Imagine Helping Crocodile Discover A New Way To Use His Devil Fruit

YESSSSS! HE JOINED THEM!!!!

You're one of us now, Michael

"Just a one time thing... Right?"

Yan!Eltingville Club x Fem!User

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con (reader isn't aware of the sexual attraction to them), masturbation, lewd art, mentions of fatphobia, groping, stealing, sexism, questionable group hierarchy, misogyny, Pete Dinunzio.

AN: I promised Eltingville and I will deliver, even if i usually only do OC stuff. I'm so hot for these dork bitches, especially Pete Dinunzio. He owns. My. Ass. (PS, Eltingville girls please let me into your club, leave some comments because I'm working on characterization and the fics in this community are so good!)🙏

It's yet another argument, the sounds of heated yells and complaints ringing through the wood panneled walls and up the sbasement stairs of the Dickey household, as another meeting of the Eltingville club kicks off. "Don't even think about it." Bill Dickey, infamous narcissistic leader of the Eltingville club for comics, games, and all things nerdy, has started the meeting already pissed off. "Fuck no, we aren't letting some c-chick into our club! A femoid! Are you serious? Just drop it, Pete." He spits, face red and glasses slipping. He adjusts them as the others glance at Pete.

Across Bill's mom's basement, horror expert Pete Dinunzio, clad in his backwards cap and questionably stained 'House of Wax' shirt, rest on a beanbag. Huffing, the black haired man rolls over, glaring. "Come ooooooon, it's not like she's gonna fuck anything up. Just- I don't know, she's showing interest. Check it," he stands up, shoes hitting the dhag carpeting and clapping his hands together like he's gonna give the best social studies presentation of his freakin' life.

"She's showing interest, you see any other girls lining up to join, shit, to even talk to us. Especially not girls with a big fucking rack-" He cackles, raising his hand for a high-five with a quiet Jerry stokes, who is simultaneously red and sheet white, sweating out of nerves.

"Gross man, get a mop!" Pete snickers, pulling his hand away quickly.

"Jerry-" The blonde immediately squeaks at the mention of his name, shifting on the creaky old tweed couch. He had been absorbed in his journal, trying to stay out of the fight. He knew who you were, shit, who in town didn't? You moved down the road a few weeks ago, and seemed genuinely nice. You immediately made friends at the school, kind and outgoing, but not discriminating. You didn't stick to one clique or group, and it didn't help you were smokin' hot. You have math together, and he's falling behind. He can't seem to think around you, his math notes full of doodles of you, slowly turning far to lewd to turn in.

It's then he clears his throat to answer Bill's call out, only noticing that his journal he's been distracting himself is also full of doodles of you. He'd been so zoned out he'd drawn you with elf ears, laid out wearing a fantastical silk robe, but no loincloth-

"Jerry!" Another screech from Bill. "Pay attention, you numbskull! You finally chew your tongue off being a pussy, answer me."

"Sorry, sorry, w-what was the question?" His voice cracks, making Pete and Josh chuckle at the scrawny boy. Bill rolls his eyes, adjusting his glasses as he slams his hand down on the table

"Obviously, you agree we don't need some skank in the club, we don't even know what she's after."

"She's not that bad, actually-" he mumbles, making Bill growls and Pete nod in agreement, snapping and pointing to Jerry. "Exactly, and again, that fuckin' rack-"

"NO GIRLS!" Slamming his fists onto the table, the cheap wood rattles, as does the nearby shelves, causing a picture frame and a few figures to clatter to the ground.

"Geordi!" Josh cries as he goes to nurse the action figure back to 'mint condition' who had lost its visors when it took the plunge onto the rough carpet below. "Bill, this was new-in-box with I got it, what the fuck!"

"Exactly! The femoid isn't here and she's already causing issues. Case closed." The acne-ridden president grins and intertwines his fingers on the table in satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear you agree, and are putting the good name of the Eltingville club over the wants of your shrimp dick, unlike some people-" He glares at Pete, who just flips him off and goes back to reading a 'Gore Four' comic.

"Onto actually important business-"

It isn't until a few days later that you run into Bill, he's looking through the window of the blockbuster in concentration way to deep for any normal person.

"Hey, Bill, right?" You chirp, causing him to jolt, his billfold falling from his yellow overcoat. "Sorry, didn't mean to spook you!" You reach for the leather, only to feel a harsh sting on your hand as he swats you away picks it up, grumbling to himself as he pockets it.

"Right. I guess we do." He looks you over. "Did you need something, or are you just here to bother me?" He sneers.

"Oh, uh, no, just going to rent a movie, wanted to see what you were looking at?"

"Ugh. Nothing you'd be interested in." He turns back, looking at two posters for films avaliable to rent. "If it'll make you fuck off, I'm deciding whether to spend my allowance money on 'Return of the King' or 'Alien'." He explains, waving his wallet in front of you before pocketing it. "Only the best for the club, Pete's been on my ass about Alien, but Jerry cries like a little bitch boy when we watch horror sci-fi."

"Sounds like a tough choice. Uh, I like return of the king though!" She says.

He looks you over, pausing before shaking his head. "Yeah, heh, right. Sure, you've seen any 'Lord of the Rings' film. Listen, you don't have to pretend you know what I'm talking about to continue whatever this is, I'm not buying it." Before you can respond, the sound of a ringtone catches your ear, and Bill reluctantly answers it.

"Hurry up, man, how long does it take to pick out a tape? Josh's lard ass is gonna starve before you get back here and we can eat-" Pete's Italian accent crackles through the speakers, followed by the sound of an open palm smacking the back of his head. "Fuck off, man, I'm messin' around-"

"Knock it off, don't get kicked outta my basement before I get there. I'm on my way." He clicks it shut. He spares you a glance as he walks into the store, anger and tension only fuels when he gets a glimpse of your cleavage. He just clears his throat and turns away.

He settles on 'Alien', because screw Jerry, he wants to end the night off with Sigourney Weaver's jugs still fresh in mind for jerk material. Smacking the tape down, he glares at the usual attendant, who just sighs and gives him a dead eyed stare. "5.72, be kind and rewind-"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't give the spiel, you corporate cronie." Bill hisses, before opening up his wallet and paling. There's nothing but a Star Trek fan club card inside, his money missing. He remembers the fight he'd gotten into with his mom a few nights ago over her throwing out his 'busty babes of Babylon' mag, and gulps. She'd taken back his allowance. "Uh- hold on, hang on-" he's frantic now. "Its gotta be in here somewhere-" the sound of coins and crinkling paper hitting the counter makes him look over.

"I got it!" You say with a smile, about six dollars in bills and loose change. "I mean, you seemed like you put a whole lot of thought into that-"

He's too stunlocked to even speak, both emasculated and embarrassed at his financial situation. The attendant looks you over, then back at Bill. "Are... are you sure?" He asks, snapping Bill out of it.

"Of course she's sure, check out the fucking tape." Bill practically shoves the money towards you. "Corporate cock-sucker can't even do his job." He shakes his head. "What are you getting at, huh? Trying to make me look like some broke scrub or something?!"

"N-no!" You exclaim. "I just wanted to help you out-"

"Yeah right." He snorts and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "Listen up, I don't know what you're trying to do but it ends here. I don't do 'debt', so name your price. Settle it."

"Well..." You scuffing your shoe again the blue and yellow blockbuster tile, shrugging. "Maybe since I bought it, I could watch with you guys? Joining a club could be fun, and I've read a few comics and stuff. Plus, I like movies."

Bill goes pale, palms sweaty and eyes wide. "Shit..." he huffs. "No girls, no females in the club, that's our most consistent rule. I don't need you, i don't know, sissying up the place. Something else."

"Cmon, please, no, I won't be weird, just this once!"

"F-fine. But you're not a member!" He says, jabbing a finger against your chest before recoiling it like he was burned. That was about the closest he's ever gotten to a tit, his digital still tingling. It's humiliating. "Just be there, you know where I live." He rushes off, tape held suspiciously low by his crotch.

It's hell. Pure, frozen hell when you arrive. Josh is fidgeting with the deck of Magic he was sorting when you came in, not even making eye contact while he has a panicked, hushed conversation with Bill about how this even happened. He's both extremely suspicious and extremely giddy, whereas Pete is just giddy.

You were so enthralled in looking around the nerd cave, everything from 'Star-Trek Next Gen' posters to scantily clad 'Cat-Woman' figures line the walls and shelves. Good thing you were so focused on it all, it gave Jerry time to scurry over to the bean bag, unzipping it and shoving his journal into the Styrofoam beans in a state of pure panic.

"Hey, hot-stuff! Didn't expect to see you, lookin' fine tonight." Pete calls, hand to his mouth as if amplifying it. You've run into Pete a few times when you were dodging PE behind the bleachers, and he never fails to try and make a move. "Hey, couch is gonna be pretty full with Josh's fat ass, why don't you sit on my lap for the movie, huh? I'll protect you from the Alien, don't even worry bout' it." He winks.

"I'll find room, Pete, but thanks for the offer." You laugh. Plopping down, you set your bag aside and lean over the arm a bit. "Hey, Jerry." You say, before looking away after he refuses to respond, or even make eye contact. "Okay..."

"Why is she here? This has gotta be a prank?" Josh whispers, sweating as he rubs at his forehead. "Whyd you let her come, I-I thought the rule was no girls!"

"It was, i-it is! She's a normie femoid, but my bitch mom took my allowance, she covered so we could watch the movie tonight. Grin and bare it, yeah? I'm sure you can resist from popping a stiffy for at least two hours. And it's not you I'm worried about, it's these idiots." Bill nods over to the clubs resident fantasy nerd, whose taken to lying face, and crotch, down in the bean bag while Pete quizzes you on horror flicks.

It's uneventful, if not for the tension looming in the air between you and the guys. Throughout the evening, Bill tries his best to ignore you, or to shush Josh when he leans over to provide you an awkward fun fact about the films production. Jerry stays quiet, but appreciates how you seem to make him feel better about being scared by the film than dogging on him. "Huh? O-oh, yeah, no, I'm not great with movies like these, but uh-" He'd stammer. "I'm not like a pussy or anything, I've just had an offer day, I'm high stress."

Pete is relishing in it, constantly commenting on the 'alien-fighting hotties' in the film, before making sure you know he doesn't like them as much as you. "Nothing against these babes, you know, but they don't have an ass like yours-"

At the end of the night; when everyone has cleared out, you stop in the door frame, turning to smile. "Thanks a lot for letting me stay and watch, Bill." You say softly. "This was fun."

He's silent, hand gripping the door frame hard enough it might splinter. He'd done you the decency of walking you to the door, to your suprise. "Yeah. We'll, don't expect too much. You're still a normie. Get off my porch, I don't want people thinking we hang out." You just sighs and wave goodnight with a slight grin.

He's angry, he hasn't felt things like this in a long, long time. He shouldn't like you, you're nothing special, you're hot, but just some brainless poser girl from school, probably friends with jocks and cheer-whores. Still, why did his heart leap when you brushed his hand getting popcorn? Why did he want you sitting next to him and not that 'loudmouth perv whose ruining the tension of the scene'.

He finds himself laying on his bed, the squeaky, worn out mattress creaking. He'd lock up the basement and then his door, he's rock hard and is sure it's Ellen Ripley's sheer tank that was doing it for him. He pops the tape in again and puts it on mute to a shot of her running, popping the button on his jeans and sighing as he settles into bed. However, running his hand from base to tip once, then twice, he finds she's not doing it for him. 'Fine,' he thinks. 'Maybe I'm in the mood for blondes'. He grabs the nearest Tasha Yar picture he has, but that's not working either.

Working his fingers around his tip, letting the precum act as a proper lubricant, the image of you in her uniform almost makes him choke. He jolts so hard he almost rips his own dick off. 'Shit-' he thinks, first from shock, then from the implications of the though. "Shit, shit, shit!" He yells allowed, chucking the picture to the wall, erection twitching again at the thought the garnered such shame. It's not like this is anything more than a chubby from a semi-attractive girl! ...Right?

A similar scene is playing out in Josh's room, the meticuloius organizers room looks as though a hurricane has hit, digging through magazines, comics and VHS covers. He's sure he's gotta have an art piece that looks like you, maybe a 'Hottest women of sci-fi' tape, or some scantily clad magic card, shit, he'd settle for a grainy background character on one of his 'Star Trek: Original Series' tapes. Something, anything. "Cmon, cmon-" he's frantic. He's not as ashamed as Bill. Sure, he's ashamed to be jerking it to a girl he was feet away from less than an hour ago, but he isn't ashamed that the girl was you! He can admit you were hot, and pretty nice, even if he didn't fully trust you. I mean, it's not like you're joining the club! ...Right?

Jerry doesn't need to search for material. He's got enough paper with sketches of you to count as an act of deforestation. Its his reluctance to use them that's the issue. He goes home, a beacon of self control. He's only half-hard, and doing rhythmic, calming breaths. 'Gotta put your stuff away, then straight to bed Jerry, cmon.' He thinks to himself. 'No big deal, you got this.' He does get it all out away, his wallet, his new Magic cards he brought to show Josh, and his lucky dice, all accounted for. It's when he sees his journal, which he remembered to retrieve from the beanbag, sitting there. Calling to him like the one ring. Just a peek... He slams it shut and puts in onto his dresser, laying flat on his back and dullg clothed, to afraid to even undress for fear of brushing his cock by accident and blowing the whole facade of control he has. 'Just ignore it's siren song-' the image of you, perched on a rock with a tail and breasts out, calling to him. 'Shit, no sirens, not a siren-' He whimpers. He can't help it, you wouldn't ever find out, and it's just a one time thing! It's probably just a nervous boner anyways. Looking at half-nude art he made of you is just a one time thing. "Ah~ whoo, okay, gonna be quick, mmph, whatnwould you think of this?" He whines, rubbing against the mattress for a bit of hands-off reliefm somehow that made it less bad, right? He's not technically touching himself. Practicing gently kissing his pillow while he strokes it is just him, getting some sensory stimulation! It's normal. And it's not like he's gonna see you much after this! ...Right?

Pete isn't lacking for any material, and isn't held back by shame either. He made sure you were parked on the couch right by him allll night, and every time you got up to use the bathroom, his sticky, popcorn covered hand founds it's way into your purse. That's how he ended up with his yellowed pillow covered in some shitty PINK perfume and some sticky lip gloss smeared on his cheek like you'd kissed him there. He's absolutely wrecking the pillow, in his mind there is no seperation from the fleshlight he constructed out of fabric and stuffing and your smoking body. "You like that, baby?" He mutters lowly, bucking his hips into the pillow like a dog. "Shrimp dick my ass, you can feel that in there, huh? Yeah, I'll make sure hit all the right spots, shit. Get your fuckin' legs round my waist-" he groans.

Coincidentally, after the four have finished their separate sessions, they each receive a short, to the point call from Bill on their landlines, something about the 'financial benefit' of having more member in the club, even if he'd never, ever let a girl in under normal circumstances. But, there's a lot of good stuff coming out lately, and they need as much savings as they can get. He assures them all, "Its purely business, nimrods, I'm not exactly thrilled about it." All three are too worn out to even think about how odd it is to receive a call like that at 1 am...

my ass cant think of anything different

so why not poly141 x Reader squid game au

where either all 141 are VIP

or

Price is a frontman while the rest of the 141 could be his square soldiers?

Idk what reader could be tho, tell me ur thoughts!

silly shuggynanigans collection

ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀʏɢɪʀʟ

Summary: Paul might just have developed an obsession with the camera that you let him have.

Warnings: 18+ MDI

(just a quick little blurb. this is just filth honestly)

You hadn't thought much of it when you had lifted the camera - one of those instant ones that spits out a laminated card of film that you have to shake.

It had caught your attention, because, in a certain way, it seemed important. The man who you had stolen it from, slipping the dark strap from around his limp, bloodied neck and over his head, had come all the way out in the middle of the night to take pictures. Trekking up the high hills that crest high along the ocean just to be able to stand on the edge.

All so he'd be able to take picture after picture of the town glittering in the close distance; the shimmer of the amusement park rides glimmering on the reflection of the water. Not that you could blame him, the view from up there is stunning.

You took the camera fully with the intention of using it, but somewhere along the span of a few weeks, it had wound up forgotten on the old dresser beside your bed. Hidden away amongst all the other tchotchkes and random trinkets that you've stolen throughout the last couple of years.

You didn't think much of it when Paul had asked if he could have it one night, nosily browsing through your stuff like he usually does. Always sticking his fingers where they don't belong.

You had hardly bothered looking up at him from your hand, carefully focusing as you glided a brush, damp with cherry red polish over your nails.

You remember giving a light hum of affirmation, nodding your chin stiffly from where you had it pressed against your knee.

You had hardly heard the delighted, "Hell, yeah," that he had whispered. But even while you idlily flipped through a dated issue of Vogue in between the application of the polish, you could hear the way his voice had gone all somewhere between husky but also light. Pitched with something downright sleazy. You could practically hear all the perverted thoughts rolling around in his head as he plucked up the camera from the dresser.

In hindsight, you should have expected the monster that you had unintentionally created. He's always been a pervert and giving him access to this type of thing was bound to unless a completely new side.

He has a whole stash of photos now. They're all of you, naturally. Sweet candid's that catch you in all the ways he'd like to remember. Immortalizations of your smile; sincere moments that he can tuck inside the inner pocket of his coat and keep held to his chest.

One in particular is always kept there. Hidden and safe like a cherished icon tucked away from unworthy, prying eyes. It's somewhat blurred. Distorted from when the lens had caught you in motion. It smeared around the edges of your hair; the lights of the carousel behind you create a sort of halo effect.

But he likes the carefree expression on your face the most. Bright and free, eyes glittering from when he had caught you in the middle of a fit of laughter. Courtesy of some joke he said - one that he can't really remember now, vague and miles away.

As much as he loves that little candid in his pocket - how casual and content it is, with you clutching onto a half-eaten funnel cake and laughing - he'd be a liar if he didn't love all his other pictures just as much.

He's become a bit of a photographer in the past month, and his portfolio is already packed. Filled to the brim with images that all focus around you in all the best ways possible.

He'd probably be able to make an entire magazine at this point. One that would put Playgirl to shame. All with you on each and every page, centerfold and cover.

God, he'd actually pay money to see that.

The pictures he has are all crammed into rusted toolbox that he keeps hidden away in a narrow crevice split inside one of the cave walls. It's close enough to the floor that he's able to block it from sight with a wooden pallet.

Maybe it's sort of overkill, but the last thing he needs is for someone to go snooping and find something that they don't need to see.

Yeah, he'd either die on the spot or kill someone if that happened, but he's pretty sure that you'd be more than happy to do the killing. You'd probably just end up wringing his neck though, and he'd be more than willing to let you.

The collection that he's got going on is easily one of his most prized possessions, and he's not guilty to admit it. Even if it is a little shameful how many times he's found himself looking back over them.

Shuffling back through the stack of pictures as though they're a deck of cards. But he swears that he notices something new about them each time. They somehow manage to look better and better when that probably shouldn't be possible.

He's jacked off more times that he should admit to the one that he has of you bent over his bike but fuck it's hot.

Between the dark cover of the night and flash of the camera, the background is a void of black. It makes you look as though you've been encased in satin.

There's a glimpse of the bike's handlebars peeking into the shot, a peek of chrome reflecting bright in the image. And yeah, he's not really paying attention to all of that, but he can't pretend that the sight of you bent over his bike doesn't do something for him.

Your skirt is all rucked up in the image, the tight slip of dark fabric bunched over the shape of your hips to shamelessly brandish the flash of your panties. The noticeable wet spot between your thighs, dark against the white material gets him hard every time, and his hand always manages to slip inside of his pants whenever he comes across it in the pile.

Just a small glance at the photo is able to take him back to that night, immersing him in that specific moment, with the warm air brushing over his skin and the sound of your cries melodic and mindless in his ears. You sounded like a pornstar.

His hand is pathetic in comparison to how you had gripped him. It's too rough, too cool. Nowhere close to the way your cunt had clenched around his cock like it was trying to keep him locked inside, stretched and wet and tight on him.

It makes it difficult to narrow down a possible favorite from the pile. There's somehow too many and not enough, and each specific photo has something that he loves, no matter how simple the subject matter might be.

Like the picture he has of your tits. Your bra isn't even completely off in the photo, just slipped down around your ribs just enough to free your breasts. The red lace cupped beneath them, nearly brushing over your nipples. They're perky in the photo, hard from the chill of the cave, glittering softly from the spit he had left behind with his mouth.

He can't count how many times he's fucked his fist to that one. Tracing over the marks he had left behind, the blotches of cherry and plum he'd made with his teeth and tongue; sucked into your skin.

He's held that very picture in his left hand, satiating himself as best as he could while you went off with Star to have a night out on the town - 'girl's night.'

They happen every week and he looks forward to them with all the enthusiasm of someone who's scheduled to get teeth pulled. The pictures almost make it tolerable. Like chasing tequila with a swig of Coke.

But the image of you all splayed out on your bed is a close contender for the number one spot. It was one of those lucky nights where everyone else was out in town, giving the both of you the freedom to actually indulge in each other on an actual bed for the few hours you were afforded.

There's a dreamy quality that had been caught in your eyes while you watched the camera. That dazed, fucked out look that makes him feel just as ruined.

You were completely naked, flat on your back with the sheets and blankets all messy around you; rumpled in a way that seems like a current shifting over water. Your spine was a little arched, pushing your breasts out, making them more pronounced.

You were all kiss swollen lips and ruined hair. He can practically hear the soft little moans that you had been letting out, bouncing off of the stone and back over onto his skin.

But the best thing about it might be how your legs were held wide open, fingers between your thighs to spread yourself open for the camera. For him.

He remembers kneeling down at the foot of the bed and aiming the camera directly at you. It had taken everything to speak, mumbling out a husky, "Smile for the camera, baby." But just that had taken a effort to say, his throat tight, words snagging like he'd been punched in the chest.

Despite it being more of a joke, a mindless ramble really - because he can't think straight whenever he's got you like that - you did as he asked. Your lips had perked up in a smile, just as dazed as the clouded glint in your eyes. Looking all gentle and angelic while you showed him your pussy, so wet and soaked that it caught the fucking reflection of the fires burning around inside the cave.

It was filthy. Depraved. He's never seen anything more beautiful. It almost feels religious sometimes, as crude as it is, to touch himself to all the pictures he has - photos that you trusted him enough to take.

He doesn't think that he's ever going to be able to stop. He has twenty-one of them already (but who's counting), and it's lead him to become a regular at one of the shops downtown. Visiting as soon as the sun will allow. Just narrowly making it through the door just as it's light safely settles past the horizon around 8:30, always giving him about half an hour to punch it before the store can close.

The owner recognizes him by now. Some innocent looking old man, with a gentle, wrinkled smile who always offers him a Tootsie Roll from the tiny candy dish on the front counter while he rings up the total.

The old man - Ron? Robert? - would probably have a stroke if he knew just why Paul is constantly coming in to purchase film. But then again, there's a lot of things about Paul that would give him a stroke if he knew.

The fact that he's become a regular should be a little telling. Some might call it an obsession, but that's pretty much what a hobby is anyway, right?

He thinks that shitty little camera might be one of the best gifts he's ever received. It's nearly painful how stunning you are in each picture. How hot you always are.

So honestly, he can't pick a favorite at all. Because somehow, it's not the photo of you sucking his cock. Lips glossy with spit and precum, stretched wide in a mouthful with your nose nuzzled all the way down to his pelvis, the point of it pressed into the thatch of hair at the base. Not even with the wide-eyed way you gaze up at the camera, watching him like you were greedy; unshed tears threatening to spill.

He can still practically feel that way your throat had flexed around him then. The soft warmth of your palms massaging his balls while you sucked and licked up the length of his cock until he had cum in your mouth with a ragged groan.

But it's not that one.

And it's not the picture of your riding him, bare chested with your face slightly scrunched, jaw dropped in pleasure from the thumb that he had on your clit. His hand was in frame, just barely visible, but the clumsy grip he had on the camera was just secure enough for him to snap the shot, and it caught the curl of his knuckle on your stuffed cunt.

That still wasn't his favorite either.

It's a shame that he doesn't have one yet. But he guesses that you'll both just have to keep trying until he does. Until he gets that perfect shot. He'd maybe feel bad, but you don't seem to mind in the slightest.

There's something knowing and hungry in your gaze when notice him from where he's sitting off on the couch. He's already holding the old Kodiak in his hands, tracing his fingertips over the corners of the cold plastic while he watches from your place across the cave.

The fire catches in your eyes. It makes you wild looking, like you could eat him alive. Fire lights up in his veins because damn, he really wants you to until he's only bones. He knows that he doesn't even need to ask, but he does it anyway:

"In the mood for a photoshoot?"

Your smile is answer enough.

☆彡He’s a D*ck, So She’s Tess?

Bill Dickey x Reader

Summary: A new girl transfers to Eltingville high and Bill writes her off as another bimbo who’ll hardly look at him. Until he spots her Dick Tracy comics. He’s in over his head after that.

TW: literally all kinds of misogyny. This is Bill Dickey we’re talking about. I might’ve made him a little nicer than usual, but that's just because I think if he was ever with a girl he had a real chance with he’d be too shocked to actually be an asshole. At first at least.

“Captain, are you alright?” buzzed a serene voice from Bill’s radio.

He set his phaser rifle down and sends a transmission over, “I’m alright, sweetheart. I’ve always got things under control.”

He puts a hand above his eyes as he surveys the area. He had just landed on an unknown planet with his crew of bombshell broads. The power cell on his phaser rifle was fully charged and he still had some kiss marks from the crew.

He was ready to conquer any potential threats.

The ground beneath him was hot and sand-like, but firm enough to act like gravel. There wasn’t much he knew about this strange planet. The sun was much stronger out here, and it was evident on the ridiculous amount of sweat that had begun accumulating on him. These damn Starfleet uniforms weren’t made for this kind of weather. Fighting against the glare of the sun, he squinted for some sort of sign of life.

He had been wandering for quite a while, and yet he hadn’t seen a single moving thing beyond the particles of sand he kicked as he walked. Sick of the overbearing weather, he sighs and gets ready to head back.

Until he spots it. Not too far in the distance is a figure. Immediately back on alert, he lifts his rifle and stomps toward it. The form gets clearer, but the shine of the sun prohibits him from seeing much.

It was a girl, that much he could make out. Oh.

It’s a girl.

A smirk immediately plasters itself on his face as he holsters his rifle and confidently walks forward. He would never miss an opportunity to add another fine woman to his ship.

When he feels close enough he puts his hands on his hips, “Need any help, princess?”.

The figure stays quiet. He puts a hand above his eyes in an attempt to shield the sun. He still can’t fully see her and it’s really starting to get on his nerves. Part of her ankle comes into view, which is enough to satiate his impatience, for now.

He could tell that she was wearing a loose dress. What kind, specifically? How was he to know? He didn’t care for that girly bullshit. It was short enough for him to see her beautiful legs. While his eyes hungrily raked over them, he noticed that she wasn't wearing any shoes either.

“What the hell?” he muttered, furrowing his brows. He motioned toward her feet with his hand, “how aren’t you fucking melting out here?”.

As if at the mention of it, he suddenly realized just how hot he had gotten. His sweat was leaving pools in his uniform and he felt much, much weaker. His vision wavered as he tried to keep his balance. He looked back up at her but the figure was gone. Before he could search for her, the alarm on his ship started to blare. His head shot up and turned to see the emergency lights shining. He reached for his radio but it was gone.

It was then that he realized just how close the sun had gotten. Way too close. And way too fast. And somehow it was getting even closer. Fuck. He abandoned any visions he had for the girl. She was probably ugly anyways. He had more than enough women to keep him company onboard. He realized if he wanted to keep his crew and his life, he needed to head back immediately.

He dropped his rifle and ran for his life. The sun was moving impossibly closer and his skin felt like it was burning up. As he neared the ship, his heart dropped at the sound of the engine starting. It was going to lift off without him!

Had even his beautiful crew decided to abandon him?

His despair was interrupted at the sight of the figure from earlier. The girl was alive. And on his ship.

She stood on the edge, holding her hand out. Bill could hardly breathe as the sun overtook half the sky and his skin ached. Yet, he kept running. He would be damned if he let his ship of beauties leave him to die like this.

As he neared the ship, he heard the girl scream at him to jump and it gave him one last kick of energy. As the ship lifted, it kicked up a flurry of sand that blinded him. Moving blindly, he jumped forward as she caught his hand. She held onto him as the spaceship lifted and he dangled by one hand. He looked down as the planet below him burst into a grand ball of flames. The flames seemed to get closer and closer and closer till—

He woke with a start.

Panting and sweaty, his eyes were wide open. He immediately groaned and threw his hand across his face. The sun was beating down on his face through his curtains, and he felt like he was back in his dream. Another stupid dream about imaginary women, and this time he doesn’t even get to see the damn broad. He can even still hear the stupid alarm. Wait. Alarm? Christ, it’s his alarm. He furiously rubs his eyes and sighs. If he’s tardy again, that’s his 4th absence of the month. He’ll get another call from the attendance office and his bitch mom will ground him right on time for the Star Trek marathon on Friday.

He quickly rose, staggering toward his drawer. No brushing or washing today, not like he cared for it usually. He shoved the first shit he could find on and walked to the bathroom. His clock glowing an angry red as he walked past. 7:30. Fuck, not even enough time for a morning sesh. He shoved his porn mag to the side and walked right up to the sink. Splashing cold water on his face, he ran his hand through his hair. Eh, good enough. He slipped his bag on and hurried out the door. What a shitty start to the day.

—----------------------------------

There was one thing he would never get over. He was on his 4th year of high school and there was one question he could never answer. Why was everyone so fucking loud in the morning?

A pack of stupid broads in the corner, laughing and huddled together, throwing glares at the rest of the class. The nerdy, but boring freaks at the front. The sounds of zippers and books slamming as they prepped for class unusually early. Try-hards. Deep laughs hit like nails on a chalkboard in front of him as he watched the meathead jocks shadow box each other and leave a whiff of axe body spray as they moved. At the very front sat his old hag of a teacher who was probably too close to a retirement home to hear a damn thing anymore.

He sighed, trying to look away. Sat in his usual seat, it felt like he never woke up as the bright sun hit him right in the eyes as he turned. He dropped his head into the safety of his arms. Between the usual chatter and the blinding light, he felt like his head would explode. So caught up in feeling like shit, he hardly noticed the new silence.

Shifting in his now unusually loud seat, he finally caught up to reality. Slowly lifting his head, his eyes followed the still class to the front of the room.

There was a girl.

With the glare of the sun, he could hardly see more than her outline. He shoved his hand up like a shield, and finally, he saw her clearly.

Had he died and gone to Valhalla?

Surely, he died in his valiant dedication to fandom and was finally being rewarded for his efforts. With a heavenly glow surrounding her, there stood the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. His eyes raked her top to bottom, from her shining eyes to her shifting feet. Christ, she was a wet dream reincarnated.

As his jaw hung slightly open and his eyes stayed glued to her form, he finally noticed his teacher motion her forwards. There was movement from the girl’s beautiful lips. Only it was too late. He had no idea what she said and she was walking right toward him. He forced his jaw to close and stood up in his seat slightly. Don’t wanna look like a pussy. He gulped as she got clearer and prettier. There was an empty seat next to him and he was certain she was gonna take it.

Visions overtook him of suavely talking her over as she laid her head on her hand, looking at him with the most desperate fuck-me eyes.

He’d hand her a pencil, maybe an eraser too. She’d flutter her lashes at him and laugh at his jokes. She’d put her hand on his shoulder as she laughed and she’d follow him as class ended right to the band room. He didn’t even take band, but he heard from Josh that kids got up to some freaky shit in the closets over there. He’d undress her slowly and– Nope, can’t think that far right now. Think of something else.

As his hopes soared, they were smashed into the fucking ground with the force of Mjölnir as she turned left. Oh, Fuck off. The stupid popular bitches were waving right at her, motioning her towards them. Just like that, he knew it was over. He felt like the world's biggest moron. Every bitch is the same, he knew it. He dropped his head in his hands again. It was going to be a long morning.

The bell brutally tore him from his nap and he immediately scrambled to get out. He speed walked toward the bathrooms, aching to get his one moment of peace going over Pete’s "Sci-fi’s Hottest Whores" scrapbook he made with magazines he stole from the supermarket. Obviously, hanging out by the bathrooms that had an air of shit from the broken plumbing wasn’t his favorite, but it was the club’s only safehaven from bullies. He felt his tense shoulders relax as the club came into sight. As he nodded towards the boys and set his bag down, Jerry asked him how he was doing.

Bill groaned and his eyes narrowed. Jerry immediately regretted asking, but Bill already began his (first) rant of the day as he opened his leaky lunch bag. The club all brought their own lunches to school. They knew better than to go to the lunchline, where they’d get robbed before they even got a glimpse of the food.

Bill ate and spoke at the same time, dropping crumbs everywhere. As he got to the part where he saw the new girl, he set his sandwich down and paused his messy bites. “I’m telling you, she was the most beautiful bitch I’ve ever laid eyes on. I almost bent her over my desk and took her right there,” he grumbled as Pete raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Bill sighed and looked down, “For a second, she looked just like the girl in my dreams. I really thought I had a good premonition going on there.”

Josh was scarfing down his mom’s meatloaf, not entirely interested in the conversation. “So?” he muttered through his mouth full of food.

Bill slammed his hand down as he continued, “She was walking right to me! Till the stupid cheer whores motioned her over. And of course, she took the bait. Just like that, the love of my life is gone.”

Pete rubbed his hands along his knees, ”She might not be yours, but if she’s that hot she might be mine. Send her my way, ya’?” he smirked.

Bill sent him a deep glare, “Over my dead body. She won’t want your shrimp dick, freak.”

Josh laughed, again with his mouth full, “Like she’d want yours. She’d need to be Bionic-1 to see a thing on you.”

Jerry sighed, “She won’t want any of ours if she joins cheer. She’s gonna get passed around the jocks like a football.” He fumbled through his magic cards, trying to sort his sliver deck. He was half listening to the conversation, too distracted by the task in front of him.

Bill kicked the cards right out of his hands, “Don’t say some shit like that around me. You got a cuck fetish or something?” he sneered.

Jerry scrambled to pick up his cards, now definitely too distracted to listen to the conversation. Bill hardly had an appetite after that, realizing how right Jerry might be. He shoved his sandwich down his bag and wiped his hands on his pants. He took Pete’s scrapbook from Josh’s hands, “Gimme that. Like you can see it over your fat fupa,” he grumbled. Josh protested for it back but it fell on deaf ears.

______________________________

He hadn’t thought about her again for the rest of the school day. Once he was free from hell, anything school related trickled right out of his mind. He was walking out the main gate with the club, arguing about the X-Men Age of Apocalypse comic that made a totally bullshit turn in his opinion. His day had seemed to finally even out.

With a gentle breeze flowing through the trees and his jacket tied around his waist, he felt much lighter in the moment. The clumsy steps of the group against the pavement was all he could hear as he passionately continued his rant. He had just finished slapping Jerry across the head and cackling with Pete when a movement in front of him caught his eye.

He almost bit down on his tongue as he realized who it was. He felt a sudden lump in his throat and didn’t even notice the pause in his steps till the rest of the group were a few feet ahead of him.

It was her. She was walking in the opposite direction as the group, straight toward them. He stood in the middle of the path and anyone with an ounce of awareness in the moment would notice that he was in her way. Luckily, he was the dumbest motherfucker in the world at the moment. He failed to move out of the collision course and her gaze was too busy with her bag as she fumbled to get something out.

She rammed right into him and they fell with a thud.

He took note of her heavenly scent before anything else. It was almost good enough to distract him from how much of a fool he had just made out of himself. He didn’t have much time to ponder over it though, as he sat up on his knees and noticed her bag’s contents littered along the ground. His eyes lazily raked over the pile in his daze.

Until he spotted it.

If he was dazed before, he felt on the verge of a stroke now. His blood rushed to his head and his heart thundered like it would burst out of his chest. He started breathing manually as he felt himself break out in a cold sweat. His hands fumbled at his sides in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

Comics. Not just any comics. Not the stupid, girly romance kind. Dick Tracy comics. It didn’t take a detective to realize what that meant. As if his body was moving on its own, his hands shakily picked up the comics and he turned toward her.

The angel rubbed her shoulder as she looked up at him with a small smile on her shiny lips. Her eyes were soft and glittered as she looked at him. At least he thought so.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking at all,” she said sheepishly.

Her voice felt like warm honey and the light seeping through the trees enveloped her in a beautiful glowing frame. Her head tilted and he felt as if he could see the gears turn in her mind. “We have a class together, right? I remember you,” she said with a smile.

At his newfound discovery that he had just gone mute, she continued. “I remember you because of your Magik shirt, I think you’ve got good taste.” His mind short circuited as he looked down. He had no memory of even picking it out this morning and it was slightly stained… wait, how did she know who Magik was?

He felt like he was going to pass out and struggled to find his voice. It cracked as he choked the question out, “Are these yours?” he questioned as he held out the comics. Her eyes widened and she quickly reached out for them.

“Oh fuck, yeah, those are mine. Hope I didn’t scratch them up, they were in mint condition when I got them,” she said as she squinted and flipped them around to inspect them.

And he was a goner.

He smiled at her. A real, albeit shy, smile. Maybe he had never woken from his dream after all.

Still in amazement, his thoughts stumbled out of his upturned lips, “You’re heavy.” She tilted her head at him with a blank expression. Oh. Wait, fuck. “I. I meant your bag. It looks heavy. Ya need help?” he stammered as his face burned.

She smiled softly and nodded “Yeah, thanks.” She dusted her knees as she rose, “so, you like Dick Tracy too?” she asked.

He nodded, suddenly growing uncharacteristically shy. Fuck. How the hell do you talk to girls? He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as he rushed to pick up the rest of her things. It was the only thing he could think to do as his mind scrambled to think of a pick-up line. Should he tell her he had a 10 pack of condoms ready if she could handle it? He wiped the thought from his mind, he didn’t even know where to get condoms or how they worked. Although, obviously she liked him if she was keeping up a conversation with him for this long. Maybe it was worth looking into. He hurriedly stuffed her things back in her bag before putting it on. Was he seriously gonna carry a girl’s bag for her? He looked up, ready to protest.

His words died on his tongue when she held her hand out and smiled at him. Christ, l need to see her in some erotic cosplay. As his shaky hand touched hers, he felt like he was born again. Her soft skin made his heart throb and he felt like he just came down with a fever. I’m touching a real life girl. His knees felt weak as he attempted to rise. Any issue he had with carrying her bag was gone.

He’d kick a kid into oncoming traffic if she asked, as long as she’d keep touching him like that.

____________________________

Unbeknownst to Bill, his friends stood frozen in place a few feet away. The club was too shocked to do anything but watch. A cold, eerie feeling washed over them all. A girl being nice to Bill. And Bill being nice to a girl. They’ve got to be in hell. The world has to be ending. Someone’s gotta call the fucking police.

“What the fuck,” muttered Pete.

Jerry stood slack jawed and Josh hadn’t even noticed he dropped his brand new Superboy comic.

A cold breeze carried their silence. Yet, Bill had never felt warmer.

lives were changed on july 31st 1987 when joel schumacher’s the lost boys was released

imagine delulu ace inviting himself onto the thousand sunny after returning reader to the strawhats cause he MUST make sure they adjust back to life with the strawhats alright. like the more jealous strawhats (zoro and sanji) are trying to do everything in their power to get ace to just leave, but no, he NEEDS to stay for just 2 more weeks to make sure they’re ok!!!

and like i wonder how luffy would feel? excited that ace and reader get along so well, jealous cause ace is monopolizing reader’s time??

I thought this was cute, so I hope you enjoy the little thing I wrote.

AU Masterlist

---

Zoro wanted to break Ace in half. 

He hated the man, his Captain's brother, he was stupid and annoying, loud and obnoxious. He took up so much space that if felt like there was no place on the ship he could go without seeing his dumb face. And what annoyed him even more, was that you were always there, smiling in tandem. 

Maybe Zoro hated you, because he felt his stomach turn every time he saw you with the man. His hands were always on you, he was always so close, and you seemed oblivious to the way he looked at you. Maybe you just liked playing stupid, which annoyed him. You were always all smiles when near him, laughing and merry as you leaned on the shoulder of Ace, making Zoro want to throw him into a wall. 

Sanji couldn't focus on anything else other than the sound of food sizzling, because if he didn’t he’d ignite into flames. He could hear your laughter out on the main deck mix with Luffy’s, imagining what your face looked like right now. Maybe your smile would be small, watching him and his brother goof around from a distance. Maybe you were in a more mischievous mood, goofing around with them. Maybe Luffy said something funny and you were falling over with laughter. 

Regardless, he focuses on the food in front of him, trying to push you far out of his mind. He buried himself in the methodical routine of cooking, escaping from the rest of the world as he tried his hardest to forget you, at least for a moment. 

Zoro couldn’t stand the noise. 

You were so loud, Usopp and Chopper joined in on your antics. Usopp and Luffy were hanging off of you as you laughed. The noise kept him from falling asleep, distracting him from his relaxation. You were a distraction, he came to the conclusion a long time ago, Ace’s presence on the ship didn’t help either. He was with you everywhere, attached to your hip like a lost puppy. It was disgusting, seeing a grown man act like a child, and as he saw Ace pull you away from his two crew mates into his lap, he huffed in annoyance at the sound of your giggles. 

Sanji wanted to hand you lunch, but he couldn’t find you. 

When he did, he saw you shoved up to Ace’s side, clearly asleep. Surprisingly, Ace was awake, waving when he saw Sanji walk up with plate in hand. He didn’t reciprocate any of the kindness, instead glaring down at the man. Your soft snores only warmed Sanji’s heart so much as he watched Ace move some hair out of your face, causing you to snuggle more into his side. 

“I'll save it for them.” Ace said when he realized the food was for you, only for Sanji to move it away from him with a deep frown. He knew it was wrong to be acting this way, but he couldn’t help it. Watching as Ace all but shouted his closeness with you to the world made him want to rip his hair out. It wasn’t fair, he’s been without you for two years, you should be snuggled up next to him. 

“No, I'll give it to them when they wake up.” 

Sanji knew it was stupid, but he wanted Ace to starve. 

Zoro sat across the table, watching with contempt as Ace whispers something in your ear, causing you to laugh.

If he was more drunk, he would’ve thought the sight was funny, watching Luffy grow jealous and try to push Ace away, latching onto your other side. If he was more drunk, he would be slightly happy to see you so full of joy as you spend time with your friend. If he was more drunk, Zoro wouldn’t care that you were so close to Ace, your shoulders flushed up against each other. 

But Zoro wasn’t drunk enough to deal with any of this. He takes a swig of–something–he doesn’t care any more, as he snarls at you, interanally annoyed that you’re not paying attention to him, or really any of the crew. Luffy is always by your side, even more after you returned from your time away with him, so he wasn’t bothered by that. No, he was bothered by this man acting as though he’s something special, more special than your own crew. It made him want to slash his chest with the steak knife next to him. 

But he wasn’t drunk enough to resort to that.

Sanji wondered how you like his food, you’ve barely touched it. 

Ace is slumped up against your shoulder, snoring in a drunken slumber, while you're trying, and failing, to move him back to his own seat. Sanji eyes your plate, filled, making him take a longer drag of his cigarette. Maybe he could make you something later, once Ace has finally left. It would just you, indulging yourself in his food, and him filling himself with the sight of you. 

But instead, Ace is still snoring on you, Luffy is trying to get you to pay attention to him, Usopp is talking to you about–something–he doesn't know. The others are laughing at your clearly overwhelmed state, while Sanji keeps looking at your plate from his spot in the kitchen. 

Sanji wants you to eat, and as he looks at Ace, he wishes he would disappear. 

Luffy can’t sleep, running off the high from the events of the day. He shifts around in his bed, wanting to know what you’re doing. He finds it funny how much he thinks of you, though it’s not nearly as much as when he was training with Rayleigh. He had a lot to think about during that time, after you saved his brother it was almost like something shifted in his mind, making him feel weird. He tried to ignore it for the longest time, but it only made him feel worse. So, he learned to accept it, and ever since returning to you, he’s never felt better. 

 Luffy finds himself on his feet, peering out the door to the deck, watching as you talk to Ace. He knew Ace was leaving tonight, you also knew this, so he didn’t know what you were doing here. Maybe you were saying goodbye, but you already spent so much time with him during the day, you had the opportunity to do so then. Ace was sitting on the railing, close to where Stricker was tied up. You were standing in front of him, in between his legs, as Ace took your hand in his. Luffy felt his chest tighten as Ace says something, he couldn’t hear what, but it made your eyes widened while Ace smiled at your reaction. You seemed embarrassed, pushing Ace away lightly, not enough to make him fall overboard. He laughs, beckoning you to come back as you huff at his antics. 

Luffy felt like he should be happy, to see you so comfortable around his brother. 

But for some reason, he felt like he hated Ace, and worst of all, he didn’t really care.  

---

A/n: This was NOT what I wanted, I tried to write this big confrontation between Zoro and Ace but my brain was not braining, so I hope you liked this.

What about Dae-Ho from squid game 2 and teen!reader? Like teen!reader is here for some abusive reason (maybe to pay her abusive father debts) and Dae-Ho is mostly like a big brother figure to reader? It's like during the game of the carrousel and reader as no one to go to and almost die until Dae-Ho save her. Then after the game, they eat and Dae-Ho ask her why did she join the game at such a young age so reader explain and Dae-Ho became very protective toward reader?

𝐵𝑟𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 [𝐾. 𝐷𝑎𝑒-𝐻𝑜]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴋᴀɴɢ ᴅᴀᴇ-ʜᴏ x ᴛᴇᴇɴ ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ғʟᴜғғ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ.

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ɢᴀᴍᴇs, ᴅᴀᴇ-ʜᴏ sᴀᴠᴇs ᴀ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ, ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇsᴛᴀɴᴛ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀɪʟᴏᴜs ᴄʜᴀʟʟᴇɴɢᴇ, sᴛᴇᴘᴘɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ. ᴀs ᴛʜᴇʏ ʙᴏɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ sʜᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴇᴀʟs ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ sᴛᴏʀʏ, ʜᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇs ʜᴇʀ ғɪᴇʀᴄᴇʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ɢᴜᴀʀᴅɪᴀɴ, ᴅᴇᴛᴇʀᴍɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘ ʜᴇʀ sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴsᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴅᴅs.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴀʙᴜsᴇ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴇxᴘᴇʀɪᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The carrousel loomed like a monstrous relic in the center of the arena, its rusted metal creaking as it began to spin. The ominous voice of the announcer echoed through the room, explaining the next pairing number:

"Two."

Panic rippled through the crowd of contestants as they scrambled to find someone to trust—or, at the very least, someone they could tolerate. Amid the chaos, you stood frozen, clutching the fraying edges of your jacket. Your small frame and young age made yoy an oddity among the hardened contestants, and no one seemed eager to approach you.

You took a tentative step forward, your voice trembling as you tried to speak to a nearby man. "Excuse me, can we—"

"Beat it, kid." He pushed past you, locking eyes with someone older and more capable.

Your heart sank, and you glanced around desperately. The crowd was thinning as people paired up, and the rooms began to flood.

"Five seconds remaining," the voice boomed.

Your breathing quickened, your limbs heavy as the realization hit—no one would pick you.

Just as the timer reached zero and the guards grabbed their guns, a hand yanked you back into a room with surprising strength. You stumbled, crashing into someone’s chest. Looking up, you saw a man with sharp features and tired eyes.

Dae-Ho.

“Hang on,” he muttered, gripping your arm as shooting became very loud. He held you steady, shielding you from the chaos around you both.

The survivors stumbled back into the main room, their faces pale and hollowed by exhaustion. The stark white walls felt oppressive, a stark contrast to the blood and marking on their bodies. Dae-Ho released his hold on you but stayed close, his gaze scanning the room as if calculating threats.

“Keep up,” he said curtly, glancing over his shoulder.

You nodded, your legs trembling as you followed him through the corridors. The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the fluorescent lights.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, but his tone was softer. “Why didn’t you pair up sooner? You almost got yourself killed.”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “No one wanted to.”

Dae-Ho’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Instead, he started walking again.

When you reached the main area, trays of food were waiting—a meager portion of rice, a hard-boiled egg, and a slice of bread. Dae-Ho grabbed his tray and sat at a corner bed, gesturing for you to join him. You hesitated, glancing around the room, but the hard stares of the other contestants made your choice clear.

As you sat on the bed besides from him, he pushed his egg toward you without a word.

“You need it more than I do,” he said, taking a bite of his bread.

Your eyes widened. “I—I can’t take this. You need it too.”

“Don’t argue.” His tone left no room for debate.

You nodded, peeling the egg carefully and taking small bites. The food felt heavy in your stomach, and for a moment, the knot of anxiety loosened.

Dae-Ho leaned back in from his seat, watching you closely. “What are you doing here?”

Your hands froze mid-bite. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a kid. These games… they’re not for someone like you.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked down at your tray. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Everyone says that,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But what’s your reason?”

The words spilled out before you could stop them. “My dad… he’s in debt. A lot of debt. He said it was my fault, that I had to fix it. So, I…” You trailed off, your hands trembling.

Dae-Ho’s expression darkened. “Your father sent you here?”

You nodded, tears threatening to spill over. “He said if I didn’t, the loan sharks would come for me anyway. This was my only chance. He gave me the card and told me to call.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Dae-Ho reached across the table, placing a hand over yours.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” he said, his voice firm. “But you’re here now, so you have to survive. No more freezing up, understand?”

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Okay.”

“And stick with me. No one’s going to mess with you while I’m around.”

From that moment on, Dae-Ho rarely left your side. He became a constant presence, guiding you through the challenges and shielding you from the more ruthless players. He taught you how to read people, how to spot traps, and how to hide your fear.

In a world designed to break you, you found solace in each other.

But the games weren’t over, and Dae-Ho knew that your bond would be tested in ways neither of you could imagine.