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zephyrchama · 22 days ago

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This is a piece for @obeymevents's Obey me! Prompt Roulette event! We submitted random prompts, and received a random prompt in return. The prompt for this piece is...

Too Many Beds

It's longer than most of my pieces so it's hidden below the read more (but it's fully SFW!). I tried to include every character, and there is a handy chart of where everyone is sleeping. Hope you enjoy!

🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️

“I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to test out our new overnight package.”

Diavolo was in high spirits. He walked with a pep in his step down the quiet carpeted hallways of the latest Corvo hotel. Everything smelled faintly of fresh paint and there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen.

The group following him was only half listening. Some were so far back, engrossed in their own idle chit-chat, that even Diavolo’s vigorous voice didn’t reach them. The modern, dim hallway lighting was exactly opposite of the large ballroom they had just been in, wherein massive glitzy chandeliers reflected off of polished champagne glass towers. There had been no shortage of indulgences. Fine food prepared by professional chefs, a wide open dance floor with a live band, and the best of company that you had the pleasure of personally inviting.

Diavolo left the guest list for this exclusive party up to you, as there are few beings he trusts so unconditionally. Not wanting to disappoint him, you thought it best to keep invites limited to your closest friends at RAD. Sixteen people, including yourself, was a good, round number and you were confident the company would never be dull. It made for a memorable night of partying.

Now that the ballroom had been thoroughly christened and you were extremely tuckered out from dancing, your group moved as one to their accommodations for the night. Diavolo, leading the pack, guaranteed it would be an experience like no other. The hallway had few doors, each spread noticeably far apart. The rooms inside must be large. You wondered if they were suites fit for royalty. Past the vending room, past the ice dispenser, your group finally came upon a simple set of double wooden doors.

“Here we are!” Diavolo exclaimed. “Again, this is something new we’re offering only at this hotel. I’d appreciate your feedback in the morning.”

There was no lock. Barbatos demonstrated that it could recognize a guest’s handprint, requiring no key to open. He waved you in with a smile.

The room was massive. You were greeted with a sophisticated wood paneled wall with lights installed around the floor and ceiling. Next to the entrance was a locker room of sorts for luggage. Your possessions had already been carried up and neatly stored away.

Next up, a communal bathroom with multiple rooms for baths, showers, and toilet facilities, all attached to a powder room with floor to ceiling mirrors.

The bedroom itself rivaled the ballroom in size and it was filled, from corner to corner, with beds. Queen sized bunk beds. Each expertly made up in fine silk sheets. Chocolate mints wrapped in gold foil sat atop the fluffy pillows and folded robes sat squarely at the foot of each bed.

You paused in confusion to take in such a unique sight, but people were filing in one after another behind you. Solomon put a hand on your back to safeguard you from the parade of tipsy non-humans. You moved forward. Beelzebub followed with a half-asleep Belphegor latched to his side.

“This setup is for large groups. We took inspiration from days of old, when travelers would all reside in one common room. There are more than enough accommodations for everyone,” Barbatos explained. “Perfect for the budget-friendly school trip, work retreat, or group celebration. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You squinted. There was a reason people didn’t sleep together in giant rooms anymore. A good reason.

“We’re all sleeping here?” you confirmed. Barbatos’ coy smile affirmed it. This was going to be a headache.

“There are no assigned arrangements,” he confirmed, “so feel free to pick whichever bed suits your fancy.”

Multiple hands grabbed your arms. Mammon, Asmodeus, and Luke exclaimed, “I wanna sleep with you!”

Leviathan followed their enthusiasm with his own, “I-I-I also want to s-s-s-sleep w-with you!”

At the same time, Mephistopheles could be heard, “Lord Diavolo! I’d like nothing more than to sleep beside you! Just like when we were kids.”

Diavolo was already half-shouting, “I want to sleep with Lucifer!”

You faintly caught Satan snickering, “yeah, I bet you do.”

“You guys reek of alcohol,” Luke complained as he pinched his nose. He waved his hand towards Mammon and Asmodeus. “Nobody wants to sleep near you!”

“Does this hotel even allow pets?” Mammon snarked. “Who let this chihuahua inside?”

Luke kicked Mammon in the foot. While the two squabbled, Beelzebub offered, “it will be quiet with me.”

You were pulled back and forth in a nauseating three way tug-of-war. Even those who weren’t making physical contact had their eyes on you, their intentions clear.

“Nobody is sleeping with anyone.” Lucifer raised his voice above the din. It was getting late and he would not tolerate a stupid fight. “There are more than enough beds to spread out. One person per bunk bed. Nobody is allowed to sleep in a bed directly next to anyone else. I don’t want any funny business happening tonight. That’s final.”

Multiple sighs could be heard, ranging from relieved to annoyed to straight-up disappointed. Mammon could be heard saying, rhetorically, "Who said you get to make the rules?"

“That’s the most fair option,” Simeon stated. “On the bright side, we also get matching pajamas. That makes it feel less lonely”

“Come now, Lucifer. We can’t even sleep in adjacent beds?” Diavolo asked sadly. That defeated half the purpose of sleeping in a big room together.

“What about diagonal?” Raphael asked. He had his hand on his chin. Despite the room being massive, it was unlikely there were enough beds for all sixteen beings present to sleep with multiple beds in between one another.

Lucifer put an end to the discontentment once and for all by announcing, “Diagonal is fine. I want you all in a bed in ten minutes. If anyone doesn’t like it, you’re free to sleep in the street.”

Barbatos showed his full agreement with a smile that gave you chills. He had such a way of expressing himself without really changing his expression at all. It was enough to get everyone moving.

Beelzebub carried his twin over to a bed at random and placed the dozing Belphegor in a lower bunk, then took his pillow mint as compensation. It was a hefty treat coated in chocolate, larger than your typical pillow mints, one that befit the luxury status of the Corvo hotel.

People began milling around the room. Barbatos mentioned something about a lilac scent on the pillows to make falling asleep easier. They inspected the beds but didn’t actually claim one. Many side glances were thrown in your direction.

Thirteen had been quiet, refusing to get tangled up in everyone’s petty bickering until now. The reaper boldly pushed past everybody loitering in her way. Upon reaching the farthest, most isolated corner of the room, she turned and announced, “I’m sleeping here. If any of you come near me, I’m going straight home and blowing out your candle.”

The room went silent as everyone stared. She continued, “Well… except one. If there’s an emergency, you know who to send as your representative.”

With a cute wink in your direction, she turned her back and disappeared up a ladder to a top bunk.

“Ooh, scary,” Solomon laughed.

Thirteen’s manicured middle finger poked out from the edge of her bunk in response.

Solomon responded with another laugh. Though, this wasn’t the time to poke fun at Thirteen. He had more interesting things to focus on.

He asked you, “Have you decided where to sleep?”

It was obviously the question everyone was dying to know. You didn’t care. All of the beds literally looked the same. They were so sparkling new, even the metal screws holding the mattress frames together had the same shiny luster, without a speck of rust. It looked like someone copy and pasted the same bed in a repeating pattern until the room was full. You wouldn't doubt if this were a low budget VR game.

Any show of preference would start a war. You decided it was best to choose at random. “I’m going to take… this one.”

“Then, this one’s mine!” Mammon declared, diving into a bottom bunk as close to yours as Lucifer would allow.

“No fair! I wanted that one!” Luke anxiously balled his hands. While paralyzed thinking about what to do, Solomon happily claimed the bed opposite of Mammon's. Options near you were quickly running out.

“This diagonal space looks open,” Simeon remarked. He and Lucifer chose beds directly diagonal to you, giving Luke the idea to jump headfirst into the other open diagonal space before Asmodeus could take it.

Diavolo began climbing a bed close to Lucifer. As unofficial chaperones, the two of them in top bunks would be able to keep an eye out for any late night funny business. Leviathan followed suit, scrambling into a top bunk in the hopes of being able to spot your sleeping figure several rows away.

Finally, everyone had a bed to call their own.

There was a minor scuffle to the bathroom while the tired group performed their nighttime routines. Teeth were brushed, pajamas were donned. Shirtless glimpses were stolen from a select few who couldn't be bothered to change in private. Simeon helped you figure out how to get warm water when the sink spout wouldn’t budge. Asmodeus came out wearing a nourishing face mask that garnered some stares.

“I’ll be turning the lights out now,” Barbatos announced after some time had passed.

Leviathan and Diavolo were leaning on top bunk edges, engrossed in a mighty battle on their handheld games. “Hold on a moment.” Diavolo was rapidly mashing buttons as he explained, “we’ve almost got him down to half HP.”

“How’s your ult? Is the meter filled?” Leviathan asked. His eyes did not stray from the screen. He was a master at work.

“This thing on the side? No, it keeps going up every time I land a hit. Is that good?”

“As soon as that’s filled, get close to him and hit R2! With the gear I gave you it will take out at least another 20% of-”

“I’ll be turning out the lights now,” Barbatos repeated. He turned the lights out.

The night had officially begun.

“Satan, would you mind turning that off?” Raphael’s whisper carried through the dark. “It’s hard to sleep.”

Satan was making full use of the bed’s built-in reading light. It was tiny yet powerful. Unlike Leviathan’s handheld game console, Satan couldn’t hide it under the covers.

“Is this any better?” He tilted it down further, so the light shone directly on the page. So much so that the letters were hard to see, the light reflected right off of the ink. It remained a burning beacon in that otherwise dark half of the room, made worse by the fact that Satan was on a top bunk.

“It’s not much better,” Raphael said.

Satan huffed and adjusted his light again. “How about now?”

“No.”

One low growl later, Satan adjusted his light for a third time. “Better?”

“Now it’s in my eyes,” Asmodeus whined. “I can see it through my eye mask. Can’t you just read in the dark?”

“Can’t you get a higher quality mask?”

There was the shrill whistle of a projectile flying through the air, followed by the shattering of glass. Then there was no more light. “Hey! Watch it!” Satan roared. He was met with a colorful chorus of “shh!”, “shut up!” and “quiet!”

Asmodeus chucked a pillow towards his angry brother.

Raphael whispered, “That’s better.”

Just as his head found its way back to the pillow, Barbatos could be heard. “You will need to pay for that in the morning.”

Satan was left to seethe quietly. Instead of counting sheep, he counted the different ways he could curse Lucifer to vent his frustrations. He didn’t get very far. There was another loud disturbance, this time from the back. An ear-splitting buzzing sound preceded a deep shout.

Thick smoke filled the air around Thirteen’s corner.

“What is going on now?” Mephistopheles demanded. He was cranky, with a massive frown plastered across his face as he lifted his silk sleep mask. This was the most testing night he had ever experienced.

“I told you not to get near me!” Thirteen huffed. She waved her arms, clearing the air to see who was stupid enough not to heed her warning.

“Sorry.” Beelzebub was stuck coughing under a massive electric net. Miss Soaring Buzz Buzz Junior wasn’t a very painful trap, but the static shocks and heavy smoke were an unpleasant sensation even for the strongest of demons. There were a trail of foil wrappers that once contained mints pilfered from the empty beds, and they lead up to the paralyzed Beelzebub. This supported his case when he claimed between coughs, “I got hungry.”

“Haha, I should have known.” Diavolo was finding this whole ordeal to be very exciting. One unexpected event after the next. He had no intention of sleeping to begin with, lest he miss out on all the fun of spending time with his friends. It was a good thing Leviathan was also a night owl. The otaku helped the prince stay busy in between bouts of chaos with highly recommend handheld role playing games, to be enjoyed under the thick covers.

“Can you let me out? This net is really uncomfortable.” Beelzebub wiggled like a worm. The net didn’t budge against his strength and his arms were pinned against his stomach. “Also, are you going to eat your mint?”

“I’m saving it!" Thirteen exclaimed, "and I’ll let you out in the morning.”

“I’ll get you out,” somebody yawned. Belphegor plodded over to his twin, half asleep with eyes half closed. “Consider it thanks for carrying me into bed.”

“Belphie, thank you.”

Undoing Thirteen’s trap was not easy. It was clearly going to take a while, especially with Belphegor fighting sleep every step of the way.

“Can we all be quiet now?” Mephisto was exasperated. “Please? Thank you.”

“Now you see what I put up with every day,” Lucifer muttered. He was staring up at the ceiling, reconsidering his life choices. Was it a mistake to have adopted all of these buffoons as his brothers? No. Lucifer was never wrong about their potential and greatly enjoyed seeing them grow. They were just idiots.

This was further proved around half an hour later. Half an hour of blissful silence, during which a few members of your entourage were able to doze off. Things were finally calm. Asmodeus sat up. He slid out of bed, tugging at the belt around his robe to ensure it was properly tied and would accentuate his beautiful waist.

Asmodeus tip toed towards your direction, dancing lightly on his feet as he imagined how happy you’d be at his little midnight rendezvous. Lucifer might’ve said you couldn’t sleep near each other, but he never said you had to stay apart all night long.

“Whaddya think you’re doing?”

Out of the dark, Mammon thrust an arm in front of his younger brother, allowing him no further.

“Just a trip to the bathroom,” Asmodeus sang with a quiet lilt.

“Bathroom my foot. Get outta here,” Mammon spat. “I’m on to you. No one gets past me. Go on, shoo.” His command was accompanied by the classic hand motion, shooing Asmodeus back from where he came from.

“Hmmph! You could be a little nicer about it.”

Mammon stood guard at the foot of your bed until Asmodeus was good and settled, albeit sulking, back under his sheets. Mammon then turned and promptly began to crawl right into your bed. He was slow, careful not to make much noise. His full attention was on safely completing this mission. You would make for a top tier prize once that hurdle was cleared.

“Hey, were you up waitin’ for me?” he asked in a low whisper, careful not to be too loud.

“Actually, yes,” Lucifer whispered in response, lowering the covers away from his face. Mammon shrieked, leaped up, and crashed onto the ground in a scramble to get away from his older brother.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Mephistopheles complained. “When will it end?”

Mammon stammered, pointing a shaky finger at Lucifer, “You were supposed to be over there! Where’d-”

Lucifer cut him off. “They are in bed. Just like you should be.”

“Yeah, but which bed?”

The question went unanswered. Lucifer sat up, swung his legs over the side of the mattress, and slipped a pair of complimentary fuzzy slippers onto his feet. “Let’s go. I’ll tuck you in.”

“No thanks!”

“I’ll be sure to do it very snugly.”

Mammon was unable to protest as Lucifer grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back to the proper bed. Mammon’s belt would make for a suitable chain to tie his hands to the metal bedpost, ensuring a repeat of this incident would not occur. A teary and frustrated Mammon caught your eye for the briefest of seconds as you peered over the top bunk of what was originally Lucifer’s bed. You gave him a little wave. With bound hands, Mammon opened his mouth to say something, but the space was quickly filled with a small accent pillow from Lucifer.

From your new top bunk perch, you looked around to see how everyone else was fairing. Squinting in the dark, you could make out a few people. Beelzebub had successfully escaped Thirteen’s trap. You noticed his feet going right up to the edge of his bed. Diavolo was grinning like a kid in a candy shop. Beyond him was the still figure of Barbatos, laying face up with eyes closed and his hands crossed over his chest. On the opposite side, you craned to see Simeon. It was hard to see what he was up to. Same with Belphegor behind him.

You wouldn’t find out until morning that Lucifer’s no bed-sharing rule was broken. Belphegor, in a sleepy haze, couldn’t properly find his way back after helping Beelzebub. He wound up in Simeon’s bed, clinging to the angel’s side, pinning him down with an arm and a leg. Simeon would have found it pretty adorable if only Belphegor wasn’t so heavy. No amount of wiggling, prodding, or whisper-shouts would get the Avatar of Sloth off of him. Simeon did not want to risk texting you and waking you up if you were already asleep, so he resigned himself to his fate underneath Belphegor.

It wasn’t long before another large sound woke just about everybody in the room up. You jumped. It sounded like someone threw their suitcase from the ceiling. There was a small commotion on the other side of the room.

“Thirteen?” Solomon accused.

“Hey! Watch your tone, that wasn’t me.”

“I see… Then maybe Satan mistook reality for a dream and threw somebody across the room?” he mused.

Satan sighed, “Don’t make me come over there.”

As it turns out, Solomon wasn’t too far off the mark. Soon it was clear to all: Leviathan had fallen asleep and, soon after, fell out of his top bunk. It was impressive. He basically sleep-climbed over the low walls of the bunk bed by gradually throwing his limbs over it one by one. When the amount of Leviathan on one side was higher than the amount of him on the other side, the demon’s body slipped and came crashing down in one of the top five most unpleasant wake-ups Solomon had ever experienced.

“Aaaaaahhhhh.” Leviathan’s voice was surprisingly weak for the strong blow he’d just received. He curled up on the floor and rubbed his aching head while Diavolo and Solomon watched.

“Leviathan, are you alright?” Raphael asked.

“Aaaaaaaaahh,” he repeated. He was more in shock than anything.

“He sounds fine,” Satan turned on his side and pulled his blanket up.

Leviathan shakily stood to his feet. This was not his beautiful room, and this was not his beautiful bathtub. It was a room of judgement. An introvert’s worst nightmare. “Wow, thanks for the concern.”

He crawled back into bed, into the bottom bunk this time. He grabbed the covers, swirling them around himself in a protective cocoon. “I’ll be just fine, don’t you worry about me,” he complained.

“Good to hear!” Diavolo responded with sincerity. “Good night, Leviathan!”

“Oh. Uhh, good night?” Leviathan mumbled back. He was caught off guard by actual good will and snuggled his embarrassed face into the blanket.

“Good night, Lord Diavolo!” Mephistopheles called out, not one to be outdone.

“Why, good night Mephistopheles. And good night, Lucifer.”

“Enough.”

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pforestsims · 3 months ago

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📦 Tuesday CC Dump:

Posh Club Stuff

New meshes, add-ons, recolors and default replacements

Download: SFS | BOX

Round table is also included but please note it's a purely decorative object.

Glowing H&M stair and fence replacements require Extended Standard Material shader by @crispsandkerosene /work without it, but will not look like they do in the preview/.

Floors featured in the pic: VTMR tiles (carpet 5 and 6) converted by @freezerbunny-sims2 , wallpaper is 'Fiery red' by Donnha, wood panelling is from Bon Voyage, I think.

*This is for The Sims 2

So this lot is more of a photoshoot set than actual building and I can't share that mess - but here's most of the CC / defaults I used in there. Also, please note this Reshade preset affected the colors.

Plant in the main pic is Bioshock 2 conversion by Misty-fluff anyone has a link? I've included it - it's actually my mesh edit with pot removed. Original conversion /with the pot/ is here.

Eventually I didn't place any grand staircase in my club - but I was going to. As my internet was down at the time, I made my own mesh edits without the stupid middle raillings. Mesh defaults for 'Sweeping Success Staircase' and deco staircase aka 'A Stair to Remember' (both are from M&G EP) - are included.

Defaults for these already exist - like this one by HL - but please note I edited Sweeping Staircase's railing posts and steps a bit. I also edited UVs, so my replacement does not require texture edits and is compatible with recolors for original.

There's also this default by simblrnova, which includes GMND fix, so the side panels change colors along the main subset (I think they also edited UVs).

You can use my texture replacement for 'Stair to remember' along any mesh default for these stairs. Please note I didn't replace side panel textures.

Matching texture / TXMT replacement for the deco fence 'A Fence to keep in mind' is included in a separate file. Obviously it will clash with other defaults for this fence, like "SN-RailingtoKeepinMind-TXMTFix" by Simblrnova.

/I have no idea if middle stair railing is used for sliding animations - if it is, anims will obviously look awkward. /

I gave Velvet Rope Fence posts a little makeover - you can choose between shape edit, or shape edit plus TXMT edit.

And in case you wonder about the microphone - it's a mesh replacement for "Small superstar microphone" (from Apartment Life, maybe?) with amplifier removed

Microphone dr is not included, I uploaded it HERE (SFS)

Steel support beam requires Apartment Life EP. It looks best in black so I recommend these pipe recolors too.

Round banquet table is a decorative object

It will pull textures from Roundabout table, which could be from Celebrations SP (?) . You can use some invisible 1x1 table to make it somewhat functional /I included invisible table recolor for the 'groovy' square table from UNI EP/.

Decor bits on the table are a part of the mesh, if you don't like it, you can open GMDC in simPe and delete unwanted subsets /FYI those plates are lower than default Eaxis plate/.

I've included small mineral water bottle that didn't make it into my bar decor set as it should.

Crystal chandelier aka Cascades chandelier is a TS2 preorder item, I've included the mesh /with edited texture, black 'circle' removed from the canopy top/. The other one is from M&G /I think?/.

Fancy planter is an add on for 'Off the hook egg" (maybe OFB?), has one placement slot. Recolors (2 in one) included - recolor says red and black, but I changed it to gold last minute.

2-story spotlighter was cloned from an ordinary ceiling lamp, and is not animated - 'light beams' are not recolourable, and are always on. It requires Night Life - I also included recolor for the other NL spotlighter, as I discovered later these are not texture-linked.

2-story curtains are an add-on for 4t2 Wondymoon Cycnus curtains converted by @deatherella - s4 original is here (T$R) - I included the required mesh and my recolors - red and dark purple.

Plumbob sign is based on a symbol from TS2 litigator podium (a career reward).

Stuff I'll share some other time: 2-story light cable extension, table lamps /also, chairs - maybe/.

And if you're up for some DYI, here's the texture I used for the club ceiling. This is based on Adele's sectioned wood floor texture, made dark brown.

#sims 2 #the sims 2 #ts2 cc #ts2 defaults #buymode #ts2 decor #ts2 lights #buildmode

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 months ago

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Blue Shells and Pillow Wars

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, suggestive flirting, playful violence (pillow fights), food mention, chaotic group dynamics, fluff overload

Author's Note: I think some Mario Kart was long overdue

Summary: A rainy night in, pizza boxes everywhere, and four elite soldiers acting like children over Mario Kart. You thought it’d be relaxing… until the blue shell hit.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The apartment smelled like buttery popcorn and rain.

Outside, the storm clung to the windows in sheets, casting shifting patterns across the ceiling. Inside, warm lamps pooled golden light onto the living room carpet, half-covered in pillows, throw blankets, and the occasional sock. The coffee table was crowded with soda cans, greasy pizza boxes, and a bowl of gummi worms slowly melting together into an unholy mass.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the chaos, controller clutched tight in your hands, heart pounding.

“Who the hell threw that red shell at me?” you demanded, voice sharp over the squeals and chaotic music of Mario Kart 8.

“That’d be me,” Johnny MacTavish—Soap—chirped, lounging sideways on the couch like a smug little gremlin. His bare feet dangled over Price’s lap, and he had a slice of pizza folded in half like a taco.

“You bastard!” you shouted, half-laughing, lunging to toss a couch pillow at him. It hit him square in the face, launching his pizza slice skyward in slow motion. Kyle—Gaz—who was perched on the arm of the couch beside him, snatched it out of mid-air with one hand.

“No food left behind,” Gaz said solemnly, biting into it with a victorious crunch.

Price chuckled low from his spot in the center of the couch, where he sat like a benevolent king in sweatpants, controller resting on one knee, his other hand wrapped around a beer. “You’re all bloody children.”

“And you suck at drifting,” Soap fired back.

“Oi,” Price muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t forget who pays for your bloody Nintendo Online subscription.”

You smirked at that and elbowed Soap in the leg.

Simon—Ghost—sat beside you on the floor, long legs stretched out, broad back braced against the ottoman. He was the calmest of the group by far, but the death grip he had on his controller told a different story. His in-game character—Donkey Kong in a baby buggy—was currently in second place.

You?

Clinging to first by a thread.

“Ghost,” you warned him, “don’t you dare use that shell.”

He didn’t answer—just tilted his head slightly. That unreadable little smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Simon,” you said more sharply, “I swear—”

Your kart was rounding the final lap of Rainbow Road, stars streaking past in a blur of neon light.

And then it happened.

The blue shell appeared above your head.

“NOOOO—!” You let out a screech, jerking your whole body like that would somehow make your character move faster.

The explosion sent your kart spinning into the void of space.

Ghost—stone-faced—cruised past you in slow motion. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

“I hate you,” you said, flinging your controller into the blanket pile.

Soap laughed so hard he choked on his soda. Gaz actually fell off the armrest, dragging a throw blanket with him.

Price leaned over and plucked your controller out of the cushions. “Game’s still on,” he murmured, nudging your shoulder. “One more round?”

You turned to him, your mouth a grim line. “It’s personal now.”

He looked far too pleased with himself.

—

Half an hour later, the living room had devolved into full anarchy.

Gaz had two joy-cons taped together with electrical tape from the junk drawer. Soap was on his stomach under the coffee table with a bag of Doritos and three water bottles he refused to share. You were squished between Ghost’s legs, leaning back against his chest like a human stress ball, because Ghost was apparently a very physical gamer.

“Get in front of me, love,” he whispered in your ear, a hand squeezing your thigh. “I’ll shield you from incoming fire.”

“That’s what you said last time,” you hissed.

“Yeah, and it worked,” he said smugly, even though it definitely hadn’t.

Behind you, you could feel the rumble of his quiet laugh in his chest.

Price had switched to Waluigi and was absolutely dominating, expression calm, focused, like he was planning a covert op instead of gunning down his teammates with green shells. When he drifted around a corner and used a mushroom boost to cut across the grass, you knew he’d spent too much time on YouTube tutorials.

“You’ve practiced,” Gaz accused.

Price raised one eyebrow. “I prepare for all missions.”

Soap burst out laughing. “You’re such a dad.”

“I am your daddy,” Price said with a wink.

Everyone groaned in unison, including Ghost, who murmured, “I’m muting him.”

—

Eventually, victory was declared.

Price took home the trophy, you managed a hard-earned second, and Soap swore vengeance on Rainbow Road.

The room slowly quieted into that cozy kind of mess you only get after hours of laughter and snacks and teasing. You lay stretched across the floor with your head in Ghost’s lap, his big hand absently tracing patterns on your hip. Gaz was half-asleep with his head on your stomach, one hand still clutching the Dorito bag. Soap was nestled under a pile of throw blankets like a gremlin in hibernation.

Price passed out pillows and turned off the TV, the room dimming to the soft glow of stormlight and the warm flicker of the electric fireplace.

You sighed, nestling deeper into the blanket pile, surrounded by the weight and warmth of all of them. It was messy, chaotic, loud—but it was home.

Ghost brushed a strand of hair from your face and whispered, “Still mad I blew you up?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

He smirked. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it.”

A pause. Then he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Worth it.”

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

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luxerians · 5 months ago

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The Last Mask (16)

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

Chapter 16 - Caught You

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 17.1

PREV : Chapter 15

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

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

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

“Where’s 019?” manager 009 asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

[Flashback begins…]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Flashback ends…]

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” Dae-ho asked gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood, Captain,” you replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except… it wasn’t his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you found it. Player 132.

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

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

Hwang In-ho.

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

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

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

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

You had been caught.

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

The Front Man took a step toward you.

Instinct took over. You took a step back.

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

He did not stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you remembered.

Your pistol.

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

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

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

That was your moment.

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

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

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

Then he charged.

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

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

You had to move fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Front Man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, you saw him.

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

It was him.

Young-il.

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

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

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

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

But with that relief came something heavier, something darker.

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

Was he ever truly one of us?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it terrified you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT : Chapter 17.1

PREV : Chapter 15

Story Masterlist

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

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

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho fanfic #in ho #the front man #player 001 #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #front man x reader #front man x you

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solarmorrigan · 4 months ago

Note

disoriented + steddie pls!

Please accept my humble offering, O Anonymous

11. Disoriented - Eddie/Steve

cw: panic attack, Steve has PTSD

It’s silly, really, what sets Steve off. Something small, something he wouldn’t have given a second thought to, normally.

It’s the ceiling.

The room is dark when Steve wakes, just barely lit by a flickering light that he can’t see the source of, and as he squints up at the ceiling, he realizes that it isn’t his ceiling. The texture is wrong, and it’s hard to tell for sure, but he thinks the color is off, too. It isn’t his ceiling, and he isn’t in his bedroom, and suddenly–

Suddenly Steve has no idea where he is.

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, and now he’s woken up somewhere strange, somewhere unfamiliar. His heart starts pounding as he turns his head, trying to figure out what’s going on. Everything is in shadow, looming and strange, blurry – Steve realizes that he isn’t wearing his contacts, that he doesn’t know where is glasses are, and what the hell is going on?

Where is he?

It looks like the only source of light is coming from a TV, the screen a smear of flashing colors that Steve can’t decipher, and it doesn’t help him in the slightest. Had he passed out at a party? Is he at someone else’s house?

But no, he doesn’t do that anymore. He hasn’t in a while.

He tries desperately to remember what he’d been doing before he fell asleep (passed out?), but his brain has spun out a hundred miles ahead of him, no longer accepting rational input, because the last time he’d woken somewhere unfamiliar he’d been at the mercy of his violent captors, and the time before that he’d been trapped in a car being driven by a thirteen-year-old, and his mind is trying desperately to jam a square peg into a round hole and make his surroundings make sense.

“Steve?” Someone speaks, and a hand lands on Steve’s shin.

Steve yells wordlessly, scrambling upright, away from the hand, panicked, feeling utterly stupid for not having even thought to check for other people, for someone who could hurt him, for whoever might have taken him here in the first place, except– except when Steve finally gets a look at whoever it is, the wild curls and wide eyes ping as familiar almost immediately.

Maybe he doesn’t know where he is, but he knows that face, even without his contacts, even in the dark, even in his panic.

“Eddie?” Steve manages, hoarse and breathless.

Eddie moves, reaching out behind himself, and suddenly the room explodes into light. Steve scrunches his eyes shut against the initial flare, but when he opens them again, everything has changed. He recognizes the dark fabric of the couch he and Eddie are sitting on. He recognizes the lamp on the end table behind Eddie. He recognizes the coffee table and the scatter of books and papers sitting on top of it. He recognizes the pale carpet and the TV stand and the blurry shape of the doorway he knows leads to the kitchen even though the light in there is still off.

He recognizes all of it because he’s seen it dozens of times before, because he is in the Munson’s goddamn living room.

Steve sags a little against the couch, heart still pounding, breath still wheezing in and out a little too quickly to be comfortable, and he shakes his head against the buildup of anxiety that now has nowhere to go.

“Hey,” Eddie calls softly, and Steve looks up at him. “What happened there? Are you okay?”

Eyes scrunched shut again, Steve runs a hand over his face, nodding his head, then shaking it, unable to decide.

“I got…” He looks back up at Eddie, suddenly feeling small and out of place, uncertain even though he knows exactly where he is now. “I got lost, for a minute.”

He can’t quite tell what expression takes Eddie’s face at that, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Eddie is sitting forward, reaching out again, not touching this time, but offering.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Eddie says, and Steve finds he doesn’t want to do anything but exactly that.

He moves across the couch and crashes into Eddie’s open arms, burying his face in his neck as his arms come around Steve’s back, stroking up and down as Steve rides out the shakes of adrenaline, and here – here, at least, Steve knows he will never feel lost.

#but no really I hope this is okay and that you are still around to read it!#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote #answers from solar #anonymous

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jasmines-library · 11 months ago

Note

Could you please do Winchester!sister fic where the boys and sister are on a hunt in the rain and they get to a two story house and while the boys are checking the bottom floor, the sister goes off on her own to the rooftop and faces one of the monsters up there who cuts a wire and the boys come outside to see just as the sister gets electrocuted and flung off the roof and…

Currents Convulsive

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Warnings: possible swearing, electrocution? Hospitals.

Word Count: 1.3K

SPN MASTERLIST

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The rain splattered heavily against the hood of Baby as slammed your door shut. The rain was heavy. Treacherous. It soaked through your clothes and chilled h your skin as it sat slick against it. You were half sure the sky was trying to drown you as it pooled at your feet before rolling down the hill. You slid your pistol into your waistband after checking it was loaded, and shouldered your rifle.

“You ready?” Dean asked, running his fingers through his hair to try and shake some of the rain from it.

“Yep.” You agreed, stepping behind him and Sam as they walked towards the house. It was an old house; half destroyed by an earthquake a few years ago that left the paint flaking and the brick crumbling. It also left a gaping hole in the roof, so the chance of any sanctuary from the rain was practically gone. Especially upstairs.

You and your brothers were hunting a spirit tethered to one of the belongings lost here. The spirit was rather angry and had been terrorising the street for years. The problem was: you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for and while you would usually salt n burn the whole place, with the torrential downpour that showed no sigh of stopping that wasn’t an option. You figured you would know when you found what you were looking for. Hopefully. If not it was back to square one.

Stepping round the rubble and pushing open the splintering door, the three of you stepped inside.

Inside the house was just as dark and grim as the outside. The only light spared came from the gaping hole in the roof: the weather and conditions breaking through the floor below it too. Picture frames that once hung on the walls now lay shattered on the ground from where they had slumped from their hooks. Furniture was overturned and the windows broken; the glass spiderwebbing along the frames. The rest of the spirits possessions were strewn across the floor or spilling from cupboards. Great. At least the ground floor was relatively dry.

“Dibs not going upstairs” Dean announced loudly when he took in the trickle of water from the hole in the ceiling and how the water dribbled in from the lack of roof.

“Nope. Nuh uh.” Sam said, glancing at the stairs. “That’s not how this works, Dean.”

“I’m the oldest. That means I get to decide. And I say I’m not going up there.”

“Dean.” You grumbled.

Sam held out his hand in a fist. Dean rolled his eyes before sighing and joining the two of you for a game of rock paper scissors. The three of you played, and you pulled rock, fully expecting for Dean to pick scissors like he did every time. And sure enough Dean’s hand flattened as he played paper—

Paper?!

Dean grinned proudly as he and Sam beat you. You looked at Dean unamused.

“I hate you.” You deadpanned. Of course, you didn’t mean it really. A lighthearted joke.

Dean ruffled your hair. “Have fun getting wet, kiddo.”

Rolling your eyes, you grumbled and trudged up the groaning stairs to sort through all of her things.

You’d been upstairs for about 10 minutes when the atmosphere seemed so shift; the air grew colder and the rain seemed to hammer through the roof harder. And then, things were being pelted at you. The spirit stood at the other end of the room and if the fact he was pelting things at you wasn’t enough for you to gauge his anger, then the cantankerous look on expression was.

Rolling to your left, you managed to dodge the onslaught of rubble he was throwing at you, and made a move to grab your rifle. Pulling it back and aiming it at the spirit, you fired. The rock salt rounds slammed into its humanoid figure and sent it dissipating somewhere else. But not for long. The sound of the gun being fired had alerted your brothers, who called out your name.

“We’ve got company!” You yelled down to them. You stepped further into the room, so you were close to the middle. Water pooled at your feet, the cold seeping into your toes. The wind howled above you, rattling the power lines above.

When the spirit reappeared, he let out an awful howl that seemed to rattle the whole house and the trees around it. You fire at it again.

“I could really use some help here” you grunted as you dodged.

“We’re coming kiddo.” Sam yelled back at you as they raced towards the stairs.

An awful crack sounded. A rumble of thunder and then a ripple of sparking as the power lines came crashing down. You tried to jump out of the way, but your reflexes were no match for the spirits actions.

Hitting the water, the live wire sparked and the electricity rippled through it. And then you were overcome by a blinding pain that shot through your veins. You screamed raw as the force of the voltage flung you backwards across the room and you slammed into the brick. Your vision swam overcome quickly with white spots. And the last thing you remember was the scream of the spirit as it went up in flames before the blurry outline of Sam loomed over you.

~~~

You were sure if it was in incessant beeping of the heart monitor, or the pain that radiated through your body. You blinked, a soft groan slipping from your chapped lips. Your throat felt like sandpaper.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” It was Dean’s soft voice that greeted you; low and gentle, laced thick with concern that will be hard to unpick later.

Your eyes fluttered, assaulted by the harsh lights before they settled on your older brother. You tried to shift in search of Sam, but a gentle hand to the shoulder stopped you. “Take it easy, Kiddo.” Sam reassured you. His voice held the same worry that Dean’s did, and he had worry wrinkles creased between his eyebrows. “I’m here. We’re both here. You’re safe.”

“What…….” You croaked “what happened…?” It had all happened so quickly that you hadn’t really been able to process it.

Dean smoothed his hand over your forehead and threaded his fingers through your hair. “The spirit cut the power lines. They fell in the water and electrocuted you before flinging you against the wall. That was…two days ago.”

You felt your stomach drop at that.

“The throw broke a couple of your ribs and the voltage caused some damage but they managed to fix you up. Just rest a painkillers for now.” Sam said gently, unable to help the sideways glance at the IV poking out of your skin.

“…..the spirit?….” you rasped out.

“Burnt. It was tied to a wedding ring.” Dean answered. “We burnt it just seconds too late— oh sweetheart. We’re so sorry……it’s my fault. I should have just gone up there myself—“

“Stop that.” You chided. Although your weak voice didn’t do much to assert your authority in the slightest.

“It is my fault—“

“Not it’s not. It was an accident.”

“An accident that could have been prevented.”

You shook your head. “Nope. Stop that.” You said. “Please.”

That seemed to cut across him, and he dropped his next comment. You could still tell him and Sam were feeling guilty, but at least he wasn’t outwardly saying it, so that was a step in the right direction. They still watched you with worried eyes. “I’m okay.” You said softly. “A little sore. But okay. I promise.”

Sam squeezed your hand a little. “Of course you are. You’re a tough one, kiddo.”

Dean agreed. “The toughest.”

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SPN TAGS:

@hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury @xxrougefangxx

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

#supernatural x reader #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural #spn #spn x reader #Dean Winchester #dean winchester x sister reader #dean winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x sister reader #Sam Winchester x reader

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holylulusworld · 14 days ago

Text

Shadows (1)

Summary: You end up in a trap.

Pairing: Dark!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Dark!Steve Rogers

Warnings: heavy angst, kidnapping, darkfic, CNC turning into non-con, role-play gone wrong, dub-con, cuckholding, anal sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (male rec), creampie, degrading, ignore of safe word, break of trust, restraints (chains/handcuffs), sex from behind, unprotected sex, smut, threesome, taking turns, anal fingering, breeding kink (slightly), OOC Steve / Bucky

Rating: Explicit/Mature

Words: 3,6+ k

Square filled for @avengers-assemble-bingo: Kinky Bingo: Threesome

Square filled for @anyfandomdarkbingo: Evil Character AU

Please consider writing this evil character au, I stepped out of my comfort zone.

A/N: I cannot stress enough to heed the warnings for this part of the series. It's an Evil Character AU with dark Steve / Bucky / Reader. It contains explicit, triggering content. You have been warned.

You sigh as the abandoned subway station turns out to be a labyrinth of tunnels and chambers. You lost orientation half an hour ago, just like contact with your team member. Steve, your fiancé and protector.

“Damn it,” you huff and wipe your sweaty forehead. You’re still hot and bothered from the way Steve murmured filthy things in your ear hours ago. “You had to do this before a mission.”

You tug at your combat suit, trying not to brush against your pulsing clit. While you try to navigate the dimly lit corridors, your footsteps echo in the silence.

While on the hunt for the bane of the city, Shadow, a monster kidnapping people to play games with them, you are focused on the task. Eyes, sharp and focused.

Shuddering, you stop in your tracks. You can’t shake the feeling that someone is following your every step. No. This can’t be.

You want to laugh about your sudden insecurity when a hand clamps over your mouth. Your eyes widen, and you try to elbow your attacker in the ribs, but he’s faster. He rams a needle into your neck.

Everything turns black, and the last thing you hear are his dark promises whispered in your ear that he’s going to ruin you for him.

“Where? Who?” Your throat is dry when you try to talk to your kidnapper. He’s standing only a few feet away from you, watching you with amusement.

You’re still dizzy and disoriented, but the coldness making your body shiver tells you that he removed all of your clothing.

“Ah, finally awake,” he laughs as you lift your head to look up at the ceiling you are tied to. Chains around your wrists hold you to the ceiling. Two chains hold your ankles in place, making it impossible to fight him. “I feared I must start without you.”

“What do you want?” You grunt, desperately trying to hide the fear gripping your heart tightly. “Who are you?”

“I am Shadow. The master of darkness. The man stealing innocence and dreams,” he laughs while stepping closer to reveal he’s naked, except for a black mask covering his face. His cock was already hard and leaking pre-cum.

No. This can’t be happening. You were so careful to never end up as a victim during missions. You knew Shadow was dangerous, but didn’t expect him to do such a vile thing.

“You will find out this has nothing to do with you but your fiancé, the golden boy,” Shadow says, stepping even closer. “I planned this to break him… and, well, have some fun.”

You whimper when he rounds on you to grab you by the back of your neck. Cheek to cheek, he whispers filthy things into your ear, making you choke out a sob.

Not seeing what he’s about to do is bad, but feeling him touch your ass with rough hands is even worse. Shadow alternatively kneads your gloves and slaps them.

You refuse to cry out, but you’re scared to the bone when you walk toward a wall opposite you to press a button and switch the light on.

Your eyes widen seeing your fiancé, Steve, tied to a chair. The chain around his body was the only reason he didn’t already free you. A ball gag keeps him from screaming as he watches Shadow step behind you to spread your ass cheeks.

“Did you already fuck this heavenly hole, Steve?” Shadow asks, an amused smirk on his lips no one can see behind the mask. Steve shakes his head and grunts, struggling to break out of the restraints. “We will get to you, big boy. Let me have some fun with her first.”

You look at Steve, whimpering his name as the man behind you spits into the crack of your ass. He laughs as you try to wiggle the moment you hear him unclasp a bottle.

A cool liquid hits the crack of your ass, and you know he’s going to fulfill all the deprived and filthy promises he whispered in your ear.

His index finger runs up and down the crack of your ass, smearing lube all over your skin. You shake your head and fight against the chains, but he pushes half of his index finger into your virgin asshole, making you scream.

“I knew you’d love it,” he cruelly laughs when you try to wiggle away. “Hold still, or I will go in dry. Do you want me to fuck your ass dry or with lube?” He leans closer, his breath hot on your face. “I’ll fuck it one way or another. Your choice.”

You sniffle—he shoves his finger deeper. “Your choice. If you want me to open you up and use lube, beg me to fuck your virgin ass.”

You’d love to refuse, to fight with all you’ve got, but Steve cannot help you, and you don’t want to endure more pain than you already will. “Please…”

“I can’t hear you!” Shadow taunts, adding a second finger without lube. You keen and whimper, but he moves them in and out of your hole. “Louder!”

“Please…fuck my virgin ass.”

“Say you need it,” he growls while moving his fingers out to add his thumb, toying with the ring of muscles. “Say you need a real man to fuck your ass to get you off!”

“I need a real man to fuck my ass to get off. Please fuck me…” You weakly reply. “Please…”

“Alright,” Shadow removes his thumb to cup your tits from behind, toying with the plush flesh, tugging meaningfully at your nipples until they are aching and hard. “She’s a little slut, huh?” He says and slaps one hand between your legs, once, twice, three times until you cry out.

"I love it when you beg," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. He leans in again, his lips brushing against your ear. "But I like it even more when you scream." His fingers find your clit, tugging at the swollen bud to make you scream. “Yeah, we are going to make her scream.”

Shaking, you hear him shift behind you. It feels like the air gets sucked out of your lungs when he runs his cock up and down the crack of your ass, gathering the lube.

“What was that, baby? You want me to fuck your ass?”

“No!” You look at Steve, breathing hard. He cocks his head as Shadow roughly grabs your hips with his left hand.

“Oh yes, baby,” he taunts, pressing the tip against your tight opening. Your eyes widen, your lips part as you scream red. He stops for a second, huffing before dipping his head to look at Steve. “Nah, no more stopping. This is my ass tonight. Right, Steve? How about you join the party and watch me fuck her ass?”

“No…no…red…red…” You fight the chains, struggling to breathe, when Steve gets up from the chair, the chains falling to the ground, the ball gag following suit. He closes the distance with four long steps to grab you by your throat. You whimper because there’s something else than anger in his eyes. “No…Steve…red…”

“No more limits tonight,” Steve replies as he wraps his hand tighter around your throat, forcing you to wheeze. “Let him fuck your ass, whore.”

You shake your head, tugging at the chains as Shadow presses his thumb against your opening again. He spits on it before starting to press in. You cry out, fighting even harder, but you stand no chance against them.

Steve grabs your hips, holding you in place while Shadow pushes further into your ass. He works your hole open with cruel patience, never easing off until the ring of your tightest hole puckered for him.

“There you go, whore,” he hisses and removes his thumb. “You’ll be so good for me now.” When he slides his cock in, it is mean and without a care. The sound you make as he invades your asshole wasn’t even human.

“Fuck, that’s a good hole, Steve,” Shadow curses behind you, his cock not even halfway in. “I want to spread her open.”

“It’s all yours,” Steve replies with a wicked grin. You don’t recognize the man you love any longer. He holds you in place for Shadow to ram the last inches into your defiled asshole and laughs.

Shadow stills his hips, groaning behind you as you try to breathe through the pain and bear the wide stretch of your virgin asshole.

“I bet she could come like that,” he laughs about you. “Do you want a turn later too, or do you prefer her cunt?”

“We will see,” Steve casually says while cupping your tits, playing with them as Shadow grips your hips.

Shadow starts moving his hips. He fucks you in careful, shallow bursts, each thrust precise to make you sure, he want slip out of your ass. After a few strokes, he pulls out almost all the way, and you think he’s done, but he pushes back in.

“Can you hear how wet you are for my fat cock in your ass?” He growls while ramming into you from behind, the lube making slick noises that echo in the empty basement.

Shadow’s rhythm intensifies while he curses and grunts behind you. You’re about to lose your mind, soul, and heart, shattered by Steve’s betrayal, as the man fucking your ass tells you how tight you are and how you should just take it up your ass all the time.

“Please…no more!” You beg, looking at Steve, who acts as if he didn’t hear you. Instead, he slaps your tits with both hands and moves behind you to watch Shadow use your ass.

“Fuck…that’s it… Yeah. Milk me dry, whore.” Shadow’s hold on your hips gets bruising.

“You're a monster,” you scream, spit flying from your lips.

You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, hot and pulsating. He batters your asshole, laughing when you start to scream. "That's right, slut. And you love it.”

One hand drops from your hip to reach around, his fingers digging into your pussy.

“Oh, Steve, she’s dripping wet from getting her ass fucked.” He laughs and laughs as you try to wiggle away. "See, you're already dripping for me. You want more, right?”

You feel him pull out slightly again, hoping to see the end of the torture, but he slams back into you, hips grinding into your ass.

“No…stop!”

“Hah, that’s a good whore. See, I told you she’d love getting her ass fucked. You only need to encourage whores to do as you say.”

Steve moves back to face you. With his cock in his hand, he strokes himself while watching you with darkened eyes. “She's a dirty little slut, isn't she?”

“Yes, she is,” Steve groans with every thrust you must endure. “Fuck her harder. I want to hear her beg me to fuck her ass too.”

Tears slip down your cheek at Steve’s words. Shadow fucks your ass, but Steve’s betrayal breaks you more.

“Yeah, you want to fuck her ass now too?” Shadow grunts before speeding up. He thrusts four or five more times until you finally feel his cum fill your abused hole.

He stays inside, shuddering and groaning as he tries to come down from his high.

He pulls out, laughing again as his seed runs out of your gaping hole.

“She’s all yours to use.” He steps away, making space for Steve. You scream red again, but Steve doesn’t hear you. He runs his cock up and down the crack of your ass, gathering Shadows’ cum before pushing the tip in.

“Open up, whore. You did it for him too,” Steve hisses while gripping your hips. He’s not patient. Steve rams right into your gaping hole, making you scream at the top of your lungs. “You were denying me this hole for too long. Now it’s mine.”

“It’s ours,” Shadow corrects. He steps in front of you to take his mask off. “There you go, baby. You are allowed to see me now that you had me inside your pretty ass.

It’s no surprise that Shadow turns out to be Bucky, Steve’s best friend and brother-in-arms. He laughs as you drop your eyes, hoping to find a way to blend them out, and ignore that Steve is battering your already painfully stretched hole. “Fuck, fuck…that’s it, slut.”

You close your eyes, trying anything to ignore the pain in your heart and the sting in your abused asshole.

“No daydreaming.” Bucky grabs you by your throat, smirking deviously as his friend fucks you with quick and deep thrusts. “How about you clean up the mess you made?”

Steve stops moving for a moment. He wraps his arms around your waistline to hold you in place while his friend opens the handcuffs holding your wrist to the chains. Steve immediately takes the handcuffs to restrain your wrists behind your back.

You don’t fight them. There’s no use. Both men are so much stronger than you. You close your eyes when Steve grabs your wrists to use the leverage to drag you onto his cock, and you don’t open them when he commands you to suck his friend’s cock.

Bucky grips the back of your neck, forcing you to tilt your head in an uncomfortable position. “Open up, or I’ll break your jaw.” You obey because there is no fighting him.

He pushes his cock inside, forcing you to taste him and your asshole. You gag around him, but his hold on your neck is too firm to fight him. Bucky starts thrusting his hips into your face, not letting up until your eyelids become heavy.

You are drifting away when you feel a sharp sting, waking you. “No sleeping while sucking my cock.” Bucky angrily slips out of your mouth. He jerks his cock a few more times, smirking when his cum hits your face, tits, and hair. “You look so pretty coated in filth.

“Fuck…fuck…that’s it…” Steve stills his hips, pushing as deep as possible into your ass to pump his seed into your hole. “What a hole.” He slips out, admiring the way your puckered hole clenches around nothing.

You try to remain still, praying Steve will stop now, but you end up on the ground, your knees hitting the cold concrete.

“Punk, not so rough,” Bucky laughs as you hiss in pain. “We want to fuck her like that. Do not break her knees.”

“I’ll fuck her pussy first. You had her virgin asshole!” Steve is quick to drag you toward a dirty mattress, tossing you onto it.

You try to run away, but Steve grabs your ankles, pulling you back. You kick, thrash, and scream, but Steve is already on top of you, his body pinning yours down.

You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, smearing his cum all over your skin. "You're not going anywhere, doll," Steve growls, his voice thick with lust. “Now I’ll have this wet hole and fuck a baby into you. You know, the one you didn’t want.”

You shake your head, crying into the dirty mattress as Steve's cock presses against your pussy. Usually, you love to feel his cock stretching you, but tonight, you only feel hollow.

Steve groans in your neck, savoring how you are completely at his mercy. No more sweet lovemaking and denying him. No more holding back. “This is what you were made for. Never deny me again.”

You close your eyes and try to let your mind wander as Steve’s hips relentlessly piston, his cock fucking your pussy with brutal thrusts.

His balls slap against your ass as he stretches and claims and uses your body for his liking. This is not the man you fell in love with. It’s a nightmare turned reality.

“Fuck safe words, fuck stopping me from finding release. I’ll come inside this snatch and fill your nasty cunt up. And then, Buck will have his fill. And then we will both fill your holes. You’re ours to use and fill and defile.”

You can feel the tears streaming down your cheeks and can feel the way your body tries to betray you, getting wetter, more ready for their cocks.

“She’s clenching like a whore around me, Buck. You wouldn’t believe she denied all of this for so long. My filthy slut needs a good pounding in her ass to get wet.”

“Fuck, pump her full. I want my turn,” Bucky strokes his cock, already hard again. – Perks of being a super-soldier.

Steve's thrusts become more forceful, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Your body is on fire while your mind struggles to process the intense pleasure and pain. You feel an unwanted orgasm building, your body tensing as Steve's cock brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“No,” you whimper into the dirty mattress. “Please, no…”

“Oh…yes…” Bucky snickers as his friend fucks you into the mattress. He has never been more aroused in his whole life. “Come for him, come for us, whore!”

Your body thrashes underneath Steve as your orgasm hits you, cries of pleasure and desperation filling the room.

Steve groans like an animal hearing your desperate cries. He can smell your cum on his cock and shudders.

“That’s a good slut.” His hot seed once again fills one of your holes, tainting you even more. “Your turn, Buck.”

Bucky claps his hands. He waits for Steve to pull out to remove the handcuffs around your wrists. You’re too weak to fight him when he flips you onto your back.

He lines his thick cock up, this time with your cunt. He smirks as you babble and weakly try to push against his chest. “Remember, you asked Steve to have a threesome, slut.”

Bucky forces his way inside your cunt, splitting you open with a grunt. You want to fight him, but you’re too weak to do more than groan when Bucky grips your legs to spread you wide. He grins and starts moving, not giving a shit you beg him to slow down.

He thrusts as deep as possible, meaningly grinding into you to rub against your clit. You gasp and moan, unable to stop your treacherous body from doing the worst possible.

“This is what you wanted.” Bucky snaps his hips harder into yours. “Not going to last with a pussy like that, Steve.”

True to his words, he doesn’t last long. After a few deep thrusts, he comes, thick ropes of cum filling your stretched-out hole. He stays inside, pelvis pressed against pelvis, to watch your chest rise and fall and sobs escape your trembling lips.

“You only wanted to have it your way. Only vanilla, no ass fuck, not creampie. Clean, proper, and sweet.” Bucky laughs in your face. He leans over your body, kissing you greedily. “Now you are our whore to use because that’s all you’re good for. A pair of tight holes to use.”

Bucky finally leaves you empty, a mixture of their cum dripping out of your abused cunt.

“How do you want her next?” Bucky asks as you try to roll to your side. It’s too much, but they won’t let up. “Ass, cunt, mouth?”

“I want her ass while you fuck her cunt. Let’s make her scream our names in every octave that exists. She will be more compliant knowing she’ll not leave the basement if she doesn’t agree to become our anal slut.” Steve grabs you by your ankle, spreading your legs to look at your cum-leaking holes. “Now, now. You look like a slut filled with our spunk. Maybe we should offer the rest of the team a go too.”

“Please…no,” you shake your head. “Please, Steve…please… I’ll be your anal slut.”

Bucky snorts as you plead and beg them to fuck your ass. “Steve, let’s fulfill her wishes. She needs our cocks to fuck her some more.”

“You’re lucky we have lots of stamina, doll.” You’d love to sneer, but all you can do for now is make them believe they broke you completely.

You end up on your hands and knees after only a few heartbeats. They won’t give you a break. Not tonight. Never.

Bucky grips your jaw, working it open to slide his cock down your throat once more. Steve is behind you, pressing the tip to your tightest hole. It already loosened up, but he lubes his cock before pushing inside.

The stretch is as painful as before. You scream around Bucky’s cock, making him groan as the vibrations make him impossibly harder.

This time, they work in sync. While they work their cocks into your holes, you slowly realize they work too precisely, like a well-oiled machine, because they did this before. Not with you, but with other women.

“Good girl taking cock like a pro,” Steve praises while switching holes. He alternatively fucks your ass and switches to your cunt, laughing as you babble around his friend’s cock.

“She’s the best we ever had,” Bucky confirms your worst fears. They did this before and are not ashamed to admit it. “Fuck, this mouth feels like heaven.”

“Right,” Steve grunts and rams into you harder. “Imagine, I only got it for my birthday. She was too shy to suck my dick. Now look at that whore, taking me up her ass and my best friend in her mouth.”

“Yeah,” Bucky thrusts faster, close to coming down your throat. “Fuck…shit…yeah…”

You choke out a sob, feeling Bucky’s cum shoot down your throat the same moment Steve fills your ass again. “There you go, eat it all.” Bucky slips out of your mouth to watch you swallow his seed.

You want to spit it out and in his face but know better. They could hurt you so much more with a simple flick of their wrists.

“Let’s switch…”

Your groans as they do just that. It goes on for half of the night, both men switching holes, thrusting, poking, using, and filling you up with their seed until you lose consciousness and pass out on them.

They both move away from you, their cocks finally softening, but their smirks indicate they are not nearly done with you and your holes.

Part 2

#steve rogers #anyfandomdarkbingo #bucky barnes #darkfic #tw: noncon #tw: cnc #tw: smut #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #x reader

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nekoannie-chan · 3 months ago

Text

“4 times you planned Bucky and Steve's Birthday; 1 they planned yours.”

Title: 4 times you planned Bucky and Steve's birthday; 1 they planned yours.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Stucky X Reader.

Word count: 698 words.

Square: 2 & I4: “Happy Birthday”

Rating: Teen.

Summary: You planned their birthday party, but what will happen if they plan yours?

Major Tags: Surprise party, fluff, party gone wrong.

Additional tags: My entry for the @avengers-assemble-bingo Bucky Barnes Birthday Bingo (Card 4B015) and @stuckybingo Stucky Bingo Round 6 (Card SB6066).

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish, so I wanna improve my writing skills in English. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes, and I will correct them.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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Bucky's birthday.

For Bucky's birthday, you decided to do something different.

“Let's do something he likes,” you told Steve as you set up the surprise. “What he likes best is a good home-cooked meal and quiet music. But I want him to feel how important he is, too.”

Bucky didn't know anything. You and Steve took care of everything from cooking to decorating the place with little lights hanging from the ceiling. At first, Bucky was surprised to get home and see everything set up, and the look on his face was enough to know it had all been worth it.

“This is...unexpected,” Bucky murmured, touching the decorations.

After dinner, when everyone had relaxed, Steve got up to make a toast. “To Bucky, the man who, even if he doesn't say it, always deserves more than we give him. Happy birthday.”

Bucky raised his glass. “Thanks, guys. I don't have many words; I just know...tonight makes me feel lucky.”

2. Steve's birthday.

The first time you organized Steve's birthday was a challenge. However, you and Bucky knew he deserved something special.

“It's just a quiet dinner, right?” asked Bucky as he leaned back on the couch, watching you set up the decorations.

“Sure, quiet...a small dinner,” you replied, even though you knew deep down you were planning something much bigger. When Steve walked in that night, his eyes lit up as he saw the decorations. Bucky brought some old photos from his time in Brooklyn, and together, they relived the old days, the days when there was no war and no worries.

“Thanks, guys,” Steve said as the three of them sat down to enjoy the cake. “This is more than I could ask for.”

Bucky raised his glass and toasted. “To Steve, for always being the guy who doesn't need a birthday to be the best but still deserves it.”

The night ended with you guys hugging him.

3. Bucky's birthday.

For Bucky's second birthday, you decided to do something even simpler. A picnic in the park.

The day started well, with everyone buying the ingredients and organizing a picnic basket full of sandwiches, fruit, and a bottle of wine. But when they arrived at the park, strange things began to happen. The wind started blowing hard, blowing napkins around and messing everything up. A dog approached and, at first, seemed friendly but ended up stealing one of the sandwiches from the basket. Steve slipped on a rock and fell to the ground while you were trying to save the wine, which almost tipped over.

“Well, at least it's not a rescue mission,” Bucky said with a chuckle, looking at the whole mess that had occurred.

4. Steve's birthday.

Steve's second birthday was even more special. This time, there were no excuses: it would be a surprise party.

You and Bucky took care of the planning without Steve's knowledge.

The surprise was a success. Steve, at first, was puzzled to see all his friends and colleagues gathered in the apartment. The decor was filled with war memorabilia, old uniforms, flags, and photos. And, of course, the food he loved so much.

“This is bigger than I imagined,” he said, almost overwhelmed by the number of people who had joined him that night.

“It couldn't be less for someone so big,” you replied.

The night ended with Steve hugging you, grateful for the effort, as Bucky joined in the hug.

5. Your Birthday

For your birthday, Bucky and Steve tried to organize everything themselves, but they couldn't avoid the problems. The cake burned, the decorations were chaotic, and they couldn't agree on anything.

You arrived at the apartment and at first didn't understand what had happened. The lights were off, the tables were in disarray, and the air was thick with smoke from the burnt cake. You looked at both of them, and they, embarrassed, sheepishly approached you.

“Sorry...we thought we could handle it,” Steve said, with a guilty smile.

Bucky laughed. “Maybe we're not the best party organizers.”

They both came over and hugged you.

“Well,” you said, hugging them back, ”if this is the worst they can do, I'm happy.”

#4bbingo #stuckybingo #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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love-and-deepspace-wiki · 4 months ago

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Random Facts: Caleb

Home Tour, Part 4:

This is the aspect of the house that confuses me the most. But without further ado, let's talk bedrooms~ We know the house has more than two bedrooms because, when the protagonist first visits his house, Caleb tells her to "pick a bedroom" to sleep in. And this statement wouldn't make sense if the house only had a master bedroom and a guest bedroom.

Throughout the main story and Caleb's memory stories, we are shown four distinct bedroom depictions. To avoid confusion, I've listed them in order of appearance and given them the following nicknames:

The "Gray Bedroom"

The "Cinematic Bedroom"

The "Pink Bedroom"

Caleb's "Hidden Waves" Bedroom

Each of their theorized floorplans will be included at the end of this post.

The "Gray Bedroom":

When the protagonist first visits his home, Caleb tells her to choose a bedroom to sleep in. She mentions navigating through several doorways before finding/selecting a bedroom, which Caleb identifies as his own. Since the "Gray Bedroom" is the first bedroom depicted ("Homecoming Wings: Vanishing Skyward: Heart's Crossing"), I assume this is supposed to be Caleb's bedroom?

On the right side of the room (left) is a desk, a dark table with shelves above it, and a floor-to-ceiling window. At the left side of the image is a partial wall. Since this bedroom seems to have the same floorplan as the "Pink Bedroom", this is likely where the closet is located.

Unique features of this bedroom include:

A modern chandelier-like light fixture above the bed

A black, half-sphere-shaped lamp extending from the wall.

Bedding in a gray, brown, and navy colorway.

A thin seat at the foot of the bed, spanning the full width of the bed

A squared, brown bedside table

Interestingly, the window reflection of the light fixture does not match what is shown in the room. Despite this room having the chandelier-style light fixture, the reflection (top right) shows the wireframe-style light fixture seen only in the "Pink Bedroom" (bottom right).

The "Cinematic Bedroom":

This bedroom is the second depiction shown in the main story ("Homecoming Wings: Vanishing Skyward: Heart's Crossing"). It is shown during a cinematic scene at the end of this chapter, when Caleb sits on the bed observing a sleeping protagonist. This floorplan differs from both the "Gray Bedroom" and the "Pink Bedroom". When Caleb first enters the room, we briefly see the bedroom doorway, a large potted plant, a couch, and a small table (left). Later on, as he leaves the room, we get an even better glimpse of the doorway (right).

We're also shown the side of the room opposite the couch. There, we see a large floor-to-ceiling window, a bedside table (with a bookshelf), a bed, and the edge of another table to the left of the bed (topped with an alarm clock). Based on all of these details, I've constructed the theorized floorplan for this bedroom below.

The "Pink Bedroom":

The "Pink Bedroom" (left) is the third bedroom depicted in the main story ("Homecoming Wings: Night Unending: Awakening" and "Homecoming Wings: Night Unending: Annihilation"). The story never mentions the protagonist switching to another bedroom, though. So I'm unsure if this is a redecorated "Gray Bedroom" (and still Caleb's room?) or a new one entirely. But, thanks to an evening panning shot of this room, we can see the tiniest sliver of a closet on the left side of the room (right).

This room appears to follow the same floorplan as the "Gray Bedroom". But the dark table on the right side of the image is now white and the shelves above it have been removed. On the left side of the image, the mirror has been replaced with additional shelves.

Unique features of this bedroom include:

The previously mentioned wireframe-style light fixture above the bed

A conical white lamp extending from the wall.

Bedding in a gray, pink, and burgundy colorway.

A thin seat at the foot of the bed, spanning about 3/4 the width of the bed

A rounded, silver bedside table

Caleb's "Hidden Waves" Bedroom:

Lastly, the fourth bedroom depicted in-game is shown in Caleb's "Hidden Waves" memory story. Despite this room having an entirely different floorplan compared to previous rooms, it is also said to be Caleb's bedroom?

(Infold, pls confirm. Did Caleb fr buy a four bedroom house and then call dibs on EVERY SINGLE ROOM? Pls make this canon rofl)

The still shot gave me the most complete view (left). But the cinematic portion of the story does give a very blurry look at the right side of the room. All I could make out was a table, a lamp, and a doorway (right).

Theorized Floorplans:

Based on all of the info covered above, here are my theorized floorplans for each bedroom.

#love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace skyhaven #lads skyhaven #random facts caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb

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colorfulsmayles24 · 4 months ago

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⭕️18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT⭕️

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Red and Gold

The Salesman/Reader

Summary: Instead of getting slapped by the Salesman, you pay by kissing him on the cheek. It escalates from there.

Tags: Salesman tries to recruit the reader for the games, it doesn't go as planned, Smut, Making Out, Porn With Plot, reader has a backstory, woman reader, the salesman is a freak™m, but so is the reader, paying with your body, Prostitution, Choking, the salesman is touch-starved

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Chapter 1

“We are currently experiencing delays due to technical difficulties. Estimated delay: 40 minutes. We apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your patience.”

With a deep sigh, you let your head fall back against the tiled wall of the subway station. This was the third time this month that the Seoul train system misbehaved and left you stranded in Yang-Cheong-gu after your closing shift. Next to you, two commuters muttered their annoyance and made for the exit, presumably to catch a cab or walk home. For a second you debated whether it was worth the money to follow them before you knocked that foolish notion out of your head. That was an entire bag of groceries.

Resigned to your fate, you turned up the volume of your headphones and stared up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling. Two years ago you wouldn’t even have thought about it and just gotten the cab. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You almost jumped out of your skin. Hastily you pulled off your headphones and looked up at the person who had spoken.

He was a tall guy in a grey suit, presumably mid-thirties, with silky, undyed hair and a friendly smile. How the hell had he snuck up on you? You could have sworn the station had been deserted.

“What?” you said, a little more harshly than you meant to.

The smile didn’t leave his face.

“Good evening, Miss.” He sat down next to you on the bench, leaving a respectful distance. “Would you be interested in a game?”

Ugh. He was a salesman.

“No thank you, I don’t need any new subscriptions,” you replied, already putting the headphones back on.

He lightly touched your arm to halt your movement. You froze.

“I am not here to sell you anything, Miss,” he said pleasantly. “I’m simply asking if you would play a game with me.”

Despite his customer service expression of bland amiability, the laugh lines around his eyes creased when he spoke. Someone who laughed a lot, and genuinely.

You relaxed a little. With a face so kind, he couldn’t have it out for you, right? Besides, he could have done it earlier when you were distracted.

“What kind of game?” you asked, taking off your headphones for good.

“Do you know ddakji?”

You frowned. “The children’s game?”

Instead of replying to your question, he produced a metal briefcase from somewhere behind him and unclicked the hinges with unrushed movements before he presented its contents to you.

In neatly fitted black foam lay two squares of paper folded for ddakji, and three rows of banknotes; one with 10.000 and the other two with 50.000 won.

You gaped and the almost revolting amount of money, and the salesman’s smile broadened.

“Did I mention there is a price? Whoever wins the round gets 100.000 won.”

Your eyes were glued to the wads of cash. “But I don’t have any money.”

“Ah.” When you looked up, the man’s expression had not shifted, but a twinkle had appeared in his dark eyes. “We will figure something out.”

Your gaze snapped up to his face. His friendly expression showed merely polite curiosity.

Right.

“Do you always just carry this around with you?” you said to joke through your unease, gesturing at the case.

“On special occasions. Are you up for a game?”

With another glance at the cash, you nodded.

“Fine. Let's go.”

He inclined his head and took the ddakji out of the briefcase. “Do you know the rules? You have to throw the square with the other one so it flips over.”

“I played it as a kid.”

“Perfect.”

He stood up and dropped the red square on the floor. You followed suit.

“I’ll let you go first.” He smiled and offered the blue square to you.

You took it. The paper was warm in your hands.

It had been years since the last time you played, and you peered a little doubtfully at the small red square below you. You consoled yourself that if you lost, you could always leave. No signature bound you, security cameras were blinking overhead, and you could make out faint chatter floating in from the entrance, so if he insisted on anything weird, you could scream or run.

You glanced at the man, who gave you an encouraging blink, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

Pulling your arm back, you threw the ddakji with all your might.

Snap!

The red tile flipped, and you jumped in elation and relief, looking back at the salesman.

He bowed slightly, smiling. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” You handed him the paper.

Without hesitation, he smashed it, suit crinkling, tie flying, and the square flipped again.

As he straightened, your shoulders sagged. There went your money.

“That was anticlimactic,” he commented, picking up the square. “Another round?”

Snap!

Once again, your square flipped.

Clack!

He missed.

You almost yelped with joy. That was a large bag of groceries made in five minutes.

“And I… get a hundred thousand won now?” you asked, suddenly unsure he would follow suit on his offer.

“Of course,” he bent down to his case and extracted two fifty thousand notes, handing them to you.

Your hands shook a little as you accepted the money, staring in wonder at the yellow paper.

“Would be interested in another round?”

When you raised your head, you found him watching you with a bemused expression.

I should leave while I still can, you thought, but something about that higher-than-thou smile roused you.

You would see if he was still smiling once he lost all his cash to you. So far you had not lost a single round. Besides, the prospect of making more easy money was exciting. Perhaps you were able to afford sick leave if your winning streak continued.

“Ready when you are,” you said, gesturing at the square on the floor, and his smile deepened.

He tossed his paper, and with a familiar snap, the card flipped.

Picking up the red one this time, you threw it as well.

Clack!

You stared at the blue square, which had not moved a millimeter. You had missed.

Fuck.

“Well, I believe I won this round,” the salesman said in his pleasant voice.

You gripped the cash in your pocket, weighing your options. Would you be able to outrun him? Probably not, considering his freakishly long legs. Screaming would be unwise, now that he could claim you stole his money.

As if sensing your thoughts, his bemused expression returned and he raised an eyebrow.

“Miss?”

“What is the other option?” you all but demanded. “You said if I lost I could pay another way. What is it?”

Keep reading on ao3!

#squid game #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you #gong yoo #x reader #smut

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redfilledfantasies · 2 months ago

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First Sight (Chapter 1 of 7)

The elevator doors parted with a soft chime, and Dr. Carmella Hill stepped into the hushed domain of her Manhattan cardiology clinic. Her short brown hair with perfectly trimmed bangs framed her face with geometric precision, not a strand out of place despite the morning wind.

Her designer prescription glasses caught the light as she surveyed her territory, the kingdom of clean lines and medical excellence she had built through years of obsessive dedication. Her shoulders squared beneath the pristine white lab coat, its crisp edges a stark contrast to the troubled thoughts that had followed her from home. Six floors above the frenetic energy of Midtown, the clinic was a sanctuary of order.

Morning light streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the reception area where her staff would arrive in precisely forty-two minutes. Carmella preferred these solitary moments before the day began in earnest, when she could lose herself in the ceremony of preparation without watchful eyes or needless conversation.

Her heels clicked against the polished floor, each step an echo of purpose. She unlocked her office door with practiced efficiency, the lock yielding with a satisfying click. Inside, the space was a testament to her exacting standards—diploma and certifications arranged in perfect alignment on the walls, medical journals stacked at right angles on the glass desk, not a single item out of place.

She placed her leather bag in the same spot she did every morning, the corner of the desk nearest the window, its placement a ritual as important as any surgical procedure. From it, she withdrew her personal stethoscope, the weight of it familiar in her hands. It was the latest model, more expensive than necessary, but Carmella demanded excellence in all things, especially those that touched her patients.

The instrument gleamed under the overhead lights as she polished it with a microfiber cloth, her movements deliberate and reverent. Her fingers lingered on the chest piece, tracing its perfect circumference with an attention that transcended mere professional care.

She felt a flutter in her abdomen, a quickening of her pulse that had nothing to do with the morning's exertion and everything to do with what this instrument allowed her to hear—the most intimate rhythm of life itself.

She placed the stethoscope around her neck, adjusting it with unusual deliberation. The cool metal settled against her skin, and she closed her eyes briefly, savoring the sensation. When she opened them again, her reflection in the small desk mirror caught her attention, and she paused to study herself.

The woman who stared back was the picture of professional composure—high cheekbones accentuated by the angles of her glasses, lips pressed into a disciplined line. But beneath the clinical detachment, she recognized the telltale signs of her private fascination: the slight dilation of her pupils, the faint flush along her collarbanes.

Carmella shrugged off her lab coat and hung it temporarily, taking a moment to assess her physical form in the full-length mirror on the back of her door. Years of rigorous dedication to fitness had sculpted her body into something extraordinary. Her silk blouse clung to her large breasts, their perfect roundness defying gravity with the help of an expensive, architectural bra. The tailored slacks sat low on her hips, revealing the ridges of her enviable six-pack abs when she turned to the side.

She flexed slightly, watching the definition of her muscular thighs press against the fine fabric. The body was a machine, she reminded herself. Her own was simply better maintained than most. Still, she couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride at the exceptional vessel she had crafted through unrelenting discipline.

She donned her lab coat again, the white garment settling over her curves with professional neutrality, though it did little to conceal the remarkable physicality beneath. One by one, she checked each examination room, arranging instruments with obsessive precision. Blood pressure cuffs were coiled with mathematical exactness, cotton swabs aligned in perfect rows, vials organized by size and purpose.

In the central examination room, she paused, her attention caught by the gleaming array of cardiac monitoring equipment. Her fingers skimmed across the surface of the ECG machine, the metal cool against her skin. Her practice had the most advanced technology available, allowing her to capture every nuance of the heart's electrical activity, to see on screen what she could hear through her stethoscope.

She moved to her desk and pulled the day's patient files, spreading them before her in a fan of medical histories and heart conditions. Each folder was color-coded, the contents arranged according to her exacting specifications. She reviewed them methodically, committing key details to memory, noting the two new referrals and their symptoms with particular interest.

The first was a thirty-four-year-old woman with complaints of occasional palpitations during exercise. Carmella studied the preliminary notes, her mind already constructing a sequence of tests to isolate the cause. Her fingers traced the lines of the intake form, lingering on the patient's age and described symptoms. She anticipated the examination with a sharpness that was both professional and something more—an interest that went beyond clinical curiosity.

She returned the stethoscope to her neck, adjusting it once more with precise attention. The weight of it was reassuring, a connection to the rhythm she would soon hear, measure, analyze. She ran her fingertips along the tubing, the sensation triggering a memory of yesterday's examination—the cadence of a particular heartbeat that had stayed with her, replaying in her mind as she had lain awake last night.

The clinic remained silent around her as she completed her preparations. She set out the day's schedule, checked the calibration of the blood pressure monitor, and made one final adjustment to the arrangement of instruments on the examination tray. Each action was performed with meticulous attention, her body moving through the space with the confidence of absolute ownership.

Finally, she stood before the mirror once more, checking her appearance with critical eyes. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and straightened the lapels of her lab coat. The stethoscope hung precisely centered, the silver chest piece catching the light. Her hand rose to it, fingers closing around the metal in a gesture that was almost protective.

Carmella drew a deep breath, tasting the antiseptic cleanness of the air. She was ready for the day, her professional armor intact, her personal fascinations safely concealed beneath layers of clinical expertise. She glanced at her watch—seven minutes until her receptionist would arrive, twenty-three until the first patient.

The day would unfold with the precision she demanded, each heartbeat she listened to cataloged and analyzed with scientific detachment. But beneath the sterile surface of her professionalism, beneath the controlled rhythm of her own heartbeat, ran a current of something unruly and demanding—a fascination with the pulse of life that transcended medical interest and veered into territory more complex, more consuming.

The stethoscope rested against her chest, a constant reminder of the sound she sought, the rhythm that obsessed her. Her fingers brushed against it once more, an unconscious gesture of anticipation, before she turned to her desk to await the arrival of her staff and the day's first heartbeat.

The examination room was a testament to minimalist luxury, all clean lines and subdued tones. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline—a vista that patients often found distracting enough to momentarily forget their cardiac concerns.

Carmella appreciated this effect; a relaxed patient yielded more accurate readings. She arranged the instruments on the silver tray with methodical precision, each item placed at the exact angle she preferred, the metal surfaces gleaming under the recessed lighting. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and clean, a counterpoint to the faint trace of the patient's perfume that had entered the room before her.

Ms. Chen sat on the edge of the examination table, her silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to allow access for the stethoscope. Early thirties, Carmella estimated, with the lean physique of someone who exercised regularly but not obsessively. Her dark hair fell in an elegant bob that framed an oval face with high cheekbones.

The referral note mentioned occasional heart palpitations during her morning runs, nothing that seemed particularly concerning on paper, but Carmella never dismissed cardiac symptoms, no matter how minor. "So you've been experiencing these palpitations for about three weeks?" Carmella kept her voice professionally neutral as she reviewed the intake form, her eyes scanning the notes with practiced efficiency.

"Yes, usually about ten minutes into my run." Ms. Chen's voice was melodic, with the slight rasp of someone who enjoyed the occasional cigarette despite knowing better. "It's probably nothing, but my GP thought I should see a specialist."

"Palpitations are always worth investigating," Carmella replied, setting down the chart. She moved to the sink and washed her hands with meticulous attention, counting silently as she always did—twenty seconds exactly, no more, no less.

"Even if they turn out to be benign, which is often the case." She dried her hands on a paper towel and turned back to Ms. Chen, her professional mask firmly in place. "I'm going to take your vitals first, then listen to your heart in various positions to see if we can identify any irregularities."

The preliminary checks proceeded with clinical precision. Blood pressure: 118/76. Pulse: 72 beats per minute, regular. Oxygen saturation: 99%. All textbook normal. Carmella noted each value in the chart, her handwriting as precise as her methodology. "Now I'll need to listen to your heart," she said, reaching for the stethoscope that hung around her neck.

Her fingers closed around the chest piece, the metal warming beneath her touch. A subtle flutter stirred in her stomach, a physical anticipation she acknowledged and then attempted to suppress. This was a medical procedure, nothing more. "Could you unbutton your blouse a bit further, please? I need access to several listening points."

Ms. Chen complied without hesitation, the silk parting to reveal a lace-trimmed camisole beneath. Carmella kept her gaze clinical, focused on the anatomical landmarks that would guide her examination, not on the swell of the woman's breasts or the delicate hollow of her throat where a pulse visibly fluttered.

"This might be a bit cold," she warned, a standard phrase that fell from her lips automatically as she placed the stethoscope's disc against Ms. Chen's chest, just to the right of her sternum.

The first heart sound filled Carmella's ears—a clean, strong "lub" followed by the softer "dub" of the closing valves. The rhythm was like a well-conducted orchestra, each beat precise and distinct. Carmella felt her own pulse quicken in response, a pavlovian reaction to the intimate sound. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself to focus entirely on the auditory input.

Ms. Chen's heartbeat was remarkably clear, unusually so. Each component of the cardiac cycle resonated with crystal clarity through the stethoscope's earpieces. Carmella detected no murmurs, no extra sounds, just the pure, perfect rhythm of a healthy heart pushing blood through its chambers with textbook efficiency. She moved the stethoscope incrementally, tracking across the chest to the next auscultation point.

Ms. Chen's skin was warm beneath the cold metal disc, the contrast sending a nearly imperceptible shiver through Carmella's fingers. She noted the patient's even breathing, the slight rise and fall of her chest beneath the stethoscope, a counterpoint to the heart's rhythm.

"Deep breath in, please," Carmella instructed, her voice betraying none of the inappropriate fascination building within her. As Ms. Chen inhaled, her heart rate increased slightly, accelerating in response to the expanded lung capacity. Carmella listened intently, caught in the peculiar intimacy of the moment—privy to the most internal rhythm of another human being, a sound that the woman herself could never hear with such clarity.

Carmella's pupils dilated behind her designer glasses, the clinical part of her brain registering this physiological response even as she continued the examination. Her own breathing had subtly shifted, synchronizing with the patient's unconsciously. The examination room, with its panoramic view and pristine surfaces, seemed to recede, leaving only the connection between her ears and the pulsing heart beneath her hand.

She lingered longer than strictly necessary at the mitral area, telling herself she was being thorough, searching for any hint of a murmur or irregularity. In truth, she was savoring the sound, storing it in her memory like a collector acquiring a particularly fine specimen. Each heartbeat resonated through her, sparking an interest that was far from professional.

"Now I'll need you to lie back," she said, her voice steady despite the inappropriate warmth spreading through her core. "I want to listen with you in a supine position." As Ms. Chen reclined on the examination table, Carmella repositioned the stethoscope, pressing it perhaps a fraction more firmly than required against the soft skin.

The change in position altered the heart sounds slightly, bringing the S3 into clearer focus—that subtle, low-frequency extra sound that followed the main "lub-dub" in some patients. Not a pathological finding in a young, fit woman like Ms. Chen, but its presence added another layer of complexity to the cardiac symphony that now filled Carmella's consciousness.

Time seemed to stretch as she listened, her professional detachment slipping further with each beat. Her hand rested on the examination table beside Ms. Chen's shoulder, and she noticed with distant alarm that her fingers trembled slightly. She curled them into a loose fist, concealing the evidence of her unprofessional response.

"Everything sounds normal so far," she managed, her voice clinical despite the heat that had crept up her neck to flush her cheeks. She hoped the patient would attribute any redness to the room's temperature. "But I'd like to check one more position. Could you turn onto your left side, please?"

Ms. Chen complied, her movements causing a momentary interruption in the cardiac soundtrack. Carmella waited, stethoscope poised, for the woman to settle. When she placed the disc back against skin, the heart sounds were at their most audible, the left lateral position bringing the organ closest to the chest wall.

The beat filled her ears, strong and insistent, and Carmella closed her eyes again, fully absorbed in the forbidden pleasure of listening. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a perilous moment, she feared the patient might notice her inappropriate reaction. But Ms. Chen lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, perfectly unaware of the storm brewing within her cardiologist.

With tremendous effort, Carmella pulled herself back from the brink of complete unprofessionalism. She removed the stethoscope, letting it hang once more around her neck, the chest piece still warm from contact with Ms. Chen's skin.

"You can sit up now," she said, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. "I don't hear any abnormalities, which is excellent news." Ms. Chen rebuttoned her blouse, her movements unhurried and graceful. "So the palpitations aren't serious?"

"They're likely benign, possibly related to mild exercise-induced tachycardia," Carmella replied, falling back on medical terminology like a shield. "But I'd like to run an ECG to be certain, and perhaps have you wear a Holter monitor for twenty-four hours to catch any irregularities that might occur during your next run."

Her hands trembled slightly as she made notes in the patient's chart. The pen skittered across the page, leaving marks that were less precise than her usual immaculate script. She pressed down harder, forcing control, but her fingers remained unsteady—betrayers to the last.

"The nurse will set you up with the ECG in a moment," she said, not quite meeting Ms. Chen's eyes. "And we'll schedule the Holter monitor fitting at reception." Ms. Chen nodded, seemingly oblivious to her doctor's internal turmoil. "Thank you, Dr. Hill. Everyone says you're the best, and I can see why."

The compliment cut through Carmella like a blade of ice. If only her patient knew the unprofessional thoughts that had accompanied her examination, the way the sound of her heartbeat would echo in Carmella's mind long after she left the clinic.

The shame of it mingled with the lingering arousal, creating a toxic cocktail of emotion that threatened to crack her professional veneer. "Just doing my job," she replied, the platitude tasting stale on her tongue. She stood, clipboard clutched to her chest like armor. "The nurse will be right in."

She exited the room with measured steps, her outward composure a masterpiece of control, betrayed only by the slight tremor in her hands and the memory of a heartbeat that continued to pulse through her consciousness with inappropriate persistence. Carmella closed her office door with a soft click and leaned against it, finally allowing her composure to fracture in the privacy of her sanctuary.

The stethoscope hung heavy around her neck, still warm from contact with Ms. Chen's skin, the memory of the heartbeat pulsing through her consciousness with merciless clarity. Her own heart raced with inappropriate excitement, its rhythm a mockery of the professional demeanor she had struggled to maintain during the examination.

Her hands, steady enough during medical school surgeries and countless cardiac emergencies, now trembled with the force of her desire, and she felt a flush of shame spread beneath her skin like a fever. She crossed to her desk on unsteady legs, grateful for the solidity of the leather chair that caught her as her knees weakened.

The morning sun still streamed through the windows, the city sprawling below her in its indifferent enormity, but Carmella was blind to everything except the echo of that perfect rhythm in her mind. Her fingers found the stethoscope, lifting it from around her neck with a reverence that bordered on worship.

The metal chest piece retained a whisper of warmth, and she closed her eyes as she held it, replaying the sound that had filled her ears moments ago. The cadence of Ms. Chen's heartbeat—strong, regular, with that subtle S3 presence—had been exquisite, a symphony of life force that resonated through Carmella with nearly unbearable intensity.

She pressed the chest piece to her own sternum, seeking the counterpoint of her racing heart, the comparison between her irregular, desire-quickened pulse and the memory of the patient's perfect rhythm. Her heartbeat sounded shallow and frantic through the instrument, a testament to the unprofessional arousal that now consumed her.

"Control yourself," she whispered, the words sharp in the silence of her office. But even as she issued the command, her mind betrayed her, reconstructing the examination in vivid detail—the warmth of Ms. Chen's skin, the slight rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the way the heart's rhythm had changed subtly when she'd shifted position.

Carmella set the stethoscope on the desk, forcing her hands away from the instrument that had become both her professional tool and the conduit for her most private obsession. She'd chosen cardiology with genuine passion for the science, fascinated by the heart's mechanical perfection, its tireless commitment to sustaining life. When had that academic interest evolved into something so personal, so consuming?

Perhaps it had started during her residency, when a particularly striking patient's heartbeat had caught her attention, its rhythm unusually clear and compelling. Or maybe the seeds had been planted earlier, in the anatomy lab when she'd first held a preserved heart in her hands, marveling at the vessel that contained humanity's most potent metaphor for emotion.

Regardless of its origins, the fascination had grown over the years, intensifying until the sound of a heartbeat—particularly a female heartbeat, with its higher pitch and faster baseline rhythm—could send her spiraling into this state of inappropriate arousal. The professional detachment she maintained with steel discipline was her only defense against the tide of her fixation.

Carmella's cheeks burned as she acknowledged the physical signs of her arousal—the heightened sensitivity of her skin, the tightness in her chest, the unmistakable throb of desire between her legs. Her body's response was as clear as any diagnostic reading on her medical equipment, and it filled her with a tangled knot of shame and excitement.

She was a respected cardiologist, a specialist who had published in prestigious journals and lectured at international conferences. Her professional reputation was impeccable, built on years of dedicated study and practice. Yet beneath the perfect exterior lurked this fascination that threatened to undermine everything she had worked for.

What would her colleagues think if they knew? What would her patients feel if they discovered that their doctor listened to their hearts with more than clinical interest? The potential for scandal was enormous, a career-ending possibility that she couldn't afford to ignore.

Yet the intensity of her response was undeniable, a physiological fact as real as any cardiac condition she diagnosed. Her fingers trembled as she reached for a glass of water, trying to cool the heat that had spread through her body. The liquid did little to extinguish the fire that Ms. Chen's heartbeat had ignited.

Carmella forced herself to breathe deeply, employing the same techniques she recommended to anxious patients. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow, controlled, deliberate. The rhythm of her own breathing became a focus point, a way to anchor herself in the storm of her desires.

She justified her interest with scientific rationale—wasn't the heart the most fascinating organ in the human body? Its ceaseless rhythm, its complex electrical pathways, its crucial role in sustaining life made it worthy of devoted study. Her fascination was merely an extension of her professional dedication, a heightened appreciation for the subject of her expertise.

But the scientific explanation rang hollow, even to her own ears. What she felt when listening to a heart like Ms. Chen's transcended academic interest. It was visceral, primal, and undeniably sexual—an inappropriate response that she struggled to reconcile with her professional identity.

The stethoscope caught the light as it lay on her desk, a silver beacon that both represented her medical authority and embodied her deepest temptation. Carmella stared at it, caught in the contradiction of her feelings—pride in her expertise mingled with shame over her secret arousal.

She squared her shoulders, determination hardening her resolve. This fascination may have a hold on her, but she wouldn't allow it to compromise her professional standards. The line between appreciation and exploitation was clear, and she would never cross it. Her patients deserved a doctor who put their care above all else, regardless of her private struggles.

Rising from her chair, Carmella moved to the small bathroom adjoining her office. She splashed cold water on her face, the shock of it helping to clear her mind. In the mirror, her reflection showed the evidence of her inner turmoil—dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, a brightness in her eyes that spoke of unresolved tension.

She dried her face with methodical care, then reapplied her subtle makeup with practiced precision. Each stroke of the lipstick, each touch of the powder brush was an act of reconstruction, rebuilding the façade that had momentarily cracked.

Her lab coat hung on the back of the door, and she straightened it meticulously, adjusting the lapels until they fell in perfect symmetry. She would not allow her private obsession to undermine the professionalism she had spent a lifetime cultivating.

The stethoscope waited on her desk, and she approached it with newfound determination. She picked it up, wiped it thoroughly with an alcohol swab, eradicating any trace of warmth or memory. When she placed it around her neck once more, it was as a medical instrument only, its purpose reclaimed from the realm of inappropriate fascination.

Carmella checked her appearance one final time in the small mirror on her desk. The woman who looked back at her was the consummate professional—composed, authoritative, in complete control. No one looking at her would see the turmoil that still simmered beneath the surface, the echo of a heartbeat that continued to haunt her thoughts. She straightened her spine, adjusted her glasses, and reached for the intercom.

"Please send in the next patient," she said, her voice steady and confident, betraying none of the conflict that raged within her. The professional mask was firmly back in place, the perfect image of medical expertise restored.

But as she waited for the door to open, her fingers unconsciously brushed against the stethoscope at her chest, a fleeting touch that acknowledged the truth she could never fully escape—that beneath the pristine white coat and years of training beat a heart as susceptible to inappropriate desire as any she had ever examined.

#cardiophile #female heart #cardiophile thoughts #stethoscope #heartbeat kink #cardiology #heartbeat #dr. carmella hill #red filled fantasies

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