Lou Lou 🫶🏻

You didn't actually have to go, content to lean against the sink as a chaperone and consider Geum-ja's words to convince the guard to let the three of you - with Hyun-ju as a last addition - to use the bathroom. You'd known she was older, and you would question why she'd joined these games had you not overheard her yelling at her son on the first day. Despite the room being filled to the brim with people on day one, you could've sworn her voice had echoed. No, it's just odd - to consider what it'd be like for your mother to make it to that age. Your mom never would have found herself here, unless you royally screwed up, like Young-sik did. She was sensible, but selfless - at least, mostly. And Geum-ja - to have survived a war, watched her son reach adulthood, and still find herself here. It would be quite the climactic - and undeserved - end for her, to die in these games.

You hear the crying coming from the stall first, and are practically running to check on Jun-hee. Geum-ja is close behind– “Is something wrong with the baby?!” You hush her - maybe a bit harsh, but you know cries of pain versus misery. What Jun-hee needs right now is to be a person first, not just a delivery system. You knock lightly, then push open the door.

“Jun-hee? Are you okay?” Your voice is gentle as you kneel in front of her, taking her hands. You can sense Hyun-ju nearby, after just now finding out that Jun-hee is pregnant.

“I'm so scared,” Jun-hee gets out through small sobs and sniffles. “I want… want to go home.

“Oh, sweetie,” you murmur, pulling her into a hug. She ends up practically half in your lap on the floor as you hold her while she cries it out, rubbing her back lightly and whispering words of comfort.

The other ladies kneel behind you - even Geum-ja, with her bad knees.

“You aren't alone, dear,” Geum-ja murmurs. “And I don't just mean that baby you're carrying.” You shoot her a pointed look, but Jun-hee gives a little laugh, so you don't say anything.

“That's right. We're all stronger together, aren't we?” Hyun-ju chimes in. “And you… well, you're even stronger than most, surviving this far in your condition. No silly children's games are enough to take you down.”

Jun-hee smiles weakly at that, pulling from your embrace. “I'm thankful I'm not in this alone. I don't know what I would've done if…”

Her words trail off, her eyes glassy. “You're a survivor, Jun-hee. I can just tell. Don't think too hard about the what-ifs, alright? You've got us. We're like a family,” you say, smiling warmly at her. It's strange - your own family, save for your father, is so far away now. But the closeness these games force on you, in a short matter of days, is a more unbreakable bond. And you have your answer to your question earlier - if it came down to it, you wouldn't choose to sacrifice Hyun-ju, or Jun-hee, or Geum-ja. You would give your own life for them. It settles something rattling around in your chest, solidifies your sense of self, and you turn your smiles to the other two ladies as you help Jun-hee to your feet. “You are my girls, alright? I won't let anything happen to you.”

Geum-ja reaches out, squeezing your arm, her eyes shiny - or maybe it's just the lights in this pop-colored bathroom. Hyun-ju looks away, but a tiny smile is still visible on her lips, and when you return to the dorms together, you feel stronger. No longer are you in flight or panic mode. You're ready to survive.

When you return to the dorms, you sit down next to Gi-hun as the rest of the ladies make their way to bed. Gi-hun barely spares you a glance, and you're prepared for him to argue that you should get some rest, but in a rare moment of wisdom he stays silent.

When one of you does finally speak, it's you. “I'm sorry for pushing you too much, before. And for blowing up on you.” Too little sleep, too much stress - you know he could have been more tactful, but you could have too.

He makes a small grunt, shaking his head. It takes a long moment for him to respond. “You're just trying to be smart. Play the game. I'm sorry… about your father.” He clears his throat, apparently eager to move on. “The problem is, just playing the games won't solve this.”

You nod faintly. “We're all in survival mode. Just trying to make it to the next moment. We all have something to lose.” Your father flashes through your mind, but so do your girls, and Young-il. Gi-hun. Hell, even Jung-bae and Dae-ho.

He looks at you, his face mostly expressionless, but there's something searching in his eyes. You get the feeling that he's a lost ship, adrift for years, scanning for a lighthouse. “You're right. They'll want to cut the player count down significantly. In my third game, it was teams playing tug-of-war. It was designed for only half to make it out.”

You bite your cheek, thinking that over. “Even if they don't do another team game, they'll still probably have a set number they want to make it out of the next game. We have to keep our groups close, take care of each other.”

Gi-hun hesitates, then says, “In my fourth game, they made us partner up. Most people chose the person they trusted most. And it turned out we were playing against each other.”

You open your mouth to instantly respond, then stop yourself. You look at him, really look at him. The weight he carries, the hollow pain lingering around him. Misery, you know we'll. Trauma, even better. And you force yourself to keep in mind, this isn't just a strategic conversation - he has lived through this. “Gi-hun, I'm sorry.” You swallow. “You lost someone you trusted.”

He blinks a few times, looking uncertain, his lips parting. Your eyes flick to them, then quickly back up to your eyes, trying to ignore the way you seemingly had no control over the action. “It's complicated,” he murmurs. “There is a reason I know so much, about those who run the games. Let's leave it at that.”

You want to pry, to grab him by the shoulders and shake him till he opens up, till he unlocks the many many doors he keeps himself trapped behind. “I mean this with no offense, Gi-hun, but how… How were you the one that won your games? You aren't cruel, and you seem so… so kind. You have such strong morals, you care so much, still, about human life… I just don't see how a man as good as you could win these games and still be that same man.”

His eyes widen, a strange clenching in his chest. Is that how you see him? Is that how this team sees him? He doesn't feel like the same man, but more so like… he's trying to honor the man he was. The old Seong Gi-hun cared so deeply, protected his team - both in these games, and in the strike at his old job. But that man was happy, even when he should have been miserable. He laughed and bounced around like a fool, and was reckless, careless. He gambled everything - his money, his mother's money, for his daughter's birthday gift… But you still see him as a kind man. And he doesn't know what to do with it. “I am not the man I used to be,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you respond, your voice and eyes softening in a way that makes him ache. You reach out, pointing one finger, and trace the lines around his mouth without touching them. “You used to be a man who smiles.”

Gi-hun rears back slightly, like you've punched him, his eyes wide, heart pounding just a little faster. He swallows, feeling almost backed into a corner, but after one steady breath, he decides… he doesn't mind it. “Yes. Yes I was.” His voice comes out thick, strained, and maybe he'd cry, or run away if there was any pity in your eyes.

There isn't. Only care, concern. Affection? He doesn't push his luck. “I bet you had a really nice smile.” Your voice is almost mournful, like you wished to be on the receiving end of it. You clear your throat, shaking your head. “Sorry. I understand if that was inappropriate. It's just, ever since I first talked to you, after the first game, I could see it. That happy man you once were. And my greatest wish for you is to get back to him, even if it's different now.”

Gi-hun stares at you openly, not sure how to respond. Jung-bae had said something similar, but this is different. You're a relative stranger. Before, he'd thought you reminded him of Sang-woo - even his name is a sharp stab in his mind - but now… Now he sees an echo of himself, or maybe Ali. That kindness. Caring about someone in the form of truly seeing them. And he feels frantic, so unused to someone looking past it all, so unfamiliar with his old self after so many years. “(Y/N)...” He didn't even make the choice to open his mouth, but your name spills out in a whisper.

“Sorry. I'm sorry. Forget I said anything. But just know, I'm rooting for your happiness too. The way you are rooting for every person here's survival.”

He can't stop looking at you, seeing you. Faintly, he nods.

The next morning, the next game. You wonder if you'll ever make it out of this place.

“[Y/N],” Young-il catches up to you in line quickly, taking your elbow with a firm hand, reminding you for all the world of last night, his fingers on your chin, his lips on yours, his tongue tracing your mouth…. You swallow, looking up at him with slightly round eyes. A slight smirk tilts his lips, that lingering intensity in his gaze. “Stick by my side today, okay?”

You watch him for a moment, a small smile rising to your lips. He really does want to help you make it out of here. He's playing the game, just like the rest of us - one moment at a time, trying to survive. “You planning on keeping me safe, big guy?” you ask, aiming for a light tone. Truthfully, being entrenched in misery and anxiety has grown weary in itself, and for your own sanity, you need to focus on levity whenever you can.

He gives you a somewhat amused glance, though that sharpness affecting his gaze remains. “Maybe I am. Who knows what the next game is? Last time, I wasn't…” He pauses, adjusts, tries to find the right words. “I would prefer to have you where I can keep you safe. As safe as I can, considering the circumstances. In the last round, it didn't feel like… enough, to just coach you. I need you safe.”

Your lips part at his verbal acknowledgement of his desire to protect you, and it takes a moment for you to nod, cement it into place. Honestly, after the pentathlon, you don't think you could bear letting him out of your sight again. You slowly - but casually - slip your hand into his, an acknowledgement of your own desire to keep him close.

You tune out idle conversation - quieter today than in days past - and focus on your breathing, on the solid weight of his hand in yours. There are no guarantees that anyone you care about will make it out alive. But you refuse to be tugged and tossed around by these games any longer.

“(Y/N)!” You hear a voice call your name, and you turn your head, though oddly, Young-il stiffens behind you.

Jung-bae rushes up to you, an easy grin on his face. It's a wonder he always seems to be smiling, but maybe that's his survival tactic.

“The game you will be playing today is Mingle.” The word is meaningless to you, your group looking at each other as the players flood into the room.

“This one's gonna be fun, right guys?!” Thanos calls out somewhere in front of you, sounding horrifically giddy. 

“Mingle, Mingle, Mingle!” comes the voice of one of his cronies. You roll your eyes.

“I will now explain the rules of the game. All players will step onto the platform in the center of the arena. Once the game begins, the platform will spin. Shortly after, a number will be called out. You must then form a room that matches this number, enter one of the surrounding rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds, or be eliminated.”

“Oh, this one? It's like the one we played on field trips when they called a number, and we formed groups by hugging.”

“Yeah… instead of hugging we go behind one of those doors.”

The team goes on to talk strategy, and you focus on that, and the solid weight of Young-il's hand in yours.

Stay calm and don't panic. Trust each other.

The platform is massive - it has to be, to hold the remaining 256 players. You all face outwards, the giant carousel horse marking the center from which it begins to spin.

“With that, let the game begin.”

There's a small jolt as everyone stumbles, the platform beginning a slow spin. At least it's not dizzyingly fast, and you're near the edge, poised to run. The music is playful, befitting the colorful circus feeling of the large room. But it sends a chill through you.

The platform stops suddenly.

“10 players.”

Your team members turn to Hyun-ju's group. “We have six!” one of your teammates shouts - with all the commotion and yelling around the room, you can't discern the voice.

“We have four!” Hyun-ju responds, her voice clear and strong. A team of five next to us gets dragged and pushed away by another team, the desperation practically a rank stench in the air. You gulp, stumbling a little as Young-il drags you along with the two teams to a room.

The bright, light green room is a bit too harsh on the eyes for it to feel like safety, but everyone breathes a sigh of relief as the door shuts behind you all. Your eyes dance over everyone, trying to make sure you all made it in. And then you land on Gi-hun, as the timer ticks down, and see him step to the door, peering out through the very intentionally placed slot. The timer hits zero. Then the screaming starts. Begging and pleading ring out from the players who didn’t make it in time, and Gi-hun watches as the gunshots start. You can’t see his expression, but you wonder if this is a form of self harm for him. A way to remember that the cost of his life is all the blood spilled. Your eyes drift to Young-il - no longer holding your hand, though with the adrenaline coursing through your system, you can’t remember when that happened.

He’s staring at Gi-hun intently, as if analyzing him. Much like you had been. You wish he wasn’t so inscrutable, that you could read his mind, what lays behind the almost fascination in his eyes.

“Hey,” the word spills from your mouth without thinking as you look back at Gi-hun. “Gi-hun. Stop torturing yourself.”

You almost think he doesn’t hear you, until he responds. “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, does it make a sound?”

“Pretty sure they’re making a sound,” Jung-bae murmurs gruffly, staring absently at the wall. He shakes himself out of it, clearly haunted by the lives being cut down outside, twisting to check on Jun-hee.

You step closer to Gi-hun, reaching out to touch him, but Young-il places a hand on yours, gently lowering it.

The gunshots stop, and you lean against the wall as the guards begin removing the bodies. No one can seem to think of anything to say, until Dae-ho eventually breaks the silence. “We should all try to stick together. Like, if the next number is five, you can take one of our teammates,” he says to Hyun-ju. Hyun-ju nods faintly.

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. And if we have to split up into smaller groups, we’ll have a bigger pool. That’ll increase our odds, for sure,” she says firmly. While Hyun-ju is holding it together, Young-mi looks like a leaf on a day with heavy wind - shaking, barely hanging on. She reaches out for Hyun-ju’s hand, which she takes, looking at her with concern, and… guilt?

You glance between them. The ‘O’ on Hyun-ju’s chest, the ‘X’ on Young-mi’s. Right.

“Stronger together!” Jung-bae declares, knocking Dae-ho on the shoulder with a grin. Dae-ho is knocked back a little, but he smiles right back.

Geum-ja’s eyes are on Jun-hee, who thankfully seems to be doing okay. At least this game isn’t a lot of running - just a short sprint. Still, the stress must be taking a toll on her.

Young-il, when you turn to him, is already looking at you.

The doors unlock.

Your group steps back out into the room, and your eyes instantly flick to the digital number on the wall. It’s gone down by 35, if you remember correctly. 35 people, human lives, gone. Just like that.

There’s not much of a chance for a reprieve - as soon as everyone is back on the platform, it starts turning, the playful children’s song starting back up. Your eyes flick around the remaining players.

Thanos’ dancing is so out of place, that it comes right back around and becomes perfectly fitting. Candy colored death games, children's songs, dancing around. The blood in the room is just frosting on top.

There’s a tense silence in the group. The platform halts, the music cuts out. “4 players.”

The teams look at each other. “You four, stay together!” Young-il points to Hyun-ju’s group. Hyun-ju doesn’t hesitate, waving for them to follow her with a shout.

But that leaves six players.

Young-il’s hand encloses around yours. “Dae-ho, get Jun-hee to safety with Gi-hun and Jung-bae. We’ll find another two people,” he says quickly, and there’s no time to argue, but Gi-hun stares at you with wide eyes.

“Wait–”

“There’s no time!” Young-il shouts, tugging on your hand, and your eyes linger on Gi-hun as you’re pulled away. You come across a man stumbling to his feet pretty quickly - you could’ve sworn he was one of Thanos’ team members, but the purple-headed chaotic element is nowhere to be seen. You wave at him, gesturing for him to join you two, and he’s running with you less than a second.

Young-il beelines for the doors, eyes scanning for someone along the way. There’s a pair of two almost in your path - no good, you only need one. But Young-il has other ideas. He almost roughly grabs the closest one - the man, not the woman, the number 246 plastered on his back, dragging him along. He yelps, but doesn’t stumble, his feet working to keep up with him, even as he looks back at the woman he’d left.

Your stomach drops. This is about survival, but Young-il made a choice you’re not sure you could ever make. He practically signed that woman’s death wish.

The four of you reach a room, and 256 runs in first, practically hugging the corner. You slow - you have just a few seconds, but your eyes scan for Gi-hun’s group. You spot him after just a moment, still standing outside his room, searching the room. For you and Young-il? Before you have time to try and call out to him, to show you’re alive, Young-il yanks you into the room. The door shuts, then instantly locks.

Oh, fuck. One more second, and all four of you would have been dead.

Everyone takes a moment to catch their breaths.

Then Young-il grabs you by the shoulders, staring deep into your eyes, his typical intensity magnified by a thousand. “Do you have a death wish or something?!” he demands, gripping you tightly.

Your voice is weak as you go to defend yourself. “I was just–”

“You almost got yourself killed. Ssibal, you almost got the rest of us killed. You can’t be taking risks like that!” You open your mouth, a protest on your lips, but it dies almost immediately. You know he’s right, but that’s not why you don’t speak.

It’s because of the deep concern in his eyes, behind the intensity, the anger. So much concern, it almost looks painful.

In-ho doesn’t know why his heart is pounding in his chest. He knows, no matter what, his survival is guaranteed. He can even prevent your death, if it came down to it. But in that moment of blinding panic, he’d forgotten that, could only feel a sick twist in his stomach, a cold sweat over his skin. He could have lost you. He didn’t expect it, such a strong reaction, the stabbing pain the sharpest thing he’s felt in years and years. You. You have wormed your way under his skin, an itch he can’t seem to scratch, and he gets the sinking feeling it’s more than that.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I was looking for Gi-hun– but you’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

Gi-hun. The way you are drawn to him is another twist of the knife, but he can’t fault you for it. The man is a shining pillar of morality. It takes a special person to return to this hell with honorable intentions, and he’s already prevented more deaths than In-ho had anticipated in the first game. He has fought, over and over again, to preserve human life. He refuses to see that almost everyone here isn’t worth his compassion, that the scum of the earth will never change their ways. Every test that In-ho has thrown his way has been met with stubborn belief. Admirable. He’s strong-willed, kind. Emotionally broken. And In-ho can’t seem to figure out if you, the sparkling you, is more like himself… or Gi-hun.

Or maybe you're something else entirely.

He stares at you now, his hands gripping your shoulders, and he forces them to loosen their grip, a conscious effort. Your lips are parted, your eyes shiny in the light, the pink walls making you look softer. The slope of your nose. The flutter of your lashes.

“Young-il,” you murmur, reaching up to squeeze one of his hands. “I'm okay.”

The urge to hear his real name from your mouth knocks the wind out of him. In-ho. Call me In-ho. He swallows it down, giving a small nod. Now is not the time. He squeezes your shoulders, then looks to the other men in the room.

246 looks guilty, like it was his fault that woman got left behind. You feel a little sick on his behalf, but you're also so overwhelmingly grateful to be alive. 256, on the other hand, looks despondent, distraught.

“How are you two holding up?” you ask, ignoring the sounds outside of the bubble of this room to the best of your ability.

“Fine. Thank you, for taking me with you,” 256 responds with a bow of his head.

“I thought you were in Thanos’ team?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light. He looks ill.

“So did I,” he murmurs, rubbing the center of his chest. “I'm Gyeong-su,” he adds, putting on a smile, but it comes out slightly wrong.

“And you?” you ask, eyes flicking 246.

“Gyeong-seok,” he says with a gentle smile, seemingly deciding to keep his guilt to himself.

“That's funny,” Young-il murmurs with an amused smile, and everyone turns their heads to look at him. “Gyeong-su and Gyeong-seok? Players 256 and 246?” He chuckles, eyes flicking to you. “Seems you were right. The gamemakers do have a sense of humor.”

You huff slightly, shaking your head, and the other two men look vaguely confused but smile all the same. But still, it's a twisting reminder.

When the doors finally unlock, Young-il finds your hand again, and you leave the room again.

168 players are left. 52 are gone forever.

Bright lights shine on the blood pools, the ones that grow in number each round. Almost in a detached way, you can't help but wonder - will you slip on the blood in one of these rounds? Will that be your downfall - every dead player reaching out to drag you down with them?

Is that how Gi-hun feels?

Young-il pulls you to a group standing off to the side, and it takes a moment for your eyes to focus, for you to realize it's your team. Gi-hun's reddened eyes land on you both, flicking between you both. He visibly says in relief, and your smile wobbles, struck by the emotion in him.

“See? I told you they'd be perfectly fine! It's good to see you both made it through,” Jung-bae declares, grinning, but it's clear that he had been tense too.

“I was worried for a second. I’m glad you made it,” Gi-hun says to you, his smile horribly tender, flipping your heart in your chest. His eyes flick to Young-il. “Both of you.”

Your eyes are locked on Gi-hun, at a loss for words, but Young-il fills the silence. “People say I'm pretty friendly, so, you know, I do all right in these kind of games.” There’s a few light chuckles in response before Young-il speaks again. “Oh. How are you feeling, Jun-hee?”

That’s enough to shift your attention - in all the commotion, you’d forgotten about Jun-hee. Am I a horrible person to only worry about my own life here? “I'm all right, thank you. We're all really glad to see you.” You smile kindly at her, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

“Hold on, I just realized. If we have to form groups of six next round, then we won't need anyone else.”

“Why? Oh, 'cause the baby?” Young-il laughs in acknowledgement.

“Ah! That's a good point.”

Laughter fills the group, but you go tense at the thought. Jun-hee is clearly close to giving birth - what if it happens here, in these games? Will her baby be taken from her? Will she have to play while holding her child the entire time? Your blood runs cold. At least you know her baby would never be considered a player on their own.

You all follow the bloody footprints back to the platform, your mind churning. No more self-centered behavior. You’re not the only innocent life in these games. Thankfully, at least, this games seems to be about individual survival, rather than killing each other directly. Your mind flashes to the woman that you and Young-il forced Gyeong-seok to leave behind. While Gyeong-seok lingers near to your large group now, but Gyeong-su is nowhere to be seen.

The platform moves, the light dims. You swear, the childlike music will haunt you to the end of your days.

“3 players.”

This one is easy for your group - split in half. But Hyun-ju and Young-mi are off in a pair, and so are Geum-ja and Yong-sik, trying to find a third. Young-il pulls you by the hand, and Gi-hun joins you this time, making your heart thump with something besides anxiety and adrenaline. You’re running, but you stop short when you hear Yong-sik yell. 

“What are you doing? Let go! That's my mom! Mom!”

Your stomach drops. You let go of Young-il and shove him towards Geum-ja, who is just standing there now, alone, staring as her son is taken away, seemingly accepted her fate. “Get 149!” you practically screech, not giving either of them a second to react before you’re twisting around, sprinting in the other direction. The last thing you saw was Young-il’s face twist like he’d just tasted something sour, Gi-hun’s wide, terrified eyes. There’s no time to think. You were right, before - in a split second reaction, you proved to yourself that you would give your own life to ensure the safety of someone you cared about.

You almost run directly into player 280, a tall woman with an eyebrow piercing and a dark mullet-like hair style, and Geong-su. There’s a second where you all stare at each other, but then Gyeong-su darts toward the outer wall, and you both follow suit. It's tight, you almost don't make it, but the door slams behind you with three seconds left on the clock.

Your heart beats so loudly in your ears that you can’t hear them, can’t think. Your breaths come in shallow, until you finally steady yourself, inhaling deeper and deeper until you get control over yourself. The ‘cleanup’ outside takes less time this round, and you almost feel like a zombie when you stumble out of the room. You’re exhausted - less physically than emotionally. How long will this game continue? In your nightmares, you’re certain it will go forever.

141 players left, 27 humans gone.

Maybe they’re trying to dwindle the number down to 100. A nice, round number for the last three games. Gi-hun did say there were about 100 players left after the second game - perhaps the gamemakers are trying to get everything back on track.

Geum-ja getting embraced by Hyun-ju and Young-mi when you reach the platform - it turns out that Gyeong-seok was their knight in shining armor this round. When they pull back, you don’t hesitate - you hug Geum-ja tightly. She gives a kind laugh, squeezing you tighter than you could have imagined her frail arms capable of. Yong-sik, when he approaches, gets a dirty look in contrast, and you decide then and there that you don't trust him - though you remind yourself that he's human, and everyone makes mistakes. Maybe he isn’t strong enough to fight off  two men. Or maybe he’s just weak-willed. Either way, you would never place your life in his hands.

Everyone watches as he breaks into tears. But a cold feeling settles in your chest as Geum-ja pulls away to bring her son into his arms. Tears are a meaningless display of guilt - something your mom would do for your pity. You shake off the memories. Tears would not have saved Geum-ja.

Gi-hun twists you around, pulling you into his arms, and you humph in surprise, before hesitantly hugging him back. He’s awkward, in how he holds you, like hugging is unfamiliar to him. It likely is, by now.

“I’m not sorry,” you say, your voice softer than you expected, your eyes landing on Young-il over his shoulder. Gi-hun shakes his head against you, pulling back, then giving you an odd pat on the shoulder. His hand shakes.

“No need to be sorry. I understand,” he says quietly, glancing at the older woman as she holds her son.

Young-il doesn’t look as forgiving, but there’s also something dark and analytical in his eyes, something so familiar to you at this point. It tugs at your gut. “Do I need to put a leash on you?” he says, his voice light-hearted - nothing like that look in his eyes. You laugh, and he manages a smile, but when he takes your hand again, his grip is iron-tight.

Another turn around the merry-go-round, and you’ve forgotten how to see the beauty in your surroundings. All the bright colors and the artfully crafted carousel horses are just a backdrop to the gruesome scene before you.

“6 players.”

Your large team is easily split in two - save for one. Gyeong-su’s eyes flick around the group, and he pats 280 on the shoulder before running away to hopefully find a team of five. 

Hyun-ju, Young-mi, Jun-hee, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Gyeong-seok.

Dae-ho, Jung-bae, 280, Young-il, and Gi-hun. And you.

The sprint is almost easy this time, Young-il keeping pace with you but also urging you faster, and with the grip he has on you, it would be impossible to fall behind. The six of you reach a room, and you and Young-il are the first to enter. You try to release his hand, but he doesn’t let you, leaning next to you on the wall as everyone catches their breath.

You look up, and Gi-hun is staring at your interlinked hands.

Perhaps he is some sort of fool. Gi-hun has almost lost you twice in this game, and yet it’s your hand in Young-il’s that makes it feel like the floor is dropping out from beneath him. Ever since Sang-woo called him an idiot, then promptly sacrificed himself so he could make it out of the games, he’d resolved to be smarter, more tactical. He knows, now, that he was just playing pretend, that he’d gone through the motions of playing chess and assumed his opponent would follow the rules.

Not that Young-il was ever his opponent. He was good for a debate, for testing his morals and making him think about his own beliefs from new angles, but he always came out more resolute at the end - and more fond, oddly, of the shorter man. But now, it feels like he’s been focusing so much on capturing all his pawns that he failed to notice he was three moves away from a checkmate. He failed to realize just how quickly you had grown on him, how much he was reminded of who he is - who he used to be, who he’s tried to forget in his pursuit of the Frontman. At the end of the day, Gi-hun is just a man. So is the Frontman. So is Young-il.

But Young-il has formed a bond with you that Gi-hun would never have allowed himself, and he feels the loss like another number on the scoreboard, another fallen player he couldn’t save. Perhaps, this time, the player is himself. Where Young-il challenged him, you sat with him, scolded him, comforted him, believed in him. And he’s a fool, now, for not realizing just how much your warmth had affected him, and how cold he feels now. And if you died here, he would be just as lost as when Sae-byeok’s throat was slit, as he was when Ga-yeoung moved away, as he was when Sang-woo told him to take care of his mother before leaving him too. Love, something broken and shriveled inside him screams. But god, does it hurt. And here he is, losing something he never considered having, because of his damn convictions, because of the lost souls that tear and claw and threaten to drag him under.

And all he can do is stare at your damned hands.

Perhaps In-ho should pat himself on the back, for recognizing how important you are to Gi-hun before Gi-hun ever could. Another loss in their little game, a battleship that In-ho claims. He can see it all in Gi-hun’s eyes - like you’re dying in front of him, but without all the guts and blood and gurgling. And, in the quiet part of In-ho’s own mind, he wins this battle without ever having to lose you himself. A lost chance at love - will that be another stone on the scales, tipping Gi-hun into making the same choices most men would? How many more losses would it take, for Gi-hun to lose that damn stubbornness?

But he knows that his own pursuit of you has nothing to do with Gi-hun. He may try and fool himself into thinking as much, but he is no fool. Your warmth, your solidity, he wanted it for himself, not to dangle over Gi-hun’s head like a trophy he can never win. Although, it would be a wasted opportunity, now that he has it, wouldn’t it?

He presses closer to you, leaning down to lean his forehead against your temple, and you sigh faintly, relaxing just enough for In-ho - and Gi-hun, with his eyes locked on you - to notice. For everything that Gi-hun stands for, this is another thing he has deprived himself of.

Your eyes slip closed, trying not to think about any of it. Young-il is a comfort at your side, even though some small part of you is crying out to not trust him. But even if…. Even though you have feelings for Gi-hun, he could never reciprocate. Not when he’s lost so much, not when he’s here to fight a different fight altogether. You don’t know what you’re fighting for, anymore. First, it was your father. Then, yourself. Now, are you fooling yourself, fighting for the people you’ve met here? It’s the only noble cause you can find, when these games are endless, stretching out before you for eternity, consuming your past. To leave at this point seems impossible. You want to claw at the walls, scream, tear everything down. You wish you’d met Young-il or Gi-hun anywhere else. But Gi-hun may never have let you in, and Young-il only looked twice at you because you challenged him.

You’re so very tired.

When the doors unlock, you manage to slip from Young-il’s grip, walking out of the room with your arms wrapped around yourself, your heart aching for pasts you can never change, and for the futures being thrown away before your eyes.

When you reach the platform again, Hyun-ju is standing there, hollow. Your eyes flick through your other teammates - friends. The people you care about. And where Young-mi should be standing, instead is Jun-hee’s ex-boyfriend, player 333.

“Wait, where’s…” you say, but you know the answer. Jun-hee meets your eyes, shaking her head slightly.

Young-mi is dead, the girl with the crying eyes, who was never made for a place like this. You don’t ask for any details, just step up to Hyun-ju and wrap your arms around her. She lets you, for a long moment, then shrugs you off.

You never even got to know Young-mi. You had tuned out of most of the conversations she was a participant of - not because you disliked her, just lost in your own head. But clearly, a bond had been formed between the two women, and your heart aches for Hyun-ju. Your eyes flick up to the board. 126 left, 15 gone. And Young-mi is one of those 15, her life boiled down to a number on a screen that’s no longer there.

You don’t reach for Young-il, or anyone. You stand on the platform as everyone climbs back on, and you wonder if part of Hyun-ju will forever be trapped in this room.

You only zone back in when you hear the men theorizing what number will be called next, faintly recognizing that the platform is moving again, the music playing. It’s all so far away.

“What number do you think we're gonna get next?”

“Two,” you say, at the same time as Young-il. But you don’t look at him - you look at Gi-hun, a knowing glance. You’d said it last night - the gamemakers have a specific number in mind to end the third game. That’s the point of this endless turning, counting down, giving people hope to survive longer - only to reveal that they knew how many people were going to make it out of this one the entire time.

“Wait, why?”

“We're at 126 people, and there are 50 rooms. Even if there's two in every room, then there's still only enough for 100 of us. If you don't find one fast, you're done for,” Young-il explains. You feel his eyes land on you, and this time, you’re the one to reach out, take his hand in yours.

“Two players.”

Gi-hun is grabbed by Dae-ho, which is the last thing you see before Young-il is running with you. Your heart is heavy - you can only save yourself this round, you and Young-il. There’s a limited number of rooms, and no time to hesitate. 

But, your feet slip out from under you.

In your mind, you picture a large pool of blood, a slip - but the ground is dry as you hit it, your ears ringing, and faintly, all you see is Young-il throwing his arm forward, his hand curled into a fist - and you feel an ache at the front of your ankle. Almost like someone tripped you.

You are dragged to your feet, your head spinning, your arm thrown around someone’s shoulders - Young-il, your nose tells you, even if you can’t quite see straight. You’re shoved forward through a door, and you catch a glimpse of him pushing someone away, but you’re not entirely certain if that’s real or not. You slide into the room, and he slips in after you, shutting the door. All you can do is lean against it with all your weight, a thudding sound coming from outside as the door tries to thump open. You open your mouth - to say what, you have no idea, but your eyes land on your partner as he wrestles a man to the ground.

Right. Two players. Someone else had already been in the room. And all you can do is watch as Young-il chokes him, a female voice counting down. Young-il’s eyes locked on yours, like a reminder of why he’s doing this, why he’s going this far.

A snap. The man slumps to the ground. The door locks. Your knees give out, and you slide down, unable to look away from Young-il. Somewhere, you recognize that there’s tears in your eyes, but for what, you don’t know. The loss of 155 lives over the course of this game? The way Gi-hun had stared at your hand holding Young-il’s? Young-il, launching himself over the line, just to keep the two of you alive? Or perhaps you’re crying in relief, for yourself, for everything you’ve just gone through. It’s lost to you.

Young-il crawls to you, slowly, and tears slip down your cheeks. There’s blood on your hands. Did you try to catch yourself when you fell before, and instead only found the sticky evidence of someone else’s end?

“Young-il–” you choke out, and he slides his hands over your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

His expression betrays nothing, just a tilt of his head, and it feels like his hands are the only thing keeping your head up. “Sorry?”

“I-I’m not worth that, the-the death on your hands,” you say, voice warbling, and he wets his lip, thinking, looking over you. Inspecting you like a broken toy.

“You are worth all of it,” he murmurs, and pulls you into a searing kiss.

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

Derek clapped Spencer on the back, nearly knocking him forward with the force of it. "Man, you’re full of surprises! Didn’t think you had it in you to leave a trail. Reid, you’re probably the most wholesome guy I know."

Emily, never one to pass up on a good-natured ribbing, smirked. “Yeah, I bet your idea of a wild night is reading a book until midnight.”

The table erupted in laughter, and Spencer, always a good sport, chuckled along. But you could see a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made your heart twist a little. You reached under the table, squeezing his hand gently, offering silent reassurance. He glanced at you, and the warmth of your touch seemed to ease some of the discomfort, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.

“You know, Reid’s probably the kind of guy who apologizes during sex,” Morgan added, his tone playful but with a teasing edge. “Always so polite, probably says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ the whole time.”

Your cheeks flushed, and though you managed to keep your expression neutral, you felt a surge of protectiveness for Spencer. The image they were painting of him was so far from the truth that it almost made you want to correct them right then and there, tell them the truth of his tendencies. But you stayed quiet, your bedroom life with Spencer was private, something just for the two of you, and you had no desire to share those intimate details with anyone else—not even his closest friends.

Spencer laughed it off, making a self-deprecating joke to deflect the attention, but you could tell the teasing had gotten to him. He stayed quiet for the rest of the night, offering only the occasional smile or nod as the conversation continued around him.

When you finally got home, the silence between you was thick with unspoken tension. Spencer had been quiet the whole ride back, and as soon as you closed the front door behind you, you knew it was time to address it.

“Spencer,” you began softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “Are you okay? You’ve been really quiet since we left."

He turned to you, his expression conflicted, a mix of frustration and hurt. “It’s just… is that how they see me? As this meek, vanilla guy who can’t… who can’t be anything else?”

Your heart ached for him. “They don’t know you like I do, Spencer. They were just teasing. They don’t realize how far off they are.”

Spencer shook his head, pulling away slightly. “But you didn’t say anything. You just sat there and let them think… let them think I’m some kind of pushover.”

You sighed, understanding now where this was coming from. “Spencer, I didn’t say anything because I don’t think it’s anyone else’s business what happens between us. We agreed not to share that part of our relationship with them.”

“I know that,” he replied, his voice strained. “But it felt like you were agreeing with them by staying silent. Like you were okay with them seeing me that way.”

You stepped closer to him, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. “Spencer, listen to me. I don’t care what they think. I know who you are. I know how you make me feel, how you take care of me, how passionate and intense you can be. None of that needs to be proven to anyone else.” You caressed his cheekbones with your thumbs. “Besides, do you think you really want them to know how you have me bent over the back of the couch more often than not? How you have me counting out my punishments?”

His eyes softened, but there was still a lingering doubt. “But it just… it made me feel like they think I’m less of a man or something. Like I’m not enough.”

You shook your head firmly. “You are more than enough, Spencer. You’re everything I could ever want. What we have is special, and I don’t need to justify it to anyone else. They can think whatever they want, but at the end of the day, they don’t know the real you. I do.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and you could see the tension slowly start to leave his body. He let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. It just… got under my skin.”

You hugged him tightly, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “I understand, Spencer. But remember, you’re incredible just the way you are. And I love you for it. All of it.”

Spencer nodded, the last of his frustration melting away as he held you. “Thank you. I love you too. And I’m sorry for doubting that.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him gently. “You don’t ever have to apologize for how you feel. But just know, I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything.”

With that, the tension between you finally broke, and the two of you spent the rest of the night curled up together, letting the world outside fade away as you focused on each other, knowing that what you shared was something far deeper and more meaningful than anyone else could ever understand.

+++

Spencer had never really been the jealous type, but he was angry. Since the night of teasing at the bar, he'd been on edge.

It gnawed at him in a way he hadn't expected, chipping away at his usual calm demeanor. Since that night, there had been a subtle shift in his behavior—small things that you noticed but didn’t immediately address, hoping it would pass. But now, standing in the bar waiting for your drink, it was clear that something had snapped.

You had been leaning against the counter, waiting patiently for your order, when a stranger approached. He was confident, with a cocky smile, and placed his hand lightly on the small of your back. “Hey there,” he said smoothly, “let me get that for you.” He motioned to the bartender, offering to pay for your drink.

Before you could politely decline, you felt a familiar presence behind you. Spencer’s hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, and before you could even process what was happening, he was pulling you away from the bar. His grip was gentle but insistent, his usual reserved demeanor replaced by something far more intense.

The stranger barely had time to react as Spencer led you out of the bar and into a dimly lit alley beside the building. The air was cooler outside, and the sudden change in environment only heightened the tension. Spencer didn’t say a word as he pressed you against the brick wall, his lips crashing onto yours with a force that took your breath away. There was no hesitation in his movements—his hands were everywhere, roaming over your body, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any distance between you.

His kisses were fierce, demanding, and you responded in kind, matching his intensity with your own. It was as if all the unspoken emotions from the past few days had finally found an outlet, and Spencer was pouring everything into this moment. His usual restraint was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate need to claim you, to reassure himself of your connection.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, needing to feel him, to ground yourself in the whirlwind of his sudden possessiveness. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pressed you harder against the wall, his body anchoring you in place.

“Spencer,” you whispered between kisses, your voice breathless. “Take me home."

His breath hitched at your words, a spark of something dangerous flaring in his eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled back slightly, his hand still firmly on your hip as he nodded, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. "Let's go."

The walk back to your car was charged with anticipation, the quiet intensity between you almost palpable. Spencer’s hand remained on the small of your back, guiding you with a sense of urgency that sent shivers down your spine. The drive home was a blur, the silence between you thick with the weight of what was about to happen. Every glance he shot your way was laced with desire, his fingers drumming impatiently on the steering wheel as if he could barely contain himself.

As soon as you stepped through the door of your apartment, Spencer was on you, his lips crashing against yours with a fervor that stole your breath. He kicked the door shut behind you, his hands roaming your body, mapping out every inch of you as if he couldn’t get enough. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the raw need that had been building inside him finally finding release.

You barely made it to the bedroom, clothes discarded in a trail behind you, the air around you electric with anticipation. By the time you reached the bed, Spencer was a man possessed, his usual gentle touch replaced by something much more primal. He pushed you onto the bed, his body covering yours in an instant, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, his need for you almost overwhelming.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, your waist, your arms—as he kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made you moan into his mouth. He was relentless, his touch both commanding and desperate, as if he needed to prove to himself, and to you, that you were his.

“God please touch me, Spence. You’re the only person who could ever make me cum. I need your mouth on me baby, please.” He looks up at you through his lashes while he bites into your thigh, sucking so hard you know there’ll be a purple bruise tomorrow.  

Before you’ve prepared, he latches his mouth onto your pussy, laying his tongue flat against you and shaking his head back and forth. You scream out, taking a fistful of his curly hair into your hand and holding on for dear life as he licks and sucks feverishly. His saliva mixed with your arousal makes an absolute mess, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. He pulls back for a moment and puts two fingers up to your mouth. “Open.” He orders and you oblige, opening and wrapping your tongue around his digits, moaning as you do. He watches you intensely and bites his lip as he imagines how you’d work him if you were sucking him off.

Once his fingers are wet, he pulls them out of your mouth and down to your core, circling a few times on your clit before pushing them into you completely. You let out a string of curse words as he curls them inside you, hitting your G-spot over and over again. Just when you thought it couldn’t feel any more intense, he reattaches his mouth to your hood, using his tongue to trace figure-eights. Your toes begin to curl as you feel the familiar knot in the pit of your stomach.

You shakily cry out his name, tugging his hair harder. The vibration from his moan brings you closer, a cry spilling from your lips. He doesn't stop, continuing his attack on your clit, his fingers picking up speed.

You wriggle and writhe beneath him, holding back cries. A second orgasm washes over you, voice taken as he finally sits back, hands running over your thighs soothingly.

"You know what I was thinking about the entire night?" He asked, undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Tell me," you said through pants. "What were you thinking of?"

"How good your ass looked today."

You chuckled. "Really?"

Spencer's lips curled into a smirk as he nodded, his eyes darkening with that familiar hunger. "Really," he confirmed, his voice low and husky as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the toned chest beneath. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time you walked by, every time you leaned over, it drove me crazy."

You felt a flush of heat spread through your body at his words, a mixture of surprise and excitement. "And what did you want to do about it?" you asked, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He shrugged off his shirt, tossing it aside before leaning back over you, his hands once again finding their place on your hips, gripping them possessively. "How badly I want to make them sting." His lips run over your collarbone, voice dropping. "I know you like it."

You whimper, nodding. "Then do it."

As you turn over, your breath catches in anticipation, your skin tingling with the promise of what’s to come. Spencer’s hands trail down your back, gentle at first, as if savoring the moment, before they grip your hips with that familiar possessiveness.

His voice is low, almost a growl, as he leans in close, his breath hot against your ear. "You know I’m going to make you beg for it, don’t you?"

You shiver at his words, your body reacting instinctively to the mix of dominance and tenderness in his tone. "Please, Spencer," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want it… I need it."

He lets out a low, satisfied hum, his hands sliding down to your ass, kneading the flesh before his fingers curl, and with a swift, calculated motion, he brings his hand down in a firm slap. The sharp sting spreads through you, igniting your nerves and drawing a gasp from your lips.

"How does that feel?" he asks, his voice dripping with control.

"Perfect," you manage to gasp out, the sting from his hand already sending ripples of pleasure through you.

His hand comes down again, harder this time, and you arch your back in response, biting your lip to hold back a cry. Each slap is deliberate, perfectly timed, and as the sensation builds, so does your desire. The pain is just enough to make you ache for more, to make you want to give in to everything he’s offering. Spencer’s hand continues its work, each strike sending a wave of heat and electricity through your body. Your breaths come out in ragged pants, and you can feel your entire being focused on the sensations he’s creating, on the way he’s drawing out your pleasure.

"Do you like it when I make you feel like this?" he asks, his voice husky and rough as his hand moves rhythmically against you.

"Yes," you breathe out, your voice almost desperate. "I love it… I love how you make me feel, Spencer."

"Good," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck before his hand delivers another firm slap, making your skin burn in the best possible way. "Because I love making you feel this way."

The stinging pleasure only heightens your need for him, and as his hand continues to bring you to the edge of what you can take, you know you’re utterly and completely his. The mix of pain and pleasure is intoxicating, and you’re lost in the sensation, in the way he’s controlling your body with such expert precision. When he finally stops, his hand soothing over your stinging skin, you can’t help but whimper at the loss, your body still thrumming with need. Spencer leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he murmurs against your skin, "You’re so beautiful like this. Do you want more?"

"Please," you gasp, barely able to form the words through the haze of desire that’s clouding your mind. "Please, Spencer… I need more."

His voice is a dark promise as he whispers in your ear, "Then let’s see just how much you can take."

Spencer's hands glide up your sides, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, “Stay still for me.”

You nod, your breath catching as you feel him shift behind you. His fingers trace the curve of your back before gripping your hips again, positioning you just how he wants. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, your body thrumming with a mix of pleasure and need as you wait for his next move.

He takes his time, savoring the way you’re laid out before him. His hands run over your reddened skin, soothing the sting he’d so carefully crafted moments before. “You’re so perfect like this,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “Do you have any idea how much I want you right now?”

You can only whimper in response, your voice lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. You feel his fingers slide between your thighs, teasing you just enough to make you arch into his touch, desperate for more.

“Tell me what you need,” he commands, his voice deep and authoritative.

“You,” you gasp, barely able to form the words. “I need you, Spencer. Please.”

He chuckles softly, clearly satisfied with your response. “Good girl,” he praises, his fingers dipping inside you briefly, just enough to make you moan in frustration when he pulls back. “But I want to hear you beg for it.”

“Please,” you whimper, your body trembling with need. “Please, Spencer, I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”

Spencer’s breath hitches at your words, his resolve almost breaking. He leans over you, pressing his lips to the back of your neck as he aligns himself with you. “You’re going to feel every inch of me,” he promises, his voice low and rough. “And I’m not going to stop until you’re completely spent.”

You turn over again, letting your thighs fall open, giving him a full view of your soaked cunt. "Please, Spencer."

With that, he pushes into you slowly, savoring the way you gasp and arch beneath him. The sensation of him filling you is overwhelming, the mix of pleasure and the remnants of the stinging pain creating an intoxicating blend that has you crying out in pure bliss.

Spencer sets a rhythm that’s both torturous and perfect, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips with enough force to leave marks, pulling you back to meet him with every movement. The sounds of skin against skin fill the room, the only other noise your combined moans and gasps of pleasure.

“Do you like this?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Do you like how I’m making you feel?”

“Yes,” you cry out, your voice breaking with the intensity of it all. “I love it, Spencer, I love you.”

He growls in response, his pace quickening as he drives you closer to the brink. The tension in your body coils tighter and tighter until you feel like you’re about to snap, and then, with one final, deep thrust, you’re thrown over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pleasure so intense that you can’t help but scream his name.

“Who’s fucking you this good?” Spencer grunted, his hips slamming relentlessly against yours.

You replied with a noise just short of a scream, clinging to his biceps. He has you pretzeled underneath him, one leg slung around his hip, the other over his shoulder. The raw spots of your ass brush against his thighs with each thrust, each one a rush of excitement

He brought a hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him through hooded eyes. “What’s my name, darling?” He asked, huffing as he kept his pace up.

“Spencer!” You whined, clawing at his shoulders. Your voice gave out soon after, little squeaks escaping as you chase your high.

He pulled away, panting. “Over. All fours.”

You obliged, turning and arching your back as he propped your hips up. He slid a pillow beneath you, gripping the corners to hold your hips up. You gripped the sheets, wailing as he pushed into you again. He pumps a few times before pulling your wrists to the small of your back, pulling you so you’re back to front with him.

“Spence,” you whined, eyes screwed shut.

He laughs, actually laughs. “What are you crying for, princess?” He says, his lips grazing against your ear. “I’m giving you what you want.”

Your head falls back and you sigh as his kisses begin to get heavier, teeth involved now. You hear his wet kissing noises grow until you feel his teeth sink into your skin. You yelp, hands begging to be freed but his grip tightens.

“Don’t make me get the tie,” he threatened lowly. “I don’t want to leave your pretty little cunt empty.”

You whimpered at his words. “Don't,” you begged quietly, feeling tears roll and drop onto your chest. “I can’t-“

Spencer stopped, bottomed out. “Or maybe I should.” He began to slide out of you, leaving just the tip inside. “Good girls deserve to get fucked, but you haven’t been a good girl, have you?”

“No, Spence. I haven’t.” The gravel in your tone makes your voice unfamiliar. “But please, I’ll do whatever you want me to- anything. Just please let me cum again.” You craned your neck to look him in the eyes. “Please.”

His eyes softened. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered back.

He watches your face scrunch up then relax in pleasure as you gasp when he fully enters inside you. His palms go to the part of your thighs below your knees. He forces them to open wider, rocking gently at first.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said softly.

You nod and take a deep breath. Another orgasm begins, your body going rigid as your breath catches in your throat. This time he lets you finish, letting your hands go. You catch yourself on the mattress, whining as you fuck yourself back onto him. He’s stopped moving, letting you use him as his hands roam over your back as he coats the inside of your walls with his own arousal. When you’re finished, you fall forward, his cock slipping out of you in the process.

You lay like that for a few seconds, ass in the air, catching your breath. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you beg him not to touch you for a moment. Your hand is in the air, palm flat. He respects your space, showering you in compliments and thank you's. You stop him when an apology leaves his lips.

“Don’t be,” you said, eyes still closed but your voice is firm.

You can hear him smile. “Can I touch you again?”

You nodded.

Without wasting another moment, Spencer propped you up by your hips again, spreading you with both hands. Spencer sighed at the sight of your cunt, his cum slowly dripping out of you. You flinched as he ran his thumb through your folds, swiping your clit in an up and down motion. You moaned at the feeling. The coil in your abdomen tightened and released in record time, your hands twisting in the sheets as you wailed out his name again.

You flipped over, legs on either side of him. He pulled you up against him, your ass again this chest.

He let go of your clit with a pop sound just to go back and suck it even harder. Your back arching as your mouth and throat were dry from all the moaning and crying, your grip on his hair becoming tighter. You let out one loud moan, your legs shaking and squeezing Spencer’s head between them. You feel a warm gush as he pulls away, marveling at the mess he’s made. His eyes are sparkling, jaw slack as he studied how your body reacted. He licked a swipe up your folds, catching everything he could on his tongue. He leans over you, opening your mouth. You let him, nodding as you placed your hand on the back of his neck. 

He spits the mixture of his and your cum into your mouth. You swallow it down, opening your mouth to prove that it’s gone. You collapse into the bed, sticky and fucked out. Spencer stands up, picking up his boxers from the floor before going to the bathroom. He returns a few minutes later with a warmed washcloth. He drapes it over your warm cunt before using it to wipe away any of tonight’s mess. A water bottle is pressed into your hand and you let it roll out of your palm. 

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, one hand cradling your head. 

You nod, finally opening your eyes. His hair is tousled, sticking to his forehead in some places. “I’m alright, Spencie.” 

He grinned. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

+++

The next morning, the BAU office was alive with the usual hustle, but the moment you walked in, the energy shifted. Your steps were slower than usual, each movement causing a slight grimace. As you made your way to your desk, every head turned, curiosity etched on the faces of your colleagues. You could feel the weight of their stares, but you were determined to play it cool. Sliding into your chair with a quiet hiss, you placed your jacket beneath you for some added cushion. It didn’t help much, but it was better than nothing.

Morgan, always the first to break the silence, leaned back in his chair with a wide grin. “Damn, girl, what happened to you? Looks like you went ten rounds in the ring.”

Emily shot you a teasing glance, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Or, more likely, someone had a very intense evening.”

You gave them both a tired but amused look, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Let’s just say I had an… interesting night. And I’m definitely feeling it this morning.”

Before anyone could press further, Spencer strolled into the bullpen, a noticeable spring in his step. He approached your desk with a smugness that only you could truly decipher, carrying a cup of coffee like it was a trophy. With a self-satisfied grin, he placed the cup in front of you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Good morning, love,” he said, his voice laced with a warmth that made you both roll your eyes and smile.

“Morning,” you replied, reaching for the coffee, grateful for the momentary distraction.

But as Spencer straightened up, you noticed something that made your stomach flip—he had a shit-eating grin on his face. That was when it hit you: he was enjoying this. He knew exactly what the team was thinking, and he was reveling in it.

You watched him saunter over to his desk, pretending to be oblivious to the shocked whispers and side glances being exchanged across the room. But you knew better. That grin, the slight swagger in his walk—Spencer Reid was basking in the glory of his teammates’ surprise.

Morgan’s jaw dropped, and he pointed a finger at Spencer, then back at you. “Did you guys see that? I mean, I thought Reid was a little more- damn!”

Emily smirked, shaking her head in disbelief. “I did not see that coming. Who knew Spencer had it in him?”

JJ chuckled, giving you a look that was part admiration, part amusement. “Looks like there’s a lot we don’t know about Spencer.” She nodded, mouthing, we’ll talk about this later.

Rossi chimed in, a bemused expression on his face. “Well, you know what they say, it’s always the quiet ones.”

You glanced over at Spencer, who was now seated at his desk, diligently pretending to be engrossed in his paperwork. The grin on his face, however, betrayed his true feelings—he was thoroughly enjoying the attention, playing the part of the humble genius who just happened to surprise everyone.