scared me!” you said, pressing a hand to your chest, heart still racing from the sudden scare.

“Ah? That so?” he replied, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m very sorry then.”

“Oh, shut up. That’s not the look of someone who’s sorry,” you shot back, though a smile tugged at your own lips.

The two of you shared a brief laugh before the tension in your bodies dissipated enough for you to focus on the task at hand again. “Help me out with these, will you?” you asked, gesturing to the weapons scattered on the ground. He didn’t hesitate, moving to gather the magazines and guns.

The two of you worked in relative silence, the only sounds the shifting of metal and the occasional clink of ammunition being loaded. Despite everything, the atmosphere between you felt strangely light. It was as if, for a moment, the world outside was forgotten and it was just the two of you working together. You didn’t know why, but it was oddly comforting.

“May I ask how you’re so familiar with guns?” he asked, genuinely curious now. He hadn’t expected you to be the type, but he wasn’t in a position to judge anymore.

You hesitated for a moment before replying, your voice softening. “Well, I used to have an aunt who was really into guns. She married a fellow gun enthusiast, and together they opened up a shooting range near our home. At first, I wasn’t that interested. Guns weren’t my thing, really.” You paused, remembering the past. “But then I started noticing someone—someone I had a crush on. He was always reading about guns, and I thought maybe I could get him to teach me. I thought it’d be a way to connect, you know?”

Young-il nodded as he stayed quiet, finding comfort in your voice as you talked him away. You took a deep breath before continuing, the words spilling out freely.

“When I asked him about it, he just brushed me off. Told me that girls like me should stick to cooking and cleaning and that guns were for ‘big boys’ like him. Some bullshit like that.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “I didn’t take it well. It pissed me off, actually. And from that day on, I got serious about guns—just to prove I could be as good as any guy.” You let out a bitter chuckle. “Now, I’ve got a collection at home.”

The air around you seemed to shift. The lightheartedness had drained from the conversation, and you felt the past creeping up on you. Young-il must’ve noticed the change in your mood, because he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he gave you space, knowing you needed it.

A few moments passed before you spoke again, your voice distant. “A few years after we met again, things just... happened. One thing led to another, and I ended up having a beautiful baby girl.” You smiled softly, but it quickly faded. “You should meet her. I think she’d like you.”

Young-il’s face softened for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. You felt the smile fade completely as you continued. “I’m happy to have her, I really am... But it wasn’t supposed to happen that way. The guy... he wasn’t in it for the right reasons. He just wanted to drain me dry and disappear. He never told me about his debt. And the collectors...”

You trailed off, the heaviness of the past taking over. Young-il stayed quiet, giving you the space you needed to process everything.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Young-il said gently, his voice softer than before.

You shook your head, offering him a reassuring smile. “No, no… it’s okay. You deserve to know.” A brief silence passed between you two before you started explaining, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air.

“When the collectors came to my house, I found out that he had put my name and address down as the guarantor. In their eyes, I owed them around 1 billion won, but that was far from the truth. They told me that since I was their ‘favorite’ debtee, they struck up a deal. They’d lower the debt to 800 million... and another form of payment to cover the remaining 200 million…” You paused, your breath catching in your throat. “In return... they’d keep my kid hostage until I paid them every last cent.”

Young-il looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and sympathy. He didn’t know what to say, but his expression was enough. He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it, opting for silence. After a while, he let his mouth open. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to tell me, especially to someone you’ve only just met.”

Grabbing the last available gun, you smiled back at him, but it was a smile tinged with sadness. “It’s alright, Young-il,” you said, your voice steady despite the heaviness in your heart. “I know this is not the right time for these things, but you’re definitely more than just someone I’ve only just met.”

Young-il froze, your words sinking into him like a knife he hadn’t seen coming. He kept his face neutral, but inside, a storm raged. He had tried to suppress it—whatever it was that made his chest tighten whenever you spoke to him, that made his thoughts drift to you in moments of quiet. But now, hearing you say those words, the feelings he had buried clawed their way to the surface.

His gaze flickered to you, trying to gauge if you understood what you had just done. But your eyes met his with a casual earnestness, as if you hadn’t realized the impact of your words. Of course, you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You didn’t know that every small interaction with you chipped away at the walls he had built around himself. That every glance, every word, every fleeting moment made it harder for him to maintain the facade of indifference he had perfected over the years.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his jaw tightening. What was he supposed to say? That you were right? That you were more than just someone he’d met in the chaos of the games? That you had become something he didn’t know how to handle?

No. He couldn’t say any of that. Not now. Not ever.

So instead, he said nothing.

“Are you ready?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, completely unaware of the turmoil brewing inside him.

He nodded once, stiffly, as if the motion required more effort than it should. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low and even.

As you turned away, he lingered for a moment, watching you. His chest ached with a mix of emotions he didn’t want to name—ones he thought he had locked away when he lost the love of his life. He had told himself there was no room for them, especially not now, especially not with you.

And yet, here they were, threatening to unravel him.

He shook his head, forcing himself to follow after you, his steps heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. He couldn’t afford to let himself feel—not here, not in this place where feelings were a liability.

But as much as he tried to bury it, he knew it was too late. He had already let you in, even if you didn’t know it.

You stood beside Young-il, both of you observing the remaining players, the silent anticipation thick in the air. The guns and ammo laid before you, the weight of the upcoming mission pressing down on everyone. Gi-hun, at the front of the group, finally broke the silence, his voice steady yet resolute.

“We will capture those who captured us, putting an end to this game, and making them pay.”

The weight of his words hit hard, but there was no turning back now. Everyone knew what was at stake. Beside Jun-hee, Hanni's gaze lingered on Young-il, watching him carefully. There was something off about him, something she couldn’t quite place, but she was determined to figure it out. She was always one to notice the little things.

Gi-hun’s voice rang out again, more direct this time. “Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward.”

For a long moment, no one moved. Fear was a suffocating blanket that kept them frozen in place. Then, Jung-bae stepped forward, his presence almost a defiance against the tension in the room.

“I know you’re scared,” he said, his voice firm, though tinged with his own nervousness. “We’re scared too. But this might be our last chance to make it out of here alive.” A beat of silence followed, heavy and thick. Then, with a quiet resolve, Jung-bae continued, “Fight with us, so we can go home together.”

One by one, four men stepped up, their faces a mix of fear and determination. They grabbed their guns and ammo, preparing for the fight ahead. Gi-hun began instructing everyone to check their ammo, his eyes scanning the group for any sign of hesitation. Jung-bae handed out radios, the weight of their importance not lost on anyone.

“We’ll be using channel 7, the lucky number,” he announced. Everyone nodded in unison, following his instructions.

Gi-hun turned to Young-il, who was checking his ammo with meticulous care. “Thank you for earlier,” He said, his voice quieter than usual. Young-il didn’t look up, his focus still on the gun in his hands. “You can buy me soju when we get out,” he muttered, his voice gruff but carrying a faint hint of amusement.

You overheard their exchange and couldn’t resist the urge to tease. “What about me? Where’s my thanks?” You pushed the ammo back into its place, a smirk playing at your lips as both men glanced at you in surprise. Your chuckle filled the tense air, lightening the mood for a brief moment. “I’m just messing with you. Good luck out there, Captain. Get us out of here.”

Gi-hun smiled back at you, nodding before turning to check the rest of the team.

Meanwhile, Player 120, noticing Player 246 struggling with his ammo, stepped forward without hesitation. She called for everyone’s attention, and the group grew silent as she began to demonstrate how to operate the gun in her hands.

“This is the MP5, a submachine gun,” she said with a confident grin, her hands moving smoothly as she demonstrated how to load, unload, and switch the mode of the weapon.

You couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated by the fluidity of her movements. There was something almost hypnotic about the way she handled the weapon, and you felt a rush of excitement. You exchanged a glance with Young-il, catching his teasing look. Your eyes narrowed playfully in return.

“What?” you said, your voice light, but with a hint of a challenge. “It’s not every day you find another girl with the same interest as me.”

“Well, I didn’t say anything,” Young-il replied, his tone nonchalant, but there was a subtle spark of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you. His lips quirked slightly, as if he was trying to suppress a smile but failing just a little.

You shot him a playful glare, your eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "Just saying, it's rare to find someone who gets it." You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly as you met his gaze, your voice teasing but with a quiet warmth.

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his smirk lingering. "I get it, trust me," he said, his voice a lot softer.

As player 120 returned to her spot, You and Player 246, who seemed just as curious as you, looked at her in astonishment. “Where did you learn so much about guns?” 246 asked, his tone a mix of awe and genuine interest. You were itching to ask the same thing, and when Player 120 answered, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Ah, I was a sergeant first class in the ROK Special Forces,” she said, her tone casual but proud.

You practically beamed at her answer. “Wow,” you muttered, feeling a newfound respect for the woman who had so confidently shared her experience. You turned to the male beside you, ready to share your thoughts, but as your gaze flickered over to Young-il, you noticed something you hadn’t seen before—a distance in his expression, something off. The familiarity of his stoic face was still there, but there was a coldness behind it now that you couldn’t place. You felt your chest tighten, and for a moment, your confidence faltered. The words you wanted to say got stuck in your throat. Was there something bothering him?

You hesitated for a second before turning your attention back to Player 120, deciding not to press. You wanted to focus on the task ahead, but that nagging feeling in your chest refused to subside.

Gi-hun’s voice broke through the quiet, cutting through your thoughts. He pointed a revolver at the guard on the ground, demanding that he remove his mask. You felt your stomach turn as the young guard’s face was revealed. He looked no older than 25, his eyes wide with fear. Jung-bae’s reaction mirrored your own—he was visibly disturbed by the sight. He approached the guard, his voice filled with genuine concern. “Do your parents know what you’re doing?”

Before the guard could answer, Gi-hun cocked the revolver, silencing the room in an instant. The tension in the air was almost unbearable, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

His voice was low, almost a growl, but it carried with an unyielding edge. “Take us to your captain.” His words hung in the air, final and unwavering.

You followed the group, positioning yourself toward the back of the line just in front of Player 120. Before stepping through the door, you cast a glance back and saw Hanni and Jun-hee's worried faces. You offered them a warm, comforting smile, trying to reassure them, even if you weren’t sure how much comfort you could offer in that moment.

As you stepped through, you seized the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the other woman in the group.

“Hey, uh… my name’s [Lastname] [Name]. I just wanted to say, I really admire how fearless and knowledgeable you are with guns, especially for a girl. Not that it means much, I’m a girl too. It's just... the only other woman I knew who was into guns was my aunt,” you said, trying to keep the tone casual despite the nerves gnawing at you.

Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju, gave you a surprised but warm smile. “Nice to meet you, [Name]. I didn’t expect you to be so open, especially with how tense everything is.”

Before you could respond, the sound of Gi-hun’s revolver firing cut through the air. The loud shot echoed, silencing the recorded announcement urging everyone to return to their beds. “Down!” Gi-hun barked. Your eyes snapped up, spotting the movement of pink guards approaching from the corner.

"At one o'clock!" Gi-hun yelled, his voice urgent. You quickly ducked, instinctively reaching for your weapon. Hyun-ju, without hesitation, took cover and began firing.

“Cover me!” she shouted as she moved, using the new position to get a better shot. You returned fire, covering her as she positioned herself to pick off the guards. Every few moments, you switched between ducking for cover and popping up to fire. The rhythm became second nature, the cacophony of gunfire almost drowning out your thoughts. Bang, cover. Bang, cover.

“Cease fire!” Gi-hun ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos. You dropped behind cover, a sharp breath escaping you as the last of the guards fell. Gi-hun quickly checked in with everyone. You gave him a thumbs-up, signaling you were good.

"Alright, we move up," he said, his voice steady as always. You nodded, scanning your surroundings. Your eyes flicked to the CCTV camera near you. With a quick movement, you raised your gun and fired, taking out the lens. You saw Hyun-ju doing the same on her end. The two of you exchanged a brief nod, silently acknowledging the trust that had formed in the chaos.

Gi-hun led the group forward, signaling everyone to check corners as you moved.

Suddenly, you all halted as Gi-hun interrogated a guard. Gun to his face, the guard meekly pointed ahead. “The entrance to the management area is around the corner. The control room is right above it,” he said, fear evident in his voice.

“Move it then,” Gi-hun ordered, pushing the guard forward.

The guard hesitated, then started to reach for his mask.

“What are you doing?” Gi-hun demanded.

“I need to get my mask to bypass security,” the guard replied quickly. Gi-hun hesitated but allowed the guard to move, sensing no immediate threat.

But then, the unexpected happened. The guard froze, staring blankly ahead, paralyzed. Before you could react, a bullet pierced his skull, sending him crumpling to the ground. Chaos erupted immediately as the sound of rapid gunfire filled the air. Guards flooded in, and you scrambled for cover, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

The gunfire was relentless. You moved, ducking and shooting, ducking and shooting, covering every angle as you fought for your life. The intensity of the moment was blinding, but you couldn't afford to lose focus.

“I’ll go for the management area!” Gi-hun yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Will you be able to find it? Should I come with you?” Young-il called after him, a note of concern in his voice.

“No,” Gi-hun responded sharply. “I’ll go with Jung-bae. You need to buy us some time.”

Young-il nodded, his gaze sharp. Gi-hun and Jung-bae moved off in one direction, leaving the rest of you to handle the remaining guards.

Noticing two of your friends had bolted, you immediately motioned for cover, weaving between Young-il and Dae-ho. You glanced at Young-il, asking where they were going and what their instructions were. Young-il quickly relayed their plan, his voice steady despite the urgency.

With a firm nod, you raised your gun, ready to provide the cover fire needed. The next few moments were a blur of bullets and evasive maneuvers as you helped keep the guards at bay. You could only hope that Gi-hun and Jung-bae would find what they needed before it was too late.

As you continued to fight off the guards, you noticed Dae-ho's frantic movements. He was wasting bullets, shooting wildly without even aiming. The gunfire echoed around you, but his shots were going wide, not hitting anyone. You could tell he was struggling.

When he ran out of ammo, you placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him. “You good there, Dae-ho? Do you have some extra ammo?”

His eyes were wide, panicked, and full of fear. You could see the signs of someone who had experienced more than they should have, someone who had been pushed to the edge. His reaction was familiar to you—too familiar. He was struggling with some kind of trauma, possibly PTSD. Despite his fear of gunshots, he had still volunteered to fight, a true marine in spirit, but the weight of it was starting to break him.

Young-il noticed the exchange, his gaze shifting between you and Dae-ho. You handed Dae-ho some of your extra ammo, keeping your voice calm as you tried to keep him grounded. “You have to be resourceful. It’s okay to take a breather. I’m here to cover you.”

Dae-ho gulped, nodding shakily as he began to reload. You took the moment to shoot a few guards, hiding behind cover to keep your position steady.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere!” Player 047 shouted, his frustration evident. “Let’s follow them up to the upper level!”

You immediately shook your head, disagreeing with the idea. “We might get surrounded if you don’t have a plan! We need to wait for Gi-hun and Jung-bae’s signal!”

Young-il nodded, agreeing with your assessment. “Let’s wait until they find the control room.”

You were about to reposition when a bullet grazed your cheek, the sharp sting making you flinch. Blood seeped out, but thankfully it wasn’t anything fatal. Still, the pain was enough to remind you of how dangerous the situation was. You cursed under your breath as you pressed a hand to your face, trying to stop the bleeding.

Young-il noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he shot the guard who had fired at you, his sharp eyes never leaving your form as he checked on you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… thanks, ah shit, that hurts!” you winced, but you quickly resumed your position, peeking out to shoot, then ducking back into cover. Peak, shoot, hide. Peak, shoot, hide.

But then came the dreaded sound of an empty magazine clicking. Shit, you were out of ammo. You reached for your pockets, frantically searching for spare magazines when Hyun-ju’s voice rang through the hall. “Everyone, check your magazines!”

The tension in the air grew as you all checked your remaining rounds. It was bad for everyone—almost all of you were running on fumes, ammo running dangerously low. Even Young-il was out.

Just as you were about to panic, the radio crackled to life.

“Young-il, Dae-ho, [Name], can you hear me?” Jung-bae’s voice came through, sounding strained.

Young-il looked at you, signaling for you to cover while he responded. You nodded, raising your gun to keep the guards in check.

“Yeah, we hear you. What’s the status?” Young-il replied, his voice steady despite the chaos around you.

Jung-bae’s voice came back quickly. “I think we’re below the control room now! But we need backup and more ammo!”

“We’re running low on ammo too!” Young-il yelled.

“There should be spare magazines in the soldier’s pockets in our quarters. Go get them!” Gi-hun ordered.

“Got it!” Young-il responded immediately, turning to the group. “Did you hear that? They need backup! Four of us will go, and the rest will stay here. Join us once you’ve gotten more magazines.”

“Who wants to go with me?” Young-il asked, looking around. Without hesitation, you raised your hand, determination in your eyes. “I’ll go!”

Young-il looked at you with a troubled expression, about to argue, but before he could stop you, two other voices spoke up in agreement. Player 047 and Player 015 both volunteered to join, and Young-il, after a final look at your determined face, gave a resigned nod. “Alright, follow me.”

The four of you moved cautiously, alert as you made your way toward the stairs. The hallways were dimly lit, bathed in an eerie purple hue that made everything seem surreal, almost as though you were walking through some twisted version of reality. The stairs seemed endless, twisting upward in the haze of the purple glow.

Young-il gave the order for you three to go ahead of him, signaling you to take the lead. Without hesitation, you followed. What you didn’t notice however, was Young-il making eye contact with the CCTV camera, and silently ordering the guards—through hand signals—not to shoot you.

As you turned the corner, your eyes immediately locked onto Gi-hun and Jung-bae. Relief surged through you for a second before you remembered the danger. “Did you find the control room?” you asked, your voice a mix of urgency and hope.

“I think it's right up there, but we can’t go this way,” Gi-hun said, his voice tense. “I want you to find another way.”

“I did a scan of the layout here,” Young-il said, sounding calm, but there was a quiet determination in his voice. “I’m sure there’s a way to go around them.” He turned to you, his gaze steady but full of unspoken concern. “You stay here with Jung-bae and Gi-hun. You still have more ammo, so guard them, okay?”

You blinked, feeling your heart tighten in your chest. “What?” you asked, surprise creeping into your voice. “Are you sure about that?”

Before you could press further, Young-il’s voice softened but carried an edge of finality. “I want you guys to keep their focus on you. We’ll hit them from behind.” He paused, his gaze meeting yours for a long moment, his eyes betraying just how much this weighed on him. There was tenderness there in his look, desipte that, there was no room for argument.

You saw the worry in his eyes, but also something else—a protective instinct that almost made your heart skip a beat. You knew there was no way to change his mind so you just nodded, pushing down the tightness in your chest and grabbed your last magazine. “Take this, Young-il, and be safe.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on you. “You sure?”

You nodded firmly, despite the fear gnawing at your insides. “Dae-ho will be back with more.”

His hand brushed yours as he took the magazine from you, and for a split second, it felt like time slowed down. The touch, however brief, left a lingering warmth in your palm, and when his gaze lingered on you, there was an almost imperceptible softness in his expression that made your heart flutter, even if only for a moment.

With a final, decisive nod, Young-il, 047, and 015 ran as you peeked out from the wall, your pulse racing as you provided cover for him and his team. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the familiar sting of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

After a while you heard Young-il’s voice crackle over the radio: “We found it. Start attacking and draw their attention. Then we will hit them from behind.” Gi-hun’s voice followed shortly after, giving you the go signal. There was no turning back now.

Your grip on the gun tightened, and as you moved into position, you didn’t hesitate. With one last glance at Gi-hun and Jung-bae, you stepped out from your cover and opened fire, the rapid succession of shots echoing off the walls. You kept your aim steady, focusing on their movements, keeping them distracted. Each shot rang out, but the weight of the situation pressed heavily on you—your mind was focused, but there was a constant undercurrent of worry, the feeling that you were too far from where you needed to be.

It had been a few minutes since you saw Young-il. The soldiers were still there, and a tightness formed in your chest. Something wasn’t right. You pushed the thought away, staying focused on the fight at hand, but you couldn’t ignore the nagging worry. Every time the radio buzzed, your heart skipped a beat, hoping to hear something from him.

And then, your prayers were answered. Hope rushed through as your radio buzzed to life. However, everything came crashing down when heard his voice. Weak. “Gi-hun… Jung-bae… [Name]… I’m sorry…”

Your stomach dropped. You could barely breathe as the world seemed to slow around you. You grabbed for your radio with shaking hands, putting it up to your mouth as your heart raced. “S-stay where you are, Young-il. I’m coming.” The words barely left your mouth before you were already running, ignoring the shouts from Gi-hun and Jung-bae as you pushed forward.

Your feet pounded against the ground as you ran, the urgency flooding your veins. You couldn’t think. Your focus was a single thought—get to him, and get to him now. The radio fell silent as it slipped off your hands, and you were left with nothing but the sound of your breathing and your footsteps echoing in the halls.

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to accept it. But as the minutes passed, and the distance between you and your goal seemed endless, something inside you shifted. Desperation took hold of you, and with each step, it felt like you were running out of time. Tears blurred your vision, and you wiped your eyes, but the fear that gripped you didn’t let up.

You stumbled, tripping over your own feet, the exhaustion starting to catch up with you. Your mind screamed at you to keep going, but your body couldn’t take it. You hit the ground, scraping your palms. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You needed to find him.

And then, you saw it. A flash of white. A shoe, just barely visible around the corner. Your heart skipped a beat. Ignoring the pain, you propped yourself up, the desperation pushing you forward.

You ran toward it, praying, hoping—maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance. But as you turned the corner, everything seemed to stop. A sudden thud behind you—the sound of heavy footsteps, too close. You spun around just in time to see a black-clad guard standing before you.

Instinct kicked in. You raised your gun, fingers wrapped tightly around the grip, your eyes locking on the target. You squeezed the trigger, but instead of the sharp report of a shot, the only sound was the click of an empty chamber. Panic surged in your chest. You were out of ammo.

Before you could react, the guard lunged forward, and with brutal precision, he slammed the barrel of his gun into your face. The impact was jarring, sending you stumbling back, your vision spinning and your body fighting to stay upright. Blood poured from your nose, warm and thick, but you had no strength left to retaliate. The world blurred as your knees gave way beneath you, and you collapsed to the floor, the darkness swallowing you whole.

The last thing you heard was the guard’s voice, distant and cold, as he spoke into his radio: “I have Player 132.”

And then, the world went silent.

“Good.” In-ho’s voice replied, “bring her to where I am.”

As Jung-bae and Gi-hun knelt with their arms behind their heads, In-ho, wearing his uniform, walked down to greet them.

“Player 456,” he said, voice masked. “Did you have fun playing hero?”

Gi-hun looked up at the familiar voice, anger flashing across his face. Before he could respond, he watched as his enemy gestured to the black-clad guard to step forward. As the guard approached, both Jung-bae and Gi-hun’s eyes went wide. In the guard's hands was you, battered and bruised, unconscious and lifeless. Blood soaked your clothes, and your head hung limply. The guard dropped you unceremoniously to the ground. Your body hit the floor with a sickening thud, and they couldn’t look any longer, their hearts shattering at the sight. Despite only meeting each other for a short period of time, you had felt like a little sister to them, someone who had always been there, and now you were being discarded as though you meant nothing.

In-ho, unfazed, pulled out his Deagle and aimed it at your motionless body. A surge of anger flooded Gi-hun, but he was too late to stop what was happening. He had helped you through so much, and now, despite everything, he couldn’t even protect you.

“Look closely,” In-ho’s voice cut through the silence, “at the consequences of your little hero game.” Before turning the gun towards Jung-bae.

Jung-bae, his face pale with fear, barely managed to speak, his voice trembling, “Gi-hun—”

A loud bang echoed through the room, and Jung-bae’s body crumpled to the floor, lifeless, blood pooling around him.

“No!” Gi-hun screamed, unable to contain his grief. He scrambled over to Jung-bae’s body, pulling him close. His eyes then flicked to yours, and he rushed to hold you too, calling out your name in agony. “No, please...”

He tried to charge toward the masked man, his anger and desperation overpowering him, but the guards quickly tackled him, pinning him down. The sound of his cries filled the room, but none of the guards moved to stop it. He wept for both you and Jung-bae, unable to process the loss.

In-ho stood watching with cold indifference, finding satisfaction in Gi-hun’s torment. With a simple gesture of his hand, he commanded the guards to knock Gi-hun out. As the guards subdued him, In-ho turned his attention to the aftermath.

“Clean up this mess,” he ordered. The guards began clearing away the bodies, but when they reached for you, In-ho stopped them. “Leave her be.”

Once the area was cleared, In-ho instructed everyone to leave, and the guards filed out. Alone in hallway, he looked down at your peaceful face, his expression softening for a moment. He removed his glove and gently wiped the blood from your cheek.

The action seemed to rouse something in you, as your eyes fluttered open. Disoriented, you blinked, taking in the unfamiliar sight of black shoes in front of you. Your senses kicked in immediately, and with quick reflexes, you grabbed the revolver hidden beneath your shirt and aimed it at the figure in front of you.

Your finger squeezed the trigger, but instead of the expected thud of a body dropping, you heard the sharp crack of shattering glass. The CCTV camera behind the masked figure had been destroyed. The sound echoed, and for a brief moment, everything paused.

In-ho didn’t flinch. His gaze never left you, cold and unwavering. You, on the other hand, stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened. The gun in your hand felt foreign, heavy. The glass that scattered across the floor seemed to mock you—your aim had been off. You hadn’t meant to miss. But what had you really aimed for? The camera? Or something else?

His posture remained unchanged. Silent. Watching. Calculating. He didn’t seem angry or pleased. He was just... waiting.

The silence pressed down on you, suffocating. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked between the broken camera and him. You weren’t sure what you expected—more movement, an immediate response, or maybe... nothing at all. The question lingered in the air, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask it. You were waiting, too. Waiting for the next move.

Your body tensed. Was this the end? After all this was the enemy Gi-hun told you about. Every thought in your head felt like it was colliding, spinning in a storm. Taking a step back, your body reacts before your mind could catch up. What was he going to do? Was he still going to kill you?

Suddenly, the words you hadn’t even realized you were thinking slipped out, barely a whisper. “W-what do you want?” The sound of your voice startled you, hoarse and raw from everything leading up to this point.

“Answer me!”

He didn’t answer, he simply extended his arm, his palm open. A gesture. A question. It felt like he was waiting for something more than just your answer—maybe a reaction, maybe a choice. But you didn’t know if there was even one left to make.

The silence stretched out, thick and heavy. Your pulse thudded in your ears, drowning out everything else. And then, for the briefest of moments, everything cleared. A strange, unsettling calm swept over you. The fear, the anxiety—it all faded, replaced by something deeper, darker. You were done running. Done fighting. It was all too much.

Without thinking, your hand lowered, the revolver slipping from the aim you had kept steady for so long. Slowly, almost in slow motion, you brought the gun to your temple. Your breath hitched, shallow and ragged, but the world around you felt distant, quieter.

It wasn’t a decision. It was a release. A way to escape all of it.

But just as you gathered the strength to pull the trigger, you heard a slight sound. The faintest of movements. The sound of unclasping. You blinked, dazed, as something shifted in the air.

His hand lowered.

And then, with slow, deliberate motion, he removed his mask.

Your heart stopped.

For a moment, everything else ceased to exist. The room, the tension, the gun still pressed against your temple—everything blurred. The world shifted.

You stared at him, unable to process what you were seeing. The face that had once been a stranger now felt... familiar. But it wasn’t supposed to be him. It couldn’t be. The man standing in front of you wasn’t the same one who had fought beside you, who had once shared your vision, your cause. No, this wasn’t him.

And yet... it was.

"...Young-il?"

The name escaped your lips like a memory you weren’t sure you wanted to reclaim. He didn’t answer. He just raised his hand again, his gesture the same, his eyes locked on yours.

It wasn’t just a question—it was an invitation.

You stared at his outstretched hand, the choice heavy in the air. The revolver trembled in your grip.

This time, the decision was yours to make.

#wqnsho.writes #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #frontman x reader #hwang in ho x reader #player 001 x reader #in ho x reader #oneshot

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

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Yandere Fantasy Villain

Imagine you’ve been transported to a DnD-Fantasy-like world. Quests, adventurers, and mystical beasts are everything you could dream of. You’ve already established your little troupe; becoming an important cornerstone of the group. Whatever your class, you’re excelling at they really rely on which is why things go badly when you meet him—-the recurring villain of this world.

“Oh my–oh my Zoth.”

“What? Do I horrify the little hero!?”

“No, you’re–”

“Worse than you imagined?”

“No, you’re–”

“(Y/n) stop freezing up!”

“You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met!”

The group is horrified as they plan a tactical retreat, finding it easier to thwart the Fantasy Villain’s attacks which are suddenly less frequent. The group just assumes you’ve been enchanted because since you’ve locked eyes with him you’ve been unable to stand on your feet. Wide-eyed and breathing heavy you just can’t stop the heat climbing over your face and ears as you replay the moment you met over and over.

“You realize he’s a part of the ugliest most horrible race known to all of Azarothan.”

“If that’s ugly then I’m dead!”

“M-maybe he did enchant them?”

Meanwhile, the Villain’s returned to home base, shedding his armor and dismissing his entourage. Sat on his throne he replays the words you’ve said to him…over and over….and over again. His ears are turning a deep blue and he can’t help the involuntary reaction of the volcano attached to his castle bubbling with excitement.

“They-they think I’m beautiful?!”

He’s reeling with an overflow of energy and unknown vigor when he recalls your awestruck face as you fell to your knees clutching your enchanted tool. He can’t stop the thought of you in that same position but in a different setting. Cursing his lacking imagination he concocts his usual magic to spy on the troupe with his crystal ball but this time he’s focused solely on you.

“Surely they’ll brag about the enchantment they left on me…..and maybe talk about their own infatuation again.”

It strokes a different kind of pride when he hears you deny being cursed. The feelings are mutual. He’s over the moon all four of them. You have to understand the Fantasy Villain has never been told something so flattering.

“From another world….figures. This world could never make such…a perfect soul.”

Since their upbringing, they’ve been met with nothing but scorn and hatred. Vowing to rule and change the world that did that to him. If others did express interest it was because he had power or was literally about to kill them. Your reaction, your unadulterated feelings for him, the tug at his soul is the only sign he needs before his objective changes.

“I wanted to rule the world so I could change the world for me. But now I’m going to change the world so I can rule with them.”

He means it. The troops are given new orders, the deadly nightmarish beasts are given new tasks, and he’s already concocting a million different plans to attain you. He watches the crystal ball relentlessly trying to hear and see as much as he can to learn more about you. He realizes very quickly that he really hates those adventurers of yours.

“C’mon (Y/n)! Just because you’re attracted to the enemy doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to destroy the world!”

“Yeah (Y/n), you’ve got to get your head in the game. We need you!”

“I–your right…sorry guys…I just don’t think I’ve ever seen someone who fits my preferences so perfectly.”

“You don’t even know him!”

“But one look in his galaxy-like eyes and it felt like I did.”

He really hates them. Listening to them talk you out of your feelings for him. Before you arrived they were minor pests. Simply a small roadblock that he would eventually crush to shatter the hopes of the people when they needed them most. Now they were just obstacles in the way of his goal–you.

“Sire those adventurers you told us to keep an eye on are on the move. Should I give the order to attack?”

“No…summon the siren I’d like to take a different approach.”

He gets incredibly crafty, despite only meeting you once he can tell you aren’t heartless like he. He’s certain should you find him to be responsible for the death of anyone you’ve met you’d reject his love. So he’ll make it his plan to slowly break your little troupe, such spunky and erratic individuals may be just the only tool he needs.

“My orders, My Ruler?”

“Join their group. Do what you like with whoever you wish.

“?”

“Bring discord how you see fit.”

“Yes, My Ruler!”

His plan is perfect and the group isn’t nearly suspicious enough to reject his double agent. Who’s presence triggers the cracks that this group had always had. When the group splits apart needing to cool off you’re left alone, a perfect chance for a moment with you.

“Hello, little hero.”

“Whoa, what are you doing here? My troupe’s not too far! A-a-a-nd I–I’m willing to fight this time!”

“That’s a shame because I came to speak to you.”

“Really! Ahem, I mean about what?”

“About those words, you said to me….I wonder did you know what they’ve ignited.”

Taking advantage of your easily lowered guard, he speaks the truth. Coming in close enough to feel the heat escaping from your armor, he’ll share the tale of his past. Which as he predicted makes you so sympathetic and just as willing to sing his praises as the moment you met.

“But you’re not ugly or horrid like they all say.”

“No?”

“I think you’re beyond handsome. One of the most ethereal beings I’ve ever met.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know so… I’m just sorry no one else has told you that.”

“I’m happy it was you.”

When you let him dive in for a kiss, naturally you accept it. Returning his vigor in kind if not with sympathy or just your attraction, you miss how he places a magical mark on your neck. Or how he casually enchants your armor to protect you better. Or how he influences the flora and fauna of the forest to curve in the direction you came from essentially blocking the path back to your camp. When he reluctantly releases you he further promises he’s never letting you leave his grasp. Promising to one day have you on the throne beside him.

“I must return and so must you. Your friends will worry.”

“Oh…you’re right.”

“Don’t sound so sad, we’ll meet again.”

“Not just in my dreams.”

“Not just in your dreams.”

He leaves not only giddy with love but with a new plan in mind. He prepared to be faced with a struggle, to have to fight for your affection as the enemy you’d be fighting. But he wasn’t prepared for your heart to be swayed so easily. Licking your remnants on his lips, he knows that you can be deceived, and conveniently so can the rest of the world.

Fantasy Villain devises that if the history of his race’s banishment and exile were portrayed in a certain light. You could defect to his side without guilt and if some of the more stubborn adventurers were to also agree that’d make things so much easier. Pretending to be persuaded to sign some peace treaty after being gifted enough land to rule over with you beside him didn’t sound too bad.

Even if that didn’t work the Fantasy Villain has decided you will rule beside him whether he has to trick, drug, or force you to be his. Though he adores the honest love in your eyes when he looks at you and he’s going to do whatever he needs to have it.

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bluerosefox · 2 years ago

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Assassin Heir? Crime Fighting Furry? NOPE NO THANK YOU!

"Danyal, its time to end this game and return with me."

Danny should had known Clockwork had something in mind when he sent him on this mission. He knew he should had been suspicious of the time keeper when he noticed the little 'this is going to be fun' smile on his face when he sent Danny off into the portal.

"Get back here you demon spawn 2.0!"

But how was he supposed to know that he'd wake up in this world version of himself in a pit full of corrupted (AND NASTY) ectoplasim at the tender age of five or that when he swam up to the surface he'd be meeting face to face with what was apparently a cult.

"-O just spotted him a block away! I'll try to cut itty bitty bridie off!"

An Assassins Cult his, new to him, loving yet a little insane mother was in charge of (though during the few months he stayed in the compound he heard rumors and gossip from maids and others alike that if his grandfather returned from the dead he'll take over once again, no doubt punish Talia for creating another heir after the failure of the last one, most likely was going to kill Danny and that... that was can of worms Danny didn't wanna deal with yet)

"Ten bucks says they try to stab RR when we get the feral thing home"

"...Losers bet...."

Danny had lived with his mother for a while after being brought back from the 'dead' for apparently the first time, it turned out training a five year old with an actual sword and a dumbass hidden revenge seeking teacher was a terrible idea.

"I swear if this one tries to murder me like the others I'm asking Zatanna if there is a curse on me."

He dealt with her high demands of perfection, the endless training, and the constant comparisons to his apparent older brother Damain... Who didn't know Danny, or rather Danyal existed.

Nor did his father (when Danny, using his powers he's kept hidden since 'waking' up in this Realm, he sneaked his way around the base and discovered how he came into the world. And tbh he couldn't blame his mom how she made him, she was an assassin first and foremost, being naturally pregnant would had painted a target on her for to long... but he also felt it was unfair and an asshole move on his unsuspecting father as well)

"As your elder brother I demand you to stop running!"

Now don't get him wrong, he did like his new mother (total badass assassin lady and all that) and he knew she loved him in her own... deadly way. But yeah, she really shouldn't be taking care of kids. He could tell she struggled with wanting to be a normal mother but her first instinct after so many years was to be an assassin first.

Something she was trying to engrave into Danny with as well.

"Ah, hello Beloved. I see you've learned of our Danyal."

"Talia. Back away from him and leave Gotham now."

"I can not do that. The League needs an heir and since Damian refuses to return... I have decided to create a new one and I shall not be leaving until he returns with me."

"Talia."

Hence why when Danny, or rather Danyal al Ghul had gotten decent control over his powers he decided to leave the League. Again nothing wrong with the life his mom leads, to each their own, but he... really, really didnt want to be an assassin. Or an assassin heir.

So here he was, after almost a year on the run, using his powers and training to out smart and out maneuver his mother and her many band of Assassins, in Gotham. One of the last places he ever wanted to run to cause he knew his father and brother lived here.

It was just his luck that his mother had managed to intercept his train ride that passed into Gotham for a few hours and forced him to run into the city...

Add her assassins into the mix and running into Robin, who heard from Oracle his mother had been spotted chasing a young boy across the city, that same night.

After that it became a full on "catch me if you can" chase for not only his mother but for the batclan as well.

And after two whole days of chase, it seemed like the final showdown was about to begin because everyone was on top of this rooftop, his mother and her assassins on one side, his father and the batclan on the other and Danny well... he was right in the middle of all of it.

He just had to hope no one would notice him once the fighting started...

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #blue rambles #crossover #writing ideas #random idea #danny phantom dc #basicly Danny is sent on a mission by CW #he wakes up in the DC version of himself in the pits after being killed and Talia tossing him in #he was created by Talia since shes head of the LOA now and needs her own heir #but she once again wants Bruce's bloodline in it so she used some leftover dna she still had #so no one knows Danny was created until he left about a year later #danny has his ghost powers since he took a dip in the pits #but had to relearn some control and kept it secret #he knows his mom would see it as 'the pits granted my heir its powers.' mindset #so hes been on the run #and didnt wanna go to Gotham cause... his dad dresses as a gaint bat #and dont get him started on the rest of the batfam #he doesnt wanna be an assassin or a crime fighting furry #in case some people didnt get it. the words being spoken happen when Danny is running all across Gotham away from those after him #guess who said what lol #i want danny to be completely independent and trying to take care of himself tbh #but hes still baby to everyone else #talia is slowy becoming a little unhinged due to being the Demon Head now #maybe due to the stress of it all? or maybe due to a curse? idk

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chleem · 8 months ago

Text

Casual /extra

One shot; college students drew x reader

Warning: explicit language and scenes (read at own caution)

⋆.˚ official one shot here | more

♡⸝⸝ "it's hard being casual when my favorite bra lives in your dresser"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Whose bra is this?”

Drew’s eyes dart to the source, feeling wary. Who else could be in his room right now?

Oh right. The girl he met last night. She’s wearing his t-shirt like it’s his, rummaging through his dresser. She turns around holding a red bra. Your red bra.

Drew raises an eyebrow, looking at the girl skeptically. What’s her name again? He honestly has no idea, and isn’t planning on remembering. “I..I thought you left.”

“Let’s grab breakfast together,” she happily chirps, before returning to the bra in her hands, holding it as if it contained some deadly disease. “Now, who’s bra is this?”

Drew doesn’t reply; and the girl adds on, “is it the girl you moaned out last night?”

Drew cocks his head to the side. What is this bitch on, he thinks. He sends her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, walks over, and snatches the bra out of her hands. He tugs it back in his dresser, pushing it close. “You should leave.”

He turns around and sees the graphic design that's on the shirt the girl's currently wearing. That’s the shirt you got him. One of his favorite. “Um, leave the shirt here.”

It’s the girl’s turn to look at him skeptically. “What?”

“Yeah, uh, leave the shirt here, and forget this ever happened, alright?”

Drew throws his towel over his gaming chair, and grabs his sweatpants. He puts it on, ignoring the shocked expression on her face. He lays down on his bed, picks up his phone, and starts scrolling through his messages.

When she realizes that he doesn’t give a shit, she angrily takes the t-shirt off, throwing it into his face. “Thanks,” Drew says rather sourly, putting it to the side. She puts on her dress from last night, grabbing any remaining clothing around the place.

“We have class together, you dick!” She yells, as if that would make Drew care.

He hums, obviously too focused on his phone. Only the slam of his room door makes him slightly flinch, but even so, his eyes go back to his phone.

Now, what was he so focused on? Well, texting you.

——

I’m at the soccer field

This simple text was enough to get Drew out of his dorm, walking as fast as he could to go see you.

A smile on his lips that appear on its own, just from seeing you sit on the bleachers, watching the soccer team practice. Or more, get yelled at by their coach.

You don’t even notice him sit down beside you; too engrossed in the music coming from your AirPods.

It’s when he takes one AirPod out of your ear, when you finally notice him. “Hey,” he breathes out, putting the AirPod into his own ear.

“Hi,” you smile, your eyes landing on his shirt. Oh. He’s wearing the shirt you got him as a gift a few months ago, for Christmas. He wears it quite often, but every time you see it on him, warmth still fills your stomach. “Nice shirt, handsome.”

“Really?” He nudges your knee with his. “An amazing girl got me this.”

He says stuff like this; that makes you wonder if it’s still casual.

“Interesting,” you lean in closer to him, your eyes glancing down at his lips and then at his eyes. You haven’t seen him in almost two weeks; due to spring break. Mentally, you were glad to be away from Drew, to clear your mind a bit. Physically? Well, let’s just say sexting was not as satisfying as the real thing.

“What song is this again?” He suddenly asks, smiling fondly at you. You get ready to answer, but Drew beats you to it, replying to his own question. “The Smiths, right?”

You mimic the ding noise, making him chuckle under his breath. “You know me so well,” you say, bit of sarcasm in your voice. Duh, he knows a lot about you; casual for more than five months at this point.

“Of course.” he’s smiling ear to ear.

You roll your eyes at his response, but feel your own smile growing. You lean down against his shoulder, looking out onto the field. The weight of looking into his eyes was getting heavy.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, until you speak up.

“That guy has been yelled at by the coach ten times already.”

You feel Drew’s chest vibrate against you, his laughter erupting softly. “Ten times? What a dumbass.”

You chuckle softly, only because Drew finds it funny. “But the coach was being a meanie.”

The said guy has the ball now, and when he attempts to score it in, he misses and falls onto the ground. That causes the coach to yell at him again. “Well, eleventh time,” Drew adds on.

“Next Fifa champion,” you add on. Drew laughs again, as if that joke was the funniest thing he’s ever heard. You pull away from leaning on his shoulder, and stare at his smile. “Was it that funny?” You ask.

He turns his head over to you, the smile still there. Or more like, ever since he sat down, his lips were always curled up. “You should be a comedian.”

That makes you laugh, and you push his shoulder, “nonsense.”

Your laughter dies down when you see how smitten his stare on you is.

His eyes glance down at your lips, then back to your eyes, “I missed you.”

Casual, casual, casual.

“You did?” You cock your head to the side flirtatiously. Part of you thought it was fun to flirt with Drew; to hear the nice things he has to say about you. The other part of you hated how sweet Drew was with you; when the two of you were just ‘casually’ sleeping together.

“Think I’ve already said that over text though,” his voice drops low, and he starts to lean close to you. The look on his face says it all; he wants to kiss you.

“Flatter me and tell me in person too, won’t you?” You continue to say, a smirk on your lips.

He leans forward and kisses your cheek gently, “how ‘bout I show you instead?”

Oh. Oh. The butterflies are throwing up in your stomach right now, because of this man’s sly mouth. How he just casually brings up wanting to have sex with you, within minutes of seeing each other.

Seems like he really does miss you.

Casual, casual, casual.

“How is one suppose to refuse to that?”

“Hmm,” he hums, and his eyes glued to your lips tell you everything; his mind is already elsewhere, imagining the most dirty things to do with you. Or, what he’s going to do with you.

He leans in, this time, kissing you on the lips. His tongue meets yours hungrily and lustfully, exploring every corner. He kisses you as if it’s the only way for him to breathe, only way for him to live on.

You hate that; yet you kiss him back with the same eagerness.

Make-out session at the bleachers? How romantic. How sweet. How casual.

You pull away, feeling breathless from how good his kisses are. And you too realize that you missed him too, something you don’t want to admit. Because, who misses someone you only see casually? That’s weird.

His eyes are still glued to your lips, and you see a small trail of saliva near the corner of it. You chuckle softly, wiping it off with your thumb. “You know…”

He hums yet again, even though you haven’t even gotten to the main point of your sentence. “…I got a gift for you….in my room,” you manage to breathe out, and he kisses your jaw.

Aka, let’s go have sex in my room, right now.

“How lovely,” he smiles against your neck, planting a kiss there.

“You wanna see it?” You run your hands through his hair, down his nape, fingertips scratching it lightly. That makes him bury himself deeper into your neck, his arms wrapping around you.

“Yes please.”

——

The moment you unlocked your room, Drew rushes you inside, until you land on the soft cushions of your couch.

You giggle, watching him take his top off, his legs on either side of you, caging you onto the couch. “Should I continue my story or no?”

“Mmm, lemme guess,” Drew remains eye contact with you, but his hands focus on undoing the zipper of your shorts. “Everyone got food poisoning, just because of you.”

You lift your hips, him pulling your shorts down, “everyone was rushed into the ER.”

Drew laughs, ushering you to sit up. He pulls your top over your head, leaving you only in your bra and underwear. “And still you insist on cooking for me.”

“Only because you always ask to stay in,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Making me improvise on dinner.”

“Mmhm,” he stares down at your lips, distracted like always. He kisses you sloppily, his hands running along your back. You moan into his mouth, as he pushes you down onto the pillows.

“I miss you,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, sucking gently on the area around there;

The angel on your shoulder likes the sweet things he says; the devil on the other side likes to doubt his every word, repeating the phrase in your ear:

Casual, casual, casual.

One hand kneads your thigh, the other pinning your waist to the couch. His lips move onto your breasts, where they skillfully move around the bra. He wraps his lips around your nipples, making you gasp in pleasure.

But the bra starts to feel itchy, which you breathe out, “just take it off.”

He smirks against your nipples, pulling away just to unclip your bra. You help him, pushing the bra off, discarding it on the floor. He leans down again, this time, sucking on the other breast.

“Fuck..” You moan, as he stops, trailing his lips down your stomach. He leaves soft kisses along your belly button, his fingers working with pulling your underwear down.

“Missed you.”

This time, he says it while looking down at your pussy.

The air hits your wet pussy, soon cut off by Drew’s warm palm.

“Wet already,” he chuckles, his fingers playing with your folds. Too consumed with lust, you don’t even reply to that comment.

He sticks two fingers into you, thrusting in a slow pace. “You’re tight,” he breathes out, kissing your neck.

You wrap your arms around his neck lazily, “haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Forever, huh?”

“C’mon, don’t act like its not the same for you-“ he adds the third finger, cutting off your sentence. You moan loudly, as he starts to move in a faster pace. Swear, you can cum just on his fingers alone.

He smiles against your face, and kisses your ear. Occasionally, he grunts, trying to stretch you out as much as he can.

Okay. Maybe you could cum on his fingers alone, but it wouldn’t be as good as the real thing. “I want you,” you manage to say between moans, his fingers working hard on your pussy.

He kisses your forehead, “good to know.”

What a teasing prick. You squeeze his bicep, hoping he gets the message. It’s not easy to talk when he’s got his fingers deep in you. You give him a lazy glare; and he just laughs, “I’know.”

He pulls out of you, and you immediately clench around nothing, your folds missing Drew. He gets entirely off of you, and walks into your bedroom.

Drew knew where you kept the condoms; since, well, he’s constantly fucking you.

You stare at the ceiling while waiting for him.

A few seconds of silence passes.

“Y/n!” He yells, before walking out a few seconds later. You turn your gaze to him, who’s holding the entire box of condoms in his hands. He smiles wryly, “it’s expired.”

You furrow your eyebrows, sitting up slightly. He walks over to you, showing you the date on the box. Yeah, it is expired. But you bought this a few weeks ago. Wait…

“No wonder it was so cheap,” you groan, throwing your head back on the couch pillow.

“This shit…won’t break that easily, right?”

You glance at Drew. He looks at you, hoping you would agree to his thought. His eyes shine in anticipation, the curl of his lips upwards. “…I guess?”

“I’ll…even pull out before I cum,” he shrugs, also hoping you would agree.

“I… I take pills,” you add on, ignoring the calls of ‘bad idea!’ going on in your mind. Lust was in charge now, and it’s commanding you to get fucked by Drew, even with the huge amount of risks it comes with.

He breaks into a smile, leaning down and kissing you. “Hey…so it’s okay?” He murmurs against your lips, an adoring look painted all over his face.

“Have I ever said no though?” You say, which makes him chuckle.

“True,” he replies, before taking a condom out of the box. You help him, by pulling his sweatpants off. He steps out of them, and you see his fully erected dick, screaming to be released from his boxers.

“All fours,” his voice drops deeper, commanding you into the position he wants.

You obey; shrugging your underwear off your knees, getting on your knees and elbows. You arch your back, to make your ass higher. You feel him dip on the couch behind you.

He stays behind you, the noises of him preparing the only sound in the room. It feels like minutes have passed, and he still hasn't stick it in. “You done?” You ask, unable to mask the impatience in it.

Drew replies with a hard slap to your ass, making you groan. He then asks, “did you buy this for someone else?”

“What?”

“Not only is it expired…but you got a smaller size,” he plants a kiss on your lower back.

“What?” You say again, turning your head to look behind you. He holds the packaging in his hands; an M written on it. Oh. “That isn’t your size?”

He snickers, “you serious?” You must have just grabbed the first pack on the shelf, not checking anything. Drew delivers another rough slap to your asscheek when he doesn’t get a reply from you. It hurt, but in a good way. “Babe, you serious?”

“Dead serious,” you sarcastically reply, before laying your head onto the couch pillow in front of you. At this point, you’re pretty sure your pussy isn’t even wet anymore.

But another hard slap to your other asscheek makes you jolt up, your brain betraying you by making you moan out. “Barely fits me.”

Can’t believe you’re attracted to this whiny man. “I’ll pay more attention next time,” you try to hide your annoyance, “just fuck me already.”

His hands grab the side of your hips, moving your ass to the right position. “Might slip off.”

What’s up with him right now? Is he seriously offended? You just bought the wrong size by accident, was it that big of a deal? “It won’t,” you assure him, “my fault, okay? Just put it in.”

“Fine. Fine, sorry,” he murmurs.

You feel the tip of him against your hole, as he aligns his dick. And then, he sticks his entire dick inside of you. You moan out in pleasure, clenching around it. Fuck. He was right; you were tight, and you needed a few seconds to adjust to him.

But Drew doesn’t let you; starting to slam his lower body into you, in a rather rough manner.

Clearly, he’s not sorry for being whiny.

“Shit,” you grip on the pillow harshly. “Slow the fuck down-“

He ignores your comment, continuing his pace. Drew rarely fucked you liked this, only if he’s putting his frustration or anger towards you. “Does this feel like an M?” You hear him grunt out, between thrusts.

Who knew wrong sized and expired condoms could frustrate Drew this much?

You're forced to adjust to his size and pace, ignoring how each thrust that directly hits your core hurts a bit. “Fuck,” you breathe out, the pleasure inside of you building. His hands grip on your waist tightly; soft bruises might form later.

His grunts and your soft moans fill the room, as well as loud, aggressive skin-slapping.

He leaves sloppy kisses along your spine, causing your goosebumps to rise. You weren't going to lie; it felt good to be roughly handled by Drew.

You’re close; feeling the orgasm building inside of you. He knows it too; you clench around his dick. “Someone likes getting fucked roughly,” the tease in his voice is evident, “fucked like a slut, huh?”

Yeah. When Drew was mad or angry, he degrades you in bed.

But you liked it, a moan you fail to repress escaping your lips. He slaps your ass again, a chuckle heard. “Cum then.”

He slams himself into you, his pace never slowing. The knot in your stomach eventually goes undone, your cum coating his dick. “Fuck..” He groans, as you relax yourself. He holds your ass up, continuing to thrust to help his own orgasm.

He twitches inside of you; he’s close.

Drew slows down after a few more, and you fell him pull out of you rather urgently. You completely fall on your stomach on the couch, your body giving up.

But you force yourself to turn around, laying on your back. Drew sits back on the couch, his head leaned back as his cum fills the condom. He’s right; the M size condom covers 2/3 of his dick, probably not even half when he was erected.

“I’m sorry,” you coo, a lazily smile on your lips.

His expression softens; “Come here,” he takes the condom off, wrapping it and throwing it in the garbage can nearby. You force yourself up with the little energy left inside of you, snuggling yourself in Drew’s arms. You trace your fingertips along the lines of his lower stomach, laying your head on his chest. You and Drew’s legs tangled together, due to the small couch.

The two of you stay silent, just enjoying the feeling of simply being in each other’s arms.

This was casual, apparently. Cuddling after sex. Something people who have no attachments with each other usually do.

Then, you suddenly joint up, causing Drew to look at you amusingly. “Wait, I actually do have a gift for you.”

“Really? You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, but the look on his face betrays him. He likes how you think of him when you’re away. You hum, getting off him and walking to your room.

You come back with a small box, straddling yourself around his waist. You bite down on your lips in anticipation, hoping he likes it. He takes it; opening the box to reveal a men’s chained bracelet.

It wasn’t from a luxurious brand, but you found it while shopping in your hometown, and thought it would look good on Drew.

He smiles ear-to-ear, “I love it.”

“No you don’t,” you chuckle, helping him put it on on his wrist.

“I do; I love it, thank you,” he kisses your cheek, raising his hand and wrapping it around your nape. He pulls you down, and kisses you, almost in a loving way. Besides from seeing the smile Drew has whenever you get him something, the way he kisses you after also drives you insane.

Casual, casual, casual.

“Round two,” you murmur with a smirk on your lips, pulling away. He chuckles, before his eyes look down to your breasts.

He bites down on his lip, obviously liking what he's seeing. Then, he shares the same look as you from earlier, remembering something. “Oh, your favorite bra, the red one?”

“...Yeah?” You cock your head to the side, wondering where this was going.

“It was in my dresser this entire time.”

“I knew it!”

“Found it the other day.”

“And… are you going to return it to me?”

“No.”

You slap his chest playfully, him sending you a cocky grin. “You got a bunch of other bras anyways.”

“Doesn’t compare to that one,” you pout, leaning down on his chest, hugging him. You lay your ear close to his heart, hearing the soft rhythm of it.

It’s moments like this; that doesn’t feel casual at all.

And maybe, it never will feel casual. At least for you. You weren’t the chill, flirtatious girl Drew knew, no, deep down, you were constantly doubting this situation-ship with him. Letting it drag so long, so long that it didn’t feel real anymore.

Your stupid mind, constantly dreaming of the future with him. A shared apartment, shared furniture, shared everything. Him showing you off to his friends, admitting you’re someone special to him.

You loser, he doesn’t even refer to you as a friend in front of others. Simply, a classmate. Fuck, you even visited his parents! Yet, he still denies. Everyone knows you two have something going on, except for Drew. Was he doing this on purpose?

You don’t know; and honestly, too scared ask.

Because somehow, staying casual with him was better than not having him at all.

The soft rhythm of his heartbeat helps you to slowly drift off into sleep, the thoughts disappearing. Hopefully, you don’t dream of Drew again, in a nice shared apartment, him showing you off to everyone, as his girlfriend.

Was this dumb love? Maybe. Possibly. Most definitely.

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

word count: 3.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: hope you enjoyed reading this! and this isnt an official part two, but rather, another 'pov' into being in a situationship with kinda-toxic drew. for better context, you can read the actual one shot here. i don't think there is going to be an official part two, bc i like this the way it is (sry!) and yes, inspired by chappell roan.

ngl...i don't like this writing as much....but i love the fluff parts! anyways, thx for reading and pls ignore any mistakes <3

elevator | other | more of casual!drew

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #fiction #angst #drew starkey x you #oneshot #smut #fluff #situationships #light reading

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loveesiren · 6 months ago

Text

𝖡𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖭𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗆𝖺𝗋𝖾

Thanos x American!reader

a/n: hi my babies! so this is my first thanos (choi su-bong) fic i'm posting. however, i kind of wrote this as an aftermath of a little series i've been working on of them in the games. so, once i am done hating it and editing it, i will posit it! but i hope you guys enjoy this cute lil fluff. i suck at writing fluff tbh but i tried! xx also, t.o.p is my gwiyomiii, my honeyyyy, my angel babyyyyyyyyy! i'm so inlove with him so feel free to send requests!

synopsis: nightmares of the games still haunt Thanos a year later, but luckily Y/n will never leave his side.

warnings: language, fluff, very brief mention of sex if you squint

wc: 1.1k+

You couldn’t sleep. Insomnia had wrapped itself around your mind ever since surviving the games last year, a constant shadow in your otherwise bright new life. You had so much to be grateful for—making it out alive, the money that had saved you in more ways than one, and, of course, Su-Bong. Though, to this day, you still called him T. Your T.

Never in a million years would you have imagined living in a sleek penthouse in downtown Seoul with a man you fell in love with while playing deadly children’s games. Yet here you were, in a world that once seemed as unreachable as a dream: Thanos’ World. And you loved it.

The games had changed Thanos in ways you never thought possible. He quit the drugs, buried his oversized ego, and spent six months holed up in his apartment with only you for company. It was a metamorphosis you never expected but cherished deeply. When he finally emerged from that cocoon of self-reflection, he returned to music—his first true love. But this time, it wasn’t about sex, drugs, and wealth. His lyrics delved into the rawness of his childhood, the pain of his struggles, the weight of his dreams—and you. Always you. You were his muse.

Being with the Thanos, however, was far from simple. Going out with him was an ordeal, a gamble. Fans flocked to him wherever he went, now more than ever, since he’d announced his new album. He once thrived on the chaos, basking in the adoration of women throwing themselves at him and men idolizing him. He was a star, and he reveled in the glow. But now? Now the attention suffocated him. He avoided crowded places as much as he could, especially when you were by his side.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to show you off—God, he did. But the fear gnawed at him. What if something happened to you? What if someone hurt you? You’d already faced your fair share of vitriol when the media leaked that Thanos was dating some American girl. “American bitch,” they’d called you, throwing their venom your way in tabloids and comment sections. But the hate didn’t break you. If anything, it hardened your resolve.

You refused to let him hide away forever. When his anxiety tried to keep him tethered to the penthouse, you were the one who dragged him out into the world. You reminded him of what life outside these walls could offer, even if it wasn’t always kind. And slowly, piece by piece, you were helping him reclaim it.

You glanced over at Thanos, his peaceful face softened by sleep, his arm draped lazily over your bare thighs. Carefully, you lifted his arm and slipped out of bed, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. Padding toward the kitchen, you glanced at the clock: 2:30 a.m. Another sleepless night. You sighed, the weight of endless insomnia pressing down on you.

You set the kettle to boil, deciding tea wouldn’t cut it tonight. The staleness of the room felt suffocating. What you needed was air. Before stepping out to the balcony, you peeked into the bedroom again, reassured by the steady rise and fall of Thanos’ chest.

The view of Seoul stretched before you as you stepped outside. The city pulsed with quiet energy, its lights casting a warm glow against the dark sky. The faint scent of cherry blossoms drifted through the breeze, mingling with the night air and brushing your hair across your face. This view, this life—it was something you’d never take for granted.

Pulling out your phone, you typed a quick message to Se-mi.

y/n: You up?

Minutes passed before your phone buzzed with a reply.

Se-mi: Yeah. Can’t sleep?

y/n: The insomnia is never-ending.

Se-mi: I miss when we all lived together.

Your lips curved into a bittersweet smile. Memories of those first fragile weeks after escaping the games flooded your mind. The four of you—Thanos, Se-mi, Min-su, and you—crammed into your tiny apartment, clinging to each other for sanity. For weeks, you barely left the safety of those walls. Eventually, Thanos invited everyone to move in with him, but Se-mi and Min-su had decided it was time to go back to their families. The games had taught them how precious life was. That, and your shared space wasn’t exactly conducive to privacy—especially with how loud things could get between you and Thanos when you couldn’t keep your hands off of eachother.

y/n: I miss it too. I miss you. Shopping tomorrow?

Se-mi: You know I hate shopping.

y/n: But you love me, and T gave me his black card.

Se-mi: Spoiled brat.

y/n: See you tomorrow 🥰

Se-mi: Can’t wait ✌🏼

You smiled at her response, warmth spreading through you at the thought of reconnecting with your best friend. But the moment of peace was shattered by a sound from inside—faint whimpers carried through the air. Your heart clenched. Setting your tea down, you hurried back to the bedroom.

“T?” you called softly as you stepped inside.

No response. Only the faint cries that sent chills down your spine. You rushed to the bedside table and flicked on the lamp. Thanos was thrashing slightly, tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands grasping desperately at the empty space where you should have been.

“Fuck! NO!” he suddenly screamed, his voice hoarse with panic.

“T!” you gasped, climbing onto the bed and pulling him into your arms. “T, baby…” you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His hand found your shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist as though clinging to reality. He fought against the demons clawing at him, his breaths ragged and uneven. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused at first, until they locked onto yours. His lip quivered as shame filled his expression.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, brushing your thumb tenderly across his cheek to wipe away the tears. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“Fuck…” he sighed, his voice trembling as he buried his face in your shirt. His shame was palpable, but you held him tightly, cradling him as though the weight of his nightmares could be eased by your embrace.

“Another nightmare?” you asked softly. He nodded wordlessly, slipping his hand into yours. He hated these moments. Hated the way his past still haunted him, dragging you into his darkness. But you didn’t mind. You’d made a decision long ago: this man was worth every struggle, every sleepless night. Some may say a few days isn’t enough time to know who is your person, but when your life is on the line, time has a way of fast-tracking love.

“M’sorry…” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, T,” you reassured him, your fingers running soothingly through his hair. “You know I’ll always be right here.”

“Promise?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

You kissed his forehead, tightening your arms around him. “Promise,” you said, and you meant it with every fiber of your being.

No taglist yet but if you'd like to be added to future fics, let me know! :)

#squid game #thanos x reader #thanos #thanos squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game 2 #choi seunghyun #choi su bong #squid game thanos #player 230 #kpop #kpopidol #t.o.p bigbang #t.o.p #bigbang

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ev3rm0re-q · 26 days ago

Text

fire & ice ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

desc: basically the hotel room scene in challengers (with a twist!) but with yeonbin!!

pairing: tennis player!Yeonjun x tennis player fem!reader x tennis player!Soobin

genre: challengers AU, spicyy

warning/s: lots of swearing, smoking, 18+ content (suggestive)

wc: 5.1k

a/n: okay, okay.. i know i did promise a part 2 for half a spell, but i just couldnt help myself ITS A CHALLENGERS AUU I MEANN. i feel like u guys are getting fed as much w this one bc this one is scrumptious as fuckkk HELPPPAKSHBFAJS anyway, pls comment if u guys want more from thiss (part 2??) bc i doo have a very fun dynamic planned for these three!! hope yall enjoyyy <33

"She’s not coming, Yeonjun."

"She’s coming."

Soobin lies the wrong way across the bed, his bed technically, but both mattresses had been shoved together hours ago in a half-assed attempt at a bigger one.

His bare feet rest on the pillows as he tosses a tiny rubber ball against the wall—thunk, thunk, thunk—watching it rebound into his palm again and again.

“You don’t know that,” he says, flicking his wrist. His voice isn’t bitter, just worn out.

Yeonjun doesn’t answer right away.

He’s slouched in the wooden chair at the foot of the bed, one leg propped up, elbow draped over his knee. The dim light from his phone screen casts a pale blue shine over his face. A lit cigarette hangs loosely from his mouth as he scrolls through social media.

"She said she’d think about it," Soobin mutters, catching the ball mid-air and letting it sit in his hand for once. "People don’t usually show when they say that they'll 'think about it.'"

Yeonjun stops scrolling. His eyes flick toward the door.

“She’s coming.” He says it with quiet finality.

Then, just as easily, he scrolls again.

Thunk. Thunk.

The ball hits the wall.

✧˖° earlier that day °˖✧

The game was still in full swing, the bright yellow ball cracking sharply against the court with every controlled hit.

Yeonjun didn’t flinch or clap.

He simply sank deeper into his seat, a popcorn bucket left forgotten on his lap as one hand loosely held onto the container. His eyes flicked back and forth across the court, tracking the steady rhythm of the ball.

Soobin, on the other hand, leaned forward slightly, lips curled softly around the straw of his iced tea, sipping with quiet focus.

His eyes were only locked on her, sharp and unreadable, like he was silently memorizing every flick of her wrist and every subtle shift in her stance.

Moments earlier, Yeonjun had practically dragged Soobin into the stands, insisting he watch the women’s finals—raving about this tennis prodigy who, in his words, was "the hottest woman he’d ever seen."

Sure.

Soobin had taken it lightly at first, figuring Yeonjun was just exaggerating again.

But now, watching Y/N move across the court with that rare blend of grace and fire, he couldn’t look away. She wasn’t just a prodigy.

She was easily the most captivating girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

Just then, Y/N sent a sharp hit of the ball, skimming right at the edge of the court, just out of her opponent’s reach. The point was hers, and a soft murmur rippled through the crowd.

She made her way back to the baseline, casually bouncing the ball in her hand. Her hair was tied back loosely in a ponytail, her wrist completely relaxed—no tension, just precise control.

A small twitch ran through her fingers as she lined up the serve, fully absorbed in the rhythm of the game. Still, her expression remained soft—effortless and sweet, yet deadly in its own grace.

With calm focus, she tossed the ball into the air.

Her serve sliced through the court.

Her opponent reacted almost instantly, matching her pace with barely a pause. The ball returned with equal force, flying through the court with razor-sharp precision.

The rally stretched on each shot smooth, deliberate, and packed with skill. And with every return, quiet grunts slipped from her lips as the scoreboard crept closer to the final point.

“Holy… fuck…” Soobin breathed out, his voice barely more than a moan.

Yeonjun let out a soft groan and shifted in his seat. Both of them subtly adjusted their jeans, trying to stay composed despite the rising tension.

On the last shot, her opponent lunged but missed—the ball slipping just past their racket, out of bounds.

The crowd’s applause swelled, growing louder with every second.

“Match point. Y/N,” the announcer said, calm and clear.

Her breath slowed, every muscle tightening and then releasing, moving like clockwork. The ball bounced once, then twice.

Y/N tightened her grip on the racket, eyes locked on her opponent—ready for the final play. Without a second thought, she sprung into action.

Her racket cut through the air as she launched the last serve. The ball blasted across the court with deadly speed, landing just out of her opponent’s desperate reach at the far edge court.

The crowd held its breath as the ball slammed into the baseline, the sharp crack echoing across the outdoor court.

Her opponent lunged once more, the tip of the racket barely grazing the ball—but it was too late.

The match was hers.

And for a split second, everything stood still.

Then—

Y/N lets out a soft breath.

Not a loud battle-cry shout or a booming cheer—just a quiet sigh that slipped through the silence of the court. For the first time all match, the composed mask she’d been wearing slipped just enough to let the fire underneath peek through.

Then, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause.

Soobin blinked, like he’d just been snapped out of a trance, lips parted in something between awe and disbelief. Even Yeonjun was uncharacteristically speechless—until he let out a low whistle and leaned back with a small, impressed smile.

Down on the court, Y/N didn't move. Her feet were kept grounded to the floor as her shoulders held loose but steady, chest rising and falling with quiet, measured composure.

Like the match hadn’t taken everything.

Like she still had more to give.

Then, as the cheers grew louder, she smiled.

It was soft yet bright. Almost too dazzling to look at. It wasn’t the kind of smile that begged for attention. It just had a way of drawing you in.

Y/N had won.

Not with noise. Not with theatrics.

But with grace, control, and a fire that didn’t need to roar to be felt. And in that moment it was undeniable:

She didn’t just belong on that court.

She fucking owned it.

Later that evening, Yeonjun and Soobin somehow ended up at a celebration party thrown in her honor—despite the fact that Soobin had only learned of her existence a few hours earlier.

Between the pop of champagne and the buzz of congratulatory chatter, both boys just stood off to the side, looking completely out of place. They almost resembled two lost puppies who were simply basking in the glory of her ADIDAS sponsorship, the swarm of rich kids in sleek designer outfits… and, of course, her.

Neither of them really mingled. They just kind of… hovered.

Close enough to see her laugh, talk, and dance. But far enough to not be too obvious about it.

Which, of course, made it almost glaringly obvious.

Eventually, Yeonjun couldn't take it anymore and worked up the courage to cross the room over to Y/N. Soobin trailed closely behind him, carrying an expression that looked like he wanted to turn back with every other step.

And when finally they reached her, the nerves hit. But to their surprise, the girl didn’t wave them off.

She smiled. Laughed even.

Teasing them back just enough to make it hard to tell if she was being polite… or genuinely flirting back.

Then Yeonjun, bold as ever, just went for it.

“You know,” he said, feigning casual, “since we’re all staying at the same hotel. If you’re free later, you could… swing by our room?”

She looked at him with that soft, unreadable smile. The kind that said absolutely nothing and everything all at once.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, voice sweet as honey.

And then she was gone—off to greet another guest who had just arrived at the party, leaving both boys staring after her like they’d just been hit by a truck.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then, suddenly, they bolted—straight back to their hotel room, scrambling to clean their mess like their lives depended on it.

Pillows were deliberately fluffed. Scented air fresheners and personal colognes were deployed.

Soobin even wiped the windows.

Just in case.

✧˖° Cut back to the present °˖✧

The hotel room, once spotless in a frenzy of panicked cleaning, has now slowly returned to its natural state of chaos.

Pillows and blankets are, once again, tossed haphazardly across both beds, and clothes lie scattered in every direction. It’s the same mess Yeonjun had promised—multiple times—that he’d “get to later.”

And honestly? It’s really starting to seem like she’s not coming after all.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Soobin huffs, “I’m telling you, she’s not—”

A knock cuts through the room.

They both go still.

The rubber ball slips from Soobin’s fingers and hits the floor with a soft thud, rolling just beneath the coffee table.

Another knock. Then one more.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Yeonjun quickly flicks the cigarette out the window, exhaling the last bit of smoke through his nose as they both rush to fix the room—again. Blankets are yanked back into place, clothes shoved under the beds, pillows re-fluffed in a frenzy, like they hadn’t just trashed the place twenty minutes ago.

Soobin, caught up in the chaos, reaches for a pillow but missteps.

He rolls right off the bed with a surprised yelp, landing with a soft thud on the floor. He immediately scrambles to get back up as Yeonjun stifles a laugh.

On the other side of the door, Y/N presses her ear lightly against the wood, biting back a laugh.

She hears frantic footsteps, whispered scolding, and then the unmistakable sound of someone tripping over something. Her grin spreads wider with each passing second.

Without warning, the door swings open. Y/N quickly straightens, slipping into a calm, indifferent expression.

Inside, both boys freeze in awkward poses.

Soobin 'coolly' leans against the doorframe, trying to look casual. Except, his elbow is positioned too high, making him seem more like he’s mid-flinch than striking a cool pose.

Yeonjun stands in front of him, attempting a smooth, effortless smirk, but the panic in his eyes and the messy hang of his half-untucked tank top ruin the effect completely.

Y/N lifts an eyebrow, visibly amused.

“…Hey,” Yeonjun says, breath just a touch uneven.

Soobin gives her a slight nod, pretending that his shoulder isn’t starting to cramp from that ridiculous pose.

She just smiles. Innocently. As if she hadn’t heard every second of their panicked scrambling.

"Hi."

Her voice is soft, but it cuts right through the thick cloud of tension hanging in the air.

For a beat, no one moves.

Soobin, still awkwardly leaning against the doorframe, blinks like he forgot how to function. Yeonjun opens his mouth, then closes it again. Neither of them speak. The silence stretches—long enough to feel heavy, too short to recover.

Somewhere behind them, a sock slides slowly off the bed and lands on the floor with an audible flop.

Y/N tilts her head, lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile.

"Soo… are you guys gonna let me in?"

Soobin jolts upright so fast he nearly knocks into the door.

“Yeah, s-sorry...come in!” he stammers, quickly stepping aside to give her space.

Yeonjun clears his throat, suddenly standing straighter as he tries to kick away a wrinkled shirt behind him with one foot.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, stepping aside as well as he flashes what he hopes is a cool, effortless smirk. But it’s mostly just nervous.

Y/N steps inside, eyes sweeping the room with a knowing look that says she’s already seen everything she needs to.

But, she doesn’t comment on the grey t-shirt poking out from behind the curtain or the suspiciously empty chip bag sticking out from under a pillow. Instead, she just walks in like she belongs there, comfortable, unfazed, and completely in control.

Yeonjun and Soobin glance at each other behind her back, both silently mouthing what now? like two idiots in over their heads.

Y/N turns around to face them, arms crossed and one brow raised.

“Well?” she says, playful. “You two gonna stand there all night or offer me a drink?”

A beat of silence—Soobin blinks like he’s short-circuited, and Yeonjun jumps in, a little too loudly, “Right! Yeah. Of course!”

-------˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ ෆ ⊹˙⋆❤︎ ༶ .⁺˖-------

Now, they’re sitting on the floor, legs either stretched out or curled up, passing around a half-empty beer can between them.

A few crushed cans lie scattered nearby—a quiet reminder of the nerves they’d been carrying just moments before. Soft music plays from Soobin’s phone, propped up on the table beside him, blending seamlessly with the warm glow filling the boys’ hotel room.

The earlier tension has now melted away, replaced by easy chatter, casual laughter, and quiet—sometimes not-so-subtle—glances exchanged between them.

“Wait, wait—so you guys started a band back in middle school? That’s how you met?”

“Yeah. We started this little garage band with three other friends. Instruments and everything,” Soobin says, taking another sip of the beer. “I played guitar, and Yeonjun here was the lead singer.”

“Wow, that’s really cool,” she says, tilting her head with a soft smile.

Then, after a beat, she adds smoothly, “But how did you guys become… this?”

“This..?” Yeonjun raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Tennis,” Y/N says, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. “You know, Fire and Ice.”

Yeonjun leans back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him, tank top loose against his frame. “Oh, we always played. Not seriously at first—just with our dads, sometimes after school.”

“Yeah, our dads were friends,” Soobin says, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, beer in hand. “They used to take us to their country clubs and let us mess around on the courts for hours.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “But we were pretty awful back then. I’d swing like I was trying to murder the ball. And Yeonjun kept trying these dumb trick shots on the court.”

“Sounds about right,” Y/N giggles, curled up across from them in a sweater and black shorts, knees pulled to her chest. She watches them with quiet amusement.

A pause. She tilts her head again, voice soft but clear.

“When did it get serious?”

“Tennis camp in Jeju,” Yeonjun says, running a hand through his raven hair. “It was the summer before high school. Our parents shipped us off for like three weeks—thought we needed discipline or whatever.”

A beat.

“And?” she prompts.

Yeonjun exhales. “And, it was the first time anyone really pushed us.”

"We also got placed in the same dorm room,” Soobin says, glancing at her. “Tiny-ass bunk beds, shitty air conditioning, and we shared it with like six other kids.”

“I swear we almost killed each other the first night,” Yeonjun says, grinning at Soobin. “Then we both realized we hated everyone else more.”

“That’s cute...” Y/N laughs, eyes crinkling. Her gaze flickers briefly to the beer in Soobin’s hand as he lifts it for a sip.

A quiet beat later, Y/N leans forward with graceful ease, fingers brushing his as she takes the can. Then she leans back again, her movements smooth and unhurried, and takes a slow sip.

“The training must’ve been intense,” she says, voice still light.

“Oh it was brutal,” Yeonjun adds. “Drills before sunrise. Coaches who didn’t give a shit if you puked in the grass.”

The room quiets for a moment.

“But,” Soobin shifts slightly, “it was also the first time we realized we were pretty good at tennis.”

“Yeah, like maybe-we-could-actually-do-this kind of good,” Yeonjun echoes.

“So.. you’ve been playing together since then,” she says, almost to herself.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun nods. “Always doubles. Sometimes singles, but… you know, it’s different when there’s someone you trust on your side of the court.”

Soobin glances at him, then at Y/N again. His expression softens, but there’s something else there too. It was subtle and unreadable.

“I guess you kind of start to know different things too,” Soobin says. “How they move. How they think. When they’re gonna overhit or choke a serve. It’s like…”

“Muscle memory,” Yeonjun finishes quietly.

Y/N’s gaze lingers on the both of them. Then, with that same casual ease, she leans forward again and takes another sip from the can, eyes still on them.

“But this camp,” she asks, voice smooth and nonchalant, “was it co-ed?”

“Yeah,” Soobin says, eyes still on her. “But they split the dorms—guys and girls.”

Y/N nods slowly, a small curve playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Is that where you met your girlfriend?” Y/N asks, pointing at Yeonjun with the can still in her hand.

“Oh, she’s not my, uh…” Yeonjun starts to trail off, eyes flicking away as he thinks. Soobin smirks as he crosses his arms, clearly enjoying watching the other boy squirm.

“…Yeah. I guess.”

Y/N grins, amusement shining in her eyes.

“And you,” she shifts her gaze to Soobin, taking another sip of the beer, “why aren't you pretending not to have a girlfriend?”

"Oh no, I don't—"

“Soobin’s got this whole 'no strings attached' thing going on right now.” Yeonjun smirks, taking the beer from Y/N’s hand.

“What? No—no, that makes me sound like—”

“A player?” Y/N offers, eyes twinkling with quiet mischief.

“Yeah, Soobin does fine for himself.” Yeonjun says, smirking. “I mean, come on—look at him.” He reaches over and gives Soobin’s cheek a light tap before Soobin swats his hand away.

Y/N smiles, the corners of her lips lifting as she shifts slightly from her postion.

“Alright then—how about this? Right now… how often do you guys go after the same girl?”

And just like that, both of them freeze, caught off guard.

Soobin finally looks away, eyes dropping to the carpet, cheeks flushed. Yeonjun chuckles softly, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Were we that obvious?”

Y/N shrugs, taking the beer can back from Yeonjun. “It’s like looking through a glass window.”

A beat passes.

Soobin clears his throat, still a little pink. “Not very often…”

“We usually have different types,” Yeonjun adds with a smirk.

Y/N takes a slow sip of the beer. Her voice is velvet-smooth, but there’s a glint behind it now.

“Soo you’re saying I’m supposed to be.. flattered?” Y/N teases.

Soobin takes the beer from her, holding her gaze a beat too long, then looks away, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile.

“Depends.”

“On?” she presses, brow raised, as if she doesn’t already know.

Yeonjun answers, voice low, teasing. “On whether you mind being the exception.”

Y/N leans back, arms draped over her knees, calm and in control, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Hmm,” she hums, eyes flicking between them. “I don't mind the view from here.”

Then, silence. The boys don't utter a word, they just watch her.

Tension slowly filling the air around them.

Yeonjun finally speaks, tone softer. “Alright then, since you’re so curious about us… how about you? What’s your experience been like—navigating this kind of attention?”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully at Yeonjun’s question, but there’s a gentle light in her eyes that feels almost unguarded.

“I’ve had a few boyfriends here and there,” she says softly, voice steady but with an easy warmth. Then, after a brief pause, she adds quietly, “Most of them just didn’t know how to handle someone like me, though.”

Her smile is calm, almost innocent. “So, I simply didn’t stick around long enough to teach them.”

Yeonjun blinks, clearly surprised by the quiet honesty. Soobin’s grin softens, his gaze thoughtful.

Y/N tucks her hair behind her ear, looking down briefly before meeting their gaze again.

“I’m usually the one who holds it all together,” she says gently. “But sometimes… I feel like it’s okay to just let things be.”

Yeonjun’s leaning back on his hands now, but his eyes stay on her—curious, like he wasn't expecting this moment of such raw honesty.

Soobin, on the other hand, grows quieter now, fidgeting with the tab on the beer can as his knees slowly brush against hers.

“You know, you guys talk a lot,” she says, voice soft, teasing. “But you’re kind of terrible at this kind of thing.”

“Oh?” Yeonjun lifts a brow.

“You two keep looking at me like I’m going to break,” she says, voice soft but charged.

“If you’re going to keep staring… you might as well do something about it.” Her eyes lock onto them without flinching.

...huh?

This makes their brains completely short circuit.

Soobin freezes, fingers hovering over the can, eyes snapping up to meet hers—wide and caught completely off guard. Yeonjun breathes out a low, incredulous laugh. He seems to be struggling to conceal the smile tugging at his lips as his head briefly dips.

But, when he looks up, his eyes are darker now. Focused.

The silence stretches, but it isn’t awkward. it’s fucking electric.

That's when he makes his move.

With careful movements, Yeonjun pushes off his hands, shifting from his seated position and slowly closing the distance between him and Y/N.

He kneels tall, just right above her, his eyes darkening with lust as they roam over her figure beneath him.

Y/N’s breath hitches ever so slightly as she tilts her head up to meet Yeonjun's gaze. But her expression remains calm, unbothered, as she tries to casually brushing past the subtle tremble in her fingers.

She looks at him with soft, doe-like eyes. The picture of pure innocence—almost. Because beneath that softness, there’s something else entirely.

Hunger.

She looks at him as if this moment was always meant to be—from the second she stepped into the boys’ hastily cleaned hotel room. Like she’d known all along and was just waiting for them to catch up.

His eyes linger on her face a moment longer, quietly drinking in her soft, perfect features—like he’s trying to memorize every detail, unwilling to let a single part of her slip from his memory.

Carefully, his gaze drifts down to her lips.

Then, he reaches out, fingers brushing along the side of her face, gently caressing her soft skin. She leans into it, calm and steady, her eyes never leaving his.

Soobin sits cross-legged just across from them, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from his chest. His palms grow clammy, and his lips part slightly in stunned anticipation, unable to tear his eyes away from what’s unfolding right before him.

Yeonjun leans in slowly, his movements soft but charged with an unmistakable hunger. Their lips meet in a gentle, lingering kiss—his soft, plump lips pressing against hers with sensual tenderness.

He moves closer, his body nearly pressing against hers as he settles between her legs, still kneeling. His tongue traces delicate, kitten-like licks along her pink lips, drawing a soft moan from the girl.

Then, just as Yeonjun parts his mouth slightly, Y/N takes the lead, slipping her tongue inside with practiced ease. She feels his warm breath tickling her face as she deepens the kiss, and he lets out a low, surprised moan, caught off guard by her sudden boldness.

Meanwhile, Soobin just sits there again, eyes wide, her moans sounding like gentle music in his ears. His cheeks flush a soft pink as he bites down on his bottom lip, trying to hold back a low groan from slipping past his lips.

He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, struggling to ignore the tent growing in his shorts as he tries to figure out what to do next.

Does he leave?

Does he stay?

Fuck, what do I do now? Soobin thought to himself.

Then, Y/N breaks the kiss, before slowly leaning in again. Her lips brushing Yeonjun's in a teasing whisper of contact—just enough to leave him breathless—before pulling away completely.

Her eyes don’t stay on him for long.

Instead, she tilts her head to the side, gaze drifting over to Soobin.

God, he looks so cute, she thought.

He continues to sit there cross-legged, the beer can he previously in his hand is now discarded on the floor beside him.

One hand rests over his lap—not subtle, but not exactly trying to hide it either. It makes her wonder if he’s shielding himself… or just chasing a bit of friction through the fabric of his shorts.

He looks up at Y/N, eyes wide and darkened with a mix of jealousy and lust.

"Come here, baby. Don’t be shy," she says, her voice soft and inviting as she gestures him over with a crook of her finger.

Soobin’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate—scrambling forward so quickly that he knocks over the empty beer can with a soft clatter. Yeonjun slowly leans back, hands braced against the carpet, watching them with lust-filled eyes.

Soobin finally settles beside her, sitting like an obedient puppy waiting for his owner's command—eyes fixed on her, breath shallow. He's practically vibrating with nervous energy now, the need in his gaze impossible to miss.

Y/N leans in, effortlessly straddling his lap as her arms drape around his neck. Her breath fans against his face, their lips now just centimeters apart.

By now, Soobin wants to individually thank every single person who has led him to this exact moment.

His parents, for pushing him into tennis camp. His coaches, for their brutal training schedules. And, of course, Yeonjun—for convincing him to come watch that match in the first place.

Because right now, in this moment, Soobin feels like the luckiest man alive.

“Don’t be scared, baby, okay?” she whispers, gently brushing his hair away from his face as she leans in even closer.

“I’ll take care of you,” she adds softly.

Soobin melts under her touch, every feeling of doubt and hesitation dissolving into the warmth of her words.

He places his hands on her waist carefully, his gaze still locked onto hers, almost like he’s afraid to blink and miss it.

Then she leans in, her lips meeting his.

Soobin lets out a quiet, surprised moan, caught off guard by the contact, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment without even realizing it. (It’s not his first kiss, but god, it might as well be.)

Her fingers tangle into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, and Soobin groans again, louder this time, completely at her mercy.

Slowly, Y/N begins to rock back and forth in his lap, the soft friction sparking heat between their lower areas. The kiss deepens naturally. Their lips parting just a bit, tongues brushing softly against one another—growing a small pool of wetness in her core.

Holy. Fuck.

Soobin softly tightens his grip around her waist, carefully slipping his hands beneath the fabric of her sweater, resting them on her bare skin.

Y/N slowly withdraws one hand from Soobin’s hair, tilting her head just enough to catch Yeonjun’s gaze—her lips never parting from Soobin’s.

Yeonjun’s gaze is fixed on her, jaw clenched, eyes filled with lust and desire as they trace the scene before him. His hand moves quietly over his clothed member, fingers stroking with a slow, measured rhythm, searching for some quiet release.

Then, Y/N reaches over slightly, taking Yeonjun's his hand and gently pulling it closer to herself and Soobin.

Yeonjun leans in from behind her, softly brushing her hair aside before pressing his plump lips to the tender curve of her neck.

She lets out a soft moan against Soobin's lips, pulling him in closer, as her kiss grows hungrier and heavier. His grip on her waist tightens, unaware of the faint bruises forming on her delicate skin.

But she couldn’t care less—in fact, it only made everything feel even better.

Then, Y/N slowly pulls away from Soobin, her breath still shaky as she turns to Yeonjun. With a gentle touch, she takes his face in her hand and leans in, pressing her lips greedily against his.

Soobin sits there, mouth slightly open, arms still locked around her waist. Then he inches forward a bit, pressing soft wet kisses to her neck.

If it weren’t for her sweater, god knows he’d be trailing even lower.

Instead, he tightens his hold on her, gently rocking her hips in his lap, building the friction and heat between them as she stays locked in a kiss with Yeonjun.

Her free hand slides up to the front of Yeonjun’s neck, fingers curling tight around his throat, making him moan loudly at the touch. His hands follow, slipping slowly beneath her sweater, settling over her clothed breasts.

She groans into his mouth before shifting one hand to guide Yeonjun’s hand beneath her bra, her fingers intertwining with his as he cups her bare breast, playing with her soft nipples.

With her other hand still clenched tightly in Soobin’s hair, she draws him closer, encouraging his sloppy, desperate kisses on her delicate skin and the blooming purple marks forming on her neck.

Slowly, her grip eases on both of them, and the kiss slows, losing its urgency and settling into a slow, lingering rhythm.

Then, without warning, Y/N pulls away from Yeonjun, their lips parting with a soft, breathy sound and a thin string of saliva stretching between them for just a second.

She catches her breath, her chest rising and falling slowly as her eyes flicker between Yeonjun and Soobin. They both stare back at her, breathless. Then, she shifts, easing herself off Soobin’s lap. His hands linger for a moment as she pulls away from his grasp.

Soobin lets out a soft, almost involuntary whine at the loss of her warmth.

The room falls silent.

Both boys sit there, completely dumbfounded—caught somewhere between confusion and desire, unable to find the words. Y/N breaks the quiet with a soft, teasing tone, her voice low and playful.

“It’s getting late… I should probably head back.”

She stands in front of them, and they look up at her—flushed cheeks, heavy breaths, and lingering eyes.

And then—

That smile.

That same innocent, sweet smile, like she hadn’t just borderline orchestrated a threesome between the three of them.

She takes a step away, but Yeonjun’s voice stops her.

“Wait… that’s it?”

Soobin looks a little lost, his voice soft and hesitant. “Oh… I.."

Then he adds, hopeful, “C-can we at least have your number?”

There’s a brief pause—then Soobin’s voice lowers, almost pleading, “…Please?”

Y/N glances between them, a playful smile tugging at her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You guys study at Eastmound, right?”

They both nod silently, still trying to process everything.

“Well... I’ll see you both around campus, then.”

With that, she turns and leaves their hotel room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Yeonjun and Soobin stand there, stunned and speechless, the moment lingering in the quiet air.

a/n: this one is craaazzyyyyy omgg pls comment if yall want a full story out of thiss!! (will start working on half a spell pt 2 now hehe)

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yaut-jaknowit · 1 month ago

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Left Behind Part 2

Pairing: Dai'stbaen (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Mother!Reader

Word Count: 3410

Summary: After escaping the facility, Dai takes you and his son to his planet. It's not the smartest of ideas but you have no choice. Earth is no longer safe for the both of you. Yautja Prime isn't either. Dai knows how to play the game though. The first obstacle was convincing the council to allow you asylum. There's not enough begging from you or Dai to crack them.

Author Note: I swore I had an ask about this but apparently Tumblr decided to eat it. Heads up, might got a bit MIA. Had things happen at work and trying to figure out life now. IDK

Part 1

Masterlist

Ao3

A warm plate of meat and a glass of light green juice was set on a counter. Austin was already sitting on the ground with his own food, clearly enjoying his first, real meal in about a month. A least, that’s how long you though you were there. There was no sun or clocks. Just the rotation of scientists for the day and night. You were beyond thankful to be out and saved by Dai.

Speak of the man.

Dai’stbaen’s yellow eyes were on Austin, carefully watching him with a critical eye. One you felt a bit uneasy about. Your motherly instincts flared to life despite that being the father.

“It takes time,” you murmured and picked a slice off of your plate. The sound of your voice snapped Dai out of his stupor. You took a bite of the unknown meat and did your best to hide the cringe at the sour taste. The meat was alien but that wasn’t what you were expecting at all. It was food though. After going so long without it, you didn’t let it go to waste.

The alien turned his gaze towards you. He studies you now. “I was sent to find and kill the hybrid… our son,” he says. All of your muscles locked into place. Then, you began to scoot towards your son. You knew deep down if Dai seriously wanted Autin dead though, he would’ve been long gone before getting on the ship.

“But, you didn’t,” you whispered and timidly gazed at Dai.

“But I didn’t.”

The question hangs between the two of you. Why? Why did he save Austin instead of going through with what he was sent to do? Why agree to help you with Austin in the first place? You observed Dai closely as he leaned against the nearest wall. It was hard to read his alien face and know what he was thinking.

He leans back and lets his head rest against the wall eyes closing. “You cannot return to your home but my home will be just as deadly for you and… our son. My tribe won’t agree to his existence.” You could hear something underlining tone though and waited for him to continue. “With my rank, I may be able to convince the elders to allow existence if I train him. He’s already behind but if he can best his chiva, no one could kill him for being a hybrid.”

You stopped mid bite to look at him in horror. “He’s just a child! Your kind will kill a child because he’s a hybrid?! What is so bad about being a hybrid?” you questioned and abandoned your food to march up to Dai. Heated anger burning in your eyes, a passion to protect your son. The very son who’s father had come to kill.

“Everything.” Your face twisted with hurt. “It is a taint on a bloodline. A hybrid will never be as strong as its full blooded other. They are seen as weak. The yautja who aided as well.” His eyes finally meet yours again.

Did he just call himself weak? Your anger spurted out to glowing embers. That you didn’t expect. “So, you regret it. You regret that night.” Yautjas, or at least him, don’t use emotions very often. Just facts and instincts to drive them. The opposite to humans. You drew away from him and hugged yourself. His next move surprised you.

Dai shoved off of the wall and reached out with a hand. His palm cupped you cheek, thumb swiping away a stray tear. “No. No, I don’t. I don’t regret you saving me I saving you. I enjoyed that night. I… I wish I stayed.” The unique alien was showing emotion. More then you’ve ever seen before. “I wish I helped you.”

Words you never expected from him. He’s so stoic but this?

More tears flowed freely. “I was so scared. I-I couldn’t have anyone over to help me. I had to give birth alone! In my apartment and hoped nothing went wrong because I wouldn’t be able to take him to a hospital. I was terrified,” you cried. Then, you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his midsection. The Yautja tensed up, arms held up slightly, unsure what to do. A few moments past before he mimics you and hugs you back. You sniffed into his chest as he holds you.

Before stepping off the ship, Dai has to crudely attach a metal mask over your entire face. It was too large for you face but Dai was able to make it seal. Apparently, the air was more rich in nitrogen then oxygen for you to comfortably breathe. As for Austin, he had to bear the air without aid. He couldn’t show weakness. Even though he is just a child.

You’re lead down the ramp while holding Austin’s hand despite what Dai warned. This was your child. You didn’t care what others though if you seemed to be coddling him. Austin was only give. He’s still a baby to you and deserves to be coddled. Specially after everything the two of you endured at that… place.

Humid heat instantly smacked you in the face and made your clothes feel ten times heavier. You pinched the collared of your shirt and moved it quickly from your body to invite over movement. It didn’t help.

From the ship, Dai brings you into a small village. At the first sight of another yautja, you tugged Austin closer and tucked closer to Dai’s side. He stiffened for a millisecond but did nothing to produce space between the two of you.

Deadly glares were pointed on the two of you. Some eyes filled with confusion or even betrayal. Many kept a wide berth as if you were diseased. Others… were more daring and made attempts to grab at Austin. You reared around on the offender, ready to show how protective of Austin you were. Dai snagged an arm around your waist though and carried you away from the situation. Austin had to run after the two of you to keep up with Dai’s long strides.

He came to a sudden stop. A shadow casted over you. Your head snapped over to see a towering yautja glaring down at Dai’stbaen. This one was at least a head taller, easily more. Your anger washed away with hear freezing the bleed in your veins. This one could easily pop Dai’s head off it wanted to.

“You brough it back. Alive? With the mother?” it snarled viciously and crowded into your shared space. Dai slowly set you back down and guided with on hand to have you stand behind him. You realized the unknown yautja was speaking what must be their native language but the mask was translating to you. “The council will have your head for this. I should take care of the problem before it reaches them.” It steps even closer. Your beats loudly, threatening to explode. You hadn’t even been on the planet longer than five minutes and were about to be killed.

A growl tumbled out of the yautja protecting you. “You have no authority, Luc-ilio. This is an issue for the council, not you.” What parts of his back that weren’t covered, you saw the muscles rippling as he prepared for a fight. You clutched Austin’s hand tighter.

The newly named Luc-ilio stood tall and looked down at Dai. “Who knew an enforcer such as yourself would stoop to such levels to breed. I am glad you declined me for breeding rights now. No one wants your tainted bloodline now,” it sneered before spinning on its heel and strutting away.

Though confused on most of what it had said, you couldn’t help the guilt that pooled in the pit of your belly. Clearly having a child with his has tainted his image to his tribe.

Dai acted no different and carried down the stone path. You followed after him with Austin in tow. The child not understanding a word that was just said. At least the air didn’t seem to be affecting him.

A large pyramid-like building stood tall in the middle of what must be the middle of the town. Dai didn’t stop and marched up the first flight of stairs. You picked Austin up and placed him on your hip before going up the steps. Dai didn’t slow his stride. The steps were meant for someone of his stature, making the journey hard for you. Worst of all, carrying your fifty pound child wasn’t easy either. But you made it to an entrance about one-third from the base of the pyramid. You could feel the mask struggling to provide the necessary oxygen for you.

Two guards stood on either side of the entrance. Both geared up with fancy armor and large spears. Their eyes narrowed on you at first then darkened at the sight of Austin there. You held onto him a little tighter and turned your body away from them.

“The council is in a meeting,” one grunted after tearing its green eyes off of Austin.

“They will want to speak to me,” Dai’stbaen countered and squared his shoulders. The guards look him up and down then snorted.

“Yes. Yes, they will,” the other spoke in a hoarse voice that grated on your ears.

The guards allow you access into the building. You were thankful to get out of the direct heat and sun. It felt like it was cooking you alive.

Once inside it wasn’t much better. There was no breeze to help ease the stifling heat that threatened to suffocate you. More guards were scattered on other doorways leading further and deeper into this tomb. Austin tightened his grip on your clothing and huddled closer to you.

Soon enough, deep down, the three of you reached a grand set of doors. Another pair of guards stood on either side. These two were massive like the first yautja you had seen on the planet. You got a good look at them and realized… Are those breasts? Their woman are larger than their men. Holy shit. They were much larger.

Two spears came down and blocked the door by creating an ‘X’. “The council is in meeting. No entry is allowed until afterwards,” the one on the right, a rich brown hide, stated firmly and met your gaze. Disgust evident in them.

“I must speak to them. This is important,” Dai demanded and stepped forward, urging them to let the three of you in.

The sneer they gave Dai dribbled onto you and Austin. “Male, you have no rights to demand anything. That thing is your offspring.” How did they know? Austin has speckles of red scales along various spots on his body but besides that, you couldn’t see other similarities. You hugged Austin once more and watched them careful. It’s evident that everyone has something against Austin and you for just existing unfortunately.

“Just tell-“ Dai started.

The beige woman stomped her foot down with a growl. “No! Leave now before we finish the job for you and satisfy the council at your slackness.” You gasped and stepped back, ready to flee if need be. The rich brown yautja grinned at the fear you had for them. Who wouldn’t?!

Before either of them could get another word in, the large doors were pulled open.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Another massive Yautja appeared in the door way with a snarl on her wrinkly face. Her golden eyes roamed over the scene in front of her and landed on Austin and you. The center of attention at this point. “In Paya’s name, we ordered you to kill it, not bring the wretched thing here with its mother!”

Dai’stbaen fell to a knee and bowed his head. “Ma’dam Siln-taunh,” he greeted with great respect. Ma’dam Siln-taunh was highly decorated in armor, bones, and fur. Her status clear even to your clueless self. You started to tremble at the deadly look she gaze you. Even Austin whimpered and tucked into your side, burying his face into your neck. “Ma-dam, if I ma-“ he began but was quickly cut off.

“Don’t tell me you-you sired it!” she gasped, mandibles flaring either in disgust or anger or both. Probably both. You took a step back. Her teal blue eyes snapped towards you at the movement. The disgust tenfolded in the blueness.

Instead of cowering or bowing his head in shame. Dai stood tall, head level. “I did. The ooman had saved me but got injured in return. I let her stay with me until she was healed. We g-“ She interrupted him again.

“It should end there. You pay back that duty due to our code and left the soft meat immediately afterwards.” If Dai hadn’t kept you for that month… Austin wouldn’t extist. None of this would’ve happened. And you didn’t know if you would’ve wanted that.

When a pregnant pause entered the air, a figure appeared behind Ma’dam Siln-taunh. Unlink Siln-taunh, she stood there with mirth in her eyes. She found Austin tucked against you, gaze softening. Before you knew it, the rust brown pushed past Siln-taunh with a gasp.

“Oh my goodness!” she said and stopped directly in front of you. Dai’s shoulders tensed up but he didn’t come to your recue. You stared wide eyed at her and took a step away, turning your body away to hide Austin from her. Her overexcitement died off. She took a step back and immediately clamed down. “Apologies. I did not mean to frighten you in such a way. I have never seen a young hybrid before.”

“Calinork, do no,” Siln-taunh growled out. “Get away from them. They are probably riddles with diseases.” Calinork snorted and squatted down in front of you. Your protective instincts continued to flare to like. An unsure glare was set on Calinork.

“He is adorable, ooman,” Calinork stated, ignoring what Siln-taunh said to her. “How old is her? Has he began training yet? He seems big enough.” She was definitely different compared to the beige alien you began to slow relaxed, still on the edge. The lump in your throat was push down.

“He recently turned five… and, uh, no. We don’t do that. He’s not like you guys.” Austin may have half of their DNA, but you weren’t going to let him go fight monsters and aliens. He was going to stay safe under your wing until the day you died. No one was going to hurt him. No under your watch.

She smiled, at least you think it was a smile. “But he is. If he has a lick of his sire’s heart, he’ll do just fine here,” she told you with a confidence you didn’t have. You hugged Austin harder despite the ache in your arms.

Ma’dam Siln-taunh hissed and marched towards thee two of you. Calinork whirled around while standing up at the same time. Dai moved towards you as well, hands flying to his hunting knife at his side.

“That thing will not be permitted to stay here, let alone alive. It needs to be put down like the disgusting, soft meat hybrid it is!” Ma’dam Siln-taunh snarled and tried to get to you, almost bypassing Calinork. Dai pushed you behind him, knife at the ready. Calinork stares the Ma’dam down until she finally stopped. The two of them sizing each other up before Siln-taunh backed down.

“As the right hand of our empress, my word overshadows yours tenfold, little Ma’dam. The hybrid will get to live like any other offspring. He will be trained by the esteemed Dai’stbaen to overcome his chiva at the rightful age of fifteen solar cycles. His mother will wear my seal to ensure her safety. Should anyone come to harm either without reason, punishment will be the last of their worries.”

All four of you stared wide-eyed at Calinork. Her declaration firm in the air. Siln-taunh’s mandibles tightened over her mouth. It looked like she wanted to heavily disagree with Calinork but wasn’t in an position of authorityto disobey the command.

Ma’dam Siln-taunh respectfully bowed her head, muscles strained. “Yes, La’dam Calinork.” There was something in her voice that made you feel uneasy about the whole situation. More than before. You glanced at the back of Dai’s head want comfort and reassurance. The moment far too tense to allow any weakness to reveal itself.

“You’re dismissed,” Calinork sent Siln-taunh away. The beige woman staged for a moment longer, glaring daggers that promised death, then took her leave.

Not all the tension left the hallway. The guards still stood at their post watching the whole thing. Calinork shut the door and lead the two of you away from there and into a private room. The door closed with a soft click.

You finally set Austin down, your arm about to give out. You kneeled down to his height and checked him over, ensuring nothing had happened to him. Dai knelt next to you and gingerly placed a hand on your shoulder. Tears pooled in your eyes but you did your best to suck them back down for Austin.

“Why does everyone want to kill him? He’s just a child, an innocent kid. He’s done nothing wrong!” you broke into a crying fit and hugged Austin close. He was a bit confused but returned the gesture. You didn’t care if Calinork watched. Fuck everyone. “Your kind are monsters for killing children just because they are different.”

Calinork walked around to stand a few feet behind Austin. “Hybrid are looked down because they aren’t pure blooded yautjas. A taint on a bloodline. Only the strong survive in our society. It’s the way of life,” she explained and leaned back against a stone desk built into the ground.

You scowled at her through the tears. You could care less about her being the right hand of the empress. Their whole society sucked. “I don’t care. Let Dai’stbaen disown him and cut his ties. I will not let anyone take him away or kill him. He’s my child!”

Dai looked at you with a hint of hurt in his gaze. Calinork shook her head. “One, it doesn’t like that. Two, even if you could, I wouldn’t recommend you doing that. Dai’stbaen will have to defend you and your child until he can do it himself. All of you have painted a massive target on your back. Dai’stbaen will also have to work twice as hard to gain the favor of the elders favor again.”

At this point, it sounded like being back in that facility was better than here. At least they needed you alive to keep Austin somewhat calm. They just wanted you dead here. No remorse.

All you wanted to do was break down and cry. To sob to your hearts content. There hasn’t been a moment in the last six years that you’ve caught a breath.

Finally, you picked up your head to look at the rust colored yautja in the yellow eyes. “What am I supposed to do?” It feels like you’ve been backed into a spiky corner. Either to be slaughtered by a very murderous race or be impaled by spikes. Neither sounded pleasant or ever merciful.

She steeled her gaze on you.

“Survive.”

The cottage-like home that Dai brought Austin and you to was homy. In a way, it was both primitive and modern. The skulls and pelts decorating the walls gave you a cabin feel. Except it was a jungle where the home sat. Thick, possibly deadly foliage around you.

Dai’stbaen sets down the gear he brought off of his ship. “There is only one bed,” he stated and rummaged through the bag. A metal canteen was pulled out. “I do have plenty of pelts to craft another sleeping spot if you wish.” He seemed unsure, almost in a nervous way. After the day’s events, you wanted to just collapse. “You hadn’t gotten much sleep on the way here. All you could do was nod your head and follow after him to a bedroom decorated heavily with skulls. If you weren’t exhausted, you maybe you would’ve had a different reaction.

Instead, you went over to the low, massive bed and flopped onto it. Austin crawled up after you and made his own spot near the middle. The moment your head hit the mattress, you were out like a light.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

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killerpancakeburger · 9 months ago

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Scary Dog Privilege 3

You thought your days as Ghost's handler over since he started seeing Soap, but when someone's bold enough to lay hands on what's his, you feel obligated to intervene to prevent a massacre.

Inspired by this post by @shotmrmiller /Soap pic cred goes to @yumethefrostypanda

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, light smut, GuardDog!Ghost x Handler!Reader, Ghoap x Reader, dom!Ghost, dom!Reader, sub!Soap, light degradation towards Soap. Soap gets treated like a mutt, Ghost is Smug™️, what else is new! I can't write smut so they don't go all the way sorry 😔 1.4k words.

Part 1. Part 2.

When Ghost gets progressively murderous, glaring hard, who needs to defuse the situation? You, again.

Someone is getting brutally murdered tonight, you think to yourself as you coolly take another sip from your glass.

When you joined your colleagues for a drink earlier in the evening, you were not counting on Ghost and Soap's presence. Your butt had barely grazed your seat that the scotsman was enthusiastically waving at you from across the bar, turning himself into the center of attention, while his taciturn companion was looking you up and down, dark stare as intense as ever, sizing you up like you were a potential adversary… or prey.

You had given a half smile and a reserved hand motion in return, before refocusing your attention on the people you came with.

You were still mad at Ghost, after all.

The bastard had been toying with you, letting you believe that, maybe, there could be something more between you two. Then you discovered he was fucking around with his blue-eyed Sergeant too.

Not appreciating being just another conquest, you had been keeping your distance from him.

Until now.

Until the beauty sliding her way to Johnny catches your eye. She's undeniably attractive, and with the confidence to match. Maybe a bit too confident, you gauge as your eyes follow the motion of her hand informally palpating Soap's bicep.

You glance at Ghost, curious of his reaction.

What you find sends a cold shiver down your spine. If looks could kill… the poor thing would be dead several times over. In very gruesome ways.

It's a miracle she doesn’t feel his deadly stare piercing her skull, like he was trying to headshot her unarmed.

He hasn’t budged an inch, but even from afar, you can read the tension in his muscles— the line of his jaw, the strain of his forearm, the clench of his fist. Even with the mask, you can guess the scowl twisting his features.

You swear you can hear his glass of whisky wince under the pressure of his vice-like grip.

That's when you decide to prevent a carnage.

Finishing your drink, and informing your coworkers that you’d be back soon, you make your way to the bothersome couple and their no-less-bothersome third wheel, quickly plotting a plan of attack. How to get her to give up her target without causing— too much of— a scene?

Walking by Ghost before reaching your goal, you hiss at him under your breath: “Behave.”

Sneaking behind Johnny, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, embracing him from behind with a sickly sweet smile for your mark, fingers crossed that he'll play along, or at least keep his big mouth shut.

Chest pressed against his back, and lips close to his ear, you ask out loud:

“Sweetheart, who's your friend?”

Before the forenamed can reply, the woman snaps back, all her smiles and seductive tone gone out the window.

“No, who do you think you are?”

Outch. And to think you're doing all this to preserve her life. Ungrateful much?

You tighten your grip over Soap's possessively, your cordial expression not faltering.

“You should know not to go after taken men.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't see your name anywhere on him.”

So that's how she wants to play this, uh. Time to show her you can beat her at her own game easily.

“Oh, my bad, forgot to mark him before letting him out.”

Your hand leaves Johnny's chest to grab his jaw between thumb and forefinger, with enough strength to turn his face away from you, but not enough to hurt him, and making good use of the newfound access to his throat, you bite.

A strangled little noise escapes him, but you barely pay it any mind as you look up to stare at your opponent defiantly, and the mix of shock and revulsion in the grimace twisting her features tells you you've won. She gets up and takes off with a scoff. She must certainly take you for a freak, but it's a small sacrifice you’re willing to make.

Releasing Soap, you slump by his free side at the booth with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry. Don't be mad at me, that's all I found to make her leave.”

“I don't think ‘mad’ is what he's feeling now, luv.”

You glare at Ghost, irked by how satisfied he sounds. He half-turned your way, one arm leaning on the backrest, one hand squeezing his Sergeant's thigh.

“L.T.”, hisses the latter through gritted teeth, and it sounds like a plea, while absolutely refusing to meet your eyes.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you groan in the culprit's direction.

“S’that so?”

The smugger he sounds, the hotter your blood runs. It's not until you can feel his warm breath on your skin that you realize that, in your anger, you leaned towards him so much— and he returned the favor— that your faces are inches away. You even reflected him without meaning too, seizing Johnny's other thigh to balance yourself, causing the aforenamed to gulp.

“Sure it's not an excuse to drape yourself all over Johnny?”

You've never wanted to strangle someone so badly.

“You're delirious.”

“Gonna have to take responsibility for the state you've put him in.”

“That's bullshit. Johnny, tell him it's—”

Your mouth abruptly close as you take in the Sergeant's flustered state— half-lidded eyes, flushed face and ears, imploring expression.

“Guess I'll just have to demonstrate, then…”

Turning his words into deeds, Simon grabs your hand and directs it towards Soap.

“Nonono, Simonplease—”

In other circumstances, you would have put a stop to this. Set Ghost straight, shield Soap, embody the voice of reason. But…. Your mouth is dry, your skin ablaze, lust the only thing on your mind. It's like Johnny's beseeching whine caused most of your blood to desert your brain and rush South.

And Simon's actions are not helping— quite the opposite.

He guides your hand to his Sergeant's crotch, and the hard-on you find there sweeps away all the doubts you had about him not being into this, nor into you. The contact wrests a hiss from your target, and you look up to find him biting into his fist— a desperate effort to keep quiet. Glistening blue eyes bore into you, and you forget about anyone else's existence until Ghost speaks up again.

“Believe me now?”

The trip back to the base was a blur. One second you were in the bar, engaged in a staring contest, the next the sound of the lock of Ghost's bedroom rings out in the silence.

You barely find your bearings that Soap gets shoved on his back on the bed, and a warm hand on your back makes you land on him right after.

“Oof, what the fuck,” you complain as you rise on your forearms.

Soap isn’t deterred by the manhandling at all— used to it?—, instead lifting his head to nuzzle against you with a happy sigh. That's only then that you realize you somehow fell with your chest right in his face.

You attempt to get up on all four, but Johnny's grabby hands on your ass pinning you against him make it difficult.

“Bloody hell Soap, let me get up.”

He whines in protest at the command but obeys anyway.

You crawl backwards to meet his eyes. Next thing you know, his hand slips behind your neck to notch your mouth with his.

He's panting when you split up. The view makes you chuckle good-naturedly.

“So worked up already. I barely touched you.”

When he attempts to kiss you again, lips brushing yours, you recoil and perch on his lap.

You tug at his shirt and he sits up straight without needing to be asked twice.

“Let me look at you.”

Cradling his face, you stroke his bottom lip with your thumb as you contemplate him, taking in his dilated pupils and disheveled mohawk.

Enjoying his obedience as much as his eagerness, you let him remove your top, grope your chest and suck at your nipples.

Lost in his ministrations, you would have almost forgotten about his lieutenant's presence until a gloved hand slides from your hip to cup your crotch, and a warm torso presses against your back. You turn your head to get a look at him but he objects to it.

“Don't mind me, love. Focus on Johnny, yeah? Got the poor thing all pent up.”

The above-named openly moans at that, and you make a mental note— “likes when we talk about him like he's not there.”

There's a gap between Ghost's words and actions though, and it becomes incredibly hard to concentrate on Johnny when he slips his hand inside your pants to tease you with his fingers while kissing your neck. Of course he's doing this on purpose, the smug bastard. The night promises to be long.

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a-writer · 7 days ago

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Invisible String - Part 4

Hello! Back at it again with my fav toxic idiots. Hope you enjoy :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Azriel x reader

Warnings: suggestive themes, toxic relationship, angst, English is not my first language so sorry if there are some mistakes!

You and Azriel land on the woods right next to the border of Hewn City. Your hands intertwined, he asked you to winnow both of you here. You almost said no, because Azriel can winnow too, and because this just seemed like an excuse to touch you. But how could you say no when you are as deprived for his touch as he is for yours?

Your hands remain together for a few seconds, because neither one of you want to let go, but Eris is about to arrive, and the last thing you need is him teasing you, and specially Azriel, about holding hands like some couple of young idiots. So you let his hand go slowly, your fingers lingering on his for just a second.

Eris appears then, looking as regal as ever, a smirk on his face when he sees you. It turns into a quick frown upon seeing Azriel, but it lasts for a second, before his cocky smile is back on his beautiful face.

“(Y/N).” His voice is cool, almost like a caress. “It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile at Eris, your posture relaxed, so at odds with Azriel, whose shoulders are stiff as a board, his shadows circling him like snakes ready to strike.

“Hello, Eris.” Your voice is sweet, a small smile on your face.

Eris and yours relationship is… weird. You don’t trust him, not entirely, and you could never forgive what he did to Mor. But after all these years, there’s an understanding between both of you. Because when everything when down with Mor, you all were so young, so naïve. And because you know, deep down, that all of you have taken terrible decisions over the years, and if someone looked at you from the outside, seeing the things you’ve done, you’ll probably look like the bad guys, too. Hell, Rhys’ bluff has been standing on that premise for centuries.

But you are lucky, because you found people in your life that looked past all these bad decisions, that gave you the benefit of the doubt and that cared enough to listen to your motives. You’ve come to understand that the difference between you and Eris is that he has no one that listens to him, only people judging. So you came to a truce with him that you would be civil with each other. All the flirting wasn’t in the plan, but you’ve come to know that that’s just Eris’ personality.

“My dear (Y/N), I can’t go so long without seeing you.” Eris’ eyes gleam and you know he’s just teasing, trying how far he can go without Azriel snapping out of control. “I’ve missed you.”

You can feel Azriel balling his hands into fist, his shadows swirling him a little more erratic than just a second ago.

“Oh, please, Eris.” You take a step forward. “Is your life so boring that my visits mean so much to you?”

“What do you want me to say?” His smirk grows, and now you kind of see Azriel’s point about how he looks at you like he would love to bite you. “I do love seeing your pretty face.”

“Enough.” Azriel’s voice interrupts the conversation, his teeth bared at Eris. His left wing is extended just enough to cover your shoulders, and you can see the rage on his eyes.

Eris looks at him with a bored expression and returns his eyes to you. “Do you trust me so little that you have to bring your guard dog to our meeting?”

Before Azriel can open his mouth and fuck it up more, you talk. “It wasn’t my choice.” You shrug your shoulders casually. If you want Eris to assist the ball, you need to play his game. “We’re here because we’re hosting a ball at Hewn City, and we would like for you to assist.”

“I can say no to you, can I?”

“You could, but I don’t think Rhysand or Keith would appreciate your negative.” You smile sweetly at him. “We’re allies now, after all.”

“I shall think about it.”

“You have no time to think about it.” Azriel’s voice is cold, deadly. “Either you say yes or no. And you deal with the consequences.”

You look at him out of the corner of your eye, and you see Az’s hand on his dagger, ready for battle. You take another step forward, and a cool feeling graces your right wrist. His shadows.

“I’m sure it’s in all of us best interests that you come, Eris.” You look up at him through your lashes. “We would love to have you there.”

“That’s a lie.” Eris smiles down at you. “But I will go, as long as you save me a dance.”

“She’s not doing that.” Azriel’s speaks again and you close your eyes.

He’s fucking it up. Eris’ is just pushing his limits, testing him, and Azriel is letting him do it.

“Come to our ball, and we can discuss the dance there.” You bring Eris’ attention back to you.

He contemplates your face and, after a few moments of silence, he gives you a nod. You sigh, relieved that your job here is done.

“Do you have any information that’s useful, apart from all the stupid shit talk?” Azriel takes a step, coming closer to you, his shadows enveloping your torso.

Eris looks down at the tendrils now travelling across the bodice of your dress and you would love to turn around and slap Azriel from this intent at claiming you.

“No.” Eris’ eyes go back to yours and then Azriel’s. “Since Bryallin died, everything’s been oddly quiet. I’m trying to get information out of Beron, but he’s not telling me anything useful these days.” He looks back at you. “Whenever I have something, I’ll call for a meeting.”

You nod at him, trying to concentrate on his face instead of the cool feeling that’s now travelling through your arms and skirts. Azriel is stepping over the line.

“Thank you, Eris.” You extend your hand and a black envelope appears in your palm. Eris takes it, his fingers grazing yours. He smiles at the contact and shadows rush across his arm. He takes it away quickly, putting the envelope on one of the pockets on his red jacket.

“Easy, Shadowsinger.” He smiles at Azriel. “I thought the whole brute thing was Cassian’s specialty, but I see you’ve got it in you, too.”

Azriel’s jaw ticks, his wings extending a little bit more. A silent warning.

“Anyway, it was nice seeing you, Eris. Looking forward to the ball.” Your voice is cheerly, almost in a weird way. You just want this meeting to be over already.

“Likewise, (Y/N).” Eris gives Azriel one last look before his eyes found yours and, before vanishing, he gives you one last wink.

Eris disappears and you let go the air you were holding. You turn around, a scowl in your face, but Azriel seems as chill as always.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Az looks down at you, and it almost looks like the corner of his mouth is turning up. “Was it really necessary for you to act like a rabid dog?!”

At that his expression changes and you see annoyance flashing on his eyes.

“Are you really going to defend Eris?”

“I’m not defending anyone! I’m just saying that you didn’t need to do all that. The shadows, the wings, the bossing me around.”

“I didn’t do any of that. But I’m not going to let him put your hands on you.”

“Why do you even care?! This is why I didn’t want you to come!” You walk past him, but Azriel grabs your wrist and turns your around.

“I’m not letting him, or anyone, disrespect you.”

“Don’t you get it?” He’s holding your wrist between your bodies, the back of your hand resting on his chest. “You’re the one disrespecting me with all that possessive bullshit.”

Azriel shuts his mouth, but doesn’t let go of your hand. It’s not like you’re trying to get free of his touch, either.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” His eyes soften just a little. “But I don’t want him looking at you like that, touching you like that. Thinking the things I know he thinks when he sees you.”

He drops your wrist, your arm falling to your side.

“You don’t get to decide that, Azriel. It’s my life, my choices.”

“I know, I just…” He looks up into the sky and for a few seconds, the birds and the rustling of the leaves are the only sounds. You hold your breath, waiting for his confession, for his truth. “I don’t know what to say.”

Your shoulders sag and you feel your heart shrinking a little at his lack of words. Is it always going to be this difficult? Is it sex the only thing you and Azriel know how to do without hurting each other?

“Whatever, let’s just go back.” You don’t wait for his answer before winnowing to the front of the River House.

You walk inside the state and soon hear Azriel’s footsteps right behind you. Going to Rhys’ office, you both fill him on what Eris said. Rhysand doesn’t say much, just nodding away.

“Great, thank you for doing this.” He finally says, both you and Azriel turning to leave. “Wait, (Y/N), there’s something else I want to discuss with you.”

You turn back to stand in front of Rhys’ table. Once Rhysand makes sure Azriel has gone away, he looks at you.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look sad.”

“I’m just tired.”

Rhys purses his lips together, studying your face. You are sad, but it’s not something that you want to talk about right now. Something dark and silky caresses your mind, and you build your brick walls higher. Rhysand just nods, understanding.

“Elain is coming to the ball.”

The news take you by surprise.

“Alone?”

“Lucien is still trying to talk Tamlin into allying with us if war comes, so he doesn’t think it will be a good look if he comes. But he understands Elain wants to see her sisters.” Rhysand studies you slowly, your face, your fiddling hands.

“Okay, great. The more the merrier, right?” You shrug your shoulders and turn around to leave.

Your hand is on the doorknob when Rhys’ voice reaches your ears. “(Y/N), I’m always here if you want to talk about it.”

You sigh. “I know”. You open the door and leave, going straight for the entrance, needing to breathe some fresh air.

Walking without knowing where you’re going, the memories cloud your mind.

You had never seen him like this, not with anyone that wasn’t you. When Elain and Nesta arrived, you sensed that Azriel was different. He was more attentive with the Archeron sister, more soft. He showed her sides of him that only you had had the pleasure of seeing before.

Was it possible to be in love with two people at the same time? It had never happened to you, but Azriel seemed so at ease with her. Not at the beginning, though, when it seemed like all Elain wanted to do was die and Azriel looked like he would follow her if necessary. But when she started to get better, to get more used to her new life, she gravitated towards him. They started hanging out, Azriel would go with her to the garden, he explained to her how his shadows worked, she told him about the different flowers and plants.

One day, after a quick rough session of sex, you asked him about it.

“Are you in love with her?” You were putting back on your clothes, your back to him.

“She’s Lucien’s mate.” His voice was quiet.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“I don’t know if I’m in love with her. I just feel different around her.”

At his words, your heart broke a little, your throat clogging with unshed tears.

You never asked him about her again, instead, you took your distance. Asked Rhysand to please send you away. So you went to the Dawn Court, with Thesan, to learn some healing abilities. You just needed a way out, because you couldn’t bare to see how Azriel fell out of love with you just to find someone else.

You spent months on the Dawn Court, perfecting your abilities and drowning your sadness with parties and sex with strangers. Until Rhys called for you to go back to the Night Court, where a surprised received you. Elain had accepted the mating bond with Lucien, and they were both living in Spring Court.

Azriel seemed as cool as always, and you never bothered to ask him if anything between him and Elain had happened, you didn’t want to know, anyway. He never asked you what you did in Dawn Court, either, and so you fell back in your old dynamics, stuck once more.

You reach your apartment, waking up from your memory. You will be seeing Elain again. He will be seeing her again. The Mother be with you all.

—————————-

The ball is in full swing, the band playing song after song, people chattering and laughing. Rhys and Feyre are on the throne, presiding the party, Keith close to them, as well as Eris. Mor approaches you in a beautiful red gown and you smile sweetly at her.

“You always look so good.” You hug her sideways.

“Look who’s talking.” She grabs your hand and spins you. “You look amazing, (Y/N).”

You smile at her and, you have to admit, this dress is quite the piece. It’s a halter neck dress, backless and with a low cut that reaches just above the curve of your ass. The silk fabric hugs your waist and hips and pools around your legs, a big slit showing your left leg. Of course, the color is black, just like the jewellery piece holding your bun together.

“I have to agree with Mor on this one.” A voice you could recognize anywhere comes from behind you. “You look stunning, (Y/N). You too, Mor.” Azriel smiles at both of you, his eyes lingering on you a little bit longer, roaming all over your body.

You feel your hands get sweaty and your cheeks turning pink. Because now he’s looking at you like he wants to undress you and isn’t it really hot in here? Luckily for you, Mor makes for a great distraction.

“Poor Cass, trying to follow Nesta.” You three look at the dance floor, where you can see Cassian struggling to dance with Nesta, who looks like a natural.

You laugh, feeling bad for your friend. To Cassian’s relief, the music dies abruptly. Feyre is standing now, motioning for Nesta to come to her side. And that’s when you see her. Elain, looking as ethereal as ever, with a flowy light pink dress. The tule moves graciously, just like her, as she enters the room. Her light brown hair cascades down her back and she gives everyone she passes a little smile. The picture of perfection. You feel Azriel tensing just slightly at the sight of her and your stomach turns. Once she reaches Feyre, she bows, before jumping to her and Nesta’s arms. The music resumes, and you realize you’d been holding your breath.

Azriel looks distracted and you feel like crying. Mor grabs your hand and gives it a little squeeze, and you give her a tight smile. Az leaves your side and moves closer to where the sisters are now talking with Rhysand and Cassian. They look too perfect, three sisters for three brothers, right? You feel your head spinning and you look to your side, but Mor is nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, a flash of red catches your attention and you see Eris standing in front of you.

“I would love to have that dance you promised me.” His cool voice is like a caress, and you steady yourself.

“I think I never promised you a dance.” You try to suppress a smile.

“I know, I was just hoping you would let it go and do it anyway.” Eris offers you his hand and you give one last look to Azriel. He’s got his back to you, so you look back at Eris, one of his eyebrows raised in challenge. “What do you say?”

You take his hand and lead him to the dance floor.

#acotar #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #acotar imagine #azriel x y/n #acotar x reader

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filmsbyun · 4 months ago

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Waltz of Words || Choi Beomgyu

i. You return like Autumn .☘︎ ݁˖ ii. And I fall everytime

.☘︎ ݁˖ Back to story ml

Your heart and mind seek him for reasons no words could describe—an irony not lost on you, a writer, a weaver of words. And yet, when it comes to him, even you fail to stitch together the language to explain his existence in your life.

⊹₊⟡⋆ 17.6k

Nobleman! Choi Beomgyu x Noblewoman! afab!reader

[NOTE that: Specific warnings will be listed before every chapters]

chapter warnings: inspired by victorian era, heavy slowburn, heavy plot based, strangers to friends to lovers, reader faces misogyny, mutual pining, use of original characters

Heads up, if you can't handle heavy slow burn, please click away from this story right now! There is much emphasis put on the worldbuilding, and the story progression follows the natural flow of a slowburn tag. With that being said, enjoy!

"Your eyes," Lord Kim mused, swirling the wine in his glass as he leaned forward slightly. "Light brown yet sharp—like honey edged with steel. Quite a rare beauty."

A polite, nearly derisive chuckle escaped you as you lifted your teacup to your lips, the porcelain brushing against your smile. You neither confirmed nor denied his words, merely letting the silence stretch between you, knowing full well how such men loathed being left without acknowledgment.

You were the eldest daughter of a noble family—sharp of mind, elegant in manner, poised in every regard. Yet beneath the carefully painted smiles and effortless charm, there was a deadly wit that cut deeper than any blade. An aspiring writer, a woman with ambitions deemed unseemly by the very society that entertained itself with whispers of your supposed impropriety. They smiled at you in ballrooms and parlors, exchanging pleasantries with feigned warmth, only to turn and condemn you the moment your back was turned. Well, not all, but still many.

Not that it ever stopped you. If anything, you found a thrill in it—the way masked conversations at masquerade balls and polished words at grand gatherings became your battlefield. Insults were merely invitations to play, and you had long since mastered the game. Funnily enough, for all your wit and defiance, the parade of suitors never ceased. Each day brought a new gentleman, another hopeful fool eager to claim your hand in marriage. But you knew better. You had always known better. Their interest was not in you but in what you could offer—your father’s wealth, your family’s status. And so, you did as any well-educated woman would.

You rejected them. With grace, your words wrapped in silk, but with finality all the same. And as Lord Kim awaited a reply, his expression expectant, you merely lowered your cup and offered him a smile that did not reach your eyes.

"My lord, how very poetic of you."

His lips curled into what he likely assumed was a charming smile, confidence glinting in his pale grey eyes. “A rare beauty indeed, and one that any man would be fortunate to—”

“Acquire?” you finished smoothly, tilting your head as if in contemplation. “Forgive me, my lord, but you speak as though I were some coveted artifact in a collector’s cabinet.”

The words were spoken lightly as they spilled from your rosy lips, almost sweetly matching your saccharine smile, yet they sliced the air like a sharp knife. His mouth opened, then shut, like a gaping fish as his pathetically composed charm wavered. Then, the faintest pink dusted his cheeks—not of flattery, but of embarrassment.

“Hardly, my lady,” he recovered, his chuckle laced with forced ease. “Though I must confess, I do find you endlessly fascinating. Your mind, your wit—it is rare for a woman to possess such sharpness.”

“Ah,” you mused, tapping a finger lightly against the rim of your teacup. “And here I thought my value rested solely in my rare light brown eyes. How reassuring to know that my mind is tolerable as well.”

His chuckle faltered, but he pressed on, leaning forward as if to close the space between you over the table. “You wound me, Lady Kang. I only meant to admire you. I do believe we would make quite the pair, you and I.”

A beat of silence passed before you let out a soft hum of amusement. Setting your cup down with an elegant clink, you met his gaze with a sharp glint flashing in your honeyed orbs—something that made his confidence topple over.

“My lord, I have found that men often mistake admiration for possession, much like one might marvel at a wild bird before placing it in a gilded cage.” You lifted a brow. “And as lovely as that sentiment may sound, I fear I was not meant to be caged.”

His lips parted, a retort surely forming on his tongue, but you rose to your feet before he could voice it. You smoothed a hand over the silk of your gown, the deep emerald fabric catching the warm glow of the chandelier above.

“I do hope the tea was to your liking, my lord. I find it particularly suited for washing down words that turn bitter upon the tongue.”

His jaw tightened ever so slightly, but you did not stay to witness his floundering attempt at recovery. With a graceful dip of your head, you turned and left the drawing room, the train of your gown trailing behind you like the final stroke of an artist’s brush upon a masterpiece.

Beyond the doors, the evening air was crisp, the scent of distant rain clinging to the breeze. A wry smile ghosted your lips. Another suitor bested. Another conversation played like a well-written scene.

And tomorrow, without fail, another would take his place.

The following morning, aside from Maya’s ever-loyal presence, your only companions were the steady rhythm of carriages rattling over cobblestones, the occasional clip-clop of hooves punctuating the crisp morning air, and the thin mist curling at the edges of shopfronts. The scent of fresh bread and damp earth lingered in the breeze, a fleeting reminder of last night’s rain.

A cool gust of wind slipped past and you shivered slightly before wrapping your shawl more securely around your shoulders. The deep emerald folds of your gown skimmed the pavement as you passed by familiar faces. A nod here, a polite smile there—acknowledgments exchanged only with those who conveyed.

“Lady Kang, a pleasure as always,” called Mr. Lee, tipping his hat as he stood outside his tailor’s shop.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Lee,” you replied smoothly, meeting his gaze for just a moment before continuing forward.

Maya, ever at your side, leaned in conspiratorially. “They’re staring again,” she whispered, her voice low but laced with indignation. “Especially those two gentlemen by the bakery. And that woman by the flower stall—oh, I know she has something horrid to say.”

You merely exhaled through your nose, unbothered. “Let them.”

Maya scoffed, quick to defend. “If anyone so much as breathes the wrong way near you, my lady, I’ll tackle them into the mud.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from you. “I trust you would.”

“With all my heart!” she huffed, puffing up her chest. “They can glare all they want, but none of them dare approach. They know better.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they’ll learn when they’re face-down on the street,” she declared, making you bite back a laugh.

With Maya's fiery loyalty echoing in your ears, you finally reached your destination—a modest yet distinguished establishment nestled between a bookseller’s shop and an apothecary. The dark wood sign above the door bore the name Westmere Publishing House, its golden lettering gleaming even beneath the overcast sky.

Inside, the air was warm, comforting in contrast with the outside ambiance, laced with the tender scent of aged paper and ink. A grandfather clock ticked softly from the far corner, its steady rhythm a backdrop to the gentle rustling of parchment and the quiet murmurs of literary discussions.

“Lady Kang,” a warm voice greeted.

You turned to find Mr. Alistair Lennox rising from behind his desk, a welcoming smile gracing his features. A man of keen intellect and unwavering integrity, he had been one of the few in his profession to treat your writing with the respect it deserved, rather than dismissing it as an amusing hobby for a noblewoman.

“Mr. Lennox,” you inclined your head. “I hope the morning finds you well.”

“Better now that you’re here,” he mused, gesturing towards the armchairs before his desk. “Come, sit. I had Mrs. Porter prepare some tea—I recall you have a preference for blackcurrant.”

A pleased hum left your lips as you settled into the chair, Maya standing dutifully near the door. Lennox poured the tea himself, steam curling into the air as he handed you a cup.

You accepted the delicate porcelain cup with a faint smile, letting the warmth seep into your fingers before taking a slow sip. The tart sweetness bloomed on your tongue. Lennox, however, did not drink.

“Now,” he began, settling into his own seat, “I must say, your latest manuscript… intriguing, as always.”

You took a careful sip before meeting his gaze. “You hesitate.”

Lennox chuckled. “Ah, you never miss a thing, do you? It’s not hesitation, my lady, merely consideration. Your writing is evocative—there is no denying its brilliance. But your themes…” He exhaled. “They challenge certain conventions. That is not a flaw, mind you, but the industry is slow to embrace change.”

You watched as he flipped through the pages, his gaze sharp despite the amusement in his tone. His fingers paused on a particular passage, and he tapped it lightly before reading aloud:

‘He is a man with coal-stained hands, hands that build and break and bleed. The city calls him nameless, faceless, another thread in its grand tapestry, easily unraveled. But to her, he is not nameless. Not faceless. He is a man. And she, born to silken sheets and idle afternoons, has learned that wealth is merely another kind of prison.’

A silence stretched between you, save for the soft clink of porcelain as you placed your teacup down. Lennox looked up, a smile peeking under his gray mustache.

“A noblewoman falling in love with a man of lower birth—a factory worker, no less.”

You leaned back in your chair, lacing your gloved fingers together over your lap. “Not love,” you corrected. “Understanding. She sees him, truly, and he sees her. They are bound not by romance only but also by the realization that neither of them is free.”

Lennox let out a low hum, tracing the rim of his teacup though he still did not drink. His brows furrowed slightly, deep in thought. “Your portrayal of class disparity is unforgiving to society, my lady.”

“It is honest.”

“That is precisely why it will be met with resistance,” he murmured, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, gauging your reaction. “The lords and ladies you write of—self-indulgent, callous to the suffering beneath them—many will see themselves in your words, and they will not take kindly to it.”

“They need not take kindly,” you replied smoothly, gloved fingers trailing the gold rim of your saucer. “Only take notice.”

Lennox sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin, but there was an unmistakable glint of both hopefulness and disquietness in his gaze. “You do enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?”

You smiled then, slow and knowing. “If the pot boils over, it was never stable to begin with.”

“Dangerous words, my lady.” He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“I have never feared danger, Mr. Lennox.”

The grandfather clock chimed the passing hour, a draft ghosting through the room, carrying the faint scene of petrichor from an open window. Outside, the city bustled on, oblivious to the quiet revolution bound in the pages between you.

Lennox studied you a moment longer, then, with a resigned exhale, closed the manuscript. “Very well. I will see it through, but do not expect an easy road.”

You traced the rim of your teacup with a thoughtful finger. “You mean they are unwilling to accept the notion that a woman might write about more than love and pleasantries.”

His lips twitched. “Something like that.”

“I refuse to soften my words to soothe their sensibilities.”

“I suspected as much.” He leaned back, eyes appraising you with something akin to admiration. “Your work deserves to be read in its truest form. I will push for it, but you must be prepared—as I mentioned, there will be resistance.”

A lesser writer might have balked at the prospect. But you? You merely smiled. “Then let us give them something worth resisting.”

Lennox chuckled, shaking his head. “I have no doubt you will.”

And with that, the conversation shifted to logistics—edits, print schedules, the inevitable backlash that would follow. But opposition had never stopped you before. And it certainly would not stop you now.

Maya tugged at your sleeve, eyes bright with insistence. “My lady, just a moment—I must get bread for today’s breakfast from Roselyne’s.”

You exhaled a quiet breath, indulging her with a small nod. The bakery stood beside a flower stall, and the scent of baked goods curling with the fresh fragrance of the new blooms pulled you in. She hurried inside, promising to be swift, while you dallied by the door looking at the colourful arrangements of flowers.

A breeze stirred against your skin, light yet invigorating, brushing past like a whispered greeting from the changing seasons. The street in front of the bakery held a rare stillness, the city’s usual clamor softened into a gentle hum. Drawn by the cool touch of the air, you stepped further outside, closing your eyes for a moment, letting it fill your lungs—

—but it was knocked out of your lungs the very next moment when something barreled into you.

Your balance wavered, feet slipping slightly over the uneven stones beneath you. “Ah—” Your voice barely escaped, the world tilting just enough to send a spike of disorientation through you. But a strong hand caught your arm, steadying you before you could stumble further. A figure pulled back, just as swift as he had collided into you, long strands of black hair shifting against his skin as he turned away.

“Forgive me,” the stranger murmured, the words clipped yet polite, already stepping past you.

You barely caught a glimpse of him—just the dark hair that rested against his nape. By the time your mind caught up with your body, he was already disappearing into the street, swallowed by the slow-moving morning crowd up ahead.

“My lady!” Maya’s voice cut through your thoughts as she rushed out of the bakery, hands firm on your arms, checking you over. “Are you alright? What happened? Did someone—?”

You blinked, the world snapping back into focus. Your hand absentmindedly clasped around to feel the ghosting warmth left on your arm by the stranger.

“Nothing,” you murmured at last, brushing your hands over your sleeves. “It was nothing.”

Maya’s brows knit together, her gaze flicking toward the street where the figure had vanished. “If someone dared push my lady—!”

You let out a quiet breath of laughter. “You would tackle them?”

She huffed. “And more.”

Shaking your head, you linked your arm through hers, steering her back toward the carriage. “Come, or we shall be late for breakfast.”

The morning sun filtered through the grand dining hall, casting a golden glow over the long table adorned with porcelain and silver. The scent of freshly baked bread and brewed tea mingled in the air, yet any notion of a pleasant breakfast waned the moment your eyes landed on her—your aunt.

Seated beside your mother with a posture too stiff and a gaze too critical, she regarded you with the same thinly veiled disapproval she had worn for years. It was a wonder she still attended these meals when her distaste for you—and everything you represented—was no secret.

Still, you held your composure, inclining your head in the barest acknowledgment before moving past her.

"Good morning, Mother," you said warmly, pressing a kiss to her cheek before taking your seat. "Is Father not joining us?"

"He had to leave early for the academy," she replied, offering you a gentle smile as she poured your tea. "He sends his regards."

A shame. Your father’s presence would have at least softened the atmosphere. The conversation shifted as your mother set down the teapot. "Ah, I meant to tell you—I have arranged for a tutor for your brother."

You lifted a brow. "A tutor?"

"Yes, dear," she said, stirring her tea absently. "I thought it best to bring in someone with experience, given your own work."

You straightened slightly, setting down your fork with a quiet clink. "Mother, you know I am more than capable of handling his studies."

"And I know how you bury yourself in your writing," she countered, eyes warm but firm. "I would rather not distract you from your ambitions."

Your lips parted in protest, but before you could speak, a sharp voice cut through the conversation.

"Ambitions," your aunt scoffed, dabbing at her mouth with a silk napkin. "A lady should concern herself with finding a husband, not burying her head in ink and parchment. No respectable man wants a woman who has already given her heart to books."

A heavy pause filled the space.

Maya, standing dutifully nearby, remained perfectly composed, save for the way her fingers curled tightly around the pitcher she was holding. Your mother, though ever poised, let out a sharp sigh of disapproval glancing at your aunt.

"How fortunate, then, that I have no need for a respectable man." You took a bite of your bread.

Your aunt’s eyebrows bristled.

Smiling sweetly, you set your silverwares down, eyes gleaming. "I have always been under the impression that a man of true quality would value a sharp mind over an empty head, but perhaps such men are rare in your circles, Aunt."

Maya coughed—too sharp to be anything but a stifled laugh. Your mother, hiding her expression behind her teacup, exhaled lightly, the corners of her lips threatening to curve. You wanted to mention the scandalous part of her husband’s infidelity, but you decided to save that for some other time. Lucky for your aunt, you were feeling generous.

Your aunt, for her part, sputtered, her lips parting and closing as though searching for a retort that would not come. You merely tilted your head in mock sympathy, waiting—watching—as she fumed in silence.

"Well," she finally huffed, picking up her knife and fork. "We shall see how long such ideas last, my dear."

"Oh, I do believe they shall last quite a while," you mused, lifting your teacup. "After all, unlike certain opinions, my ideas have substance."

This time, Maya had to turn away completely, shoulders trembling. Your mother took an exceptionally long sip of tea, eyes closed. And just as your aunt’s expression soured further, your mother smoothly redirected the conversation.

"The tutor I mentioned," she said, setting her teacup down, "is the son of an old friend of mine. You perhaps do not remember him as you were very little. His name is Choi Beomgyu, and he is a year older than you. He will be arriving later this week."

Choi Beomgyu.

The name did sound familiar, but unfamiliar at the very same time—like certain smells from one’s childhood that trigger an overwhelming sense of nostalgia yet you couldn’t quite grasp the feeling of longing in your palms.

"He comes from an esteemed family, and he is quite studious and well-mannered. I think he will be a fine tutor for your brother."

You hummed noncommittally, turning back to your plate. An extra presence in the house was the least of your concerns at present—but still, the name lingered in your mind longer than expected. For now, however, you would deal with the matters at hand—like the way your aunt still stared daggers at you across the table.

You simply smiled at her, making sure it was sweet enough to irk another reaction out of her, then went back to your breakfast.

A week had passed since your mother first mentioned the tutor. You had not thought much of it then—people came and went from your home as easily as the changing seasons. Some as guests, others as suitors, all predictably forgettable.

A soft breeze ghosted through the sheer curtains, carrying the scent of damp earth and lingering autumn chill. You might have surrendered to the warmth of your sheets—had it not been for the relentless force that was Lee Maya.

“My lady,” came her singsong voice, already too awake for your liking. “It is time for your horse riding practice.”

A low groan was your only response as you turned over, pulling the covers over your head.

Maya was having none of it. “Come now,” she cajoled, tugging insistently at the blankets. “The horses await!”

“They can wait longer,” you muttered, voice muffled against your pillow.

Maya gasped in mock offense. “Abandoning your beloved steed? Scandalous! Why, if your aunt heard of this, she would say—”

“‘How terribly unladylike!’” you finished for her, cracking one eye open. “Oh, the horror.”

Maya snorted before giving one final, merciless tug, dragging you from your cocoon of warmth. "Up, up, before I fetch the cold water."

Despite your protests, the routine began—Maya moving with routined efficiency, dressing you in your riding attire: a crisp white blouse with a high neck, its full sleeves flowing with each movement. Then, the final act of defiance—pants.

Oh, if your aunt saw you now.

By the time you returned from the stables, your pulse still thrummed with the exhilaration of the ride, the cool morning air clung against your skin. The familiar sight of the manor greeted you—its grandeur as eternal and old as time. But something was amiss.

A carriage stood at the entrance. Not one of yours.

Maya, already ahead of you, had paused by the steps. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, hands clasped behind her back as if restraining herself from bursting with whatever news she held.

You pulled your gloves off slowly. “Maya.”

She bit her lip, nearly vibrating in place. You arched a brow.

“The tutor,” she finally whispered, eyes darting toward the door. “He is here.”

Right. The tutor for your brother. You had almost forgotten.

Maya all but dragged you inside, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “He is with your mother in the drawing room now. Oh, my lady, I must say—” she clutched her hands to her chest—“he is terribly handsome.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that so?”

Maya nodded fervently as she led you through the halls, each step bringing you closer to the drawing room. And then—just as you reached the threshold—you saw him.

The scene before you could rival a famous painter’s artwork. Your mother sat with an air of elegance, her tea untouched as she spoke. Across from her, dressed in a well-tailored suit, sat a young man. Your gaze swept over him instinctively, cataloging details with the sharp precision you had honed over years of navigating drawing rooms filled with strangers.

He was tall, his frame lean but unmistakably strong beneath the crisp folds of his clothing. His hair was a deep, inky black, falling in soft, slightly tousled layers that framed his face; a natural shine catching the light just enough to emphasize its silky texture. The length grazed just past his ears, with the front strands parted slightly off-center, allowing a few wisps to fall delicately over his forehead.

He smiled, leaning forward slightly, speaking to your mother in a voice too low for you to catch. Then, with impeccable grace, he reached for her hand, bowing his head as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

A gesture of respect. One you had seen countless times before.

And yet, for some reason, you could not look away.

Your mother laughed lightly at something he said, and you—standing just beyond the doorway—felt something foreign settle in your chest from the mere scene.

Maya, ever the menace, nudged your arm. “Told you.”

You exhaled slowly, schooling your expression into one of polite neutrality.

He was handsome, yes. A fresh face among the endless line of suitors who had graced your home.

But unlike them, he was not here for you.

“Get the bath running, Maya.” You turned on your heel, dismissing the lingering thoughts as easily as you dismissed the tutor’s presence. You had work to do.

The manuscript for your latest project was complete, sealed away, soon to be scrutinized by those who would either fear or admire your words. Your next book awaited—an entirely new world demanding to be shaped, a story yearning to be told.

You hoped for the tutor to settle into his place in this house just fine.

In the living room, seated across from your mother, Beomgyu carried himself with an air of grace, basking in the warmth of familiarity. A soft smile played on his lips, the kind that carried both warmth and restraint, as if every word he spoke was carefully measured, thoughtful in its delivery.

“It has been years since I last saw you,” your mother said, a trace of nostalgia in her tone as she studied him. “You were but a boy when you left. And now look at you—how time has changed things.”

Beomgyu inclined his head, his gaze respectful. “Change is inevitable, my lady,” he said, his voice a smooth, velvety timbre. “But some things remain—like fond memories and kindness received.”

She smiled at that, pleased. “Your studies abroad must have shaped you well. I hear you spent much of your time immersed in philosophy and literature.”

“I did,” he affirmed, “and I found great joy in it. The world is vast, my lady, and there is always more to learn. But knowledge, I believe, is wasted if not used to help others.”

Your mother gave an approving nod. “A noble pursuit.” She set down her teacup, the fine porcelain clinking softly. “You must make yourself at home here. Do not hesitate to look around the house for your comfort.”

“You are too kind,” Beomgyu said, his smile deepening just slightly into a boyish grin. “And I am grateful for the opportunity. My mother assured me that this household is one of warmth and dear friendship. I am honored to be here.”

Your mother’s expression softened. “It means a great deal that you accepted the offer of tutoring. My son will benefit from your guidance.”

He gave a slight nod, ever the picture of a gentleman. “I will do my best, my lady. Education is a privilege, and I hope to help where I can.”

Beneath his polished manner lay ambition—not the reckless, self-serving kind that so often plagued men of high standing, but an earnest desire to use his intellect to make a difference. Having spent years among scholars and thinkers, he had learned to wield knowledge as a tool, not just for personal gain but for the betterment of those who needed it. When the opportunity to tutor was presented, he had accepted without hesitation—not merely out of duty, but out of belief. And if his mother had assured him that this was a house of trust, then he would see it as such.

A butler soon led him to the study room, where he settled into an armchair by the grand oak desk. The shelves stretched high, filled with volumes of literature and philosophy, their spines worn from years of appreciation. It was a space of thought, of discussion, and of ambitious pursuit.

He traced a finger along the gilded title of a familiar book, exhaling softly. There was a sense of belonging here, an understanding that he had stepped into a home where minds were meant to be cultivated, where curiosity was not just indulged but encouraged. And in that moment, he knew—he had made the right decision in coming here.

Minutes later, the door creaked open, and in stepped a young boy—your younger brother. He was around seventeen, soft-spoken and gentle in demeanor. His movements were meek that of a fawn, almost hesitant as he approached.

Beomgyu rose from his seat and offered a welcoming smile, his voice warm. “You must be the young master. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Your brother nodded, his expression polite yet uncertain. “It’s… nice to meet you as well, sir.”

“There’s no need for formalities,” Beomgyu said lightly. “I am here to guide you, not to intimidate you.”

That seemed to ease him a little. Beomgyu gestured toward the chair across from him, waiting until your brother was seated before beginning the lesson. But before delving into studies, he took a different approach—one that made all the difference.

“Tell me,” Beomgyu said as he arranged the papers before him, “what do you enjoy learning about?”

The question caught your brother off guard. Tutors usually dictated subjects, never asked preferences. After a brief pause, he mumbled, “I… like history.”

“A fine subject,” Beomgyu remarked. “Stories of the past shape the present. Do you have a favorite historical figure?”

Your brother hesitated, then answered, “Alexander the Great.”

Beomgyu smiled. “A fascinating choice. A conqueror, a strategist, a man of vision. Do you admire him for his strength or for his mind?”

Your brother blinked, considering. “His mind,” he admitted softly. “He was brilliant.”

“A scholar before a warrior,” Beomgyu mused, nodding approvingly. “You have an eye for intellect. I think we’ll get along just fine.” He punctuated his sentence with a wink.

The conversation eased the boy’s initial nervousness, and soon, the lesson began in earnest. Beomgyu spoke to him not as a mere student but as an equal, offering him space to think, to speak, to form his own ideas. It was a kind of teaching that encouraged rather than commanded.

Somewhere in the midst of their discussions, your brother mentioned you.

“She’s quite well-read too,” your brother said, shifting slightly in his seat. “More than anyone I know.”

Beomgyu glanced up with mild curiosity. “Ah, your sister?”

He nodded, but his voice lowered, almost hesitant. “Though she can be a bit intimidating.”

There was no malice in his words, only hushed truth. He admired you more than anyone, but he also knew of the battles you fought—how society viewed you, how you stood against it. He chose not to elaborate further, offering only the vague statement.

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly but did not press. Instead, he smiled—ever-gentle. “I’m sure she’s lovely.”

Your brother said nothing to that. He only looked down at his papers, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. Beomgyu, perceptive as ever, took note of it but let the moment pass.

The lesson carried on, but the thought lingered in Beomgyu’s mind. A bit intimidating, is she? He found himself intrigued, though he did not let it show. Respect first, always.

But curiosity… curiosity had a way of unraveling things in its own time.

The amber glow of the sinking sun in the horizon filtered through the tall windows of your study. The room, your personal refuge, was a sanctuary of solitude and intellect. It was here that you had spent the entire afternoon, quill in hand, weaving words onto crisp parchment, lost in the rhythm of your work.

Maya had long since succumbed to exhaustion, no doubt asleep in her quarters after you had firmly insisted she take a break. The house, aside from the occasional distant murmur of conversation or the faint clinking of silverware being tidied away, was tranquil. The household staff—those who came and went for daily duties—had long since departed, leaving only the trusted butler and Maya within these walls.

A dull ache settled between your shoulders, coaxing a sigh from your lips as you leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head. The exhaustion of the day pressed against your spine, a reminder that even the mind, no matter how disciplined, needed respite. Deciding a brief reprieve was in order, you rose from your seat, smoothing out the fabric of your blouse before making your way downstairs for a glass of water and perhaps a moment of fresh evening air.

As you descended, the hushed quiet of the manor allowed every step to echo softly against the polished floors. Passing by the study, murmurs from within halted you in your steps. You paused, careful to remain unseen, as your gaze settled through the slightly ajar doors.

Beomgyu was moving around, his face vibrant as he animatedly, passionately explained something. His hands gestured fluidly, his voice carrying warmth, sometimes rose an octave, sometimes downed. Your brother, usually so reserved, was positively beaming—eyes alight with unrestrained enthusiasm, laughter slipping from his lips with unfiltered delight. It was rare to see him so at ease with a stranger.

The sight tilted your head slightly in curiosity. A quiet chuckle escaped you before you turned away, leaving them to their lesson as you resumed your path toward the kitchen. Your mother, as you soon discovered, was absent—likely out with her circle of friends, engaged in the evening gossip of the elite.

After fetching your water, you strolled toward the garden, embracing the crisp air and the lingering scent of damp earth from the previous night’s rain. The stillness soothed your mind, the solitude a welcome embrace as the breeze teased the loose strands of your hair. You took your time, savoring the rare peace before returning inside.

Meanwhile, in the study, your brother closed his books with a satisfied sigh. The lesson had concluded for the day, and as he gathered his things, he glanced at Beomgyu. “There’s a library upstairs,” he mentioned offhandedly, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “Mother mentioned you are free to look around the house as you please.”

Beomgyu, intrigued, offered a grateful nod. “I would like that.”

His student then excused himself, eager to join his friends for the evening, leaving Beomgyu in the company of the elderly butler. The older man, ever watchful, regarded him with mild amusement before speaking. “Will you be needing anything, sir?”

Beomgyu shook his head politely. “No, thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

The butler gave a small nod of approval before departing, leaving Beomgyu alone in the quiet of the house. Curiosity now stirred within him—your brother’s mention of the library had piqued his interest. He was always drawn to books, to the knowledge they harbored, to the ideas that breathed between their pages.

He made his way upstairs, footsteps light against the polished wood, trailing the hallways with a sense of caution. He had yet to learn the layout of the house, and as he navigated through the dimly lit corridor, he turned into a room, expecting to find walls lined with bookshelves and a collection of literature awaiting him—which he did find, but unbeknownst to him, it wasn’t the library he was looking for.

Instead, he stepped into your study.

The room wasn’t large, but it held a distinct sense of grandeur. Crescent-shaped seating wrapped around tall windows, where pale evening light filtered through the glass. Books lined the wall shelves, the desk space, even the wide sills—some stacked neatly, others left open, marked by neat annotations. A writing desk sat against the far wall, occupied by a typewriter, parchments, and a modest vase of fresh baby’s breaths.

Beomgyu took a slow step forward, his gaze drawn to the books. Some of these titles were rare—ones he had only read about, never seen with his own eyes. His fingers brushed the spine of a well-worn volume, curiosity tugging him closer. Then his eyes fell upon the stack of loose papers on the desk, scripts of some kind. He walked over to the study desk, leaning in to take a better look.

"It’s improper to sneak around."

The cool voice startled him. Beomgyu turned sharply, finding you leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. Your sharp gaze, hooded slightly, held him in place. The warm light of the setting sun cast a glow against your features, making your amber-brown eyes gleam like smoldering embers. However, there was no warmth in your expression, and clearly no trace of amusement.

For a moment, Beomgyu faltered. Your brother was right. You were intimidating.

Yet, before he could gather his manners, something clicked in his memory. "It’s you," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Your brow arched. Misunderstanding his words, you stepped further inside, exhaling softly. “Ah, I forgot—my reputation isn’t to everyone’s appetite.”

Beomgyu’s confusion was evident, and he hurried to explain. “No, my lady, I meant—I saw you days ago. On the road. I nearly—” he paused, then continued with a sheepish chuckle, “—rode straight into you. I had just arrived in town that day.”

You hesitated, studying him carefully. As his words sank in, a memory surfaced—black strands of hair catching the morning light, a fleeting grip around your arm, a murmured apology before vanishing into the street.

So it had been him.

The realization settled within you, an odd sense of recognition threading through your thoughts. How small the world could be sometimes. So he hadn’t meant it as a slight against your name. With the realization came along a bashful chiding of your own prejudice.

With a measured nod, you conceded, "I see. My apologies, then."

Beomgyu exhaled, relieved, only to stiffen again at your next words. "Though I must say, I didn’t take you for the kind of gentleman who would invade a lady’s secluded space. Quite indecorous."

His posture straightened immediately, embarrassment rushing in like a wave. "I assure you, that wasn’t my intent. Your brother mentioned a library, and I assumed—"

You allowed a ghost of a smirk. “You are in a library,” you interrupted, amused despite yourself. “Just not the one you were looking for.” You motioned toward the bookshelves around you before adding, “This is my study.”

Realizing his mistake, Beomgyu stepped back instinctively. He dipped his head earnestly. "My deepest apologies, my lady. I overstepped."

You held his gaze for a moment before deciding to let it go. He was to be present in your house for the foreseeable future, after all—no sense in making an enemy of him over a single misstep.

Turning, you ambled toward your desk, fingers skimming over your papers, but you noted that he hadn’t left. Beomgyu’s gaze, now free of tension, wandered back toward the bookshelves.

"You have quite the collection," he mused. "More extensive than even the libraries I frequented overseas."

You didn’t glance up. "It’s not for display. I’ve read them all."

"I don’t doubt it."

Your fingers paused over a book near your desk. Without looking at him, you asked, "And do you read, Lord Choi? Or do you only admire titles?"

His lips twitched at the clear challenge in your tone. "I read. Quite a lot, actually."

"Oh?" You lifted the book, glancing at its spine before tossing it lightly onto the seat beside you. "Then tell me—what is the central philosophy of A Dissonance of Ideals?"

The question was a trap. The book was rare, barely printed beyond its first run due to its controversial stance on class and freedom. Most men you’d met boasted of their intellect, only to flounder under scrutiny.

But Beomgyu did not flounder.

"That true liberation is not granted—it is taken," he answered smoothly. "The novel challenges the notion that freedom is bestowed upon the deserving, arguing instead that the oppressed must seize it for themselves. The protagonist, despite being of noble blood, aligns himself with those deemed lesser, and in doing so, sees the fallacy of his own privilege."

A stunned silence graced you. He held your gaze without hesitation, the smile on his lips was calm, not a trace of bluffing. You felt a small, reluctant flicker of intrigue.

Leaning back against your desk, you let out a quiet hum. "Not a bad answer."

Beomgyu huffed a short laugh. "High praise."

"High praise is reserved for those who deserve it." You observed him a moment longer before turning your attention back to your desk. "But at least you’re not entirely hopeless."

He chuckled, but there was something thoughtful in his eyes as he looked at you. This was no ordinary noblewoman before him—no delicate lady who needed to be flattered or coddled. You were sharp and quick-witted. But what struck him the most about you was that you're unapologetic.

He felt like a moth drawn toward smoldering flames in your presence.

The door creaked, and Maya’s voice cut through the moment. “My lady, I—” She paused mid-step, blinking at Beomgyu as if only just realizing he was there. Her eyes darted between the two of you, before slowly widening like saucers. Fortunately, she kept her mouth shut.

You exhaled, shifting your attention to her. “Did you rest properly?”

“Yes, my lady.” Maya nodded, still watching you both curiously.

“Good.” You turned to Beomgyu, voice composed once more. “It’s getting dark, Lord Choi. You must need rest. Maya will escort you to your carriage.”

Beomgyu inclined his head. “It was a pleasure, my lady.”

You nodded. Then, as an afterthought, you said, “I hope my brother wasn’t difficult to teach.”

Beomgyu’s lips curved slightly. “Not at all.”

The warmth in his gaze, so inviting, almost made you smile. But you merely nodded once more as he followed Maya out.

Left alone in your study, your eyes drifted to the bookshelves once more. Your fingers trailed the spine of a book that he previously touched before you murmured, “How interesting.”

The storm raged through that night, rattling the windows and drumming against the roof in an unrelenting downpour. The roads had turned to treacherous mud, the trees bending and swaying under the force of the wind. Unsurprisingly, Beomgyu did not arrive for his tutoring session the next morning.

Yet, despite knowing the obvious, you found yourself standing by the tall windows of the library, gaze flickering toward the entrance of your house, searching for a carriage that was not one of yours. The thought struck you as ridiculous—you had no reason to anticipate his arrival, and yet, there you stood.

Shaking off the thought, you returned to your desk, burying yourself in your work as the storm outside continued its merciless reign. Hours passed, the flickering candlelight casting shadows over parchment, the scratching of your quill filled the room with a symphonic rhythm.

A knock at the door drew your attention. The elderly butler entered, carefully holding a sealed letter. "A message for you, my lady. From Mr. Lennox."

You set your quill down and took the letter, breaking the seal with a letter opener. As your eyes scanned the contents, a wave of relief washed over you. Your manuscript has been accepted. Soon, it will be published.

The battle was only half-won—now, you would wait for the world to cast its judgment upon your words.

The following morning, Beomgyu’s carriage rolled through the now-cleared roads toward your manor. Seated inside with him was his mother, her gaze lingering on the passing scenery before settling upon her son.

"How are you finding it here in town?" she asked, her voice gentle yet inquisitive.

Beomgyu shifted slightly, considering the question. "It is different from what I’ve grown used to. Everyone has been quite kind."

His mother hummed in agreement. "And the Kang household? How do you find them?"

Beomgyu's expression softened slightly. "They have been welcoming. I had no reason to expect otherwise, but even so, their kindness is something I have come to appreciate."

As his words settled, his mind drifted unbidden to you. To the unfortunate series of mishaps that had marked each of his encounters with you—the collision outside the bakery, the intrusion into your study. He let out a quiet sigh before speaking again.

"I was thinking of stopping by the library after today’s lesson. To buy some… flowers."

His mother turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. She knew her son had always been rather interesting with his mindset and choice of words, but still it didn’t help with her brewing curiosity. "Flowers? From a library?"

Beomgyu had spoken too hastily. He didn’t wish to explain his choice of words to his mother yet. It was an idea that occurred to him late at night before he fell asleep thinking of you.

His mother, ever perceptive, caught the misstep and pressed further. "For whom, exactly?"

He opened his mouth, ready to answer, only to falter. A realization struck him—he did not know your name. Not once had it been spoken to him. Your mother had referred to you only as her daughter, your brother as his older sister.

Catching his hesitation, his mother blinked in mild disbelief. "Beomgyu, surely you are jesting. You have been in their house and do not even know the young lady’s name?"

Beomgyu’s eyes widened at how easily she caught on. He was just a boy who could not hide anything from his mother. Heat crept up his neck. "It… never came up."

His mother shook her head, caught between exasperation and laughter. "You must ask her yourself. A gentleman must not assume but rather seek to know with due respect."

Beomgyu could only nod, more embarrassed than he cared to admit. But before she could move on, curiosity still sparked in her gaze. "But tell me, why exactly would you be searching for flowers in a library for her?"

His shoulders stiffened. There was no graceful escape from this conversation now. So, he told her everything.

By the time he finished recounting his series of missteps, his mother was shaking her head, exasperated. "Oh, Beomgyu," she murmured, half-laughing. "You must properly apologize to the lady."

The carriage began to slow as they reached her designated stop. Before stepping out, she turned back to him one last time, offering a knowing smile. "And do not forget again, son. It is discourteous."

Beomgyu only sighed, watching as she disappeared into the bustling street. As soon as the carriage door shut, he exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face before instructing the driver to continue on.

The library awaited him first. Then, your manor.

Rain pattered lightly against the windows as Beomgyu sat with your younger brother, his lesson drawing to a close. The sky outside was a murky gray, the air thick with the scent of petrichor. On the table beside him, a package rested. He had yet to see you today.

As he contemplated whether to entrust the gift to your brother or seek out Maya to deliver it, a flicker of movement outside in the distance caught his attention. Through the blurred glass, he glimpsed a lone figure wandering through the garden.

"She’s out again for the rain," your brother remarked, following his gaze.

Beomgyu blinked. "In this weather?"

"She likes the rain."

A low and foreboding roll of thunder grumbled in the distance. Beomgyu sighed slowly, feeling the ever growing presence of the package beside him. He hesitated before asking, "Does she prefer company?"

Your brother tilted his head in thought, then shrugged. "You should probably find that out on your own."

Beomgyu did not need to be told twice.

The first drop of rain that touched your skin was cool, a soft whisper against the lingering warmth of the evening. The next ones came heavier, a rhythm quickening into a pace urgent and relentless. You walked forward, letting the grass dampen the hem of your gown, inhaling the earthy scent of rain. It was calming, this solitude beneath the darkened sky.

Then, just as the storm began to truly break, a voice called through the downpour.

You turned, blinking against the misty veil of rain, only to see Beomgyu walking toward you.

He was a mess.

Perplexity gripped you. Beomgyu stood several paces away, utterly drenched, his fine suit ruined by the merciless rain. The once-pristine white of his collar was soaked through, the deep navy fabric of his coat clinging to his frame, now a shade darker with moisture. His pristine shoes were now mud-ridden, his long black hair plastered against his forehead, dripping rivulets of water down his cheekbones. Through all of that, he was grinning at you.

A beautiful mess, you corrected yourself.

"Lord Choi," you called over the storm, incredulous. "What on earth are you doing?"

Beomgyu exhaled, lifting a hand to swipe at his rain-slicked lashes, an utterly useless effort. Then, his grin faded into a sheepish smile.

"My lady," he said, voice warm despite the chill in the air, "I never got your name."

The rain drummed around you, the world narrowing to the space between you and the foolish man standing in the downpour.

You stared at him for a moment, utterly, truly perplexed. "You came out into the rain for that?"

"Yes," he admitted easily.

Something about the simple honesty of it made you laugh, breathless and disbelieving. You didn’t even fight the trickle of warmth trailing down your chest. “You do keep surprising me, Lord Choi,” you muttered, your voice drowned by the rain, and as you studied him for a beat, an idea sparked to life.

"Very well," you mused, lips curving into a small smile. "If you desire my name, you must earn it."

His brows lifted, intrigue flickering in his dark eyes. "And how shall I do that?"

The rain dripped from your fingertips, tracing cool paths against your skin. "A riddle," you declared. "Answer correctly, and I shall tell you. But if you fail…" You turned slightly, glancing toward the garden’s stone archway in the distance. "You must catch me before I reach the arch."

Beomgyu let out a small, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "You wish to make a game of it?"

"Why not?" you challenged. "Do you accept?"

His smile deepened, eyes crinkling into crescents as he gave a long nod, before meeting your gaze through the curtain of rain. "It would be discourteous of me to refuse."

You took a steadying breath, the rhythm of the rain matching the anticipation curling in your chest. You recited:

"I have a heart that does not beat, a home but no doors. What am I?"

Beomgyu’s brows furrowed slightly, his mind working through the puzzle.

You waited only a breath before you turned sharply and ran. The sound of splashing footsteps followed a second later.

"You didn’t even give me time to think!" Beomgyu called, his voice half-laugh, half-exasperation.

"You should be quicker, then!" you tossed over your shoulder, skirts damp and heavy as you sprinted across the grass.

The archway was ahead, framed by ivy, its stone glistening with rain. Just a little further—

"A book!"

—The answer rang through the storm, triumphant.

You faltered slightly, laughing, but did not stop. "Yet," you called back, breathless, "you must still catch me!"

"You are entirely unfair!"

"You are far too slow, Lord Choi—"

His hand caught your wrist before you finished speaking.

You were turned swiftly, rain-soaked and breathless, your back meeting the cool stone of the archway as Beomgyu’s presence loomed close, his breath shallow from exertion.

His fingers, though chilled from the rain, were gentle where they curled around your wrist. Drops of water clung to his face, trailing down the line of his jaw, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling from the chase.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound between you was the steady downpour of rain, the distant rumble of thunder, and the sound of your entangled breathing between the small space.

Beomgyu’s gaze softened, his fingers loosening but not quite letting go. "My lady," he murmured, voice rich with something you couldn’t name. "Will you keep your promise?"

Your own breath was uneven, though not entirely from the run. Your eyes fell onto his hand that was holding yours, then met his gaze, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of something warm passing between you.

"Very well, Lord Choi."

You stepped closer, the scent of rain and earth wrapping around you both. He was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling, but he did not move away. Droplets clung to his lashes, sliding down the curve of his cheek, and for a moment, you hesitated—so close you could hear the quiet hitch in his breathing.

Then, voice hushed as if you’re passing a secret with the wind, you whispered your name into his ear.

The words were warm against his skin, softer than the rainfall that dripped from your lips. A secret given, and just as swiftly, you slipped past him, the space between you vanishing as you walked toward your home, leaving him standing under the arch.

Beomgyu remained where he was, his posture unmoving, as if still caught in the moment. His lips parted slightly, shaping the syllables of your name in a reverent murmur, testing the way it curled on his tongue.

Your name tasted like sunlight, like warm honey trickling down his throat curling into the very veins of his heart, seeking abode in the empty space. Like something distant yet achingly familiar, something he had reached for without knowing he had wanted it.

A quiet exhale left him, his fingers twitching faintly as he recalled the package he had left inside. His original intent had been simple—an apology wrapped in parchment and intent. But now, he found himself unable to give it to you just yet.

No, not until he had written your name on it.

Maya was cleaning the windows when her eyes traveled outside, only for her breath to catch in sheer horror. The cloth in her hand nearly slipped from her grip as she stumbled back.

“My lady—!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

You stepped through the entrance, rain-soaked from head to toe, water dripping from your sleeves onto the polished floor. Your hair clung damply to your skin, but you merely smiled as Maya rushed forward, her expression switching from disbelief to outright panic.

“You went out in the rain again?” she cried, wringing her hands. “My lady, you’re going to fall ill one of these days! Have you no care for your health?”

As you were about to offer a reply, Maya’s eyes flickered past you, and she nearly reeled back. Her panic-stricken gaze landed on the man stepping in behind you—Choi Beomgyu, drenched in equal measure. His fine suit was utterly ruined, his dark hair plastered against his forehead, his shoes carrying a trail of rainwater and mud. And yet, despite his disheveled state, he remained funnily composed.

Maya gawked at him, then at you, then back at him, her brain clearly short-circuiting.

Beomgyu, ever polite even in such a situation, gave her a slight bow. “I apologize for the mess.”

Maya, on the verge of losing her mind, let out a strangled sound and scurried away in search of towels, her mutterings barely coherent. “This is—this is absolutely—oh, heavens above—”

Before you could so much as smother your amusement, a new presence entered the room—your mother. She came to a slow halt in the corridor, eyes sweeping over you both. Her expression was unreadable, utterly still, but the prolonged silence said enough.

Beomgyu stiffened ever so slightly beside you, then inclined his head, bowing deeply. “Lady Kang,” he greeted, his voice low and respectful. “I must apologize for my appearance and for the state of your home.”

Your mother said nothing at first, her gaze shifting between the two of you—her sharp eyes noting the way water still dripped onto the floor, the subtle heave of your shoulders from exertion, and the fact that, for the first time, you looked entirely unbothered in the presence of a man.

You, on the other hand, pointed in Beomgyu’s general direction without sparing him a glance. “His state is not my fault. He did this on his own.”

Your mother’s lips twitched slightly at that, but she withheld her comment.

Maya returned in a flurry of movement, shoving towels into both your hands before ushering you toward the fireplace. Your mother, after her curious silence, finally spoke. “Lord Choi, the storm has worsened. You should remain here until the rain subsides.”

“I appreciate your kindness, my lady,” Beomgyu said, voice warm yet firm, “but I shouldn’t impose any longer. I will return home at once.” He accepted the towel with a grateful nod and dried his hands before wrapping it around his shoulders.

Then, with a final bow—to her, to Maya, to you—Beomgyu turned toward the door. His departure was swift, but as he reached the threshold, he glanced back at you, lingering just a moment longer.

Then, with the faintest curl of his lips, he stepped into the waiting carriage and disappeared into the night.

Silence followed in his absence.

Your mother turned to you now, arching a single brow. It was a silent inquiry, one laden with quiet curiosity, but you merely deadpanned, “What?” before turning on your heel and making your way toward your room.

Your mother and Maya stood there, watching your retreating figure disappear up the stairs.

After a long pause, Maya whispered hesitantly, “Lady Kang, is she…?”

Your mother exhaled, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Who knows?”

Yet, deep down, she already did. It was still too early to assume, but in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope.

Your mind, against your own wishes, wandered to Choi Beomgyu more often than you cared to admit.

You had met countless men—suitors of all ages, noblemen with polished shoes and sharper tongues, men who sought your hand not for who you were, but for what you could offer. To them, you were an acquisition, a means to an end, a prize to be won and caged. You had long since learned to navigate their intentions, to parry their flowery words with razor-sharp wit, to dance around their expectations with a smile that never quite reached your eyes.

But Beomgyu... that man intrigued you.

With every brief exchange, every moment shared, the feeling took root. He was proving to be unlike the rest—not because he lacked ambition or purpose, but because he carried himself with an ease unburdened by arrogance. He was learned but never boastful, kind without expectation. Unfiltered warmth and pure knowledge wrapped his entire being.

At least, for now.

So, you decided to watch him. To study him as you had studied countless others, to see if he was different or if he, too, would prove predictable. But till now there was nothing to scrutinize.

He came to the manor, tutored your brother, exchanged pleasantries with your mother and the household staff. Whenever your paths crossed, he offered you that warm, polite smile, never lingering longer than propriety allowed.

Nothing less, nothing more.

Yet, the fact that you continued to notice was enough to unsettle you.

“My lady.” You were pulled from your thoughts by the voice of your instructor. “That’s enough for today.”

Exhaling, you dismounted from your horse, handing the reins to the stable boy as the exhaustion settled deep in your limbs. The ride had been long, and though you normally relished the freedom it brought, today, you felt weighed down.

You arrived home, your boots pressing damp imprints into the grand marble floors as Maya rushed to greet you at the entrance. The moment she saw you, her lips parted in a quiet scolding, but before she could speak, hesitation flickered across her face.

“My lady—”

“I need a bath,” you murmured, already loosening the buttons at the collar of your shirt as you strode past her, shoulders heavy with weariness. “Prepare it for me.”

Maya hesitated, her fingers twisting into her apron. “My lady, I must warn you—”

You were far too exhausted to fully comprehend her warning.

Stepping into the living room, you were greeted by an unfamiliar figure lounging comfortably in one of the embroidered chairs. His presence was enough to still your steps, irritation prickling along your spine even before he spoke.

Lord Park Bokyung.

An older man whose hair was tinged with grey, bulky body that barely fit into the chair. He studied you, dark eyes raking over your disheveled state—your untucked shirt, the dirt-streaked boots, the absence of any attempt at ladylike decorum. A grin spread across his lips, crude and condescending.

“Well, well,” he drawled, turning to your mother, who sat stiffly across him, lips pressed into a thin line. “It appears the rumors were right. Your daughter does enjoy hobbies quite unbefitting of a lady. She is in such desperate need of a husband.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “A man must tame her before she ruins herself entirely.”

Your mother winced at his words but quickly straightened, her gaze sharpening. “Lord Park,” she said coolly, “please weave your words with caution when speaking of the members of the Kang estate in their own house—specifically, my daughter.”

Bokyung had the audacity to laugh, shaking his head as if amused by a child’s naïveté. “Ah, my lady, you misunderstand me. I jest, of course.” His voice was thick with feigned innocence, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “My words are spoken out of concern—after all, what is a woman without a guiding hand to keep her from folly? I won't expect her to understand, she's still young after all.”

Your mother cast an apologetic glance at you. She hadn’t expected him any more than you had, and you could tell she regretted his presence entirely.

But regret would not erase the insult.

Something inside you cooled. A sharp, piercing sort of stillness settled in your chest, smoothing away the irritation and replacing it with something far more dangerous.

You turned, walking toward the far end of the room where two pistols rested mounted upon the wall. Fingers trailing over the polished wood, you spoke, voice terrifyingly calm.

“If a husband’s purpose is to keep me safe, then I would like to test his ability to do so.” You lifted the pistol from its display, and in one swift motion, you turned and aimed it directly at Lord Park.

The butler stiffened. Maya let out a strangled gasp, hands flying to her mouth. Even your mother, ever composed, shifted in alarm. The air in the room tensed with horror, every eye locked onto you, onto the weapon steady in your grip.

Bokyung’s amusement vanished. His body went rigid, his smirk faltering as his gaze darted between your face and the barrel now trained upon him. You almost laughed out when his chaperons cowered in fear behind him. This was the first time since your arrival, his composure cracked.

“You jest,” he said, but his voice lacked its prior confidence.

You hummed, tilting your head as if considering. “Do I?”

The man, his pride pricked, glanced at the assembled guests—your mother, Maya, the butler, his own chaperones. To refuse would be an admission of cowardice. To accept would be to entertain a lady’s absurd challenge.

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well.”

Under the veil of the blackened sky, the targets were being set in the garden. You stood quietly by the side, watching as Lord Park took his position.

From the balcony of the study, your brother leaned against the railing, amusement dancing in his eyes as he observed the unfolding spectacle. Beside him, Beomgyu stood, silent.

“The fifth one this week,” your brother mused, exhaling.

Beomgyu turned to him, brows raising slightly. “Fifth what?”

“Suitor.” Your brother glanced toward the garden, then smiled. “But this one must have said something particularly stupid.”

As the targets were prepared, Maya fidgeted beside the elderly butler, her hands clasped tightly together. Her unease was palpable, her eyes darting toward you before she whispered, “She should not have to prove herself to the likes of him.”

The butler, who had served your household for decades, merely sighed. “Do not worry, child,” he murmured, his voice low. “Have faith in her.”

Lord Park stepped forward, gripping the pistol with stiff fingers. He adjusted his stance, clearing his throat as if to reassert his shaken confidence. He raised the weapon, inhaled deeply, and fired.

The bullet whizzed through the air, entirely missing the target and flew somewhere beyond the distance. The silence that followed was deafening. His mouth opened and closed as he scrambled for an excuse, his face paling beneath the weight of failure. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he lowered the pistol, his fingers tightening around the grip as if it were the weapon’s fault and not his own.

A quiet hum left your lips. You stepped forward, rolling back your sleeves, feeling the familiarity of the pistol as you lifted it with the ease of someone who had done so countless times before.

You raised your arm, gaze steady and unlike Lord Park, you did not hesitate to fire the moment you locked your target. Your finger pressed the trigger in a decisive motion.

The bullet struck the center of your target. Without pause, you cocked the pistol again, exhaled a low laugh, and fired once more. The second target—his—was knocked down in an instant.

The echo of your shots still resonated when silence fell, heavier than before.

Lord Park gaped, mouth opening and closing uselessly. A flush of humiliation crawled up his neck as he scrambled to find something, anything, to say. The gathered onlookers remained motionless, their gazes flickering between you and the man who had so thoroughly been put in his place.

You turned to him, expression unreadable, then offered him a small, polite smile.

“How unfortunate,” you murmured, handing the pistol back to the elderly butler. “You speak of a husband keeping me safe so that I may not engage in such ‘unladylike’ activities—yet you cannot even strike a target.” You dusted off your cuffs, already losing interest. “It seems I must continue looking for one more capable.”

With that, you turned and strode away, leaving behind the stunned onlookers and the seething man who had just been thoroughly humiliated, but as you moved, your gaze flickered toward the study balcony. Your steps faltered.

Your brother was grinning, his mirth barely restrained. Beside him, Beomgyu stood frozen, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes—wide as they burned with something perilously close to awe. As if he were seeing you for the first time. As if, in this very moment, you had unraveled something within him he hadn’t even known was tightly wound.

His gaze curled around you like an invisible thread, weaving and pulling, suffocating every molecule of your being. Your breath stilled in your throat, your pulse faltering against your ribs. A warmth so foreign, so dizzying, crept up your neck, nipping at the edges of your composure.

Then, before the feeling could root itself any deeper, you tore your gaze away. Without another glance, you quickened your pace, lifting a hand to your lips as if that alone could smother the telltale flush dusting your skin.

But behind you, Beomgyu watched your retreating form with an intensity that bordered on reverence. His grip tightening ever so slightly against the railing; that man was utterly captivated.

Rain pattered lightly against the windows as you sat in your study, fingers pressed against your temple. After the day’s ordeal, exhaustion curled at the edges of your being, but irritation prickled beneath it like an itch that refused to be soothed. You had tried to lose yourself in work—letters to write, manuscripts to review—but nothing had been accomplished. Your mind was restless, drifting between frustration and weariness, a battlefield of thoughts refusing to be silenced.

A gentle knock at the door pulled you from your stupor. You blinked, momentarily dazed, the warmth from your bath still lingering against your skin. Before you could respond, your mother stepped inside, her presence a quiet balm against the chaos in your head.

Her eyes immediately softened as she took in your tired posture. "You had quite the eventful morning," she murmured, closing the door behind her.

You exhaled through your nose, pressing your fingers against your temple. "If by eventful you mean another insufferable suitor, then yes, quite so."

She chuckled, approaching the desk. "Maya is still recovering, poor thing. She nearly fainted when you challenged Lord Park to a shooting match."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Perhaps she should develop a stronger constitution. It will not be the last time."

Your mother sighed, her expression turning fond but tinged with quiet concern. "My dear, you are formidable—of that, I have no doubt. But even the strongest warriors grow weary."

You met her gaze then, something inside you wavering. She always saw through you. Always knew when your edges began to fray. A moment passed before you murmured, "I am tired."

She reached out, smoothing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Then rest, my love. You do not always have to fight."

The words settled into your chest, warm and gentle, yet their meaning was something you weren’t sure how to grasp. Your mother did not press further. She simply kissed the top of your head, lingering for a moment before stepping away. "Good night, my dear."

"Good night, Mother."

You remained seated long after she left, her words circling your thoughts. Just as sleep threatened to claim you, another knock sounded at the door. This one was softer, almost hesitant.

"My lady, it’s me. Beomgyu."

Huh? He still hasn't left for home? You blinked, the unexpected sound of his voice pulling you upright. You weren’t sure why, but your heart gave a small, unsteady lurch.

From the other side of the door, he continued, "I understand if you do not wish to speak. If you are busy or seeking solitude, I will not intrude."

You stood slowly, your bare feet silent against the wooden floor as you approached the door but did not open it. You imagined him standing just as close on the other side, his presence inducing warmth in the space between you.

A pause. Then, in a softer tone, he said, "I brought you flowers. As an apology. For the times I have crossed the line."

An apology? You felt the first curl of disappointment bloom within you, a familiar sting that came when expectations fell short. Of course. Bringing gifts to soften you, to charm his way into favor—it was a move you had seen time and time again. Was he truly just like the rest?

Your grip on the door tightened. The temptation to simply walk away, to block him out as you had with so many others, nearly won over.

Then he spoke again. "I will leave them on the cabinet beside the door. I hope you like them."

Silence followed. You waited until the soft echo of his retreating footsteps faded. A minute, then another, until you were sure he had truly gone. Only then did you pull the door open, peering into the dimly lit corridor

Your gaze dropped to the cabinet. But instead of a bouquet, a thickly wrapped package sat in its place, secured with careful folds and a precise knot. Your brows knitted in confusion as you lifted it into your arms, its weight unexpected.

Frowning, you stepped back into your study and set the package onto your desk, fingers working to untie the string. “What on earth is this, Choi Beomgyu?” you murmured, a tinge of exasperation lacing your tone.

The wrapping fell away, and you froze.

Books.

Not flowers — books.

Four, no, five of them, each title graced with the name of a flower—The Language of Lilies, By the Rose Garden, Wild Violets in Bloom. Your fingers skimmed the spines, tracing the embossed letters, flipping through the pages as disbelief washed through you like steady waves. The realization struck like a slow dawn breaking over the horizon.

You flipped one open, the delicate rustle of pages filling the quiet room. And there, scrawled in elegant script on the inside cover—your name.

You opened another. And another. Each one the same, and each made your heart stutter.

A laugh—soft, disbelieving—escaped your lips, your fingers tracing over the pages as a delicate warmth unfurled in your chest.

"Oh, he is so charming…" you whispered to yourself, shaking your head.

Your earlier judgment of him wavered, crumbling ever so slightly, and that made you feel truly relieved.

Mornings at the manor was always a quiet affair, a tranquility that settled into the bones like a well-worn melody. You reveled in it, taking in the stillness as you descended the grand staircase, your footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. You hadn’t planned on anything out of the ordinary, just a simple breakfast before retreating to your study, but as you entered the dining hall, your gaze landed on an unexpected presence at the head of the table.

Your father.

It had been a while since you last saw him at breakfast. Duty often pulled him away early. But today, he sat in his usual place, sipping his tea, eyes warm as they met yours.

“Good morning, my dear,” he greeted, setting his cup down with a quiet clink.

“Good morning, Father,” you responded, slipping into the seat beside from him. “It’s been some time since we shared a morning meal.”

He chuckled. “Far too long, I’d say. But I’m here now.” A pause. “And I have something to discuss with you.”

You raised a brow, waiting.

“The Academy is hosting a gathering soon. An evening party,” he explained. “It might be in your best interest to attend. There are people—important individuals—who would take great interest in your work.”

The Academy. The very heart of knowledge, innovation, and education in the country. A place that held both opportunity and scrutiny in equal measure.

“Connections,” he continued, cutting into his meal with his silverwares. “They can open doors for you. Doors that even your talent alone might take years to unlock.”

You tapped a finger idly against the table, considering. It wasn’t that you feared the whispers or the disdain of those who thought a woman had no place in intellectual circles. You had endured far worse. But the idea of making strategic alliances, of meeting those who truly saw you beyond the title of ‘Lady’—that was something worth contemplating.

Your father must have sensed your hesitation. “Of course,” he said, “there will be those who will sneer. But you can handle them, can’t you?”

You scoffed softly. “That goes without saying.”

He smiled, a rare softness in his gaze. “Then come. With me there, no one will dare lay a finger on you.”

The evening air was crisp as your carriage pulled up to the grand banquet hall of the Academy. You stepped out, fingers resting lightly on your father’s offered arm. The midnight blue of your gown shimmered under the golden glow of lanterns, understated yet commanding. You had no desire to stand at the center of attention, yet you knew the moment you stepped through those doors, eyes would turn.

And they did.

It was something you had long grown accustomed to—the force of scrutiny, admiration, curiosity—all blended together in an awkward blend of cacophony. You held your chin high as you walked beside your father, nodding politely to those who acknowledged you. The hall was a grand expanse of polished floors, glittering chandeliers, and the hum of intellectual conversation. A world of scholars, professors, and thinkers—something about the ambiance made your nerves jitter.

Your father led you through the crowd, stopping before a man who bore an air of elegant authority and importance.

“Han Sohyun,” your father introduced, “one of the Academy’s finest minds.”

The older gentleman turned to you, eyes bright with interest. “Ah, at last. The young lady of the Kang family.”

You inclined your head in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Han.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he said warmly. “I must say, I’m quite an admirer of your work.”

That gave you pause. You had expected the usual pleasantries, the carefully measured words that spoke of tolerance rather than genuine appreciation. But there was sincerity in his tone. Your father was right.

“You have read my works?”

“Of course,” he replied, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Your insights on historical literature are fascinating. I dare say your writing carries a depth many scholars fail to achieve.”

You blinked. Praise was not unfamiliar, but to hear it from someone of his stature, in a space dominated by men who often dismissed you, was something else entirely.

Through the course of conversation, you found yourself engaged in discussions more stimulating than you had anticipated. Han Sohyun introduced you to others, opening doors to connections you had never thought possible. But the moment that struck you most was when he mentioned his daughter.

“She looks up to you, you know,” he said softly once the conversation mellowed around you. “Your work, your defiance in the face of societal expectations—it inspires her.”

A slow warmth spread through your chest. You had never sought validation, but to know that your words had reached someone, had made an impact—it was an accomplishment in its own right.

The night wore on, and eventually, you excused yourself from your father’s side, seeking a moment’s reprieve in the garden. The air outside was cool, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the banquet hall. You breathed in deeply, exhaling the tension that had expectedly settled in your shoulders after engaging in conversations with people of high statuses.

The soft murmur of conversation from the banquet hall faded behind you, replaced by the rhythmic rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. The sky stretched endlessly above, an ocean of inky blue speckled with silver stars. It was these moments of solitude that you always sought and loved.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you noticed a figure—nearly obscured beneath a canopy of pink bougainvillea. It was easy to miss him, sitting on the ground, lost in the shadows. But you caught the faint silhouette of tousled hair, the gentle rise and fall of his breath. You blinked in surprise.

You took a few steps closer before speaking, your voice breaking the quiet. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

Beomgyu startled slightly, turning his head up to look at you. Under the soft glow of the garden lanterns, his expression shifted from surprise to soft acknowledgment—underlying with the impression that he too wasn't expecting you here. “Ah,” he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, “just taking a break. Talks of politics and wealth suffocate me.”

Of course, he'd be invited. That man is no less than a scholar himself, so his presence in such a banquet is far more natural than yours.

You hesitated, glancing toward the direction of the party. “I should go,” you murmured, not quite meeting his gaze. “Being seen with me might taint your reputation, and I wouldn’t want that.”

Beomgyu tilted his head, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Then it makes the two of us, my lady. I fear I’ve already given the lords the impression that I’m uninterested in their conversations.” He patted the ground beside him, an invitation. “Stay, if you’d like.”

After a moment’s deliberation, you lowered yourself to sit beside him, leaving a respectable distance between you. The pavement beneath was cool, but the warmth of his presence nearby was enough to keep the chill at bay.

“Thank you for the flowers,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice as you turned to him. “Even I could never think of such an idea.”

Beomgyu chuckled softly, tilting his head ever so slightly. “As long as my lady likes them, I’m glad.”

“It was brilliant, truly. You…” You paused, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the lace trim of your gloves. “You broke my expectations.”

His eyes gleamed with curiosity, the corner of his lips curling into a coy smile. “Expectations?”

Realizing your blunder, you quickly averted your gaze, feigning interest in the pebbles near your feet. “Never mind,” you muttered.

A hum was his only response. Beomgyu then exhaled softly before speaking again, his voice thoughtful. “Truthfully, I had considered getting you actual flowers at first,” he admitted. “But then I thought… you might appreciate books more.” He hesitated, then added, almost sheepishly, “If you’d prefer flowers, I can get you some next time as well.”

Your eyes flickered to him with interest, and you let out a soft hum, squinting your eyes slightly. “Next time?” you echoed playfully, watching as his expression froze. “Does that mean you plan to cause more trouble, Lord Choi?”

His lips parted, his entire posture stiffening. “Ah—n-no, that’s not what I meant,” he stammered, his usual composure unraveling in an instant. “I just meant if—if another occasion arose, then perhaps—”

A laugh bubbled past your lips, light and genuine. “It was truly brilliant,” you said, cutting off his flustered attempt at salvaging his words.

Beomgyu blinked at you, still visibly flustered, but the tension melted from his shoulders when he saw the sincerity in your smile. A faint pink dusted his cheeks, but this time, he simply let out a breath and returned your smile, no longer trying to argue his case.

You looked skyward before continuing the conversation. “I heard you’ve been out of town for studies.”

He nodded, resting his arms over his bent knees. “Yes, I spent some time abroad—studying history, literature, philosophy. They teach you many things, but true understanding is something you must seek yourself.”

You hummed in thought. “And did you find it?”

He smiled, gaze fixed on the garden path ahead. “I found pieces of it. Enough to know that knowledge is not merely in books, but in the way people think, the way they live. That is why I enjoy conversations like this.”

You found yourself intrigued. “Like this?”

He turned slightly, his gaze meeting yours. “With people who see the world not as it is, but as it could be.”

Your heart stilled for a moment, caught off guard by his words. He spoke like a scholar, yet he listened like a poet—absorbing every nuance, every thought, as if committing them to memory. You had met many learned men, but few who dissected knowledge with the same precision you did. With him, a conversation felt like not a battle to be won but a world to be shaped.

Beomgyu suddenly let out a soft laugh. “Good heavens, where are my manners? I made a lady sit with me on the dirt.” Rising to his feet, he extended a hand toward you. “There’s a lake just ahead. Would you like to take a look?”

You studied him for a moment. The moonlight cast a glow on his features—soft yet sharp. Slowly, you placed your gloved hand in his, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

As you walked toward the lake, the conversation flowed naturally. You spoke of your works, your manuscripts, your ambition. Beomgyu listened intently, never once interrupting, his eyes reflecting a hushed understanding. Only when you finished did he finally speak, his voice steady and thoughtful.

“You place strong emphasis on class disparity in your work,” he noted. “It’s a subject most fear to touch, let alone dissect so boldly.”

You turned to him, taken aback. “You’ve read my work?”

“I sought it out after hearing your name,” he admitted. “And now, hearing you speak of it—” he exhaled, shaking his head with an almost reverent mirth,“—I find your perspective fascinating. You don’t just write about injustice. You challenge its very foundation.”

A thrill ran through you, unexpected and electrifying. “That is precisely my intent,” you said, excitement creeping into your tone. “Change does not come from mere observation but from questioning the structures that uphold it.”

He nodded, a slow, approving motion. “And you do it masterfully.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt truly understood. His words held meaning, his perspective aligning with yours so precisely it startled you. You found yourself leaning in, captivated, speaking with a kind of excitement you hadn't felt in a long time. So immersed were you in your exchange that you failed to notice the figure approaching—only realizing when a voice, far too chipper, cut through the moment.

“Ah! Lady Kang! I was hoping to run into you tonight.”

You and Beomgyu halted in your tracks. The man before you bowed, hat in hand, a smile stretched wide across his face.

“Harvard Park,” he introduced himself with a glint in his pale blue eyes. “I wished to have your company for the night.” He trailed off, his gaze shifting to Beomgyu before adding, “Though it seems you are already busy.”

He ignored Beomgyu entirely after that, setting his eyes back on you. "I had the pleasure of speaking with your father earlier," he began, his voice velvety smooth. "We discussed matters of great importance, and naturally, your name arose."

You arched a brow, fingers tightening against your sides. "Oh?"

"Indeed," Harvard continued, his tone warm, but there was no mistaking the condescension beneath it. "Your accomplishments are nothing short of admirable. A woman of your intellect and ambition is a rare gem in our society." He exhaled, tilting his head just so. "It is for that very reason that I could not help but consider—our families share an esteemed reputation. With such a union, the benefits would be undeniable."

Your stomach twisted. A union.

Harvard’s smile never wavered. "Of course, I hold the greatest respect for your work. In fact, I daresay you would find far fewer obstacles with the right… support. A name that commands respect, a presence that ensures you are received with the dignity you deserve."

The words alone would have merely irked you. You had long grown accustomed to such insults, wrapped in the guise of concern. But tonight—tonight, standing here before Beomgyu, being reduced to nothing more than a woman in need of a husband—you felt something far worse.

The sharp sting of humiliation settled deep in your chest, curling its way through your ribs like an iron vice. You had been spoken down to before, belittled with pretty words wrapped in condescension, but never in front of someone like Beomgyu. Never in front of someone who had truly listened to you, who had met your thoughts with his own rather than dismissing them. And perhaps that was what made the shame unbearable. Anger was there too, simmering beneath your skin, but it was the humiliation that cut the deepest. Not because of Park’s words, but because Beomgyu had heard them.

The initial flicker of anger threatened to boil over, but before you could gather the words to retaliate, Beomgyu moved.

“An interesting proposition, Lord Park,” Beomgyu’s voice was polite—too polite. “A man must be truly confident in himself to assume his presence is necessary for a lady’s success.”

Harvard’s gaze flickered to him, his mask of charm twitching ever so slightly. "I only speak of what is advantageous for her. Surely, you would not argue that in this world, influence holds great power."

Beomgyu hummed, his lips tilting in a way that did not quite reach his eyes. "Ah, but the assumption remains—who, my lord, decided that Lady Kang requires an alliance to achieve what she already has on her own?"

Harvard stiffened. "That is not what I—"

"But it is what you implied," Beomgyu cut in smoothly, his tone carrying the faintest trace of amusement, as though he were merely indulging an amusing conversation rather than dismantling the man’s carefully chosen words. "And it is rather odd, don’t you think, my lord? That you speak of marriage as a means of assistance, as though Lady Kang were incapable of success on her own?" His voice turned almost pitying, his fingers loosely clasped behind his back. "I wonder, then, is it truly her best interests you have in mind? Or is it simply your pride seeking to lay claim to something beyond your reach?

Harvard blinked, caught off guard, but Beomgyu stepped forward, the polite smile never leaving his face, yet something in his presence had shifted. “It is rather unseemly to speak of marriage as if it were a business transaction, especially without first considering if the lady herself desires it.”

You were silent, eyes widening a fraction at Beomgyu’s sudden change in demeanor. His frame now stood before you, as if shielding you from the shrewd man's line of sight in every possible way.

“Tell me, my lord, does it soothe your ego to believe that a woman’s achievements are only half-formed without a man?”

“I merely thought—”

“That much is clear,” Beomgyu cut in, and though his voice remained even, there was an unmistakable edge beneath it. “But thinking is not the same as knowing, my lord. Perhaps it would serve you well to learn the difference.”

Harvard’s face darkened. “And who the hell are you to speak so boldly?” he spat, his gaze finally locking to Beomgyu, hostility simmering beneath the surface.

The moment his attention veered from you to Beomgyu, something sharp curled in your chest. No. If anyone would take his disdain, it would be you. Not Beomgyu.

You stepped forward with commanding grace, your eyes narrowing as they settled on Harvard. The sheer weight of your icy gaze made him flinch, his jaw tightening. Then, turning to Beomgyu, you allowed your eyes to soften as you slipped your hand through the crook of his arm, feeling the warmth of him even through layers of fabric.

“A like-minded ally,” you said, your voice soft but filled with firmness, meeting Harvard’s gaze once more. “My like-minded ally.”

The words settled in the space between you, and though your intent was to shield Beomgyu, you felt the weight of them in your own chest.

Harvard’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze flickering between the two of you. He seemed to realize then that any further argument would only see him losing more of his dignity. With a clipped nod and a forced smile, he stepped back. “Well, it seems I have interrupted something. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Kang.” He barely spared Beomgyu a glance before he sauntered away, vanishing into the dark.

The silence he left behind was heavy, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the night breeze. You exhaled slowly, only then realizing how tightly your fingers had curled around Beomgyu’s arm. You loosened your grip instinctively, but before you could step back, you heard the muffled sound of a breathy laugh.

Beomgyu had raised a hand to his face, covering his mouth as he stifled a whine. Your brows furrowed in alarm. “Are you alright?”

His shoulders trembled slightly before he let out a small, breathless chuckle. “I think my heart is still racing from the adrenaline.” He dropped his hand from his face, revealing an exhilarated grin, his eyes glinting with something unrestrained and bright. “That was—ah, how do I even put it? Worth it.”

His reaction caught you off guard, and before you knew it, laughter bubbled up from your own lips, the tension of the moment unraveling between you. But then, just as the laughter began to settle, he turned to you, his grin shifting into something more mischievous as he squinted playfully.

“Your like-minded ally, huh?” he echoed, tilting his head with mock curiosity.

Your breath hitched. Ah. You had said that, hadn’t you? The realization sent a sudden flurry of warmth crawling up your neck. You hastily withdrew your hand from his arm, stepping back as you cleared your throat. “I—” You hesitated, searching for an excuse, before settling on a weak, “I didn’t think through it enough.”

Beomgyu merely hummed, watching you with keen amusement. Then, with a grin that was entirely too pleased, he said, “I like the title.”

You gave a small nod, sighing as you faced the other way—but it was an attempt to hide the shuddering breath of your unsteady heart. "You can have it then," you said, your voice quieter, almost hesitant.

A shy smile graced Beomgyu’s lips, and neither of you said anything more. The silence that fell upon you two afterwards was anything but uncomfortable. And so, with nothing else to say, he fell into step beside you, walking you back toward the banquet hall.

The golden glow of chandeliers from the hall beckoned you forward, but the cool night air still clung to your skin, refusing to let you forget what had transpired in the garden.

From then on, things began to change between the two of you. Beomgyu became a constant presence—not just as your brother’s tutor, but as someone who you allowed to linger by the bookshelves of your study. He had a way of drawing you into lighthearted debates, weaving questions into conversation as naturally as breathing. When he finished tutoring early, you found yourselves lost in discussions about renowned authors and intricate philosophies, often taking slow strolls through the garden instead of your usual solitary walks, other times in your study—your place on your desk and his on one of the crescent seats around the windows.

Whether he was leaving for the night, walking beside you in the garden, or merely passing by, he would always leave you with something—a thought, a paradox, a moral dilemma—waiting to see how you would respond. And you indulged him, seeing it as an opportunity to understand the way the world in his mind worked.

It was this—his ability to challenge without belittling, to disagree yet still listen, to turn every conversation into an adventure—that made something in you begin to unravel. You weren’t used to it, having a companion like this. Someone who didn’t just hear you but actually cared about what you had to say.

Someone who felt like freedom.

Your newest book had been published, and this time, the reaction was different. The response from the public was far more positive than before, largely due to the younger generation embracing your work with fervor. The lords and ladies from Lennox’s foreboding predictions scoffed at the shift in reception, but their disdain soon faded beneath the overwhelming tide of support in your favor. It was a success beyond what you had imagined.

With this newfound triumph came opportunities—an invitation extended through Han Sohyun to meet with renowned publishers, editors, and authors. It required travel to another town, forcing a temporary pause in your meetings with Beomgyu. A necessary parting, but one that left an aching emptiness in its wake.

The journey proved worthwhile. Discussions with influential figures broadened your perspectives, and you found yourself standing at the precipice of a career breakthrough. It was exhilarating.

During your trip, you wandered into an antique bookstore, allowing yourself a moment of quiet amidst the whirlwind of obligations. Han Sohyun accompanied you, his gaze wandering over the spines as you perused the selection.

Shelves lined with tomes both familiar and foreign surrounded you, the scent of aged paper settling like a comforting presence. Then, in an unassuming corner, your eyes fell upon a rare edition of a book you cherished. The very same edition that sat in your own collection at home.

You ran your fingers along its spine, and an old memory surfaced—your first encounter with Beomgyu in your study. The way he had paused before your bookshelves, fingers grazing the worn leather bindings, fond eyes marvelling at this very book with reverence. He had mentioned it then, an offhand comment, but you had taken note.

Sohyun noticed your interest, stepping closer to glance at the book. "Ah, an excellent choice," he mused, nodding in appreciation. "Are you getting it for yourself? Allow me to pay for it then, dear. Consider it a gift."

You let out a soft laugh. "That's kind of you, but I’ll get this one myself."

“My dear, may I ask why?"

Your fingers traced the edge of the cover, a quiet fondness slipping into your expression. "Because it’s for someone else."

Sohyun regarded you for a moment before nodding knowingly, a small smile tugging on his lips. "I see. Then I’ll let you have the honor."

Without another thought, you reached for the book. You already owned a copy, but this one—this one would be for him.

Beomgyu had not expected your absence to weigh on him as much as it did.

He still visited your home as per his responsibilities, tutoring your younger brother with the same patience and attentiveness as always. But the moments after—when the lessons ended and silence filled the spaces you once occupied—felt different. He had grown accustomed to lingering in your presence, to the ease of conversation that followed each lesson, whether in the study or the garden, debating over literature or philosophy. Without you there, the house felt quieter, and he found himself leaving earlier than usual.

Even the study, which had once become a shared space, now felt off-limits. Though you had given him permission to peruse your collection, he refrained from entering, unwilling to intrude in your absence. Instead, if he truly needed to sate his love for books, he opted for the grand library, often in the quiet company of your family’s elderly butler. Perhaps it was because he disliked being alone, or perhaps it was because the library did not hold the same presence of you that the study did.

At home, when he spoke of the things that stirred his mind or brought him joy, he found your name slipping into conversations more often than he realized. It was an unconscious habit, one he didn’t notice until his mother smiled knowingly at him, or until his older brother teased him for it. He didn’t try to stop himself. Because, for the first time, he had found someone who truly challenged him, someone who met his thoughts with sharp wit and undeniable intellect.

The men who pursued you spoke of your beauty, your grace, your lineage, but not of you. They admired the idea of you, the status you carried, the wealth you could bring, the refinement they could boast of having at their side. But Beomgyu—he did not look at you and see a prize to be won. He saw the sharp wit behind your words, the fire in your convictions, the quiet moments where your gaze softened, the laughter you tried to hide when something amused you more than you cared to show.

The difference was clear: they wanted what you could offer; he wanted you.

The lesson took place in the garden that afternoon, a change of setting Beomgyu often employed to keep the lessons lively rather than dull. He walked beside your brother, listening to his recitations, but his focus wavered. A jittery sort of anticipation thrummed beneath his skin, making him more restless than usual.

Your brother took notice. “You keep glancing toward the gate.”

Beomgyu blinked, caught off guard by the sudden remark. “Do I?”

His student hummed, hands clasped behind his back as he considered Beomgyu carefully. “Looking forward to my sister’s return?”

There was a teasing lilt to his voice that made Beomgyu falter. He cleared his throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Well, she’s been away for some time. It’s only natural—”

“Oh dear,” your brother sighed dramatically. “Have I unraveled a secret?” The teasing lilt his voice carried was familiar, one that reminded Beomgyu far too much of you.

Beomgyu narrowed his eyes but smiled despite himself. "You have a rather mischievous streak. I wonder where you get it from."

The younger one merely grinned. But beneath the playful prodding, there was something else—a careful sort of observance.

Truthfully, he had been studying Beomgyu for some time now—ever since he noticed the way you carried yourself differently around him. He had watched many men attempt to gain your favor, had seen the way you deflected and dismissed them with ease. Yet, with Beomgyu, you were comfortable. He did not know what had changed, or why, but he wanted to see for himself what kind of man had managed to chip away at his sister’s walls.

And though he was younger, though it was you who always shielded him from harm, he had always carried the strong sense of responsibility of ensuring your happiness. If Beomgyu had earned your trust, then he too would extend his own—but not without caution.

“You know,” your brother mused, “you’re good company to my sister. It seems she enjoys your presence. I only hope she is not disappointed in the future.”

For all his youth, there was weight to his words, carrying the warning of a brother who truly loved his sister. Beomgyu stilled, taken aback. A slow exhale left him before he offered a small smile, touched by the sentiment.

“The young master need not worry,” Beomgyu said, voice laced with quiet sincerity. “If I ever bring her disappointment… then you will have the freedom to teach me a lesson.”

He snorted. “Alright, that’s a bit too far. I couldn’t possibly do that to my tutor—my mother would have my head…”

He trailed off mid-sentence, eyes shifting past Beomgyu’s shoulder. His expression lit up, bright and unmistakably fond. Beomgyu followed his gaze.

There, in the distance, standing at the entrance to the garden, was you.

Your brother wasted no time, running forward to meet you. You welcomed him with open arms, letting him embrace you tightly before murmuring, “I missed you, too, Sungcheol.”

Your eyes lifted then, landing on Beomgyu. He stood a few paces away, offering you a small smile. Seeing you again, after so long, made the jittery restlessness in his chest settle.

You were back.

Once your brother finally released you, you informed him that you had brought back gifts from your trip, leaving them with Maya for him to retrieve later.

Sungcheol gasped dramatically. “Why did you not say so earlier?” He turned to Beomgyu, expectant. “Sir, might we take a break?”

Beomgyu nodded, chuckling. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

With a quick bow, Sungcheol scurried off, leaving the two of you alone amidst the garden’s blooming roses. Beomgyu took a deep breath, allowing himself to fully take you in after not seeing you for all these days.

“You’re back.” It was barely above a murmur, but there was something beneath it—something that wavered between relief and hesitation.

A breath, and then, you smiled. “I am.”

Standing before each other again, days after your departure, the air between you felt foreign in a pleasant way. The absence had carved its presence between you both, making this moment heavier than either of you had anticipated. It wasn't just time that had passed; it was the steady realization of how much you had grown used to each other, and how much you've missed each other.

You studied him, searching for signs of change in his expression. Beomgyu, on the other hand, felt his breath falter. You were here, standing in front of him, and though he had imagined your return countless times, he hadn't accounted for the way relief would crash into him like a wave.

Without preamble, you reached into your bag and pulled out the book—the rare edition you had found during your trip. "Here," you said, holding it out to him. "I saw this and thought of you."

Beomgyu stared at it, his mind momentarily blank. He recognized the title instantly. His fingers hesitated before finally brushing against the cover, and for a moment, he was transported back to your study, to that first conversation, to the fleeting mention of this very book—a comment he had never expected you to remember. A moment supposed to be lost in time.

"You didn't have to..." he started, voice uncharacteristically quiet, but you shook your head, cutting off whatever words he had been scrambling to find.

“I wanted to,” you countered, your voice softer now, carrying a certainty that left little room for argument. “If anyone deserves this treasure, it’s you.”

Beomgyu had been raised on the belief that actions spoke louder than words. It was a principle he had carried with him, one he lived by. He never expected anything in return for what he gave—never sought acknowledgment, never yearned for reciprocity. And yet, here you were, proving him wrong. This single gesture, filled with such thoughtfulness, left him feeling unsteady.

The book in his hand wasn't just ink and paper carrying timeless history within, it was a proof that you had listened, that you had remembered, that you had thought of him even when he hadn’t been there. The epiphany pressed against the walls of his ribs, too much to hold, too much to release. Beomgyu felt as though he had forgotten how to breathe.

"Congratulations," Beomgyu finally spoke, his voice even despite the erratic beating of his pulse. He tried to ease the restless energy in his chest by focusing on you instead. "Your book’s release—it’s quite the achievement."

You offered him a small smile, gratitude evident in your expression. "Thank you."

A beat passed before he tilted his head, a teasing lilt creeping into his tone. "Do I get the privilege of having my copy signed? Seeing as I’m close allies with the author herself?"

You pretended to consider it, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I’ll think about it."

A soft scoff escaped him, an amused shake of his head following. The freedom that followed from your return into his life once more felt just right, felt like he had been welcomed back into a home he had been searching for his entire life.

The last embers of autumn clung to the trees, their gold and amber hues slowly surrendering to the creeping frost that laced the edges of the world. Yet the air did not feel cold—not when warmth had settled between the newfound company you had found in each other.

Everything felt right.

But somewhere in the distance, seated in the grand living room of his manor with a copy of your book in hand, a pair of pale blue eyes ensured that nothing would remain that way for long.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Taglist; @dawngyu @gyu-tori @saejinniestar @xylatox @hoefororeo @imlonelydontsendhelp @caratcakemoa @yeoningz @whatblop @beommieternity @xodidarks @bamgeutori @bamtoriui @izzyy-stuff @lostgirlysstuff @younbeanz @melmochii @choke-on-flowerz @frankghgr @immelissaaa @luvgyutae @brrytears @beomgyusluver @soobabby @cherr4es @dilfboysgirly @fancypeacepersona @i-like-to-read-at-4am @fancypeacepersona @y2kgyu @90steele

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opal-owl-flight · 10 months ago

Text

Your Protege. (Pt 2)

(Pt 1)

SAME DAY DELIVERY. HERE WE GO.

This is the only time theyve shown such sheer anger in front of anyone. Theyre usually just cold, or disappointed -- never furious.

Its one of the times Neo3 actually feared the captain.

MORE NOTES ABT CUTTLEFISH BELOW

Not over how Cuttlefish is this fuckign loony old man who pushes his ideas on young 3, constantly goinf "yall kids think Im crazy but LOOK WHOS RIGHT FOR ONCE", "I cant fight anymore, thats why I got you!", "Youre hero material, kid! Youre gonna be big!!"

Then raves abt how the Octarians are evil

3, who was desperate for praise from someone who reminds them of their direct relatives, does everything he says to do just to be appreciated more.

Cuttlefish taught them how to fight hand to hand. How to move and think on their feet. (Though they were given similar in their younger years)

Cuttlefish was... generally more warm and supportive than their dad, but yknow. A lot of this started bc 3 agreed to work for him. Be his deadly weapon.

-------

Cuttlefish was more concerned abt the Zapfish than 3s well-being then... He knew that the constant praising was working so hes gonna keep doing it. (...mostly bc thats what worked on HIM back then)

After 3 does his dirty work, he realized he should probably keep the kid around bc his paranoia with Octaria is a damn bitch and this kid is one hell of an ass kicker. They dont mind. Right??

3 never showed any sign of wanting to leave. Why would they, he was so kind to them, more than their dad or grandad ever was. (Also the paranoia rubbed off on them. Oops!)

Then, he asked them to go on a longer patrol with him. Pushed them to their fucking limit. Bc of what?? Octaria making moves again? (Octavio did make moves but they were already, as we say in the game, "too far from the objective to really contribute to the fight". This is why agent 4 was dragged in.)

There, 3 saw more and more that hes just a loony old man who wanted to have a fancy weapon to protect him in his crusade. A crusade they never really questioned, mind you. Theyve no reason to believe Octaria was nice in any way, not when they keep trying to kill them. (...in self defense. They havent realized, yet.)

Then they encounter 8, who had dropped her weapon at the sight of them. Raising her hands in surrender. 3 was far ahead of the coot, and managed to actually talk to her and everything. They were this close to bringing her back to Inkopolis as a friend, until the bastard ruined the moment.

Cuttlefish still told them that she was a danger. It might be a trick! Dont put your guard down! Pressured to follow their superior, 3s mask returns to their face, turning onto 8 with the herl shot ready to fire.

Then they all tumbled into the metro.......

....for Cuttlefish to use yet ANOTHER kid (8) to get him out of a hairy situation.

--------

Hes a crazy old man. Only caring for any of the kids beyond the platoon after they do his dirty work.

Like "mmm! Thank you for committing the war crimes in my stead. Youre a good kid, you know that? Anything I can do to support you further? Mmmm???"

...I dont think hes aware.

Hes not aware that hes harming the entire platoon, bc in his mind hes doing the greater good here. Get some easily manipulable kids on the street, shower em with praise and promises of glory and valor, and theyll do ANYTHING for you.

Including the warcrimes you keep wanting to do.

I think...I think he doesnt know hes manipulating the kids. I think he genuinely believes his own promises. He glamorizes the valor of war bc hes a commander who sits in the back of it. He really believes that this is for the best. He believes that this is how you inspire your troops to fight.

--------

LETS GO THATS ALL MY NOTES I SPENT ALL DAY FINISHING THIS COMIC. GOODNIGHT INKOPOLIS!!!

#splatoon #splatoon fanart #agent 3 #captain 3 #marie cuttlefish #callie cuttlefish #craig cuttlefish #capn cuttlefish #opal owl’s nest

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ponderingmoonlight · 3 months ago

Text

Meeting Sabito again after you thought he died

Pairing: Sabito x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Synopsis: You were meant for each other, the most promising upbringings of the demon slayer corps. Everyone knew it, no one ever doubted you'd make it back from the final selection. But when Sabito lost his life during this cursed night, you left without ever returning. Little do you know that you are still meant for each other, that you will find your way back together...

Warnings: This is huge hurt to comfort y'all, I just had to write for him because LOOK AT HIM, this is loooong so get seated

You cry out in sheer frustration, face covered in mud like an accessory by this point.

It’s like a game to him. Over and over, he hits you with his bare hands, sweeps you off your feet, forces your frame to the ground.

“You’re still not strong enough, (y/n).”

And even though you want to hate that skilled boy, you can’t help but get lost in his lavender eyes all over again.

“Someday I will”, you press out, your lungs still refusing their service while you struggle to breathe.

“Don’t be so hard on her”, Giyu comments from behind, his eyes filled with pity.

“No”, you blurt out, your body finding its way back on your feet on its own.

“Hit me again. Let me try again.”

“I will try until I’m better than you, Sabito.”

And oh you tried.

And tried.

But in the end, it was still him who had to save you.

You find yourself right in that cursed forest. The night air was sharp, thick with the scent of damp earth and iron. Your limbs ached, screaming with exhaustion, yet you forced yourself to move. The final selection had become a nightmare, one you weren’t sure you’d wake from. No amount of hard training could’ve prepared you for this. Not even Sabito’s relentless training.

And then, it happened.

You had barely turned when the massive hand of a demon swung toward you, claws glinting under the moonlight. Time slowed, your breath caught in your throat, and fear wrapped around your body like chains.

But you never felt the impact. You never felt death crawling up your spine.

Instead, a blur of orange and white struck with furious speed, knocking you out of harm’s way.

“Sabito-!” you gasped, the world spinning as your back hit the ground.

He stood before you, blade already stained crimson, eyes burning with something beyond fury - something like desperation. The demon roared, lunging again, but Sabito was faster. His sword carved through flesh, a deadly dance of skill and strength. For a moment, you thought he would win.

Then, a second demon emerged from the shadows.

You saw it too late.

“Sabito, behind you-!”

His eyes widened, his body twisted. But he wasn’t fast enough. The demon’s claws sank deep into his side, ripping through fabric and flesh. Blood splattered the ground. Your breath hitched.

“No—no, no, no—!”

Sabito gritted his teeth, pushing himself forward despite the wound, despite the odds. With one final, desperate strike, he beheaded the demon before collapsing to his knees.

Your body moved before you could think. You crawled to his side, hands pressing against the wound, trembling.

“Stay awake. Please, you have to stay awake-”

He smiled, just barely.

“Told you… you weren’t strong enough yet.”

“Shut up,” you choked, vision blurred by tears.

“You can’t…you can’t leave me, Sabito.”

His fingers brushed against yours, weak but warm.

“You’ll be fine… You’ll be strong, (y/n). Stronger than me. Promise me you’ll become a demon slayer, maybe even a hashira. Promise me to look after the others. Promise that you…that you won’t forget me. I…you…you were always…”

“Sabito-”

His eyelids fluttered. His breathing slowed. And then-

Darkness. The numb feeling of brisk grabbed onto your body, dragged you with it.

When you woke up, you were in the care of the Ubuyashiki estate. The pain in your body was nothing compared to the ache in your chest. The final selection, that fight…Sabito.

Sabito. He died right in front of your eyes. Was this just a dream? Nothing but a nightmare? No, it can’t be. You know the sight of empty eyes all too well to mistake it. He died. Sabito died in order to save you.

You barely registered the gentle voices around you until Giyu stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

“Sabito…?”

Your voice was hoarse, fragile.

The silence was unbearable.

Then, Giyu shook his head.

No.

Your heart shattered.

A choked sob tore from your throat. You gripped the fabric of your uniform, gasping for breath, drowning in the weight of his absence. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to scold you for being reckless. He was supposed to live.

But he was gone.

You pressed a hand against your mouth, the realization crashing over you in waves.

You loved him.

You loved him, and you never got to tell him.

And now, you never would.

Tears streamed down your face as your body trembled, the grief consuming you whole.

But even through the heartbreak, you heard his voice echo in your mind:

“You’ll be strong, (y/n). Stronger than me.”

Your lungs desperately aching for air forces your eyes open, your upper body out of your futon. Your shaky hands grab your hair, eyes scanning around the simple room.

Was it…?

“Just a dream”, you mumble to yourself.

It was just a dream. Like the countless times before, like almost every night.

You get on your wobbly feet, gazing at yourself in the mirror. Even 5 years later, his lavender eyes haunt you each and every night. That look on his face before you passed out, how he saved you from certain death so that you could live.

You never deserved this second chance, never wanted to take his life for your own. Did he regret saving you back then? Wouldn’t it be better if you died instead of him? Sabito was expected to be the following water hashira, a well-praised candidate for the highest-ranked demon slayer.

But he saved you. You, nothing but an average slayer. You, the coward who ran away from her old life in order to forget. You, who now lived in this remote area on her own. Far away from the pillars, far away from the life you used to know. All alone, with the mission to save as many lives as possible on your own.

No one will die again while trying to save you.

Rough knocking on your front door rips you out of your dreams immediately. Usually, your days are quite peaceful with people calling for your help during the night. It’s not a secret that you are a demon slayer, even though this technically isn’t a real job accepted by the country. But here in a remote village? Every single soul knows about the dangers that lie in the shelter of the night.

Your feet carry you to the front door on their own.

“(Y/N)-SAMA!”

“Please call me by my name. I’m (y/n), there is no need for that title my love”, you reply gently.

But something isn’t right. The girl with the usual so bright smile and eyes full of love now looks up at you with dread filling her orbs, her shaky hands holding onto your kimono for what feels like dear life.

Your heart drops to the floor. This is everything but a good sign.

“Tell me how I can help.”

Multiple attacks on mine workers in a forest one day march away from their village. A lot of the men work there, including her father. All of them went missing, some of their body parts were found during a search. There are no wild animals around in this area, no bears that would do something like this.

“A demon”, you mutter to yourself.

Another demon who kills innocent citizens. Other lives, forever vanished into thin air. Just like his.

“I will leave immediately.”

“Alone? But what if you get killed? What if I’ll lose you as well?”

Her little hands claw into your kimono, unwilling to let you go.

“It’s an honour to risk my life in order to safe yours. I promise I’ll do everything I can to save everyone, including myself. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

Oh, what a great liar you are. Truth is, you never know if the next mission will be your last. After all, you left training when you were 13 with your hands shaking every time you lifted your katana. You aren’t skilled at all compared to the great hashira.

And yet, it’s your destiny to carry on his will, to fight until the day you die.

Your feet move on their own. Through the lonely village, far away from the place you called home for over 5 years by now. You never moved away further than a few hours, always close in order to protect them at all costs. Those people who welcomed you in their middle when you had nowhere else to go, those people who greeted you with a gentle smile and healed your heart bit by bit. You won’t let them down, won’t let this uneasy feeling settled in your bones overtake you. After all, this is the only thing that keeps you from drowning in his loss. After all, this is what keeps you going.

You feel their presence before you’re even able to see them. That unsettling, gut-wrenching presence. There’s not only one of them. No, their foul smell follows you like the plague, seems to devour you whole.

“HELP!”

Yet, you follow the desperate cry from nearby without thinking twice. Just in time, your blade cuts through the thick neck of the demon who was about to kill the man in front of you.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holing, your already aching muscles begging for a break.

“Are you alright?”, you breathe out.

But before the man is even able to respond, you’re covered in blood.

His head is gone.

Your eyes widen in sheer horror, mind going blank for a moment. What was that?

“Another little slayer to kill, what a night, what a fun!”

You’re about to lose it when that creature steps out into the moonlight, its appearance so great that you feel crushed by a single gaze. That thing is stronger than anything you ever expected. Faster. More brutal. Every strike you land barely scratches its skin. And your blade, dulled by years of use, can’t keep up either. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, shaky fingers almost unable to hold onto your sword any longer.

But you promised.

You promised to fight until the end. You promised to save the father of the little girl. You can’t let Sabito’s death be useless by dying like a coward. No, you will fight until you can’t anymore, will give your best and even more.

You straighten your shoulders, put all your strength in your legs, stomach and arms. Your eyes dart towards your target. He might be fast, but he’s still rather tall and stiff. If you focus on nothing but him, you will land a hit in his calf and behead him afterwards.

This is it. The moment to prove yourself. There’s not a single doubt in your mind that you can beat that thing, that you’ll make it out alive. One hit, then another.

The sound of slicing flesh cuts through the air.

And before you can react any further, you feel it.

Claws that dig deeply straight through your stomach. Warm blood that starts pooling beneath your feet. A scorching pain, the inability to move.

Your eyes start to water, vision getting blurry.

He hit you. No, it wasn’t him.

Out of the shadows, you see them lurking. One by one, demon after demon.

It wasn’t only him. You failed to realize that it wasn’t just this one powerful demon, but whole bunch of them.

You cough up blood, the taste coating your tongue as if you licked on iron.

Is this…the end?

“Foolish little girl, did you really think someone like you is able to beat me? You, with that run-down blade? Pah, that I don’t laugh! Looks like not even the demon slayers care about your puny self.”

You are far too tired to get hurt by his rough words.

No, all you’re able to think about is him.

Is this how Sabito felt when he died? Empty, drained out, devastated? As if his whole life had no meaning? As if he missed out? Did he think about the missed opportunity to tell you about his feeling, maybe that he loved you? Did he actually like you back?

Oh, you definitely loved him. And after all those years, you still do. Maybe it is true what people say about first love, maybe you were destined to love him until the day you die.

The ringing in your ear grows louder and louder, your vision nothing but blank by now while your body collapses onto the floor. What a privilege it is, dying with nothing but him on your mind.

“(y/n), is that you? (Y/N)!”

That voice…You must be hallucinating, your brain tricking you into thinking that he’s there to meet you. If you could just open your eyes, locate where it comes from. Are you already…dead?

“Don’t give up on me, (y/n). Do you hear me? Not now. Now when I finally found you.”

Your heartbeat starts picking up, tired mind going crazy. This can’t be him. You saw the way Giyu looked at you back then, knew what he was trying to say the second he entered the room. There’s no way…

Your eyes dart open. Only a brief second before your body fails you, just a moment before everything goes dark.

But what you see is lavender.

“Am I…dead?”

A dull ache pulls you from the depths of unconsciousness. Your body feels impossibly heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering haze of pain. The scent of wisteria fills your senses, soft and familiar, a stark contrast to the metallic taste of blood that last coated your lips.

Your eyelashes flutter, the blinding light forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut again before slowly adjusting to the world around you. You’re lying on a futon, the gentle rustling of fabric catching your ear as someone shifts beside you.

Then-

“(y/n).”

Your breath catches. That voice. Steady, low, but undeniably concerned.

Giyu.

Your head turns slightly, the effort far more exhausting than it should be, but it’s worth it when you see him sitting beside you. His blue eyes are darker than usual, clouded with something between worry and relief. He looks like a different person with his stern look and sharp facial features. The tension in his posture fades just a fraction when you finally meet his gaze.

“You’re awake.”

A breathy laugh escapes you, though it’s weak. Is this real or are you dreaming?

“I think so.”

His expression remains unreadable, but there’s something in the way his shoulders drop, in the way his fingers twitch slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for you.

“You almost died,” he comments bluntly, but there’s a crack in his usual monotone.

You hear it. The way his voice wavers just the slightest bit.

“Yeah… I noticed.”

His brows furrow slightly at your attempt at humor, and it’s almost endearing. A silence settles between you both before he lets out the smallest sigh.

“You were reckless. Not to mention that you vanished for more than five years without a trace, without telling anyone where you are.”

Your lips part to retort, but before you can, his hand - warm, solid, real - settles over yours. Your heart skips.

“But… you’re alive.”

A soft warmth spreads through your chest, different from the scorching pain you felt before. Your fingers twitch beneath his, and after a moment, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

For a while, there are no words. Just the quiet hum of the wind outside, the gentle rustling of the wisteria blossoms swaying beyond the open shoji doors. The silence is comforting, not heavy like grief, but something else. Something lighter. It makes you realize just how much you missed him. That quiet child that always hid well behind Sabito’s shoulder. The boy who never realized his full potential, who always felt like nothing. That child is now a man. And given his sight, he’s still a demon slayer, maybe even a hashira?

Then, Giyu speaks again.

“I need to tell Sabito about this.”

Your breath stills.

A bitter pang grips your heart before you can stop it, a dull ache that never truly faded even after all these years. The memories flood back: his voice, his lavender eyes, the warmth of his hand brushing against yours as life slipped from his grasp. Even after all those years, hearing his name coming out of Giyu’s mouth makes you feel like dying all over again.

Your lips tremble.

“Giyu, don’t-”

But he’s looking at you, truly looking at you. And for the first time in years, there’s something in his expression that shakes you to your core.

Because he isn’t mourning.

His eyes aren’t filled with the quiet grief that usually lingers when someone meaningful died. There’s no sadness, no finality. Instead, there’s something else. Something fragile. Something hopeful.

Your heart hammers.

Giyu’s next words shatter the world you’ve known for the past five years.

“Sabito is alive.”

The room tilts. Your breath catches, and for a moment, all you can hear is the wild pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

“No.”

You shake your head, trying to process it, trying to make sense of what you just heard.

“That’s…That’s not possible, Giyu. I saw… He…You…”

But he’s still holding your hand. And his grip is steady, grounding. Real.

“He survived, (y/n). You never allowed me to finish my sentence back then before you ran away.”

Something inside you snaps.

Despite the pain, despite your body’s protests, you throw the blankets off and swing your legs over the futon. Giyu barely has time to react before you push yourself up - too fast, too desperate, ignoring the sharp flare of agony that nearly sends you crumbling to the ground.

“(y/n), wait—!”

But you don’t.

You simply can’t.

Your feet are already moving before logic can catch up, before you can think about the wounds, the weakness, the time you’ve lost. You stumble through the open doors, through the gardens, past the rows of blooming wisteria that blur into nothing but streaks of color in your vision.

You don’t know where you’re going.

But your heart does.

And then-

You see him.

Beneath the cascading wisteria, bathed in violet light, stands the boy who never left your dreams.

Lavender eyes meet yours.

Your breath leaves you in a shattered whisper.

“Sabito.”

His name tastes like both heartbreak and salvation on your lips.

And when he takes a step toward you, when his expression softens into something unreadable, something overwhelming, you don’t hesitate.

You run.

Your heart is screaming, pounding so hard in your chest that you think it might burst.

And then, after five long, agonizing years, after endless nights of dreams and regrets, your fingers finally brush against him.

Sabito is real. Warm. Alive.

He catches you with ease, as if he was always meant to. His arms wrap around you, steady and strong, holding you as if he’s afraid you might disappear again. Your knees buckle, but he’s already there, supporting your weight effortlessly, grounding you in a reality too surreal to be true.

"You're real," you whisper, voice trembling, hands clinging onto the fabric of his haori.

"This isn't a dream…?"

His breath hitches, and when you finally gather the courage to lift your head, you meet those familiar lavender eyes filled with something raw, something vulnerable, something that makes your chest tighten until you can hardly breathe.

"It’s me," Sabito murmurs, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

"I’m here, (y/n). I’ve always been."

A sob tears from your throat. The floodgates burst, and before you can stop yourself, you bury your face against his chest, gripping onto him as if letting go would mean losing him all over again while a violent scream escapes your lips.

He doesn’t let go either. If anything, his hold tightens, as if he’s trying to make up for every second you spent apart. His fingers tangle into your hair, his other arm securing you to him like a promise.

“I thought you-”

Your voice breaks.

“I thought you died, Sabito. I thought I lost you.”

“I know.”

His breath is warm against your temple, his voice strained as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“I thought I lost you too.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him properly. Your hands reach up before you can stop them, trembling fingers tracing over the curve of his jaw, the faint scar along his cheek. He leans into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours. God, he looks so handsome. Still like the boy you knew, but he definitely outgrew you.

“How…?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“How are you here?”

Sabito lets out a slow, unsteady breath.

“It was close. I should have died that night. But I didn’t. Our master saved me at the last second, I barely made it into the wisteria forest.”

He shakes his head.

“By the time I woke up, you were gone. Giyu told me you disappeared. I tried to find you, but you… you just vanished. I searched everywhere for you, (y/n).”

Your heart clenches. Guilt, relief, overwhelming love, all of it crashes over you in waves, nearly knocking you off your feet again.

“I was running away,” you admit, voice small.

“I was scared. I thought I wasn’t strong enough. I thought… I thought I didn’t deserve to live when you…”

You swallow hard, forcing down another sob.

“I should have been the one to die that night.”

Sabito stiffens.

And then, before you can react, his hands are cupping your face, tilting your head up so you have no choice but to look at him. His eyes burn with something fierce, something that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he breathes, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling.

“You deserved to live just as much as I did. Maybe even more.”

You shake your head, lips quivering.

“But-”

“No.”

His voice is firm, but there’s a gentleness in it too, a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“I would have saved you a thousand times over, (y/n). I don’t regret it. I never have.”

His forehead presses against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“And I would do it again,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.

“Every single time. Again and again. You’re the reason I became a hashira, the reason I still keep going. I never gave up the hope to hold you like this someday.”

Your own eyes flutter shut, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heart against yours - it’s all too much, yet somehow not enough.

You don’t know who moves first.

But suddenly, his lips are on yours.

It’s not rushed, not desperate.

But it’s everything.

It’s years of unspoken words, of longing, of quiet grief and unwavering love. It’s the feeling of home, of finally, finally being whole again.

His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as if trying to make up for lost time. Your fingers grip onto his haori, afraid that if you let go, he might disappear again.

But he won’t.

He’s here.

When you finally part, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathless, eyes half-lidded with emotions too big to put into words.

“I love you,” he confesses, voice barely above a whisper. “

I have for so long, (y/n). Even when I thought I’d never get to tell you.”

A watery laugh escapes you, your fingers tracing along the fabric of his sleeve, holding onto him like a lifeline.

“I love you too. I always have.”

Sabito exhales a shaky breath, a small, relieved smile tugging at his lips.

And in that moment, under the wisteria, bathed in soft violet light, you know.

This is where you were always meant to be.

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