#i had to return to robots...no choice

[soupdweller]

mermay day 6: injury

from @divinit3a's catfishing au :D

[chuxmy]

Hello! (First of all, please forgive my bad English, it's not my first language)

Could I make a request where the reader is Si-eun's sister, maybe a year or a few months younger and his friends come to his house to visit him and then meet her. At first they are confused because they think Si-eun is dating someone but they soon find out everything. The romantic partner could be Gotak. Please and thank you! :)

Not his girlfriend

Pairings: Go Hyuntak (Gotak) x Siuen‘s Sister!Reader

Summary: You had no choice but to open the door and you are already a victim.

Warnings: light flirting, mild language

The doorbell rang at exactly 2:03 p.m.

You sat on the couch, legs crossed under you, headphones in, lazily scrolling on your phone. The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and the instant noodles Sieun had made but only taken two bites of before returning to his room with a book under his arm.

You didn’t even flinch at the sound.

The doorbell rang again, followed by aggressive knocking.

You sighed, pulling one earbud out. “Sieun!” you called. “Someone’s at the door!”

From down the hall. “You get it.”

“Why? It’s probably your weird friends again.”

“Exactly.”

You grumbled, rising to your feet. You had on shorts and an oversized hoodie that probably belonged to Sieun at some point. Your hair was a mess, and your face well, you hadn’t expected to see anyone important today.

You opened the door.

And three pairs of eyes blinked back at you in surprise.

There they were Park Humin, Seo Juntae, and Go Hyeontak, standing awkwardly in the hallway, each holding something: drinks, snacks, and a bag of chips, respectively.

You tilted your head.

They stared.

“Oh,” said Juntae, blinking rapidly. “We… uh… Sorry—did we get the wrong place?”

“No,” said Gotak slowly, frowning. “Wait… Who are you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who are you?”

Humin pointed at you like he’d just cracked a conspiracy. “Is this- are you his girlfriend?”

You blinked. Then barked a laugh. “Ew. No.”

“Wait,” said Gotak, narrowing his eyes. “You sure?”

“Dead sure.”

You turned around and yelled into the apartment, “Sieun! Your friends think I’m your girlfriend!”

A moment later, footsteps approached, and Yeon Sieun appeared, looking mildly irritated. “Don’t scream weird things,” he muttered.

Then he looked at the guys. “What are you all doing just standing there?”

“You didn’t tell us someone else was here,” Juntae said, his voice full of suspicion.

“She lives here,” Sieun said simply. “She’s my sister.”

Your eyes met Gotak’s again as you stepped aside to let them in. You noticed then just briefly his gaze lingered on your legs before he looked away quickly.

“Hi,” you said dryly. “I’m Y/N. Unfortunately related to this emotionally constipated guy.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Juntae, grinning now that the mystery was solved. “That was honestly, a wild thirty seconds.”

Humin nodded. “We seriously thought you two were dating. Sieun’s expression wasn’t helping.”

Gotak said nothing, but you felt his eyes on you again when he thought you weren’t looking.

The boys settled in the living room, drinks and snacks sprawled across the table. You mostly stayed on the edge of the room, half listening as you played a game on your phone, curled in a corner of the couch opposite Gotak.

It was a rare day when Sieun had people over, and rarer still when you didn’t feel invisible in your own house.

“He’s like this all the time?” Juntae asked you suddenly, pointing at Sieun.

You smirked. “You mean uptight and emotionally unavailable? Yeah. It’s like living with a robot who judges you for breathing too loudly.”

Sieun didn’t even react. He flipped a page in his book like he wasn’t even part of the conversation.

Gotak chuckled lowly. “So you got the personality in the family.”

You arched a brow. “That a compliment?”

He tilted his head. “Depends. You want it to be?”

You looked at him more carefully this time black shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, lazy grin playing on his lips, a dimple peeking when he smiled fully.

Maybe not as dumb as he looked.

“Let’s just say… I’ll take it,” you replied.

Juntae made a loud oooh noise from beside him.

“Are you flirting with my sister?” Sieun asked without looking up.

Gotak didn’t miss a beat. “Not if you shoot me.”

You laughed, a real one this time, and Gotak looked at you with something like triumph. He leaned a little back, but you could feel it, his eyes found you again every few minutes, like he was trying to figure out where he stood.

You didn’t give him much. Not yet.

Sieun retreated to his room again eventually too much talking, too much noise. The others were still chatting, and you stayed, amused by their banter. Somehow, you and Gotak ended up washing the dishes after dinner. You scrubbed, he dried.

“Seriously though,” he said, quieter now, “I thought you were his girlfriend. Gave me a heart attack.”

You glanced at him. “Disappointed?”

“Honestly?” He met your gaze, smile softening. “Kind of. You’re cool.”

You stared at him for a second longer than necessary. “I think that was flirting again.”

He grinned. “You gonna report me to Sieun?”

You smirked. “Only if you suck at it.”

The silence between you stretched, warm and awkward in the best way.

“Do you… want my number?” he asked.

You handed him a dry plate.

“Smooth,” you said. “Try again after you don’t smell like garlic chips.”

He laughed, head tilted back, genuinely amused.

“Challenge accepted.”

As the boys left, Gotak paused at the door, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“See you around.” he said your name, giving you a look you felt in your stomach.

You nodded, just a little, before closing the door behind them.

From his room, Sieun called out, “Don’t date my friends.”

You called back, “No promises.”

And you swore, you could hear him sigh.

[astrobydalia]

Summer fling❤️‍🔥

Relatioship observations

work by astrobydalia

❤️‍🔥 A thing about Virgo Venus is that since this is Venus’ fall they tend to be socially awkward or have struggles reading the room. The type to make jokes or remarks that are a bit too direct and low-key break the mood. They tend to behave in ways that comes across as robotic or dry

❤️‍🔥 A similar thing happens with Scorpio/Aries Venus too (venus is debilitated here as well) they tend to behave in ways that breaks social harmony by being a little too bold or even scandalous (Examples of this energy: Marilyn Monroe, Doja Cat)

❤️‍🔥In general, unless the rest of the chart says otherwise, debilitated Venus positions gives the native low charisma and lower ability to blend in socially. Their demeanor tends to be too forward or rub people the wrong way.

❤️‍🔥What is up with Leo placements and becoming romantically obsessed with people that reject them? Either that or they enjoy perusing people who they "shouldn't" be with like authority figures or someone that is way out of their league

❤️‍🔥Just like Jupiter in a woman's chart tells you how her husband will be, I feel like Jupiter in man's chart will tell you what kind of husband he'll be to be honest

​❤️‍🔥​ Whenever I had Vertex in the 5th house of a Solar Return, romance was a significant thing during those years!! However it was always flings, situationships and stuff like that. The sign with gives more nuance like one year I had it in Sagittarius and I had a fleeting romance with a foreigner

❤️‍🔥 With debilitated moon (Capricorn/Scorpio Moon) I've noticed these natives tend to believe or feel like love is conditional. Things like loyalty, trust and care are earned and come with a price or you have to jump thorough endless hoops first in order to get them. They refuse to be vulnerable so they expect the other person to show their cards first and then MAYBE if you earn their trust they'll open up too but good luck with that LMAO.

❤️‍🔥 That being said, I noticed men with Capricorn/Scorpio Moon tend to marry a woman that is very self-righteous and controlling. Their choice for a life partner tends to be... yikes

❤️‍🔥 Capricorn/Scorpio Moon can be the type to be skeptical of the idea of true love. The difference is Scorpio Moons are most likely to convert into the lovey-dovey train once they find their person cause being water sign deep down they crave that intimacy. However Capricorn Moons are most likely to freeze their heart out even when their soulmate is right in front of them, unfortunately the more time passes the more cap moons tend to harden their hearts

❤️‍🔥 Scorpio Moon’s greatest fear is to be alone I’ve noticed. And yeah nobody wants that but trust me for Scorpio Moon this is a HUGE thing. When I say they crave intimacy I mean they CRAVE intimacy. If they could hot glue their loved ones to their body so they’re connected to them for life like siamese twins, they would.

❤️‍🔥 Taurus Moons are just as obsessive and sexual as scorpio moons, literally copy paste. They can also be just as toxic when underdeveloped. The difference is taurus moons are more nurturing and if they don't want you to leave they'll create a paradise or "golden cage" for you (vs Scorpio moons who tend to resort to emotional or mind games for this purpose). I was also surprised to discover how needy taurus moons become once they like you?? Idk how to explain it but it's like they wanna insert you in every aspect of their lives and low-key gatekeep you LMAO. On the other hand Scorpio Moons will push you away and play cat and mouse for a while if they see themselves catching feelings

❤️‍🔥In my opinion both moons (Scorpio and taurus) tend to seek possessiveness or control in their relationships and they usually have the upper hand or the most power I've noticed

❤️‍🔥Praying for gen z babies born under Scorpio Venus cause a lot of them have that placement square Aquarius Neptune and that combo is.... ooof. Romanticizing toxic delusional love that brainwashes the shit out of them YALL NEED TO WAKE THE FUCK UP

❤️‍🔥 When someone has their planets in your 12th house sign you have a fogged perception of this person, you tend to idolize them cause there are parts of them that you're blind to. However this person will feel confident in knowing your psyche as well as the unconscious motives behind your actions. This person has a knack to naturally know how to appeal to unconscious desires or fears you weren't even aware you had. For this reason you'll find this person either triggering and scary OR very addictive cause it almost feels like they penetrate your soul

❤️‍🔥 With that being said, people with planets in your 12th house are the best therapists for you or best people to vent to. Water houses in general can apply, but I feel like 12th house is better for this cause it rules over spiritual and emotional healing/cleansing specifically. This person can help you untangle your unconscious and you can feel sooooo much relief after talking or being with them. This will only apply if you trust them and they have good intentions ofc, otherwise they'll actually feed into your unconscious fears and make them worse

❤️‍🔥 People with placements on your 8th house secretly dislike and/or envy you, but still feel the need to be close with you cause they low-key wanna tear you down, wanna see you fail, wanna keep taps on you to make sure aren't too successful. I've seen SOOOOO many toxic fake friendships with this synastry... Although I've previously talked about positive manifestations of this overlay too, frankly this dynamic is what I've observed for the most part with this synastry if im honest with you

❤️‍🔥 I totally agree with @zeldasnotes when she said 8th house synastry is only good/tolerable when there’s mutual sexual attraction between the two, otherwise it’s annoying af. I believe this is because the two people can easily use sex to release all the intensity and tension between them instead of letting it build up or channeling it through toxic emotions like envy

❤️‍🔥 Okay but have you ever been genuinely loved by an Aries placement? When their heart is in it, they'll have unshakable loyalty. They’d move mountains for you, kill and fight for you. They are THE ride or dies

❤️‍🔥 A thing that I've seen a lot with women who have debilitated Jupiter (Virgo, Gemini, Capricorn) is that they have a husband that prioritized his work over their marriage/family. The husband is often away due to work or duties or just emotionally unavailable in general. These women tend to give up something about their life after marriage because they had to accommodate to their husband's life style, like if she has to move or give up her own job to be with him she will. For example: Grace Kelly (Gemini Jupiter) who quit acting after marring the prince of Monaco. Hailey Bieber (Capricorn Jupiter) who was exposed to a lot more public attention after marrying Justin and she said herself she's had to learn to adapt that being new part of her life now

❤️‍🔥 Another big thing I've seen with Saturn influence in the 7th house is that your spouse will have big, BIG ambitions. People only talk about Jupiter or Venus but to be real with you, Saturn is an underrated indicator for your spouse being wealthy. This placement indicates that your spouse is stablished, successful and can easily provide stability for you. All the people I've seen with this placement married someone who had a business!!!!, their own house, a successful career, a household name, a higher position, etc

What I mean by Saturn influence on the 7th (for both Vedic and Tropical): Saturn in the 7th house Capricorn or Aquarius DSC 7th ruler in the 10th house (also maybe 11th house) or vice versa Saturn darakarka

❤️‍🔥 Mars-Pluto aspects definitely will make someone have pretty extreme kinks

❤️‍🔥 I’ve seen this a lot in Pisces Moons and Aries Moons that they low-key wanna be babied in a relationship or they subconsciously end up being the one who’s more coddled and taken care of by their partner

❤️‍🔥 Aries and Gemini placements in the composite chart is indicative of a relationship that likely won't last long-term. I've seen this placement in long lasting marriages too but their relationships gave off fling vibes, really playful, they type where people said they wouldn't last

❤️‍🔥 I’ve seen Saturn in the 7th house synastry manifesting as the opposite of commitment. The Saturn person blocks off the possibility of having a committed relationship with the house person and the house person feels abandoned

❤️‍🔥 With that being said Saturn in synastry/composite can indicate rejection in that area and things one or both parties will deprive the other of or deny them. For example Saturn in the 8th synastry/composite can mean one person refused to have sex with the other or there are many conditions and restrictions in the sex life of both

❤️‍🔥 Aquarius and Capricorn Mars/Venus are SO good at hiding their attraction from you. They'll watch from afar for some time before making some move meanwhile you'll be clueless of their interest

❤️‍🔥 Moon square Neptune is an aspect that makes someone emotionally insecure, the type to need constant reassurance that you still love them. Can also be emotionally manipulative in very subtle almost undetectable ways

❤️‍🔥 Earth Venus find it very easy to engage in casual dating/hook up culture because they know how to not get too attached. They have a hyper awareness of what purpose a certain relationship is serving them at the moment so they act accordingly

❤️‍🔥 On the other hand I’ve noticed Air Venus natives have a tendency to play around because they know they get the ick quickly. But it's all fun and games until they end up catching feelings accidentally 😭

❤️‍🔥 My experience having Gemini Jupiter in the 7th house: Yes all my suitors/dates have been foreigners but the cultural difference was never that big. They usually came from a country close to mine or their cultural background was very similar from mine

work by astrobydalia

[ozzgin]

Its been 6 months😭😭 pleaasseeee make a part 2 of the android x human story im beggingggg😭

-H❤️

Yandere! Android x Reader (II)

Featuring your assigned android partner who is not as devoid of humanity as you originally thought.

Content: female reader, AI yandere, mildly NSFW, based on Caves of Steel

[Part 1] | [More original works]

The case had been solved.

Not only that, but you'd managed to prove that human officers were just as efficient as their robot counterparts. The Commissioner was beyond ecstatic, pacing back and forth in his office and finding new ways to praise your detective skills.

"That'll show those Spacers. They think some glorified tin box can match our skill?"

You frowned at his words and glanced to your side, where the android was sitting. He observed the Commissioner with the same polite smile, no hint of disagreement on his features. Was he not insulted? You questioned him once the formal meeting had finished.

"I have no reason to be offended, (Y/N). It is a personal opinion, and thus I have no control over it."

"So you don't mind people disliking robots to such an extent?"

He pondered your statement.

"I would certainly be upset if it was you who harbored the disdain. The beliefs of other humans hold no meaning to me otherwise."

You couldn't tell if he said it out of politeness, or if he actually meant it. Most likely the former, in order to part on good terms. After all, your partnership has reached its completion. He'd return to the Spacer Colony with his report on human customs, and you'd go back to your regular job.

Except he never left. Days later, he was still sipping on his morning coffee, lounging at your table. You fiddled with your cup in contemplation. Was there anything else left to do?

"When are you leaving, actually?"

The pale man raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Is my presence here of such significant disturbance?"

"What? No!" you swiftly exclaimed, stumbling on your words. His lips widened in yet another cheeky grin. He was teasing you again.

"My assignment on Earth is done, thus I should have returned to the Colony already. That's what you're wondering about, yes? I am awaiting a response from my superiors."

"Whether you can go back?"

"No, whether my transfer has been accepted. I have applied to be your permanent partner."

You could feel your cheeks burning with heat. Was it that obvious to the synthetic that you enjoyed his company? Then again, he wouldn't have gone through such motions just for your sake.

"Why did you..." you probed sheepishly. There was no logical reason for him to keep working in a poorer, less advanced environment.

"Because I want to continue spending time with you."

Nonsense. An artificial being wouldn't make its decision based on such mundane, emotional reasons.

"I don't believe you."

"I understand. It is a faulty answer to come out of a machine. Though unlike common AI assistants, we have been invested with the capacity to develop likes and dislikes. Interests. Wants. It helps with variety and individualization."

"And you want to stay here? If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you have a crush on me or something", you attempted to joke.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence. Had you gone too far with your humor? Was it too cliché of a sentence? You turned away, tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You just had to be witty, huh?

"I'm afraid I do not know what to tell you, (Y/N)."

"You don't need to say anything, it was a poor choice of-"

"Many social aspects have been implemented into my behavioral network. Workplace rapport, friendships, intimate relationships. What seems to be lacking is the transition from one to another. I know how to act as a romantic partner, but how does one achieve such a title in the first place?"

You gazed at him, incredulous. What was he trying to say?

"I am trying to convey that I am indeed infatuated with you. Which, then, makes my initial explanation dishonest: while I do appreciate our fruitful work cooperation, it is not a main reason for my decision. I hope this clears up any misunderstandings."

You'd never been a romantic. You sometimes flipped through sample pages of contemporary romance books at stores and community centers, but they always felt forcefully cheesy. Predictable. Consequently, you never had any grand dreams of passionate confessions under the rain.

On the other hand, you also didn't expect to be asked out in such a mechanical, calculated manner. Or that a machine would be the suitor. Yet there was something charming about his approach. For the first time since meeting him at the border, you saw him struggle. There was something human-like in his uncertainty.

You stood up from the table, and walked towards the android. Then, you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, expressing the mutual feeling and understanding.

His eyes bore an eerie glint to them. It was most kind of you to offer a common ground, but he knew better. The affections you held for him were, with utmost certainty, a mere fraction of whatever overwhelmed him from the moment he encountered you. Limerence, obsession, compulsion, there were many definitions that aptly described his otherwise unexplainable desires towards you. Even more unexplainable was the fact they'd evolved from a blank slate, a programmed agent with no previous knowledge on feelings or humans.

You noticed his hesitation.

"Is there anything else troubling you presently?" you nudged.

Nothing of immediate urgency. Well, not for you, at least. The android remained thoughtful. What were the variables which needed to be met in order to initiate a sexual encounter? Would it have been inappropriate for him to suggest intercourse straight after this conversation? To him, it was a natural escalation he'd considered many times in the past. To you, it could've come as a sudden, crass, and hurried proposal.

He reached for your wrist and discreetly pressed a thumb against your skin. Judging from your resting heart rate, facial expression, and localized temperature, there was a fair chance you wouldn't reject his advances. Once the statistical risk had been assessed, he pulled you in for a kiss.

"Would it be possible to continue this in your bedroom?" he inquired, standing up.

"Alright, just don't...ask for approval for every single step" you retorted. You'd rather not become a narrator of your own pounding.

You open your eyes with a squint, greeted by unexpected natural light flooding your bedroom. Someone must’ve lifted the hologram blinds.

“My apologies, I hadn’t considered the discomfort it would cause you. My Spacer colony uses artificial lightning, though I am becoming rather fond of the natural sun rays here.”

Your android partner is meticulously preparing his outfit for the day. Judging by the stark nakedness and the glistening skin, you suppose he’s had a shower while you were still sleeping. You involuntarily furrow your brows and blush at the sight. He notices your embarrassment. 

“A most surprising reaction. You have seen the very same genital organ…”, he says as he quickly checks his wristwatch, “...precisely eight hours and forty-five minutes ago.”

“It’s just…most people get dressed once they start doing other things. I also wear a towel for coverage when I come out of the shower.”

He processes your words.

“Hmmm. Illogical, but it explains your reaction.”

You stand up and stretch with a prolonged yawn. Suddenly, a revelation hits you: your mind flashes with images of the android fondling your body, your ears ring with the shameless moans you’ve let out throughout the night. Your face turns pale.

“Listen, when is your next functional inspection?” you ask, without waiting for the synthetic to answer. “Will they, uh…will they have access to all of your memories?”

You know that the android permanently records all data and saves it into a memory unit. It’s a pointless fear, of course. The Spacers couldn’t care less about irrelevant details. If the intended tasks are fulfilled, what happens on the side is out of their concern. Yet you don’t exactly appreciate the possibility of your personal deeds airing like this, before the eyes of multiple engineers. 

“You may rest assured, whatever involves your privacy will not be included in the examination.”

“Do you get to decide what is checked and what isn’t?”

“No, most data is sampled randomly.”

You stare at him, confused.

“Then how-”

“It is not common practice, nor encouraged by our code of ethics. I can, however, choose which information is available to begin with.”

“What? I thought you’re fully controlled by whoever created you. If they so desired, couldn’t they open you up and take whatever they require?”

The robot smiles at your assumption and takes a few steps towards you.

“Once an android model is finished, one can no longer modify the processor. Not without compromising everything else with it. It is not a device to be deconstructed, (Y/N).” He taps his temple, then continues: “I am a biocomputer. While most of my parts are mechanical, my processor is a cortical organoid developed in a laboratory. A human brain, if you will.”

Somehow, the discovery fills you with dread. A living organ, encapsulated within a machine. What does that say about consciousness? About self-awareness? The Spacers didn't just tinker with metal scraps and smart computers. They artificially birthed life.

You were always under the impression that your robot companion is closer to the computer you have on your desk. Billions of lines of code within a black box, which then lead to spontaneous, novel interactions with the outside world. To think that at the very core of his functions lies a clump of living cells...

Perhaps you weren't so different, after all. The line between machines and humans is suddenly blurred.

[comatosebunny09]

not quite human [ 01 ] | sylus

— summary: the led in his temple whirls a soft yellow before returning to its usual, tranquil blue. “my name is sylus.” it doesn’t sound as silly coming from him. rolls off his tongue like the steady push and pull of waves against the shoreline. it’s comforting in a way. disarming. maybe you’re not as bad at naming things as you think.

— cw: reader implied to be femme, gendered terms, alcohol, profanity, sarcasm, innuendoes, allusions to robot sex, sylus is an android, futuristic au

— notes: heavily influenced by detroit: become human, @asirensrage, and my own horny, thirsty thoughts. tysm for reading. please enjoy! [ part 02 ]

Stiff.

You crave something stiff to ease the ache between your shoulders, the grind of your teeth, and the pounding in your temples as you step into the car garage’s elevator. 

You let your shoulders drop with an exhale as the doors slip shut after punching your desired floor into the holographic panel. The lift lightly jostles to begin its ascent. You close your eyes against the blaring, fluorescent lights overhead, leaning against the rail, your head colliding with the wall behind with a muted thunk. 

Days like these, you come closer and closer to dropping your resignation letter. You should feel fortunate—you have a job in a world where unemployment is on the rise. Doesn’t mean a desk job is as cushy as it seems. You have carpal tunnel and a splitting migraine as testament to your woes. Plus, you don’t drink enough water. Dumb ass.

The elevator reaches its destination, a tinny, mellifluous voice announcing your floor from the intercom overhead. As if you shoulder the world, you drag yourself from the lift, stalking through the quiet, sepia-toned hallway like something undead.

You picture the bottle of Don Julio waiting for you on your counter. Can practically taste it as you round the bend towards your apartment. But something brown and bulky catches your eye, obscuring your door and slowing your steps.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, squinting as you approach it. You step around the ominous box to scrutinize it further. It’s so huge that it barely grazes the top of your doorframe and is almost the width of it. 

You don’t recall ordering anything, especially something so massive. You scour the box’s surface for any indication of where it could’ve come from—a return address, a telltale logo, a note. Something. When your search doesn’t yield any answers, you sigh, stomping your feet and flailing your arms around like a child.

“I don’t have time for this,” you say through a glower, slipping off your bag. 

The box obstructs your apartment, so you have one of two choices: shove it out of the way into the midst of the hallway for someone else to deal with, or muscle it through your door and deal with it inside. The former seems like it’ll take more effort, given that there’s little to no wiggle room between the cut of your doorframe and the box for you to squeeze into. 

Resigned, you drop your bag and ruck up your sleeves. After unlocking your door with your biometrics, the soft spill of clean linen and lavender from inside motivating you, you prepare yourself to shove this ridiculously huge thing into your home.

Your intentions are good. But it’s so fucking heavy, it barely budges an inch. 

“What the fuck!” you grate, kicking the box as if it’ll solve all your problems. That proves to be a mistake, and you comically hop around, clutching your smarting foot.

You glare at the box when the pain subsides, caught in a stare down with an inanimate object like a cowboy in an old, filmy western. You’re no bitch. Sure, you really should exercise more—you’ve been paying for a gym membership for the past year that you haven’t touched. Maybe this wouldn't be such a task if you had a bit more muscle. But you refuse to be bested by a fucking box. A box that stands between you and a stiff one.

So, you shove, shimmy, and tilt it every way you can until you’ve managed to get it through your doorframe and into your home. I’m proud of myself, you think as you dust off your hands like you’ve done some real work. You only cried twice, had one existential crisis, one meltdown, and you didn’t have to call the fire department to help you this time. You’re making progress.

You slip past the enormous thing, nearly losing a nipple in the process. Kick off your heels, the motion-sensing lights triggering as you make a beeline for your minibar. You snatch up a whiskey glass and your decanter, watching the liquid gold slosh about like a man deprived of water in the desert. 

Panting, you down the contents of the glass in one go. It’s a good burn, a reward for all your efforts, and you sweep some sweat-slicked hair out of your face, leaning against your counter to catch your breath. It is here that you take time to appraise the box, wishing you could burn holes into the damn thing with your glare alone. 

Whoever sent this is trying to fuck with you, you just know it. You haven’t a clue what’s inside, and you’re not even sure if it’s yours. But you put in all this effort to shoulder it into your home. So, you snatch up a box cutter from your miscellaneous utility drawer, brandishing it as you approach the box like a maniac about to carve up someone’s face.

You cut away at the tape securing the edges, cackling like a madwoman. Jared Leto would be proud. You pull and snatch at the cardboard, the sound of the carnage, the only noise inhabiting your still apartment. When you’ve eviscerated the box, packing popcorn and plastic strips strewn everywhere like entrails, you’re met with a white, featureless pod inside. 

It’s half the size of the box it came in, the jaundiced gleam of your entryway light bouncing off its pristine surface. Suspicious, you hop back to squint at it. If it were a bomb, it surely would’ve gone off by now, what with you shaking the damn thing like a vending machine refusing to give you candy. What on earth could this be? And why the fuck do you have it?

Shrugging, you approach the pod, poking at it with a broom and a pot lid held to your face as a makeshift shield. The pod doesn’t respond to your prodding—no surprise there. You toss down your weapons, and with anxiety welling in your throat, you smooth your hands over the pod’s cool surface, searching for an entry point. 

You trigger something in your exploration, a light beep causing you to stiffen. You scramble back as the pod whirs to life, hissing with an exhalation of air, smoke pouring from its seams. 

Fuck, you think, squeezing your eyes shut, this might be the end. And to think, you’ve watched so many horror movies telling you why you shouldn’t touch ominous shit. Oh well. You’ve lived a good life. Although, you’re still low-key upset you didn’t get to try shrooms at least once. 

The smoking and hissing subside, and you cough in their wake, waving your hand to ward them off. You open an eye, the pod’s door fully raised, and as the fog clears, you’re met with the sight of…a man, curled up inside in the fetal position like a Pokémon. 

“Um?” 

You kneel before this being that looks too big to be stuffed into the pod like an action figure, and you study him. 

A riotous mop of white hair sits atop his head, though it’s coiffed in a way that works for him. His eyes are closed beneath manicured, silver brows, peacefully fringed by dark lashes. You next notice his nose, carved in a Roman god’s image. Full, rouge lips sit amid chiseled features, stretched over summery skin. Despite the alarm bells ringing in your head, you poke his cheek, surprised to feel your nail sinking into what feels like flesh. 

“Oh no. He’s hot.”

His physique shows through the tailored hug of his suit, like a man destined to work on a farm, tending to horses, or a fruit stand. Further scrutiny yields something that makes your lips purse. The telltale, blue armband glows on his bicep. You shoot up as if taking a hot poker in the ass.

“An android?” you query under your breath, thoroughly confused. “The fuck do I need one of these for?” 

Tapping your lip, you pace your living room, scrolling through the catalog of your mind for who could’ve possibly sent you a gift from CyberLife. And an expensive one, at that. You’ve seen this model before—a prototype advertised on every billboard and mode of public transport in the city, yet to be released to the masses. Only three of them have been created so far. How’d you manage to get your hands on one of them?

You snatch up your phone, urgently swiping through your contacts. You think maybe it’s your mother’s doing. She’s known for sending you spur-of-the-moment shit. But she can’t navigate her way around a phone without help, let alone figure out how to order you a top-of-the-line Ken doll.

Maybe it’s your father. But he’d rather chew glass than send you anything practical. Your friends, maybe? They could’ve scrounged some money together to buy you a gift. They have been bitching about you needing to get laid, and what better way to orchestrate that than by sending a fucking sex bot?

Before you can draw up the group chat, the whirring of machinery and fans makes you jolt, your phone clattering on the floor. Your attention snaps to the source of the sound, another plume of smoke pouring from the pod to obscure the sight of your new…friend. 

If you die from smoke inhalation, you’re going to haunt these halls and tip every painting in every apartment sideways just to fuck with people. 

When the new cloud of mist dissipates, you’re ramrod stiff and petrified in the face of this skyscraper of a man. 

He smells of sterile walls and clean oil, his face an impassive mask as he takes in his surroundings with striking, scarlet eyes. His model number glows a serene white on his right breast pocket, CyberLife’s triangular logo pulsing on the left. As if it weren’t already obvious he was a bot, a small, circular LED gleams blue on his temple to signify that he’s…on? Operational? Scaring you shitless?

When he’s done processing his surroundings, those sharp eyes land on you. And you would shit yourself if not for the facsimile of a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. It’s like it hurts him. Doesn’t at all look natural amid his insanely handsome features. 

“Um,” you start, waving a cautious hand, “hi?”

“Hello,” he says, the pleasant purr of his voice curdling low in your stomach. “I am a fourth-generation SLX900 Android. I can look after your house, cook, mind your children, and organize your appointments.”

You watch him with your mouth spilling open as he goes through his initialization spiel. He’s broad-shouldered and big, and you bite your lip against a laugh, imagining this hulk of a machine in your kitchen in a frilly, pink apron, scrubbing your dishes. 

“I speak 300 languages, and I am entirely at your disposal as a sexual partner—”

Heat blooms in your face. You wave your hands frantically, signifying that he skips past the intimate bits. You’re down atrocious, but you don’t think you’d ever fuck an android. Not that he doesn’t look breedable. Besides, how do they even—

“No need to feed or recharge me. I am equipped with a quantum battery that makes me autonomous for 173 years.” The android straightens, clasping his hands together behind his back. “Would you like to give me a name?”

The way he recites his lines with such cold, indifferent precision makes a thrill echo down your spine. You know that CyberLife designed these things to be as human-like as possible. You’ve worked with a few of them; their uncanny valley composure gives you the heebie jeebies. 

Despite the calm burr of his voice, there’s something about him—something spuming beneath the layers of circuitry and memory cards and wiring—that unsettles you.

So hung up in your ruminations, you forget that he asked you a question.

“Would you like to give me a name?” he parrots, tone as even as the first time. 

“Um, yeah, sure…”

You tap your chin in thought, studying the incandescent lights overhead as if they can yield you an answer. Names have never been your forte. If it were up to you, you’d call everything as you saw it—Hey, I’m gonna name you Plant. You? Plant 2. And you? Dickhead. 

You don’t know how the name comes to you, but you regurgitate it before you can give it much thought. “Sylus.”

The LED in his temple whirls a soft yellow before returning blue. That terrifying smile reemerges, splitting his face in twain like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. You flinch, wishing he’d never smile like that again.

“My name is Sylus.” It doesn’t sound as silly coming from him. Rolls off his tongue like the steady push and pull of waves against the shoreline. It’s comforting in a way. Disarming.

He blinks after the grin slips from his mouth, traded for something less creepy. Scans over you as if committing your face to his internal storage. His lips slightly part, hovering over a question. Had you known any better, you’d have mistaken him for being pensive.

“And what might I call you, Miss?”

You give him your name, toying with your fingers like a shy teen. He repeats it like a gentle praise, rolling the syllables around in his mouth. The heat in your skin burns tenfold. Why does everything this guy says sound so fucking hot?

A few moments escape between the pair of you. You’re looking everywhere but at him, suddenly feeling self-conscious beneath his calculating gaze. The light whir of his internal fans competes with that of your pulsing heart. 

You laugh nervously, attempting to break the tension. “So, uh…what do I do with you? Do I, like, water you like a plant? Am I not supposed to feed you past midnight, or…”

He chuckles, the sound of it more human-like than anything he’s said thus far. “I can do whatever you need me to do. I am at your disposal.” 

Don’t know why, but your mind automatically goes to the gutter. Get it together, you hornball. Horny jail for you. Bonk! 

The tense silence stretches for a beat longer. Your newest guest surveys your living room with quiet judgment. “Why don’t I begin with straightening up your home? Would that be a good place to start?”

You blanch. Your living room looks like utter shit. Clothes sit on every surface like your dryer threw up—they’re clean, you swear. Errant bowls and drinking glasses litter your coffee table and kitchen island. A few cartons of Chinese takeout sit on your counter like decorations. You’re mortified. Sure, he’s a machine. But you would die if anyone saw you living like this, machine or not. 

“Heh…I swear, it’s not normally like this. I’ve been working, ya know? Don’t really have time to clean.”

Sylus smirks, a dimple cratering his synthetic cheek. That looks more genuine than that constipated shit he gave you earlier. “Well, that is where I come in, Miss. I won’t judge you for your questionable habits. It’s not in my programming.”

You watch the android step off, bending to turn on your robotic vacuum cleaner before getting to work. He moves around your home with efficient grace, a rehearsed ease as he tidies up as if that’s his sole purpose.

Something warm spills into your belly. You’ve never been one to stand idly by while people take care of you. Never been one to keep your hands clean, always itching to help in any way possible. Burning to feel useful. So, you start picking up your home with your shiny new android friend, working beside him in somewhat comfortable harmony.

Maybe he isn’t such a terrible surprise after all. That logic goes out the window when he picks up one of your thongs, twirling it around his slender figure with a smug shine to his eyes. 

You snatch it from him, telling him to leave the clothes to you, burning like a tea kettle. CyberLife thought of everything, didn’t they?

Crickets chirp beyond your window, chorusing with the steady rustle of the grass and leaves. The moon sits high in the inky sky, stars dotting the violet canvas like spilled milk. The city outside bustles with nightlife, androids and humans walking the streets side by side as if they’ve always coexisted in monotonous harmony.

[jordynbreeloa777]

After a 5 Month Break… I’m back With a Huge Success Story. I MANIFESTED REVERSING A REJECTION LETTER, TO ATTENDING MY DREAM SCHOOL IN A WEEK!

im back and im more motivated then ever. As you guys may know, my last post was 5 months ago as for I did NOT say I was taking a break. Welllll, I HAVE ONE OF MY BIGGEST SUCCESS STORIES YET. Before I left tumblr, I was super into “the void” and wanting to get in. Well no. Lol, Sammy Ingram snapped me right out of that. What I didn’t share was that I didn’t get into my dream school I been wanting to go for 3 years. Me and my sister was suppose to finally be going to the same school, walking on the same campus. Well let’s just say things didn’t go as planned. I didn’t get in, and when I saw my rejection letter my heart broke into a million pieces. I don’t remember how long I cried for. Until I remembered who I AM. I got myself together, and affirmed like a maniac. I affirmed through tears, hurt, through watching and hearing my friends get into their dream schools. I was depressed. I cried in school, at home, randomly throughout the day I was a mess. The 3D was slapped right in my face and even though I saw ZERO MOVEMENT. I had to practice what I preached right? I affirmed through the circumstances because I knew they weren’t permanent. Yes, and though I was sad, mad, it made me want to affirm more. I did 4 10 minute sessions everyday, with one 15 minute session. As well as robotically affirming throughout the day. I couldn’t stand me not going to the same school as my sister, especially since I HATED THE ONE I CURRENTLY WAS AT. If I didn’t get accepted I would have to return back which made me want to persist even more. I deserved this opportunity.

Of course, as the 3D is a mirror it has no choice to reflect your dominant beliefs. One day as I was in the going back home. My mom randomly said “I have exciting news for you.” Of course I asked what it was excitedly. Mind you I was still affirming even when I got in the car. She told me, that the dean of the school I wanted to get into said I still had a chance to get in, and what I need to do to get in. I needed another recommendation letter. WHATTTT? Now I affirmed that my recommendation letter was sooo good, and that my teacher KISSED MY FUCKING ASS in the recommendation letter. Literally this was my affirmations. “ I got into my dream school!” “Whatever teacher writes my recommendation letter kissed my ass, talking about how im such a good student!” Less then a week later my FINAL ACCEPTANCE LETTER COMES IN?? Now I don’t know why I didn’t get in the first time, nor do I care. THE HOW IS NOT OUR JOB TO WORRY ABOUT. WE HAVE ONE JOB. AFFIRM.

Here’s the acceptance letter, as for I manifested the rejection letter being turned into an acceptance letter! I did cross out, private information! By doing this and staying consistent, I manifested in 2 days. This just shows to stay consistent in your new assumption and stick with the new story! Your imagination is your only limit.

[smallestapplin]

What transformer character of choice when seeing a giant prediction looking milf bot and be smitten? Cuz Giant buff women

Ya know what? Hell yeah, I can appreciate a milf.

Warnings : mild horny but nothing explicit but still 18+ only please!

-

-

Smokescreen has to hold a servo up when they first encounter you, leaving Arcee and Bee confused until he spoke, “Mark me down as scared and horny.”

He did get smacked for it, and then got smacked around by you when they approached or got to close to what you considered your den. You weren’t very friendly at first, until Optimus had to be called in and actually speak with you to let you know he and his team mean no harm. At least that’s what Smokescreen thinks what happened, he heard none of it and was busy staring at you in your robot form.

Despite the stern glare on your face plate, he was very much into this.

Of course once you considered the autobots your own, you were around more often and more or less had Smokescreen hanging off of you, your care for the team was beyond sweet for a giant predacon that towered over everyone. How you shift into your alt mode and curl around the couch to watch the tv with him and Bee.

If they can’t find Smokescreen he’s with you trying to figure out how preadcons court cause he needs you to be his yesterday, he is the text book definition of down bad.

-

Ratchet, two milfs they might kiss! At first like always he’s annoyed by you, how curious you seem to be over his tools and such, but surprisingly you two make a good team. Anytime someone is hurt you scruff them and bring them to him. He scolds and you stand behind him with a stern and disappointed expression, making whoever got hurt feel guilty for rushing in to a mission.

Your strength and power alone gets him smitten though he tries to deny it. You are very protective over the autobots and have shown time and time again how you are willing to risk your life for them, even if that means it’s your turn to earn ratchet’s scolding.

He’s not free though, he tries so hard to act like he hates and loathes when you pick him up and take him to his habsuite, just to curl around him in your alt mode and keep him pinned, he can’t work if his giant predacon spouse is laying across him. Stupidly finds your strength and height over him attractive, more so when you purr lowly and lean over him, trying to show him affection.

Ratchet gets too flustered for this.

-

Predaking, a list like this wouldn’t be complete without the King himself, and oh is he smitten. You, who are so strong and fiercely protective over your den in which he found you in, you, who actually stood a chance against him, growling deeply as you told him to back off.

It’s not surprising he returns to your cave and dropping mass amounts of energon at the entrance, your stern glance only makes his spark sing and oh by the stars how his tail wags when you accept his offering. Predaking like his big strong conjunx, you are so tender with the life living around your home, and so aggressive in battle! He adores he doesn’t have to hold back with you, know you can take whatever he can give you.

The only one who can command him easily with just an upset sound.

-

(Bonus round!)

Bumblebee took one look at your thighs, took one look at your size, and took one look at you and decided he already knew how he wanted to offline, if it is not by your thighs alone then he is a coward and weak. He truly is a little Bee buzzing around a great big dog.

Anytime you show up or the team finds you he’s sliding across the ground to close the distance, arms around your pedes and helm buried into your lower stomach. He’s very easy to pick up, but you honestly don’t need to with how he climbs you and sits on your shoulder with ease, always beeping happily.

He’s already told Arcee he is not going to survive your spike but he will try his damnest like a true warrior.

She’s already prepared to tell Optimus and Ratchet Bee went out the only way he truly wanted to, and that’s by a thick bot snapping his neck cables.

[muletia]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 — [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏] ⊹₊⟡⋆

[tfp] yandere!soundwave x human!reader

summary: you were meant to be just a bargaining chip for the decepticons, someone who could be easily discarded. but soundwave has other plans for you. (consider this snippet as a base for further stories.)

cw: obsessed!soundwave, kidnapping, isolation, stockholm syndrome?? not really but reader does have a soft spot for him, reader's pov, soundwave is fucking terrifying, this is just an excuse to write about soundwave interacting with you lmao

word count: 750

[part 2]

The automatic doors hissed open, announcing the arrival of the owner of these small quarters. You lifted your head from the tablet, wanting to confirm that your routine remained unbroken — that you would survive one more day. Seeing the familiar silhouette, you exhaled in relief. The same titan as always had returned. You’d live to see tomorrow.

“Hi,” you greeted, well aware you’d never receive a verbal response. The titan was fiercely silent.

He nodded, and that was the end of your “conversation.”

Your interactions hadn’t always been like this. They weren’t always this warm. Going from trembling in fear at just the sight of him to saying “good morning” of your own free will had taken some time. Not that you had much choice in terms of social interactions, which the reptilian part of your brain still craved. You’d only seen other members of his species once, on the day of your abduction. Accepting that this was now your life, indefinitely, hadn’t been easy, but after many months, you’d adjusted. Humans were made to adapt to new conditions, and you were no exception. The will to live had won.

You returned to reading an e-book on your tablet (a reward for good behavior) but quickly paused, noticing the robot had stopped at the desk, right by the small corner arranged just for you. You looked up—he seemed to be looking straight at you. Even with the screen covering his face, you could feel his optics on you.

He was enormous, terrifying, and the lack of human-like facial features, which you’d noticed on others, only heightened the fear factor. He looked like a xenomorph. But your alien was real. And he wanted something from you.

“What’s up?” you asked, uncertainly.

He moved his hand, slowly, calculatedly, and pointed at the tablet as if he genuinely cared about what you were doing, as if he cared about your existence. By now, you understood perfectly what he meant, having gone through this countless times when he returned to you after a few, sometimes several, hours of absence. This was your little ritual, a remnant of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal.

“I didn’t manage to read much,” you sighed. He tilted his head slightly. It was almost cute. Almost. “I just can’t concentrate today. I’m having kind of a rough day.”

It would certainly be better if you were spending your time at home, with family and friends, rather than as the pet of your captor, but of course, you couldn’t say that to him. Not when you’d worked so hard for the privilege of a tablet and your own little human corner.

“But it’s nothing big,” you continued, fearing he’d decide it was his fault. “Humans sometimes have days like this. Tomorrow should be better.”

He shook his head.

Did he not believe you? That was a terrifying thought, one with unpleasant consequences, and it sparked a flash of fear. Fortunately, that spark faded as quickly as it had appeared when an image popped up on his face — a silly meme of a cat holding a rose with hearts around it. You stared at the absurd sight for a moment, trying— and failing —to understand where, why, or how. Finally, you gave up. Laughter escaped you for the first time in a very, very long time. You knew you shouldn’t be laughing; this creature should never be a source of comfort, shouldn’t make you feel better by doing the bare minimum of showing you a silly meme made by some grandma.

But, unfortunately, he succeeded. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so miserable, so pathetic and dull. You felt human.

“Okay, that was actually funny.”

The cat was replaced by a smiling face. His strange, flat hand moved toward you, but slowly, so as not to scare you. A slender finger stroked your head, gently, with silent affection, then slid down to your chin. It lingered there. The gesture was almost romantic as if performed by a lover rather than a giant, silent robot. The image on his face flickered, showing another picture—a heart.

There were so many things you didn’t know about this being. You didn’t know his motives or intentions, the reasons for his actions. You didn’t know what he was or what else he was capable of. But this intention was unmistakable.

Beneath his tenderness, beneath every gentle gesture, laid feelings for you. And that was more terrifying than unfamiliarity — because now you knew you’d never escape this place. You'd never escape him.

this is what he showed you btw:

[physalian]

Your colloquialisms are ruining the immersion (or, non-contemporary dialogue)

I am no expert here! Whenever I wrote historical fiction it was anachronistic historical fiction. This advice is from a reader’s perspective and from my experience writing high fantasy.

So what’s the deal with immersive dialogue? I’m going to ignore writing dialects and accents and so-called “old English” with the thee, thy, thou and such. Solely focusing here on the narrative telling me this isn’t set in present times, and yet the dialogue being painfully colloquial like present times.

This is coming from a book I had to read set in HRE times. In it, characters were spouting modern curse words, tacking on verbal tics and crutch words like “or something” and “um” and drawing out words like “daaaamn” and “nooooo”. Rip out the dialogue and toss it in a script with zero context and it would read like two high schoolers from 2009, not two adults from the Holy Roman Empire. Which is a problem, because it completely shattered the immersion. —

1. On so-called “formal writing”

Everybody knows that nixing contractions doesn’t do a damn thing to help your writing look more “formal”, it just looks robotic and stiff, right? We’ve gotten past this as a society? There’s a time and a place for replacing contractions with the full words, but not for every single sentence.

I swear this show keeps creeping into my writing advice but here we go. Transformers Prime. The context for Optimus’ dialogue has a lot to do with his aging voice actor, Peter Cullen, and the perception of the character over the decades from the corny 80s paragon hero everyman type leader to the grizzled and wizened old soul type leader. Optimus isn’t “one of the guys,” he’s old. Very old. He’s the dad of the group (one dad, his grumpy medic is the other dad).

So he gets lines like:

“I fear Megatron’s ambition is at its zenith.”

“But if his return is imminent as I fear, it could be a catastrophic.”

“I bore Skyquake no ill-will.”

He doesn’t curse like the other Autobots. His voice only raises in surprise, horror, or rage. He doesn’t go “um/ah/so/but/eh” and always thinks about what he’s going to say well before he says it. Despite him, Ratchet (the dad medic), and Megatron all being very old, Optimus is the only one who’s “proper” and collected and dignified with his lines. The writers didn’t achieve this simply by omitting contractions, he gets them where necessary and removes them when effective (e.g “We do not.” / “We don’t.”)

2. Thesaurus Rex

Continuing with the Optimus example, no other character in that show would use “zenith” unironically. Or “ill-will”. This doesn’t mean crack open and abuse a thesaurus but there’s a huge divide between:

“Megatron’s gone crazy and he’s going to implode soon” and “Megatron’s ambition is at its zenith”.

I can’ think of a better word to use than dignified, perhaps distinguished to describe his dialogue.

He doesn’t say “what?” when he’s confused, he pauses and says something like “please elaborate”.

This is both word choice and a syntax issue so if you’re struggling to fit a non-contemporary vibe for your work, pay attention to both.

3. When to abstain from cursing

There’s something very special about the dialogue in the Lord of the Rings movies: It’s PG-13 so they can’t curse, but if they had, it would have probably ruined the trilogy. These characters are able to yell in rage and anguish, spit vicious insults at their enemies, and stare down armies that are determined to kill them, all while never breaking the immersion.

Insults like:

“Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear.”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, you witless worm.”

“Your words are poison.”

And all three were said by or about Grima Wormtongue.

Characters aren’t dumbasses, they’re fools, with the exception of Gollum’s insults toward Sam, the “stupid, fat hobbit”.

Even devoid of name-calling, Denethor absolutely trounces his second son by asking (and I’m paraphrasing) “Is there any man here willing to do his lord’s bidding?” right after Faramir expresses some apprehension about a suicide charge with his remaining soldiers, completely ignoring him and implying that he’s not a real man.

LOTR is full of juicy lines beyond curse words, too. One of my absolute favorites is: “Dark have been my dreams of late” as opposed to “I’ve been having nightmares lately.”

Do you see?? It’s poetry. The motif of Shadow and Darkness as if they’re real, physical things, all the lines of poetry pulled straight from the books like Theoden’s “where is the horse and the rider” monologue just before Helm’s Deep.

It’s dignified.

—

This one was a bit harder to, ironically, put into words without doing a full-blown case study into either franchise’s ability to write dialogue and monologues. I didn’t even talk about Ratchet’s several monologues (one of which was done perfectly in the sound booth on the first take) because Jeffrey Combs has a voice like ambrosia.

TLDR: Immersion goes far beyond your vivid setting descriptors and the clothing or the names and languages. I mostly write fantasy and sci-fi and whenever I read or watch fantasy and sci-fi that isn’t meant to be a world different from our own, or about characters who don’t speak modern English, and they go off with modern slang, syntax, and verbal tics, it just feels sloppy and weak. Pay attention to the following:

Syntax

Modern slang and jargon

Filler words/verbal tics

Curse words/curses

Flat, unmotivated vocab

*All of the quotes were from memory because I watch both of these franchises way too often. So apologies if I got any wrong.

[whitecompri]

Speed of Desire (NSFW)

Pairing: Sonic x Fem!Human!Reader

Genre: Smut, Romance

Rating: E (Explicit +18)

Warnings: Intercourse, Oral sex, Fingering, Strong Language

A/N: Well, now it's practically midnight for me and I'm here writing Sonic Smut… A very long Smut, and I didn't expect it to be this long. But anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

--*--

A thunder rumbled outside your house, catching your attention. Sighing, you pulled your hoodie tighter around yourself, waiting for the tea to be ready, your only company being the soft sound of the stove's flames and the incessant raindrops tapping against your window. No one expected a storm like that to hit on that day of all days—after all, the weather forecast had made it clear the day would be clear and uneventful. Yet, the opposite happened.

You had no choice but to bundle up at home, make some good tea to warm up, and stay quietly in bed waiting for the storm to pass.

But suddenly, before your tea could be ready, a series of insistent knocks echoed from your front door, making you frown. After all, who would be out in that rain coming to visit you?

Hesitating at first, you turned off the stove, crossing the kitchen to the door. You bent down slightly, peering through the peephole and widening your eyes in surprise at who it was.

Quickly, you unlocked the door and opened it, being greeted by a strong, cold gust of wind and the relentless rain that poured through your front door, starting to flood your porch as well.

The blue hedgehog quickly entered through the door, running a hand through his quills to shake off the excess water. He shook himself a bit, unintentionally splashing you with some water. Meanwhile, you shut the door again, shivering at the cutting cold.

Then, turning to him, your eyes scanned the familiar hedgehog’s form, frowning at the many cuts and scrapes marring his soaked fur.

His presence in your home was already something common. He often stopped by when he was in town, usually just to chat, eat something, and take a nap—only to disappear again into his adventures before returning a few days later. It was even curious to you how quickly he had become your friend, especially considering that the first time you met had been because he ran past you, knocking you off balance and making you drop all your groceries. And of course, he helped you carry everything home, and that’s how he found out where you lived.

“Sonic? What happened to you?” you asked, stepping closer to him, analyzing the wounds up close.

“Just caught a little rain,” he said with a grin.

“You know that’s not what I meant...” Crossing your arms, you stared at him.

Sonic sighed quietly.

“And maybe a few robots on the way too, nothing major, I’ve had worse.” He gave a half-smile, stretching a bit to show he was fine, though now, after coming out of the torrential rain, the open wounds were still bleeding slightly, staining his fur.

“Go take a hot shower... I’ll get the hair dryer and my medical kit ready.” You turned away, heading back into the kitchen, looking for where you had left the kit, or at least some bandages to patch the hedgehog up. You knew very well he got hurt often on his adventures, but you couldn’t help but care for your favorite speedy hedgehog when he showed up at your house like that.

--*--

You sat on the bed, checking the medical kit box to see if everything you needed was there—nothing a little hydrogen peroxide, alcohol, healing ointment, and a clean bandage couldn’t handle to help the stubborn hedgehog heal a bit faster.

Hearing the shower turn off down the hallway, you promptly grabbed the hair dryer, knowing that towels alone wouldn’t be enough to dry his fur. You had also set aside a fresh pair of socks for him to wear while his own, along with his shoes and gloves, were drying in another room.

In a few minutes, the blue figure appeared at your bedroom door, a towel wrapped around his body and another on his head. He walked up to you and flopped down on the bed.

“I gotta admit, I really needed a hot shower, Sweetie. Thanks for the idea, it helped a lot.” His eyes locked with yours, then dropped to the tools and bottles laid out on the bed. “What’s this? Gonna dissect me?” he smirked.

“Silly, this is for your wounds. Take off the towel, I’m going to dry your fur now.” Standing up, you approached him with the hair dryer in hand, ready to turn it on.

“Hey, if you wanna see what’s under this towel, you gotta buy me dinner first...” He winked at you, playful grin in place.

“And what could you possibly have that’s so interesting to show? You literally walk around naked all the time.” You laughed, turning on the dryer and removing the towel from his head, running the warm—almost cozy—air over his quills.

“Good point... Guess you’re right.” He closed his eyes, appreciating your gentle touch on his sensitive quills. “Mind lending me some of your hair cream later? I like my quills to stay soft.”

“I’ll think about it.” Your fingers slid through his quills, careful not to tug or hurt him. That’s when you noticed his body relaxing under your touch—apparently, he enjoyed a bit of quill pampering.

However, as you continued, suddenly, upon brushing the base of one of his quills, you felt him tense up for a moment, freezing, then exhale a heavy, broken breath. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught his expression—eyes squeezed shut, fangs biting his lower lip like he was trying to hold something back.

You raised an eyebrow, confused by the reaction, unsure if you had hurt him... or something else.

“I need to dry your body.” You spoke quietly, waiting for his reaction. Sonic opened his eyes quickly.

“Ah, right away.” He said now, without his usual teasing tone, removing the towel and placing it beside him on the bed.

Now, you were more careful with your hand, choosing not to touch too much so as not to cross any lines.

Soon, his fur, once soaked and dripping, was now dry and fluffy, as it should be—if not for the still-insistent wounds marking his arms, shoulder, and waist. Setting the turned-off dryer on the side table, you reached for the alcohol bottle and some cotton.

“This will sting a little.” Wetting the cotton with alcohol, you started gently dabbing it onto the wounds. Sonic hissed softly at the first touch when the alcohol met a deep cut on his arm. You tried to keep your touch as gentle as possible, aiming to cause the least pain.

Then you moved to his waist, pressing a new alcohol-soaked cotton ball there. As soon as you touched it, you noticed his breath catch for a moment—but assumed it was from the pain and didn’t give it much thought.

However, when you moved to treat his shoulder, you noticed he was staring off to the other side of the room, focusing on nothing in particular, just trying to stay composed maybe. But you raised an eyebrow when you noticed him starting to fidget, shifting constantly on the bed every few seconds.

“Stay still, you’re making my job harder...” you said, reaching for the hydrogen peroxide bottle. “This will serve as an antiseptic...”

Sonic nodded slowly, breathing steadily, turning slightly to look at you.

“You really need to stop thinking you’re immortal... I bet you always come out of battles like this.” You said, finally picking up the bandage after applying the peroxide, beginning to wrap it around the wound on his arm.

“Yeah... but up ‘til now, I didn’t have anyone to patch me up and scold me.” He chuckled softly, though his voice didn’t come out normal—it was lower, raspier, which sent a shiver down your spine for a second, especially after noticing those half-lidded green eyes staring at you with a breathtaking intensity.

“Rest... You can use my bed. I have some stuff to deal with anyway.” You finished bandaging his arm and placing band-aids on his waist and shoulder, making sure there were no other wounds, scanning him all over with your eyes.

“You sure? With this rain, you’re gonna leave me here all alone?” He gave a sideways smirk, arching his body toward you.

“It’s not like you’re afraid of rain. You’ll be fine.” You poked his nose, and he let out a snort of laughter. That’s when you noticed—his irises shamelessly focused on your lips, making your face heat up almost instantly and leaving you completely speechless and unsure how to respond.

So, without thinking much, your hand reached for the band-aid on his waist, pressing a little more for it to stick to the blue fur. Sonic swallowed hard at your touch, watching your hand intently now, his fur subtly began to bristle at your touch, he shifted slightly, becoming restless again. That was when his low, hoarse voice sounded again.

"You really don't know what you're doing to me right now, do you?" His hand reached your wrist, stopping you from adjusting the band-aid.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, even though you already had an idea of what the answer would be. Sonic gave a sly grin, his pupils slowly dilating as he leaned toward you again, pulling your wrist slightly to bring you closer.

"Do you want to find out?" Now it was your turn to swallow hard, finding it difficult to ignore how hot the environment had become, or how his proximity and that intense look stirred something inside you.

"What if I do?" You tried to answer provocatively, your breathing quickening as your heart began to race.

"I guess I'm gonna have to show you then, huh?" He chuckled softly, seeing the same intensity and desire in your eyes as in his. In your mind, it had never occurred to you that one day you’d feel something like this for him, your friend. But it was hard to contain, especially when he was so charming, despite the differences in species.

Without further warning, your breath hitched as you felt his hands on your waist, starting to slide under the edge of your hoodie, gliding over your belly, feeling your skin against his fur, causing a contrast unlike anything you'd ever felt.

Sonic got even closer, kneeling at your side, removing one hand from your curves to support the back of your neck, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to, he pressed his muzzle against your face, brushing your lips into a heated, quick kiss. Your hands tangled in his quills and you couldn't hold back a soft moan of pleasure at the intensity of the kiss.

But as quickly as it started, it ended. His muzzle moved to your jawline, placing several quick kisses, and he began to descend to your neck, nibbling quickly, sending a hot wave of pleasure through your whole body and making you whimper softly. Until he pulled his lips away from your skin, breathing heavily against you, Sonic rested his nose on the gentle curve of your neck, inhaling your scent and letting out a satisfied growl.

Your whole body trembled at the feeling of his cold nose against your warm skin, and a familiar heat began to take over your core. Then you jolted slightly as you felt his claws gripping firmly just below your breasts. Sonic pulled his face away from you a little, watching you breathlessly, you looked at him confused.

"Why did you stop?" You asked softly.

"Just wanted to admire your expression..." He gave a grin, leaning closer again. "You ready? Think hard, I'm a bit... different from a human." He whispered into your ear, as his hand circled your breast provocatively, making your breathing erratic.

"I wouldn’t even think of backing out..." Your nasal answer only made him more excited for what was coming. He chuckled softly, quickly slipping his hand under your bra, beginning to massage gently and affectionately, feeling the weight in his hand, his thumb started pressing the tip, making you gasp a little.

"You know how many times I’ve thought about this while running around? Speed of sound doesn’t help me forget you, little star." The hedgehog confessed, making you blush immediately at his words. "Seeing you reciprocate, girl... I can barely hold myself..."

In a swift motion then, his hands grabbed the hem of your hoodie, pulling it up hurriedly, his green eyes scanned every tempting inch of exposed skin, making him bite his lips again to suppress a growl. You raised your arms to make it easier for him, and once the piece of clothing was on the floor, his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, his claws pressing the hook until it gave way. Without wasting time, he slid the bra down your arms, revealing your breasts to his appreciative eyes.

"If you lay on the bed... it'd be easier for me." He teased with a grin, agitated, unable to wait any longer. Quickly, you did as he suggested, moving the bottles and bandages out of the way, resting your neck on your pillow, and in the blink of an eye, he was on top of you, his knees on either side of your waist as he braced his hands on the pillow behind you, his face very close to yours. Unexpectedly, he nibbled your lower lip, pulling it gently, doing it a few more times before pressing his hips against your belly.

You gasped lightly, clearly feeling a large, warm bulge amid his fur. You tried to look down, but he pressed his forehead quickly against yours, making you focus only on those electrifying green eyes.

"Don’t look yet, Starlight... that’s the good surprise for later." The hedgehog gave you a sly smile.

Lowering his face a bit, pressing his muzzle against your face again, his tongue invaded your wet cave without warning, taking you by surprise once more. Your hands grabbed the quills on his back, pulling him closer as a battle unfolded between your tongues.

Then, suddenly, he broke the kiss, breathing heavily, starting to land quick kisses on your collarbone, descending along your ribs, pausing to nibble your waist, earning another jump from you at the unexpected contact of his teeth with your skin, until finally, he stopped just below your navel, pressing his muzzle there, taking a deep breath.

His hands grabbed the edge of your sweatpants, giving a tug downward, impatiently trying to get the fabric out of the way of his goal. You lifted your hips, facilitating the removal of your pants, which were discarded with the other clothes on the floor.

Sonic couldn’t resist tracing circles over the fabric of your panties, shivering at how wet your intimacy was, showing how eager you felt for him. Letting out a nasal laugh, he used a claw to pull your panties aside, revealing your dripping slit, he growled, his free hand grabbing your thigh, massaging your soft skin a little, inhaling your scent.

"Wow... coming here really paid off." He spoke almost to himself, then, pressing his thumb on your most sensitive part, he began to apply pressure, watching how your face silently contorted with pleasure and your body squirmed incessantly. Sonic withdrew his thumb, slowly placing his ring finger at your entrance, teasing as he moved it in circles.

"Don’t tease me like that..." Your muffled voice echoed in his ears, making the blue hedgehog chuckle, slowly inserting the finger, sighing heavily as he felt your warm wetness and the lewd sound it made when he pumped the finger inside you for the first time.

You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of something filling you so intimately, frequently letting out a pleasurable sigh or soft moan when he hit a more sensitive internal spot.

Then suddenly, you felt him withdraw the finger from your intimacy, making you groan at the loss of contact, but before you could complain or look at him, you felt a strong and versatile muscle being inserted in place of his finger, the intensity of it making your eyes shut, your hands gripped the sheets while your spine arched, hearing only a small moan from him as he tasted you.

Sonic pressed his muzzle firmly against you, holding your thighs with his hands, slightly digging his claws into you, while he ate you out with a speed you had never seen before. But you didn’t expect less from such a fast hedgehog, and one of the few thoughts that crossed your mind was whether you could handle it when the main event started.

"Sonic... go easy..." You murmured, but the hedgehog’s lust-clouded mind couldn’t immediately process the words.

Suddenly, his tongue moved away from your dripping sex, rising to play with your sensitive nerve bundle, giving quick, dizzying licks, as expected from the fastest creature in the world. That’s when his lips closed around your most sensitive point, sucking in a way that made you bring a hand to your mouth to keep any overly loud noise from escaping.

The tip of his tongue swirled rapidly around your little sensitive button, an almost uncontrollable heat began to build in your lower belly, signaling you were quickly approaching. His ring finger returned to fill you, pumping rapidly, making obscene wet sounds and moans of pleasure fill the room.

Sonic didn't stop for a second, savoring every moment of tasting your arousal. Beneath his hands, your legs began to tremble, your body started to tense, preparing for release, your stomach fluttered as you got very close. You shut your eyes tight, letting out a heavy sigh along with a guttural groan when your vision turned white.

The hedgehog didn't stop even when you reached your climax, wanting to help you get through it in the best way possible. But the feeling of your soft inner walls tightening around his finger and your release dripping and coating the fur on his chin almost made him come right then and there, but he forced himself to hold back, wanting to wait for the best moment.

Hesitant and panting, he pulled his face away from you, observing your glistening release that covered your entire intimacy, dripping onto the sheet below. The hedgehog growled appreciatively.

"Seriously, Starlight, you look so beautiful with that expression." He smiled sideways, moving his body up, pressing his chest against your stomach. You looked down with half-lidded eyes, staring at his content expression and the muzzle slick with your fluids, admiring how the fur on his forehead started to glisten with fresh sweat and how his quills were lowered and soft, showing how comfortable he was.

Sonic settled between your legs, trying to find a comfortable position despite the height difference.

"Ready?" The thick head of his erection rubbed slowly at the entrance of your still-trembling intimacy, your fluids serving as natural lubricant while he made a point of teasing a bit more. Sonic slid his hips against yours, simulating penetration, pushing in just until the tip strained the entrance before pulling back again — a movement that made your breath hitch and your thighs quiver.

You let out a grunt, frustrated, a muffled sound between your teeth, and he smiled.

That laugh of his came hoarse, mischievous, full of pleasure in watching you squirm.

"Already so impatient, Starlight?" he murmured, voice low and hot, hitting your ear with promises.

Before you could answer, he pushed forward. Slowly. A steady, controlled thrust, making you feel him inch by inch, invading your hot flesh, carving a path until he was buried completely inside you. The sensation was of being filled too much — thickness, heat, his weight on top of you — and he just breathed deeper, as if your body was pulling him into an inescapable paradise.

“Damn…” he whispered, resting his forehead against your rib. “You’re… perfect inside.”

Sonic began to move. At first, slowly. Just enough for you to feel the friction, the glide of his cock inside you, wet and snug. But the time between each thrust shortened — and then came what he did best.

Speed.

The thrusts became fast. Precise. His hips slammed into yours with the unmistakable sound of wet bodies colliding, echoing through the muffled room. He fucked you with the same rhythm he used to run: no hesitation, no mercy, just impulse and power. You struggled to hold back the sounds, biting your lips, pressing your fists into the bed, but short, pleading moans still escaped.

Unable to resist, Sonic lightly nipped your skin, wanting to mark you completely. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall reached your ears, masking the noise of the incessant rain outside. And even the cold of that day seemed to disappear.

“You squeeze so tight… you drive me crazy.” His voice was a trembling whisper. No need for dirty talk — the tone, the heat, said it all.

Each thrust made you softer, hotter, more surrendered. But then, suddenly, he stopped. Took a deep breath, his hips still pressed against yours, his hands firmly gripping your thighs. Sweat dripped from his face, landing on your chest, and his green eyes were dilated, wild — but there was a glint of affection in them too.

He began to move again, but now slow. Deep. Each thrust was felt to the end, dragging, his body molding against yours. He moaned softly when you clenched around him, and in response, he caressed you with his fingertips, gliding along your ribs, holding your waist with reverence.

“Like this… slow now…” he murmured, voice husky, almost pained from so much pleasure. “I want to feel everything… I don’t mind slowing down for you, Sweetie.”

You whimpered, feeling the tension forming once more, that heat burning in your lower belly, radiating to the tips of your fingers. Every movement he made seemed to calculate exactly where he hit you best, the right spot, the perfect angle — and when the wave came, you couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your body arched, the orgasm ripping from the inside out, with a muffled moan between your teeth and your breath caught. You clenched around him with involuntary force, as if your body wanted to hold him inside, trap him, keep him.

Sonic gasped, breath faltered, his quills bristled at the moment, sensing what was coming. He thrust one more time, deep, as far as he could go, and then stayed. Buried completely, pelvis against yours, body tense, sweating, the tip of him pressed against your cervix.

“Ahh… fuck…” he let out, with a low, guttural moan, hiding his face against your chest. A shiver ran through him as he came, releasing everything inside you — a hot, thick pulsing stream, painting you insides with white, spurt after spurt, like his whole body collapsed into pleasure. He moaned again, this time muffled, holding you tightly like the world could end around him and he just wanted to stay right there.

For a while, neither of you moved.

He stayed inside, still hard, though the tension had softened. His breathing slowly calmed, sweat trickling between his quills, holding you with tenderness, he pressed your bodies even closer. The fur on his belly brushed against yours, damp, warm and comfortable.

Sonic lifted his tired face a little, eyes half-closed, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

“You’re amazing…” he whispered, kissing the underside of your breast, your rib, your stomach. “You take my breath away…”

You smiled back, your body still pulsing, his intimacy still nestled in yours, warm and throbbing.

He sighed, as if he wanted to dissolve into that moment. Rested his chin on your chest, his fingers lazily tracing shapes on your thigh. And then, with an almost imperceptible movement, you felt something shift inside you, quickly coming back to life with renewed interest.

He was hardening again. Little by little, swelling once more inside you.

You let out a weak giggle, and he responded with a mischievous look, though still without moving.

“Ignore it…” he murmured, eyes closing as his body relaxed against yours. “Just… let me stay here. A little longer. I don’t want to let go of you anytime soon, Babe. I love you so much…” Your heart warmed with his declaration.

“I love you too… Fast hedgehog.” Your hand entwined in his quills, caressing affectionately.

And so he stayed. Inside you. Warm. Connected. His heartbeat against your skin, the sound of soft breathing, and the heat of your bodies stuck together in perfect stillness.

He didn’t want to lose the moment. But you knew: any moment now, that sly little grin would return in full force. But for now, you would just enjoy the calm surroundings, breathing in the scent of your coupling in the air, aware that Sonic, probably now your new boyfriend, would always take very good care of you.

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (15)

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

Chapter 15 - Behind You

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 16

PREV : Chapter 14

Well, you’re fucked.

You thought you would be safe by disguising as a square guard in this place. But no. The Captain, after declaring that your stunt here was a hide-and-seek game, announced in his deep, commanding voice:

“All guards are to leave immediately, except for the managers. Managers, you will remain in the control room until you are summoned. Each manager will meet me in a private room. This will continue until I have identified each of you personally.”

The words rang out like a death sentence. Your heart sank. Every square guard in the control room, including you, was now locked into a situation you couldn’t easily escape. The Captain’s declaration left no room for argument or hesitation. He knew you were hiding among them, and now, he was closing in, determined to find you.

As the triangle and circle guards filtered out of the control room in near-perfect unison, you remained rooted to your spot, your anxiety bubbling to a near-breaking point. The managers around you stood silently. You tried to mirror their demeanor, even as your pulse pounded in your ears. The Captain’s gaze swept over all of you before he strode out.

The masked officer stayed behind, stepping forward to address the remaining managers. “Everyone, line up. Form four lines in the center.”

All of you lined up. The process began – without any instructions, to your horror – starting from the first line from the left. Everyone moved efficiently like robots. It's like everyone here had been groomed to be like this.

Soon enough, you learned how this worked. Each square guard would meet the Captain personally, one by one. Once the guard finished, they would return to the control room to guide the next in line to the Captain’s room. This cycle continued, with the latest guard becoming the guide for the next.

The summoning progressed one by one in the line first, each guard vanishing into the hallway with their guide. You stood near the back of the third line, giving you time to wait and prepare, though the wait itself was nerve-wracking.

Minutes ticked by, each one slower than the last. Finally, it was your line – the third queue’s turn – to be called. One by one, the guards in your line were summoned. Each time, the manager at the front of the line would straighten their posture, nod briskly, and step forward to follow the guide. Then, they would vanish into the hallway, leaving the line one person shorter.

Your heart thudded louder with every departure. The sound of footsteps echoed faintly each time the door opened and closed, the control room’s stillness amplifying everything. You kept your head down but your mind was elsewhere. Your thoughts raced, trying to rehearse how you would act, what you would say, how you would surrender to the Captain when your turn came.

Because let’s face it. Once you are summoned to see the Captain personally, you would have no choice but to unmask and reveal yourself to him once he commands you to. You can’t run.

The manager in front of you stepped forward, their number called. They followed the guide out into the hallway. Your stomach began to twist uncomfortably. You’re next.

After a few minutes, the square guard from before returned and stood beside you.

“This way,” they said, their tone monotone and detached.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you straightened up and quietly followed them out of the control room under the watchful eye of the Captain’s second-in-command.

Your steps echoed against the walls of the labyrinthine hallways. The path twisted and turned, each corner feeling more ominous than the last. The guide didn’t speak, and you didn’t dare break the silence.

Soon enough, the square guard who led you stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. They held it ajar, gesturing for you to step inside. Your heart pounded in your chest as you forced yourself to move forward. As you entered, you realized the room was a storage area. Dust clung to the shelves, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the air. It looked like the room hadn’t been used in a while.

But what caught your attention wasn’t just the state of the room. It was the figure standing inside. A triangle guard. The Captain was nowhere to be seen.

You stiffened in confusion and alarm, your muscles tensing as you prepared for the worst. Before you could act, the triangle guard, in his distorted voice, called your name. “It’s okay. It’s us.”

The triangle guard reached up and removed their mask, revealing a face partially obscured by a headsock with a wide hole that exposed their eyes. But you didn’t need to see their whole face to recognize them. The moment your gaze locked with theirs, you knew.

“Gyeong-seok?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

He gave you a small, tired smile and tugged the headsock down to his neck, fully revealing his face. Sweat clung to his skin, making his hair stick to his forehead and cheeks. His neck glistened, evidence of the heat trapped in the pink guard’s jumpsuit.

Behind you, the square guard who had led you to the room closed the door and began removing their own mask. As the mask came off, you saw a woman beneath it, also wearing a headsock. She pulled the fabric down to her neck, revealing her full face.

For a moment, you were stunned. She was beautiful, with V-shaped jawline and pretty features that caught you off guard. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, her face flushed and her neck damp with sweat. Strands of her hair clung to her skin, making her look as exhausted as she was captivating. There was a small line of dried cut on her left cheek. It seemed fresh. Nevertheless, you found yourself staring longer than you intended, but Gyeong-seok’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“She’s the one who saved us,” he said, nodding toward the woman. “She took down two square guards before your turn to get you out of there.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to her. “Two guards?”

The unnamed woman’s voice was soft yet strong, no longer distorted by the mask. “I took down the first one to see where you were in those lines. Then I intercepted the guard before you after they finished their meeting with the Captain.”

Her words hung in the air, and you took a moment to process what she had done. The risk she had taken was staggering, and the fact that she had succeeded left you both grateful and in awe.

“Wait here,” she told you. “I’ll guide the guard after you in line so nothing seems amiss.”

You nodded, looking at her appreciatively. She pulled the square mask back over her face, adjusting it carefully before tugging her jumpsuit and hood into place. With her appearance restored, she slipped out the door.

The room fell silent after she left, the faint hum of machinery somewhere in the facility the only sound. You exchanged a look with Gyeong-seok, who leaned back against the dusty shelf, his expression a mixture of relief and worry.

“She’s gutsy,” Gyeong-seok muttered. “I’m not sure how she managed all that.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted as you leaned against the wall. “I wonder how long she has worked here.”

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. You couldn’t shake the unease lingering in the back of your mind, but knowing that the woman was taking steps to protect your cover gave you a small sense of security. Finally, after what felt like forever, the door creaked open again.

She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. Her movements were quick but deliberate as she removed her mask, revealing her flushed face once more. With a slight nod, she walked over to you and handed the square mask.

“It’s done,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Guards who had passed their meeting with the Captain are dismissed.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

The lady resumed, “We’ll need to lay low for now. The guards are on high alert and the Captain is watching everything because of your disappearance.”

She glanced at you pointedly. Though her face showed no emotion, you could sense their confusion about the Captain's peculiar behavior toward you. To be fair, you were just as baffled.

You voiced your confusion, though your thoughts were focused on a different matter. “Is it just me, or does he already know that I’m disguised as one of the guards?”

She didn’t hesitate. “He does. There’s no need for him to command every manager to see him personally one by one.”

“Manager?” Gyeong-seok repeated questioningly.

The lady nodded, clarifying further. “The square guards are called managers. The triangle guards are soldiers. The circles are workers. From the lowest to the highest rank, it’s workers, soldiers, and managers. The man in black and pink is referred to as the officer. And the one we call the Captain is officially known as the Front Man.”

You fell silent, letting the explanation sink in. The hierarchy and structure of this place were clearer now, but it was still too much for you. The unknown lady added, “The Captain must have figured out that you disguised yourself as a manager because the one who was supposed to guard you was found with his mask removed.”

The memory surfaced immediately. This same lady had been the one to remove the original manager’s mask and hand it to you, enabling your disguise.

Gyeong-seok broke the silence. “So what do we do now?”

“We lay low,” the lady said firmly. “Try to adapt as much as you can.”

She turned to Gyeong-seok and said, “I gave you a soldier’s mask for number 014. Our rooms are close to each other, and our tasks are almost identical. Just follow my lead, and you’ll blend in.”

Gyeong-seok nodded. She then turned to you. “You will keep disguising yourself as a manager. Here.”

She handed the square mask she had just removed from her face. “Wear this. Number 007. That’s your number.”

You took it and blinked your eyes at them innocently. “What happened to that guard?”

She stared at you quietly, giving you no response, until she finally answered, “They wouldn’t bother anyone. I hid their body somewhere no one knew.”

You and Gyeong-seok exchanged glances before the latter asked her, “Is that okay? How long have you worked as a pink guard?”

“More than five years,” she answered monotonously.

You and Gyeong-seok exchanged a look of wonderment. No wonder she knows so much about this place and so much more.

She then spoke to you, “In your role, you have authority over the soldiers and workers. The other managers won’t pay much attention to you because managers are expected to know their responsibilities. But be cautious. If you act suspiciously, they will confront you.”

“Why couldn’t she become a soldier too?” Gyeong-seok asked, his tone curious but innocent.

She cast her gaze down. “I considered it, but we need someone in a higher position to protect us if another manager starts questioning us. A manager’s authority will give us more leeway to maneuver without raising alarms.”

Both you and Gyeong-seok nodded understandingly before the latter shifted, adjusting his stance, as he inquired, “How long do we have to do this?”

The lady was quiet for a moment before replying, “Until the game finishes. Once this game ends, we will be sent back outside and you can pretend that nothing happened.”

“We can leave earlier if the players vote for X in the majority, right?” you asked, the thought suddenly striking you.

“Yes, that’s one way to end the game.”

“But because of the lights out and the revolt, the Os will have the majority in the next vote,” Gyeong-seok pointed out.

The lady replied, “Yes. It’s inevitable at this point.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing on all of you. Finally, the lady broke the silence. “We should wrap this up. It’s too risky to stay together for too long. Disperse and stick to the plan.”

But before they could turn away, you spoke up. “Wait. What’s your name? Or your number? And is there a way to tell you apart? It’s hard to identify you among the other pink guards.”

The lady hesitated. She was quiet for a moment as if weighing whether to answer. Finally, she said, “Call me 011.”

You nodded, committing her number to memory. The secrecy surrounding her name didn’t bother you. It made sense. She had been working here as a triangle guard for years, shooting eliminated players and probably so much more. Privacy was likely something she clung to.

Although she was someone who should answer for her ‘duties,’ someone who should be handed over to the police, you still felt a surprising sense of protectiveness toward her.

After all, she had saved you and Gyeong-seok. She had risked herself to help complete strangers. Seeing how the Captain worked, if he found out about 011, he would shoot her for disloyalty. She literally risked her life for you and Gyeong-seok.

“Okay. But we need a way to recognize each other quickly. Something that stands out,” you urged.

Gyeong-seok chimed in. “Yeah, there must be a way to differentiate each other from other guards.”

011 considered this for a moment before nodding. “You’re right. We’ll need something subtle but distinct so the others won’t notice.”

“What about a tear in the fabric?” you suggested. “Small, like at the sleeves or something.”

“Or the shoes,” Gyeong-seok added. “We could scratch or mark the shoes. It’s not obvious, but we’ll know to look for it.”

011 nodded thoughtfully. “Both ideas could work. A small tear on the sleeves and back of the jumpsuit and a mark on the shoes. It’ll be subtle but clear enough for us to recognize.”

The three of you worked together to create the subtle wear-and-tear marks on each other’s top. 011 carefully added a small tear to the sleeves and back of your top and did the same thing to Gyeong-seok. The latter returned the favor to 011, creating a similar mark at her sleeves and back of their jacket. For the shoes, each of you crouched down and made small, deliberate scratches or marks on your own footwear.

As the three of you finished, 011 looked up. “We have to go. Soon enough, workers will begin to restore the CCTVs in the dormitory.”

You and Gyeong-seok nodded.

***

You were walking through the labyrinth of colorful stairs, trying to familiarize yourself with the facility’s map and layout. Disguising yourself as a manager meant you needed to know the space like the back of your hand. Understanding the routes, the shortcuts, and the layout of each level felt crucial to maintaining your cover.

True to 011’s word, the workers and soldiers didn’t bother you at all. They didn’t approach or speak to you, their respect for your supposed role evident in their behavior. When the path became too narrow, they even stepped aside to let you pass first. The managers were different; they simply glanced at you before continuing with their tasks. As long as you didn’t act suspiciously, it seemed none of the guards cared to pay you much attention.

You began to relax slightly, finding some reassurance in the lack of scrutiny. That was until your radio crackled to life. The sudden noise made your steps falter for a moment as an announcement rang out.

“Attention. Managers whose numbers are mentioned next, head to the control room immediately.”

The voice began listing off a series of numbers. You walked forward slowly as you listened closely. Then it came.

“Manager 007.”

You froze mid-step. Anxiety shot up like a rocket, making your pulse thunder in your ears. You were being summoned to the control room. After listing a few more numbers, the radio fell silent again, leaving you standing there.

What could they want? Why were you being called? Questions swirled in your mind as you tried to suppress the rising panic. Forcing your feet to move, you adjusted your posture and straightened your mask. There was no time to think. You had to go.

It took you more than seven minutes to reach the control room. You were proud of yourself for remembering the way, even though you got lost for a moment along the winding corridors. But as soon as you stepped inside, the anxiety that had temporarily eased flared up again.

You joined eight other managers in the center of the control room. The nine of you stood together on the floor where pictures of surviving players lit up.

You couldn’t look at the screen beneath you clearly because standing before you was the masked officer. You didn’t want to do anything that might raise alarm or suspicion. Meanwhile, the Front Man was nowhere to be seen.

The masked officer spoke. “Due to the revolt, half of managers that were supposed to operate these monitors were killed. To maintain operational efficiency, some of you will need to alternate tasks. This will involve manning monitors in the control room, supervising the next game, and guarding the Captain. The nine of you will be the first emergency batch to take on these alternating roles.”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “Those who volunteer to operate monitors now will later switch with others when the next game begins, and guard the Captain during the evening. If you wish to volunteer for the first shift, speak up now.”

There was a beat of silence before one of the managers stepped forward. “019. I volunteer to operate the monitors.”

Another manager followed. “009. I will operate the monitors.”

You stayed quiet. You weren’t sure if volunteering would draw more attention to you, so you let the decision rest with the officer. But as you stood there, mulling over the situation, it struck you.

If you volunteer to operate the monitors now, you could keep an eye on your friends during the next game while you are supervising.

Summoning your resolve, you stepped forward and mirrored the others’ phrasing. “007. I volunteer to operate the monitors first.”

The masked officer nodded. “Understood. You three may begin immediately. The other three managers will replace you in monitor operation when the next game begins. The remaining three will begin manning the monitors this evening.”

The conversation ended there, the masked officer dismissing everyone to their new tasks. Moments later, you found yourself seated at a monitor in the second row from the center. The control room was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the soft clicks and taps from other managers working at their stations. You turned your attention to the monitor in front of you, studying the screen and trying to make sense of your assigned task.

Your monitor displayed four live CCTV feeds, each showing hallways leading to the men’s and women’s restrooms for the players. For now, the feeds were empty, the halls devoid of activity.

At the bottom of the screen, you noticed a small arrow pointing to the right. Clicking it, you realized it brought up another page with four more live feeds. This set displayed the labyrinth of colorful staircases, the vibrant pink walls and intersecting paths looking almost surreal through the grainy CCTV footage.

The soft hum of the control room was disrupted by the sound of the elevator sliding open in the back. Instinctively, you glanced over your shoulder. The elevator was glowing with golden light, a sharp contrast to the muted tones of the control room. It was clear this elevator wasn’t for general use. It carried an air of exclusivity, a touch of grandeur that felt out of place in the stark facility. Then, he stepped out.

The Front Man emerged, his presence immediately commanding the room. He strode forward, his black mask catching the dim light of the massive screens on the walls. His imposing figure radiated power and authority. His second-in-command stepped aside, letting the boss walk past him.

The Front Man came to a stop in the center of the room, his gaze fixed on several dark monitors that should have been displaying the dormitory’s live feeds. Managers, including yourself, kept their heads low. You pretended to focus on the screen of your monitor, but you could feel the tension thick in the air.

“The workers are almost finished replacing the CCTVs in the dormitory,” said the masked officer, stepping forward slightly. “23 players have died due to the lights out and the revolt. The remaining players are now a total of 72.”

The Front Man remained still for a moment, processing the information. Then he spoke, his voice deep and commanding. “We will wait until all CCTVs are operational. Ensure it is completed immediately.”

The masked officer lowered his head in acknowledgment. Then, he raised his radio and began issuing orders. The static crackle of the radio was faint, but you could make out fragments of his commands. He was coordinating workers, urging them to move quickly.

Meanwhile, the Front Man continued to stand at the center of the room. His gaze never left the dark monitors. You felt the weight of his authority pressing down on the room like an invisible force. Though he hadn’t said much, his presence was enough to make everyone hyper-aware of their every move.

The Front Man suddenly turned and began walking toward the first row of monitors closest to the center of the room. Multiple managers were stationed there, each one glued to their tasks, pretending not to notice the imposing figure approaching them. He stopped behind one manager, standing silently as he gazed at the screen in front of them. His posture was unreadable as he was supervising or judging their work.

After a few long moments, he moved and stood behind the next manager, repeating the same process. Standing silently, observing, scrutinizing. The air grew heavier with each step he took. You could almost feel the tension radiating off the other managers as they focused on their screens, hoping to avoid his attention.

Your chest tightened as you watched his slow, deliberate movements. The realization struck you like a hammer.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is he going to check everyone’s screen now, including mine?

You turned back to your monitor, forcing yourself to focus on the screen in front of you. The live feeds of empty hallways and colorful staircases stared back at you, but your eyes darted across the interface, desperate to find anything else to do. You clicked through the pages again and again, but no matter what you tried, the only thing available was the live feed.

Or maybe you simply didn’t know how to navigate the monitor. Your hands hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. Anxiety crept up your spine as you tried to keep your composure. What if he asks me something? What if he realizes I don’t belong here?

Behind you, you could hear the soft shuffling of footsteps as the Captain moved to the next monitor. Each step brought him closer, and with each step, your dread grew. You glanced at the managers near you, trying to gauge their reactions. They were calm, composed, their hands steady as they worked. Or maybe they were just better at hiding their fear than you were.

You clicked through the feeds again, your fingers moving mechanically. The colorful staircases flashed on the screen once more. You tried to focus on the feeds, pretending to study them, but your mind was racing. What am I looking at exactly? Is this all I have to do? What if he notices I’m just pretending?

The footsteps stopped. He was behind someone else now, just three spots away. You didn’t dare look, but you could feel the weight of his presence from across the room. The sound of your own breathing was deafening in your ears. Your fingers tapped lightly against the mouse, an involuntary rhythm born of nerves.

Another step. Now he was just two stations away.

You forced yourself to stare at the screen, willing your hands to stay steady. The live feed showed nothing unusual. It’s just static hallways and staircases. You tried to focus on the smallest details: the faint flicker of the fluorescent lights in one corner of the screen, the subtle shadows cast by the stair railings. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Then, the footsteps started and then stopped again. You didn’t need to look to know he was behind the manager next to you. The air felt thicker, every second stretching endlessly as you waited. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you were sure he could hear it. You braced yourself for what was coming.

And then, finally, the footsteps resumed. He was right behind you now.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing. The screen in front of you blurred as your focus shattered. You could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head, even though he hadn’t spoken a word. You forced yourself to move the mouse, scrolling through the feeds again as if you were searching for something specific.

Don’t look suspicious. Just act normal.

The silence was unbearable. You wanted to turn around, to see if he was watching your screen, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. All you could do was wait and hope that he didn’t say anything.

To your terror, he was lingering behind you longer than he had with the others. You could feel his presence like a predator assessing its prey. Your pulse quickened as the silence stretched out. His proximity was suffocating. You couldn’t help but notice the subtle scent of leather and something sharp, almost metallic, clinging to him.

And then, something black and shiny appeared in your peripheral vision. His left gloved hand slid into view, inching closer to the monitor in front of you. Your breath hitched as his fingers hovered over the buttons, deliberate and slow, as if seeing your reaction. You froze, your entire body going rigid as you felt the warmth of his presence so close on your back.

With a quiet but decisive click, he pressed a specific button on the control panel. The screen flickered for a moment before changing. It now displayed a detailed interface – a task list for managing the movement of workers and supplies within the facility. Each section was labeled: “Dormitory Maintenance,” “Staircase Surveillance,” “Game Preparation,” and more. You stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the information, but the gravity of his presence made it impossible to focus.

The Front Man withdrew his hand, retreating backward, but you could still feel him there. His silence was deafening, his gaze like a physical weight pressing into your back. Your skin prickled with awareness, and your stomach twisted into knots. There was something unsettlingly intimate about his attention as if he could see straight through you.

Your fingers twitched as you forced yourself to move, to engage with the task on the monitor. But your hand trembled uncontrollably as you hovered over the buttons. You cursed yourself inwardly, willing your body to calm down, but the fear gripping you was relentless, leaving you exposed in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

The Front Man remained behind you, silent and still. You could feel the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken weight of whatever thoughts lingered behind that mask.

As you clicked through the tasks, your mind raced. Was he testing you? Waiting for you to slip up? Or was there something else in his silence, something about the way he lingered? Your skin burned under the weight of his gaze.

That’s when a massive screen on the wall lit up, showing a live feed from the corner of the players’ dormitory. The entire control room’s attention snapped to the glowing screen. The sound of the live recording echoed across the space. Moments later, more massive screens illuminated, each displaying different angles of the dormitory.

Your eyes widened as you absorbed the images in front of you, scanning each feed for any sign of your friends. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of relief as the footage revealed their familiar faces, though their expressions told a story of despair.

In the dormitory, multiple pink soldiers stood rigidly by the walls and in front of the main double doors. They were heavily armed. It was clear they weren’t taking any chances this time. These guards were prepared to crush any sign of rebellion without hesitation.

Among the players, your friends sat huddled on the floor between the bunkbeds. Jun-hee and Yong-sik’s mother clutched each other’s hands tightly, their faces flushed and tear-streaked, as if they had just finished crying their hearts out. Yong-sik sat beside his mother, his body tense, his eyes darting nervously toward the pink guards stationed across the room. Hyun-ju sat directly in front of them, completing their small circle. Her shoulders slumped, and her gaze was distant, the look of someone grappling with despair.

A few feet away, Gi-hun and Jung-bae sat side by side on the staircases. Gi-hun looked utterly defeated, his gaze locked onto the floor, a deep glower etched across his features. His body seemed heavy, weighed down by regret and hopelessness. Beside him, Jung-bae sat pale and wide-eyed, as if still processing the events of the revolt. His disbelief was almost palpable.

Behind them, leaning against the wall on one of the beds, was Dae-ho. He appeared physically fine now, but his demeanor was distant, detached. He stared blankly into space, his expression unreadable. Yet, you noticed the way his gaze occasionally flicked toward Gi-hun and the others. It was subtle, almost hesitant, as if he wanted to join them but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Guilt hung over him like a shadow, isolating him even further.

You frowned as you stared at the live feeds, noticing the growing distance among your group of friends. The weight of everything they had endured was starting to show. Cracks in their dynamic were now evident.

The sound of retreating footsteps caught your attention. You glanced to the side and saw the Front Man walking away from behind you. He moved until he reached the center of the room. Standing tall, he gazed at the monitors displaying the dormitory feeds.

The masked officer stepped closer, his voice cutting through the silence. “Captain, everything is ready for the next vote.”

The Front Man remained still, staring at the screens for a moment longer. Then, with a calm but firm tone, he announced, “Proceed.”

The masked officer bowed his head slightly before stepping back. Raising his radio, he began issuing orders. The sound of static crackled briefly before the commands went through. Moments later, the familiar blaring noise echoed through the dormitory – a sound that indicated something was about to happen.

On the live feeds, you watched as the dormitory’s double doors slid open. A single manager stepped forward, flanked by 16 pink soldiers standing in perfect formation. The room went quiet as the manager began to speak, “Due to the brawl in the men's bathroom, the lights out and your failed attempt of a revolt, 27 players have been eliminated.”

The manager paused as the sound of bills dropping into the piggy bank suspended near the ceiling echoed throughout the dormitory, drawing every player's attention to the accumulating prize.

“The remaining players are now a total of 73. Based on these eliminations, an additional 2.7 billion won has been added to the prize pool. The current total now stands at 38.3 billion won. If the remaining 73 players choose to vote to leave, each player will receive an equal share of the accumulated prize money of 524 million won per player.”

Most of the players – the O players – erupted into murmurs of amazement at the staggering numbers announced, their expressions lighting up with greed and excitement. They didn’t seem to care that this money represented the lives of the players who had died. It was as if the reality of those losses had been completely overshadowed by the sheer allure of wealth. In contrast, the X players exchanged uneasy glances.

The manager’s voice cut through the noise. “The next vote will begin immediately.”

Once everything was in place, the players shuffled to the back of the center, gathering as they waited for their turn. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. The voting counter stood ominously at the front.

“Player 006,” the manager called out.

A female player stepped forward. She approached the voting counter, and as you watched her walk, your mind wandered to someone who should have been called before her – Young-il, player 001.

His number had been skipped. The confirmation was undeniable: Young-il’s death was finalized. It was an unchangeable fact now etched into this twisted game. Your gaze fell to the floor, your heart heavy with grief. The memory of him flashed vividly in your mind. His quiet strength, his protective nature, the way he’d look at you with a mix of determination and warmth. He was gone, and you hadn’t even had the chance to mourn him properly.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. This wasn’t the time or place. Still, the weight of his absence was suffocating, wrapping around your chest like a vice. You felt your eyes brim with tears and quickly looked up, hoping to dry them and reduce the risk of them spilling.

You thought of his voice, the way he’d call your name in that calm yet firm tone. You thought of the plan you’d made to meet outside of this nightmare. Seonyudo Park. One month after. At sunset. And now, that plan was gone. He was gone. The thought threatened to crush you, but you forced yourself to stay composed. You couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not here, not now.

The line continued to dwindle, the vote inching closer to its conclusion. And yet, all you could think about was the empty space where Young-il should have been. His absence was a gaping wound, one that no amount of time or wealth could ever heal.

In fifteen minutes, the voting concluded, and the result was no surprise: the majority voted for O. You had braced yourself for this outcome, knowing it was inevitable. After all, so many X players had been eliminated during the lights out and Gi-hun’s failed uprising plan. Hopelessness settled over you like a heavy weight. The realization that the X players were now outnumbered and powerless was unbearable.

You glanced at the group of X players. Some of them had started crying silently, their tears rolling down their cheeks without a sound. Their expressions carried the despair of knowing they were being forced to continue playing this deadly game, robbed of any semblance of choice.

It was a stark contrast to the O players, who erupted in jubilant cheers, their voices echoing across the dormitory like a cruel mockery of those in despair. Some clapped and shouted, grinning widely as they celebrated their supposed triumph over the X players. It was as if they had forgotten – or chose to ignore – that every win came at the cost of someone else's life.

“Based on the majority vote,” the manager announced, their voice cold and detached, “we will proceed with the next game right away. Please form four lines immediately.”

Suddenly, the masked officer standing behind the Front Man spoke up, “Manager 019, 009, and 007, you may proceed to your next task.”

The announcement made your stomach tighten. You had been so focused on the voting process that you almost forgot you were supposed to supervise the next game. You rose from your seat, noticing the other two managers standing as well. They turned and headed for the door, and you followed close behind. You didn’t know what to expect, but the chance to leave the control room – especially the Captain’s suffocating presence – was a small relief.

The next thing you knew, you entered a massive room. Your breath caught as you took in the sight before you. Two gargantuan dolls dominated the space, one instantly recognizable as the girl from Red Light, Green Light. The other was a boy wearing a cap, his face carved with the same eerie precision. The two dolls faced one another, separated by a large gap. In the middle of that gap was a massive conveyor belt, its path forming a wide, perfect circle between the two dolls. Numbers, like those on a clock, surrounded the conveyor belt. The number twelve was positioned directly in front of the boy doll, while the number six faced the girl doll.

On the east side of the conveyor belt, you noticed a railroad crossing sign. Its green and red lights were currently off, but its presence added another layer of confusion to you. To the west was a large playhouse, brightly colored. It faced the conveyor belt and the dolls. A staircase at the back of the playhouse led up into it, while a children’s slide curved down from the front.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together what the next game could be. The surreal setup was unsettling, but you couldn’t afford to let your curiosity show. Asking questions could draw unnecessary attention and make you seem suspicious.

“One of us will manage the game operation,” manager 019 said, breaking the silence. Their voice was steady as they glanced between you and manager 009. “If none of you volunteer, I’ll operate it. Any objections?”

You turned to manager 009, who nodded and replied, “Okay. I’ll watch from the side.”

Then manager 019’s attention shifted to you. “How about you?”

You fell silent, weighing your options carefully. You wanted to keep an eye on your friends, maybe even find a way to help them, but the truth was, you had no idea how to operate this game. If you made mistakes, you’d draw suspicion, and that was a risk you couldn’t afford. After a moment of deliberation, you decided it was best to observe first, learn how the game worked, and then figure out your next move.

“I’m fine with that,” you replied, shaking your head to manager 019’s question.

Manager 019 gave a nod and walked toward the playhouse. As manager 009 moved to another area, you kept your gaze fixed on manager 019, watching them ascend the stairs into the brightly colored structure. Through the small windows of the playhouse, you could see them take a position at the window facing the dolls and look down at something.

It was at that moment the conveyor belt began to hum softly, coming to life. Lights flickered on above the dolls and the conveyor belt, illuminating the massive room in a surreal glow. As the machinery moved, your eyes were drawn upward to the ceiling. It was then you noticed the intricate paintings covering the wallpaper and ceiling.

Above the boy doll was a crescent moon painted on the ceiling, casting a calm, nighttime aura over the walls on his side. On the other hand, above the girl doll was a vibrant sunset, warm and evocative of the end of the day. Suddenly, the numbers on the conveyor belt made sense. Twelve o’clock corresponded to Cheol-su and the moon – midnight. Six o’clock was aligned with Young-hee and the sunset – evening. But even with these details falling into place, you still couldn’t figure out what kind of game this was.

“007, please check the lights beneath the conveyor belt in front of Cheol-su,” manager 009’s voice broke through your thoughts. “I will check the other lights near Young-hee.”

You nodded and glanced around. Assuming that Cheol-su was the boy doll, you walked over to his side of the conveyor belt. Sure enough, there was a light projector beneath the conveyor belt at the 12 o’clock mark. As you inspected it, manager 019 did something from their position in the playhouse. Suddenly, more sections of the conveyor belt lit up at the 3, 6, and 9 o’clock positions. You stared at the glowing sections, wondering what the game would entail and what purpose the lights served.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled your attention back to the present. A group of triangle guards entered the massive room. Behind them came the rest of the players, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear.

“What the hell is this?” one voice called out, tinged with panic.

“Why are there two of them now?” another player asked, pointing at the towering Cheol-su and Young-hee.

Then, the first announcement answered to their questions:

“Welcome to your fourth game. The game you will be playing is Open, Dongdaemun.”

Your eyes widened at the name of the game, a childhood classic one you'd played in kindergarten before. The reaction among the players was immediate. Some began to exchange uneasy glances as realization dawned on them. Jun-hee and the mother shared a worried look. Gi-hun stood quietly, his wide eyes darting around solemnly.

The announcer continued, “All players, please step onto the conveyor belt. Place your hands on the shoulders of the player in front of you to mimic a train. When the game starts, the railroad crossing sign will turn green, and the conveyor belt will move clockwise. The song Open, Dongdaemun will begin to play and mention a number in a clock. When the crossing sign turns red, the conveyor belt will stop, and the numbered area mentioned last in the song will be the area of elimination.”

You felt a chill run down your spine as you listened.

“Four players standing on the selected time will be eliminated.”

The gravity of the announcement hit everyone at once. Whispers of fear filled the air as the players tried to grasp the mechanics of the game. The circle guards soon entered the room to assist in the preparations.

You caught sight of Jun-hee glancing nervously at Yong-sik’s mother, who tried to offer a comforting squeeze of her hand. Gi-hun stared at the conveyor belt, his jaw clenched tightly in suppressed tension. Hyun-ju kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her shoulders hunched as if she was still drowning in despair. Dae-ho lingered a few steps behind the group, hesitating like he couldn’t bring himself to close the gap. Then, you noticed Jung-bae approach him, gently patting his back. Dae-ho flinched slightly at the contact, his expression flickering with unease before he glanced at Jung-bae with a hesitant nod.

Jung-bae gently guided Dae-ho into the group, placing him right beside Gi-hun. Dae-ho avoided meeting Gi-hun’s gaze, his eyes fixed on the floor instead. In that moment, you sensed a lingering tension between them, something unspoken but heavy. Was it because of Dae-ho’s failure to deliver the ammunition during the revolt?

“All players, please step onto the conveyor belt,” the announcer said.

Players began stepping hesitantly onto the unmoving conveyor belt. A few lingered at the edges, their reluctance clear in the way they glanced nervously at the dolls and the machinery. The circle guards moved and guided them into position. One by one, the players were arranged in a single-file line on the conveyor belt, all facing clockwise as instructed.

Once they were in place, the workers bent down and began locking the players’ legs into clamps attached to the conveyor belt. The metal clamps snapped shut around their ankles with an audible click. The players shifted uneasily, realizing the clamps rendered them immobile. Escape was no longer an option.

When the workers finished, they gestured for the players to place their hands on the shoulders of the person in front of them, mimicking the formation of a train. The players obeyed. The workers gave everything a final check before retreating to the walls.

The voice of the announcer echoed through the massive room. “Let the fourth game begin.”

A low hum signaled the conveyor belt coming to life. It began moving clockwise at a slow, deliberate pace. The sudden motion startled the players, and a few gasped audibly. Some tightened their grip on the shoulders in front of them for balance, while others stiffened, their bodies tensing as they tried to adjust.

Above them, the lights flickered on, casting intricate patterns onto the players and the conveyor belt. Then, the music began.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s twelve sharp, the Gates are closed.”

But then, the music repeated, and it picked up speed. The conveyor belt responded in kind, moving faster with each repetition of the song. The sudden acceleration made some players gasp in alarm, and a few stumbled slightly before regaining their footing.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s three sharp, the Gates are closed.”

A sharp ping rang out, silencing the music. The railroad crossing sign turned red, and the conveyor belt came to an abrupt halt. The players nearly fell forward from the sudden stop, but they quickly steadied themselves, clutching the shoulders in front of them for support. A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone processed what had just happened.

Then, the three o’clock area on the conveyor belt lit up with a vivid glow. The light illuminated four players standing in that section, their expressions quickly shifting to panic. The other players turned their heads, their faces pale as they stared at the unlucky individuals caught in the spotlight. The room seemed to hold its breath as the realization set in: those four were marked for elimination.

One of the players in the lit area began shaking their head in disbelief. “No, no, please…”

Four triangle guards appeared beside the conveyor belt. They raised their MP5s, aiming directly at the four players who had begun pleading desperately for mercy. The players’ cries echoed in the vast room, but the guards didn’t hesitate. A series of deafening gunshots filled the air as they opened fire, their bullets tearing through the marked individuals. The remaining players flinched in terror, some even letting out muffled sobs. You felt yourself flinch as well, but you quickly masked your reaction, forcing yourself to remain composed. Drawing attention to yourself was the last thing you needed.

The lifeless bodies of the four players collapsed onto the conveyor belt, their blood pooling beneath them and spreading across the surface. The sight made several players avert their eyes, their expressions twisted with horror and dread. As the tension in the room reached a suffocating peak, the voice of the announcer rang out once again:

“All players, please wait while the workers clean up.”

From the far side of the room, a group of circle guards began to approach. They moved efficiently, splitting into two teams – one to handle the cleanup and the other to tend to the surviving players. The latter team of workers crouched beside the players, unlocking their clamps temporarily. Then, the players were instructed to step aside as the bodies were removed. Once the area was cleared, the guards guided the players back into position, ensuring they filled the gaps left by the deceased. The clamps were locked back onto their ankles.

You took in the scene with a heavy heart. The game was merciless, and the players – your friends among them – were being subjected to unthinkable terror. You couldn’t dwell on it for too long, though. With purpose in your steps, you turned away and began ascending the staircase toward the playhouse.

The interior of the playhouse was cramped but functional, designed to mimic the living room and kitchen of a house while also being made for the sole purpose of operating the mechanics of the game. Manager 019 stood by the controls, their posture relaxed but their focus sharp. As you stepped inside, they glanced over and addressed you.

“What is it? You want to operate this?”

You hesitated briefly before responding. “Yes, but this second round is yours.”

Manager 019 gave a curt nod. “Okay. You can have your turn after the fourth round. Then Manager 009 can take over after your eighth round. That way it’s fair for all three of us getting four rounds each.”

You stayed silent, processing their words. Beneath the square mask concealing your face, your brow furrowed in concern. Twelve rounds. This game would have twelve rounds in total. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest. Your friends would have to endure this ordeal twelve times.

The next round began with the manager pressing on a large green button on the control panel. The railroad crossing sign turned green, and the conveyor belt began its slow, deliberate movement. Above, the lights flickered on, casting those strange, spiraling patterns over the players. The familiar melody of the song started again:

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s twelve sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Twelve. You mentally noted the number.

The song repeated, this time picking up speed. The conveyor belt followed suit, its pace quickening enough to make a few players grip the shoulders in front of them harder.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s three sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Three. The number registered in your mind, but you barely had time to dwell on it before the song repeated again. The pace was almost frantic now, the conveyor belt spinning faster and faster. A few players stumbled slightly, their nervous gasps audible even over the music.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s six sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Six. You held your breath. The song looped back once more, but this time, the tempo eased. The conveyor belt slowed to match, giving the players a brief reprieve.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s nine sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Nine. You noted the number, but the brief relief of the slower pace was quickly overshadowed by manager 019’s movements.

Their gloved hand hovered over a bright red button before pressing it firmly, causing a sharp ping to echo through the room. The railroad crossing sign turned red, and the conveyor belt came to an abrupt halt. The music cut off abruptly, leaving behind a deafening silence that hung heavy in the air.

Manager 019 reached out and pressed the button labeled with the number ‘9.’ It was one of a series of numbered buttons aligned in a row, including ‘12,’ ‘3,’ and ‘6.’ As their gloved finger made contact, the nine o’clock section of the conveyor belt lit up abruptly, casting an intense, unforgiving glow onto the four players standing in that area.

Their faces drained of color as they realized what it meant. The rest of the players turned to look, their expressions ranging from shock to pure terror.

One of the four players began to tremble. “No, no, please.”

The triangle guards stepped forward without hesitation. Each guard took a position beside one of the marked players. The players began pleading, their voices desperate and raw, but the guards raised their MP5s, their fingers steady on the triggers. Without a word, the guards fired.

The gunshots were deafening, each one echoing in your chest. The marked players fell limp, their bodies collapsing onto the conveyor belt. Blood spread across the surface as the remaining players recoiled in horror. Some clamped their hands over their mouths to stifle their cries, while others turned their heads away, unable to look.

“All players, please wait while the workers clean up,” the announcer’s voice rang out.

The circle guards entered once again as they removed the lifeless bodies from the conveyor belt. Other workers crouched to unlock the clamps of the surviving players, guiding them to close the gap left by the fallen. The conveyor belt was reset, and the clamps were resecured.

You glanced at manager 019 as they stood by the controls. Then, your gaze shifted upward to the ceiling of the playhouse. There, mounted inconspicuously, was a CCTV camera overlooking the entire space. Your stomach tightened. You have to take care of that first.

While the workers were still cleaning up the scene, you stepped outside of the playhouse and descended the staircase. Your movements were purposeful as you strode toward the line of triangle guards standing by the wall. Your eyes scanned their jumpsuits and shoes, searching for the subtle marks you, 011, and Gyeong-seok had made to identify one another in the sea of pink uniforms.

The soldiers remained silent, respecting your role without a question. One by one, you scrutinized their outfits, keeping your movements casual to avoid drawing suspicion. Finally, you spotted them – 011 and 014 – standing beside each other, their MP5s slung across their chests. Their attention were already locked on you.

“011 and 014,” you called out, your voice distorted by the square mask.

“Anything I could help with, manager?” 011 asked.

“Follow me,” you instructed without missing a beat.

The two of them obeyed immediately, falling into step behind you as you led them back toward the playhouse. Your eyes darted around the room, ensuring no one was too close to overhear. Once you were certain the path was clear, you lowered your voice and spoke quickly but firmly.

“I want to manipulate the game in the next rounds. But there’s a CCTV in that playhouse.”

011 responded immediately, “Leave it to me. I just need you to distract the guard first.”

You nodded, relief mixing with the tension building in your chest. The plan was risky, but it was your only option if you wanted to take control and help your friends. Just as you were about to say more, the speakers crackled to life, and an announcement echoed through the room.

“Let the third round begin.”

The mechanical hum of the conveyor belt filled the space as the railroad crossing sign turned green. The familiar melody of Open, Dongdaemun began to play once more.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s twelve sharp, the Gates are closed.”

You ascended the stairs, 011 and 014 trailing close behind. But before you could reach the top, a sharp ping echoed through the room, cutting through the eerie melody of the game. The railroad crossing sign turned red. It came sooner than you expected, making you freeze mid-step. Your head snapped toward the conveyor belt.

The twelve section of the conveyor belt lit up, its harsh glow illuminating the players standing in that spot. Four… no, five players were there. Your breath hitched as your eyes widened in fear. Among them were three random players whose faces you barely recognized… and the kind mother and Jun-hee.

“No,” you whispered under your breath, dread pooling in your stomach.

The announcer’s female voice rang out over the speakers, “Attention. Only four players are to be eliminated each round. The five players standing on the twelve section must now decide among themselves. One player will be spared, and the remaining four will be eliminated. You have one minute to come to a decision. Failure to reach a unanimous decision will result in the elimination of all five players.”

Flickering lights were cast from the ceiling, quickening the heartbeat of every player in the room. An LED timer flickered to life on the floor in the middle of the conveyor belt circle, its large numbers beginning the one-minute countdown. The pressure in the air was almost palpable as the reality of the moment settled in.

The mother’s eyes darted between the random players and Jun-hee, who was already trembling violently behind her. The room seemed to shrink, the oppressive silence only broken by the overlapping voices of the random players as they fiercely argued for their lives.

“I have a child back home!” one of the players shouted, their voice cracking with desperation. “I need to go back to them! How can you ask me to give up my life?”

“We all have something to live for!” another spat back, their fists clenched. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse to save yourself.”

The third player, visibly shaking, clutched her chest as she spoke, her words spilling out in a frantic rush. “Please, just let me live. I’ll… I’ll do anything! I can’t die here. Please!”

Amid the heated debate, Jun-hee’s sobs grew louder. Tears streamed down her face, her breathing uneven as she clung desperately and tremblingly to the mother’s hand. You realized then just how deeply Jun-hee had grown attached to the mother, seeing her as a maternal figure. This bond, forged in fear and mutual care, made the thought of being separated unbearable for Jun-hee. Her cries weren’t just of fear for her life but of losing the woman who had comforted and protected her when everything else seemed lost.

The mother turned to her, her expression softening despite the chaos around them. She placed both hands on Jun-hee’s shoulders, steadying her.

“Jun-hee,” she said gently, her voice warm and calming despite the tremor beneath it. She looked like she was about to start crying too but she tried to be strong for the pregnant girl. “Listen to me. You have to stay strong. You… you have to survive. For your baby.”

Jun-hee shook her head frantically, her face red and wet with tears. “No! No, I don't want... you to die! Please, no!”

Her sobs became louder, her hands gripping the mother’s tightly, refusing to let go.

The mother’s lips trembled, but she forced a small, reassuring smile. “You’re carrying a life, Jun-hee. That’s more important than anything else. I… I’ve lived my life. But I'm sad...”

She paused, causing Jun-hee to stare at her with wide eyes. The mother smiled warmly at her and said, “I'm sad that I couldn't be there to help you deliver your baby... I'm sorry, okay?”

“No, you can’t say that!” Jun-hee cried, clinging to her as though letting go would make her disappear. “You can’t die here! I… Please no!”

Across the room, Yong-sik – who was standing behind Jun-hee – stood paralyzed, tears streaming down his face as he watched his mother and Jun-hee. His hands covered his mouth, his sobs muffled but no less heart-wrenching. He stumbled forward slightly, as though his body wanted to reach his mother but due to the clamps around his ankles, he couldn't.

“Mom!” Yong-sik’s voice cracked as he finally spoke. “Mom!”

The mother turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Yong-sik, you need to be strong. Take care of Jun-hee. Take care of yourself. No more gambling. That’s all I want.”

Hyun-ju, standing behind Yong-sik, began to cry, her lips trembling uncontrollably as sadness overtook her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her voice cracked as she called the mother using the halmeoni title. The mother turned to her with a warm, tearful smile, her eyes glistening with emotion. “Hyun-ju, I pray that you survive. You are strong and beautiful, inside and out, and I am so proud to have known you.”

Hyun-ju’s knees wobbled slightly as she lowered her gaze, her shoulders trembling under the weight of the mother’s words. Tears poured down her cheeks more freely.

Gi-hun, standing in the distance, was already frowning in extreme sadness. His eyes were moist with unshed tears, threatening to spill. He was speechless, the weight of everything he’d lost crushing him. He had gotten attached to this group. They were more than just players to him; they had become his friends and family in this nightmare. Watching this scene unfold only deepened his anguish, and he stood frozen, unsure of how to even begin processing the pain of yet another looming loss. 

“No, no, no,” Jung-bae muttered under his breath, his hands trembling uncontrollably. His voice cracked with raw emotion, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stared at the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Not them... not like this," he whispered, his usual optimism and humor buried under the weight of the moment. For once, his voice held no levity, only a deep, aching sorrow that reflected his helplessness.

Dae-ho stood farther back, tears already streaming down his face. He quickly brought his hands to his face, wiping them furiously, as if he didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Still, his emotions betrayed him. His trembling shoulders and red-rimmed eyes revealed just how deeply affected he was by the scene unfolding before him.

The three random players continued their heated argument, their voices rising and overlapping. One of them turned to Jun-hee and the mother, their tone sharp. “We don’t have time for this! Do you think your life is more important than ours?”

Jun-hee flinched at the words, her sobs intensifying. The mother stepped in front of her protectively, her expression firm, though her lips trembled.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “She’s pregnant. She’s the one who should survive.”

The random players exchanged tense glances. One of them, trembling with frustration, finally spat out, “Why is she even here in the first place? We’re all fighting for our lives, and being pregnant doesn’t mean she deserves to live more than the rest of us!”

Another player nodded quickly, latching onto the argument. “Exactly! We’ve all got reasons to live. A baby doesn’t make her special!”

The tension reached its breaking point when player 333, standing behind Dae-ho, shouted, “Are you that selfish? That inhumane? You’d let a pregnant girl die just to save your own skin? She’s carrying a life, for God’s sake! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

The words echoed across the room, silencing the arguing players for a brief moment. But the desperation remained as the timer continued to count down. Every second felt like a hammer driving nails into the fragile hope that hung in the air.

Meanwhile, your heart pounded like a drum as you slipped into the playhouse. Manager 019 stood at the controls, their gloved hands poised over the buttons as they monitored the game from the small window. The scene outside was a horrifying spectacle, but your focus was razor-sharp. You had to act fast.

“019,” you said firmly, stepping closer to the control panel. The urgency in your voice was masked by the distorted tone of your square mask, but it caught their attention. They glanced at you.

“What is it?” they asked, their voice impatient.

You gestured toward the controls. “I need some clarification. There’s a discrepancy in the task parameters.”

As manager 019 turned their full attention to you, you made sure to block their view of the room behind them. Soldier 011, moving with quiet precision, slipped toward the CCTV camera mounted in the corner of the playhouse. She was careful to not get captured in the live feed. With one swift motion, 011 smashed the camera’s lens with the butt of their MP5, the sound of breaking glass ringing out sharply.

Manager 019 stiffened at the noise, spinning around. Their eyes darted toward 011.

“What the hell are you doing?” they barked, reaching for the radio clipped to their belt.

Without thinking, you lunged at them, grabbing their arm to stop them from making the call.

“Get the radio!” you shouted to 011 as you struggled against manager 019’s surprisingly strong resistance.

The two of you grappled, your movements frantic and desperate. 011 joined the fight, trying to pull the radio away, but manager 019 managed to shake you both off with a burst of strength. They stumbled back, reaching for the device again.

But before they could, soldier 014 – Gyeong-seok in disguise – appeared and struck them hard across the head with the butt of the weapon. The force of the blow sent them crumpling to the floor, unconscious.

The room fell into a tense silence. Your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through you making your hands tremble.

“Five.”

Your eyes widened. It was the countdown. Five seconds left for the five players to come to a decision.

“Four.”

Panic seized your thoughts, but you forced yourself into action. You straightened up and rushed to the control panel. Without hesitation, your hand slammed onto the green button you had seen Manager 019 press earlier to start the round.

Suddenly, the railroad crossing sign turned green, and the conveyor belt roared to life, rotating clockwise. The sudden movement caused nearly all the players to stumble in surprise, their startled gasps echoing through the room. Then the familiar, haunting melody began to play again:

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s twelve sharp, the Gates are closed.”

The room was consumed by confusion. Players’ eyes were wide and frantic as they tried to comprehend what had just happened. Jun-hee and the mother stood frozen for a moment, their faces pale and drenched in fear. Then, as the realization dawned on them that they were no longer in immediate danger, they stared at one another in disbelief.

To them, it must have felt like divine intervention. A miracle had spared them from the brutal fate just seconds ago. You could see it in their tear-filled eyes, the way they clung to each other's hands as though afraid this reprieve might vanish at any moment.

But for you, the weight of the moment pressed down like a vice. Sweat dripped from your brow as your hands hovered over the panel. The reality of the situation hit you like a freight train. You are now operating the game. The lives of everyone on that conveyor belt – your friends, strangers, everyone – are in your hands.

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s three sharp, the Gates are closed.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, anxiety clawing its way up your chest. The weight of what you were doing – what you were responsible for – hung over you like a storm cloud. But you had made it here for a reason, hadn’t you? To help your friends. To protect Jun-hee and the mother. You had saved them, hadn’t you? You couldn’t stop now. The game had to go on or else the Front Man will get suspicious. And you had to make sure your friends stayed safe, no matter the cost.

The song repeated, faster now, its tempo quickening as the conveyor belt sped up to match:

“Open the East, East, East Grand Gate. Open the South, South, South Grand Gate. When it’s six sharp, the Gates are closed.”

Your eyes darted across the conveyor belt, scanning for your friends. Relief washed over you when you confirmed they weren’t near the six section. Your hand moved almost mechanically as you pressed the red button. A sharp ping cut through the air, the signal that froze everything in place. The railroad crossing sign turned red, and the conveyor belt ground to an abrupt halt. The haunting music stopped.

You felt your breath hitch as you mimicked what manager 019 had done before. This time, your finger pressed firmly on the button labeled ‘6.” A floodlight illuminated the six section on the conveyor belt, casting an unforgiving glow on the players caught there.

Four players stood in that section, their faces pale and their bodies trembling as the reality of their situation set in. All of them were O players. The ones who had dominated the vote. The ones who had celebrated the prize money without a second thought for the lives lost. Now, they were the ones begging for mercy.

“Please! Don’t do this!”

Another dropped to their knees despite the clamps around their ankles. “I’ll do anything! Please, let me live! I have a family! I can’t die here!”

Four triangle guards marched forward. They raised their MP5s, the barrels gleaming under the harsh lights. The players’ desperate pleas hung in the air, but the guards fired without hesitation. The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the room, cutting through the cries and leaving only silence in its wake.

You stared at the scene in a trance, your hands trembling as they hovered over the controls. The enormity of what you had done crashed over you like a tidal wave. You had made this choice. You had pressed the buttons that sealed their fate. Your body froze as the sickening thud of their bodies hitting the conveyor belt reverberated through the room.

That’s when the radio in your jumpsuit’s pocket crackled to life. A deep, distorted voice came through:

“Manager 007, what happened?”

The words sent a cold shiver racing down your spine. Your skin prickled with goosebumps as the realization struck you. It was the Front Man. His voice was as chilling and authoritative as ever, and it held an unspoken expectation for a swift and precise response.

For a moment, your mind went blank, panic threatening to overwhelm you. Before you could speak, soldier 011 stepped closer, her voice distorted behind that mask. “Tell him it’s a maintenance delay. Say the conveyor belt calibration triggered a temporary shutdown and it accidentally restarted.”

You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, your fingers gripping the radio tightly. Pressing the button, you spoke, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the racing of your heart.

“Maintenance delay, captain,” you said, the distortion of the mask hiding the tremor in your tone. “The conveyor belt triggered a temporary shutdown and it accidentally restarted. Everything is now under control.”

The silence that followed was agonizing. You could almost feel the Front Man’s scrutiny through the radio. You could even feel his suffocating presence behind you. Seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity before his voice came through again.

“Proceed.”

The radio went silent, and you released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your hands trembled slightly as you shoved the radio back into your pocket.

“You okay?” Gyeong-seok, still in his disguise, asked, his voice filled with concern.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a few shaky steps backward, hoping to ground yourself, to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions and chaos swirling around you.

“Be care—” Gyeong-seok began, but his words were cut short as your foot caught against something hard. You stumbled but 011 and Gyeong-seok were quick to react. Their hands gripped your shoulders firmly, steadying you before you could fall.

You turned your head and saw what had caused your stumble – the unconscious body of manager 019 sprawled on the floor. The sight made your stomach twist, a stark reminder of how far things had spiraled out of control.

“Crouch down. Let’s switch masks,” 011 said suddenly.

You glanced at her, your eyes widening in confusion.

“I’ll take over the control panel,” she explained. “I’ll make sure your friends stay safe.”

“Yeah,” Gyeong-seok chimed in. “I’ll guide her, point out which players are our friends. Or she could just focus on targeting the O players.”

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. After a brief pause, you nodded. Together, you and 011 crouched down, keeping out of sight beneath the tiny windows of the playhouse.

With trembling hands, you removed your square mask, the cool air hitting your flushed, sweaty face like a relief and a punishment all at once. Your hair clung damply to your skin, the hours spent in the stifling mask and jumpsuit leaving you uncomfortably sticky. Across from you, 011 did the same, her face equally damp.

The exchange was quick. She handed you her triangle mask, and you passed her the square one. Both of you adjusted the masks over your heads, the switch complete in a matter of seconds. The moment her mask was secure, 011 stood and moved to the control panel, taking over with quiet efficiency.

For the rest of the game, she worked in near silence, her hands steady on the controls. Occasionally, Gyeong-seok pointed something out to her but you tuned it out. You stayed where you were, seated on the floor, hidden from view. The coldness of the floor seeped into your body, but it was nothing compared to the icy guilt gnawing at your insides.

Your mind kept replaying the moment you pressed the buttons, the way the floodlight illuminated the O players, the way their desperate pleas filled the air before they were silenced forever. They had celebrated their majority vote, their victory over the X players, but that didn’t erase the humanity in their fear. You had sealed their fate. Their bloods were on your hands.

“Hey,” 011’s voice broke through the thick silence, her tone unexpectedly gentle. You glanced up at her from where you sat on the floor, your body still tense from everything that had just transpired. She kept her gaze fixed on the players through the tiny window of the playhouse, her hands steady on the controls.

“What’s your task after this?” she asked, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of something heavier. Concern, maybe.

You hesitated, your eyes drifting to the floor as you tried to recall the next step in your role.

“I… I will guard the Captain this evening,” you answered, your voice quieter than you intended.

Her silence that followed was tense. The weight of her unspoken thoughts seemed to hang in the air, pressing down on you. Gyeong-seok, standing beside her but a step behind, glanced between the two of you, his curiosity barely hidden.

Finally, 011 spoke again, her voice lower and more solemn than before. “Be careful. Whatever he asks you to do, just do it. Don’t question it. Just follow through.”

Her words made your chest tighten. The weight of what she was implying wasn’t lost on you.

“But,” she added after a pause, “if you can’t handle it… if it’s too much…”

She hesitated for the briefest of moments before continuing, “Just reveal your face.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you turned your head sharply to look at her. Gyeong-seok’s head swiveled toward her too, his posture stiff with tension.

011, still wearing the square mask, didn’t turn to look at you. She kept her focus on the scene outside. “Once he knows who you are, he will spare you.”

Her statement hung in the air. You couldn’t comprehend it at first. Why would the Captain – the Front Man – spare you? What did she know that you didn’t? Questions swirled in your mind, but you couldn’t find the words to ask them. All you could do was stare at her in disbelief.

NEXT : Chapter 16

PREV : Chapter 14

Story Masterlist

This is the Dongdaemun song (don't mention about this story in the YouTube comments) I used to envision the fourth game. This is not what will happen in the Season 3 because I made this all up using all the clues we got from the post-credit ending. Still, I'm curious to know what's your theory on the fourth game is.

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! So what do you feel about the Front Man asking all managers to see him personally? Do you think he wouldn't notice about your stunt? I think I should write about his POV because there are so many things happening behind your back. Since this is a 'you' POV, you couldn't really tell what's going on. Next, we finally get to see 011's face. Those who guessed it right in the previous chapter, you're correct. Now, what do you think about the Masked Officer suddenly calling you and eight others to be the first 'emergency batch' to alternate tasks? Then the part when the Front Man was right behind you and supervising you closely? Do you feel that nervousness yourself? Next, how do you think I wrote the voting process? And then, the fourth game. What are your thoughts on this fourth game I wrote? Do you think it makes sense with all the clues from the post-credit ending of Season 2? Do you think it's brutal? And then that part of Jun-hee and the mother. I really want to know your reaction on this! Anyway, thank you very much for giving my story a chance. I love reading and re-reading all of your comments!

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

[eufezco]

HOW DID IT END?

How is it that Steve's departure only drove you further apart? How was it possible that the only thing left between you after all was hatred for each other? Maybe these questions could be answered in a therapy session or in a night together.

bucky x fem!reader (angst, smut with plot, lovers to enemies to lovers) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!)

—James, condition of your release, session now.

You looked at Bucky and he looked back at you, pressing his lips together and starting to walk after his therapist, annoyed.

—You too, young lady.

—That's okay, I can wait here with Sam.

—It wasn't a request. Sam, you have front-row seats for the show if you like—. The demanding tone in her voice surprised you and you had no choice but to follow her.

The therapist sat down at the table and opened her notebook. You and Bucky were at the other side of the table, sitting next to each other and in front of the woman. You didn't look at each other, you had not even shared a word. Sam, who was leaning against the wall behind the therapist, looked at both of you and shook his head. Steve was right when he said that you were both equally stubborn.

—So, who would like to start?

—I don't even know what I'm doing here. This is ridiculous.

—Yeah, I agree —. Bucky added.

—See? Making progress already —. She waited a few seconds to see if either of you would like to talk but you and Bucky remained silent. Dr. Raynor sighed, if it was already difficult to deal with him alone, it would be twice as difficult to deal not only with Bucky but also with a copy of him as a woman. —It is my job to make sure you're okay. And yeah, this may be slightly unprofessional but it's the only way that I can see if you're getting over whatever's eating at you.

You huffed a laugh and Bucky rolled his eyes. Whatever's eating at you? What could possibly be eating at you? There was nothing that-

—So, why don't you both start by telling me what kind of relationship you had with Steve Rogers?

Your expression changed completely when you heard his name. Bucky looked at you out of the corner of his eyes, Sam's eyes also went to you as he tensed his back when Dr. Raynow brought Steve up out of nowhere. Bucky decided to start talking but you couldn't hear what he was saying, you could only focus on how tense your jaw was, the knot in your stomach, and all the anger you were feeling.

Just as it was a relief for Bucky to think and talk about Steve, it hurt you. There was never anything romantic about your friendship with Steve, it was purely based on your devotion to him and your mutual admiration and respect.

When you lost Bucky and Steve crashed into the ice, you had no reason to live but before your heart stopped beating, Howard Stark found you and injected you with the serum. And when you woke up there was only Steve, seventy years later and just as confused as you, living in a century that did not belong to you.

You were together during the whole process of readjusting to your new lives. For Steve, you joined a group of people who called themselves the Avengers and fought against the god of mischief in New York. For Steve, you were almost killed by a robot in Sokovia. For Steve, you fought the Winter Soldier. For Steve, you sided against Tony Stark, the son of the man who brought you back to life, and for Steve, you fought, lost, fought again, and won against Thanos.

They say there is no worse heartbreak than that caused by a friend and Steve Rogers stole a piece of your heart when he left.

—Thank you, James. What can you tell us about Steve? —Dr. Raynor asked you.

You shook your head, your eyes fixed on one spot. The feeling of betrayal when Steve didn't return within the five seconds set by Bruce still haunted you. —I will never forgive him.

Bucky shook his head as well, he turned to look at you. —You know, Dr. Raynor? I've met her for more than seventy years now and one thing that hasn't changed about her is how selfish she is.

—James, we are not here to make value judgments about the feelings experienced by the other person.

The condescending tone in Bucky's voice made you close your eyes and take a deep breath before you talked. —You were captured by HYDRA, tried to kill us, then went into cryogenic sleep and disappeared with the snap. I don't expect you to understand what I'm going through since you never lost Steve because you never had him.

—He was my best friend! —Bucky raised his tone and turned in his chair to look at you.

—You don't even remember a single thing of him before he became Captain America!

Sam called your name. That wasn't Bucky's fault.

—He left because that was the life he fought so many years for! That's the life Steve deserved!

—He was my best friend too! We were together all these years while you were killing people and I had to watch him go! —You did the same as him. That was the first time you looked at each other since the session started and you were yelling at each other. Sam didn't miss any part of the argument, he was with his arms crossed and paying attention to everything you were saying to each other. How could two people who had loved each other so much end up like this?

—Okay, that's enough —. The doctor stopped you before it went any further. You and Bucky rested your backs on the chair again, defeated, and your eyes focused on the therapist. —Since this isn't working, we're going to do an exercise. It's something I use with couples when they're trying to figure out what kind of life they wanna built together —. The doctor added. Bucky rolled his eyes and you closed yours while shaking your head.

—You are acting as if you were never a couple —Sam said.

—Back in 1940.

—Yeah, eighty-two years ago.

You both said at the same time.

—Come on, turn around, look at each other.

Both of you hesitated for a few seconds but finally turned to face each other. His blue eyes were fixed on yours, it was difficult to keep eye contact with him.

—The exercise is called Everytime I look at you and consists of saying something that you feel or see in the other person every time you look at them. Why don't you start?

As you looked at Bucky, you could see the young soldier, wearing his new uniform proudly and hanging a copy of his dog tag around your neck. Looking into Bucky's eyes you felt again the last kiss he gave you before falling from the train, you heard his last laugh before he was brainwashed by HYDRA, you could even feel the caress of his fingers on your skin before the vibranium covered one of his hands.

—Every time I look at you, you have that lost puppy look on your face, asking for people's sympathy. I can't even look at you because every time I do, your mere presence reminds me that Steve's no longer here and it makes me want to fucking die, and sometimes I wish-

Sam called your name and you stopped talking before you could finish the sentence. Bucky's eyes never left yours. You were saying all that to his face.

—Let her finish, Sam —. Dr. Raynor said.

There was a silence.

—And sometimes I wish you were gone instead of him.

As Bucky looked at you, he could see the young lady he fell in love with even though everything he remembered about her was gone. The sparkle in that girl's eyes could no longer be found in yours, but he couldn't forget how your eyes shone as he wrapped his arms around your waist to dance. Bucky did not forget the sound of your laughter when he told you that he would marry you after the war, even though he was totally serious.

—Every time I look at you I don't recognize you. You have changed for the worse and I'm not sure if I like this version of you. You are mean, you don't allow people to get close to you and you hide and say that it's Steve's fault for leaving. But let me just say...

Bucky could see how you dealt with sadness by turning it into anger, he knew it because he did the same thing. Your jaw tightened and you closed your fists so hard that your fingernails dug into the palms of your hands. You didn't want him to say it, but at the same time, you couldn't wait to hear it.

—... that being a bitch isn't going to bring him back.

As soon as Bucky finished the sentence, you got up from the chair and left the room slamming the door. He didn't react to you leaving, he just sat in the chair asking himself the same question as Sam. How did you come to this? How could two people who had loved each other so much end up like this? Sam tried to go after you but he could not keep up with your super soldier speed so he went back to the police station with Bucky and gave him the same look of disappointment that Steve would have given him.

That same night someone knocked on your front door.

You thought it would be Sam because he had been calling you nonstop since you left and you had been ignoring him all day long but when you opened the door, you found Bucky instead.

He took a step closer to you to go inside your house and your hand connected firmly with his cheek. The skin on his face burned right where you had hit him and your body was blocking the doorway. He was just as angry as you were so he gave you a strong push on your shoulders. You managed to keep your balance and he managed to get inside the house and close the door behind him.

Bucky towered you with a challenging attitude, keeping eye contact while forcing you to take a few steps backward. You, despite being shorter than him, did not lower your head. Your breathing was heavy, the tension was too much, you wanted to hit him again and you wanted to say worse things to him than what you said in the therapy session.

When you raised your hand to slap him again, he grabbed your arm with his vibranium hand and squeezed hard enough for it to hurt but you did not give him the pleasure of expressing the pain. The tension was overwhelming. There were only two ways to solve this, either he would let go of your arm and start a fight that wouldn't end until both of you were on the floor exhausted and bleeding, or...

Your bodies collided as you pressed your lips together. Bucky held your face with both hands while his lips devoured yours as your hands pulled on the hem of his shirt. He lifted his arms so you could take it off and in that moment you took a few seconds to admire his well-defined abs. He leaned in for another kiss but you pushed him by his shoulder, strong enough for his back to hit against a wall of your house and crack it. Before he could complain, you connected your lips with his again.

Bucky's fingers closed around your neck as a response. Your mouth opened against his lips, trying to get the air that he was keeping from reaching your lungs and Bucky's tongue went pass your lips.

You took a big breath of air once he let go of your neck and he began to unbutton your jeans. He would never admit it but he made sure that you were okay and that he had not taken it too far, especially when your hands went to his shoulders to keep your balance due to the dizziness. And when Bucky thought he had control over you, your fingernails slid painfully from his shoulders to his abdomen and he groaned.

Bucky threw his head back against the wall once your finger sneaked into his jeans and wrapped around his cock. You moved your hand cruelly slow, he had his eyes closed as he bit his lower lip to hold back his moans. You ran your tongue along his collarbone until you reached his earlobe. —I fucking despise you —. You whispered in his ear. He let out a moan and immediately clenched his jaw again. You felt his hips thrust into your hand.

—Fucking same, doll —. Bucky muttered through gritted teeth.

He brought his hands to your ass and squeezed it as he helped you to wrap your legs around his body. Your lips met again as he walked you to the big wooden table in your living room where he helped you to lie down. Bucky pulled his jeans down enough to free his hard cock while you opened your legs to him. He noticed the wet spot on your panties and you noticed the red marks that your fingernails had carved on his chest. As he pulled your panties to the side, your fingers ran over those marks and Bucky hissed.

The head of his cock was more than enough to stretch you open. You repositioned yourself at the table, now sitting up on your elbows to watch as he pushed himself inside of you. You thought he would give you a few seconds to get used to the feeling, but he didn't stop until he was balls deep inside you.

—Now you take it. Make it up for that attitude —. You whined at his words and Bucky rested his forehead against yours while his hips thrusted into yours.

You encircled your legs around his waist and hooked your ankles over the swell of his ass while he kept slamming his hips into you. At that point you couldn't even think straight, he was hitting all the right spots to make your mind foggy. His pace remained fast and hard, and you thought about the serum running through your veins and how you both could keep up with that pace all night long.

Bucky tucked his head into your neck and whispered the filthiest words into your ear, his hands were on your thighs, squeezing your flesh lustfully, he pulled his dick all way out and then pushed in again until his balls were against your pussy. Your fingers tugged his brown hair at the root, getting moans from him because of your tight grip as it encouraged him to fuck you even harder. If that was how hating you felt, he wanted to hate you for all eternity.

When he heard you moaning and whimpering uncontrollably, when your legs fought to close and squeezed his body, when he felt your nails digging into the skin of his back, Bucky pushed your legs up, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and kept fucking you in that position until it became harder and harder for him to keep going because of the tightness of your pussy. You came screaming his name and spasming around him, Bucky came a few seconds later, with a deep groan that made his chest vibrate and emptying himself inside you.

The next morning, when his alarm went off, Bucky was alone in your bed. He took his time to take a shower and grab something from your kitchen for breakfast before he left. Bucky walked to his therapist's office, trying not to give much importance to what happened last night and especially trying not to think about all the horrible things you said to each other earlier that day in front of Sam and Dr. Raynor.

When he entered the office, Dr. Raynor was not alone. Bucky almost apologized and closed the door again, thinking he interrupted someone's session, but then you turned around in your chair and looked at him. He looked back at you, surprised, from the doorway.

You were already inside, now it was up to him to decide whether to go in with you. Bucky didn't have to think about it, he closed the door behind him and sat down in the chair next to you. You wanted to give yourselves a chance, for your sake, for Steve's sake, and for trying to get back what you two once had.

—Let's try again, shall we? —Dr. Raynor asked with a smile.

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Zombie + Restoration Hobbyist Reader Blurb

-

"Blink once if you can hear me."

It calls to them from the darkness - a voice melancholic yet strangely robotic in its application. It's familiar - like something they've heard in a dream. They can't move. Their arms feel as though they're pinned beneath boulders. Their legs feel weightless. The place in their mouth were their tongue sat felt dry and... exposed. Left with no other choice, their eyelids flicker upwards. The flesh over their right eye feels to be constructed of foreign tissue - metal scrapping over the weight in the socket where their eye once was. The image of the figure standing over them is fleeting, lips pulled thin in an expression of approval.

"Blink twice."

Their eyes flutter open for a second time - remaining there as two finger pry apart the lids of their still functioning eye.

"Good. It's fortunate that you are still able to hear. At the moment, my fixes are merely cosmetic so I'm afraid you won't be able to see out of that eye of yours for some time. If you are like other patients I've had the issue will work out on its own."

Their eye rolls idly in their head - struggling to make out any features of the person through the blazing lights overhead.

"You must have questions. Forgive me- I wasn't expecting you to wake up before I had time to work on your jaw. Please use this to communicate if you wish, you can ask me anything."

Function to their left hand returns - their wrist raw and lacking the binding weight shacking it in place. Restraints? Smooth plastic rolls beneath their fingertip as they flex the stiff joints of their digits. Their fingers trace out the rectangular shape of the keyboard's space bar. Gliding gracelessly over the keys, a hand helps stabilize their moments as they begin to type. A computer monitor awakens from its sleep as words pop up on its screen.

"Where am I?"

A common question. "You are in my workplace. I repair things from time to time to keep myself busy. I found you in a creek nearby during a stroll the other night. Thankfully, you hadn't been in there long or I would've had to replace more than the skin of your eye."

Their hand draws up to their eye, feeling the odd texture over their eye. It's felt.

"I hate to bring up any bad memories from the past, but I need to ask in order to provide you with the care you require. Do you remember anything from the day you died?"

Died?... That's... honestly not the most surprising thing about this ordeal. A stabbing pain blisters at the back of their mind as they try to remember. A boat. A shotgun. Laughter. Tears. Please, no. It's not funny just put it down. Please. please-

"Boating trip. They said if I tagged along I could finally be apart of their group. I thought I could trust them. They said they were my friends. They said"

Their body lurches forward - fighting against the bite of their bonds. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why are they still here? Garbble wails ricochet off the bedroom walls. In their time of misery, another memory rushes to the forefront of their mind. Their body convulsing on an operating table. The gentle hushes of another as they pet back their hair - drying blackened tears from the corners of their eyes. A compassionate hand from the world that had abandoned them when they needed someone most.

"Hold me."

"What?"

"I remember.. Arms around me. A voice calling out to me. Promising me everything would be okay. That was you - right? Hold me. I don't want to be alone. Please, don't let me be alone anymore."

The hobbyist removes the glove from their dominant hand, wiping the leathery flesh were thick, congealing tears pool. You pull your newest patient closer - mindful of their stitches as you rub small circles along their spine.

"You can stay here as long as you like. While I'm not the most social person, I can't turn away someone who needs my assistance."

Their sobs are reduced to small whimpers as they cling into you - dying your apron in various fluids as their arm locks around your midsection in a vice grip. You grab onto their other wrist, preventing them from wrestling it out of their chains leaving you with more work in the future if their skin were to tear.

"I know this is a lot for you, but please try not to damage yourself further."

Their arm drops from your waist - fingers flying over the keyboard on a flurry.

"What's your name?"

"My name?... You can just call me Y/n."

[fancyfeathers]

Requested in messages by @elvabeth

A scenario that lets say all the darlings were in the JL watchtower by themselves cause of some world ending event. The tower is on lockdown (courtesy of batman) to prevent them from escaping. Unfortunately, while the JL are at the other side of the planet or something, the watchtower ends up being attacked by aliens, robots, armed goons or all of them and the darlings can't escape. Doors to the outside are locked. The windows are barred or stuff Ps luthor is responsible Or some sort of high end terrorist group That wants to bring down the Justice League The worst part is that even when the darlings made to the backdoor or secret door whatnot, they can't leave cause of their shock bracelets. Plus the communication system in the tower have been hacked so they can't call for help. Worst part, the Justice league aren't aware of this until after they're done with their mission when Barry can't reach his darling's phone. But when they get there, The watchtower is in shambles and they meet this kind of scene

Minus the dead people The shock bracelets are on the floor soaked in blood but their darlings are no where to be found How will they take this and what's the aftermath Sorry it's so long Ps Hal's darling is paralyzed here

Yandere!Justice League AU Masterlist

Not including Diana’s and Arthur’s darling because I covered why they would not be in the Watchtower or the Hall of Justice here

TW// Very Slight Ableism, Miscarriage, Traumatic Injuries, Loss of Body Parts

It would have been an extremely dangerous incident, the level of Doomsday, in order for everyone to leave. Hell, normally Bruce leaves his darling back at the manor but he has no idea of when he would be returning.

Their one mistake was choosing to leave their darlings in the Hall of Justice instead of the Watchtower, it would be easier to get them all out on the ground if something went wrong.

The Hall of Justice was locked up so tight so that even a drop of sunlight would not even get in, or even oxygen from the outside, but the hall is big enough that they do not even have to worry suffocating.

At first the quiet and person space is nice for a change, especially for Hal’s darling since when he is there he practically never lets her move about on her own, she honestly misses those days as a detective more than anything, but then… she had her accident not too long ago.

Clark’s darling is really just happy to be around other people, it somewhat helps break the perfect family delusion he has made, a darling who is pregnant with his child. It reminds her of who she used to be before all of this occurred.

Barry’s darling is in the same boat as Clark, albeit a tad less delusional, at least lucid enough to know his darling does not want any children… yet, at least. Barry being Barry, I don’t think he can go complete no contact with his darling, so he lets her have phone which has one of those network monitors, so practically all she can do is text and call Barry and whoever else he lets her have contact with. So every few hours he calls up his darling to check up on her, and she does not even have the choice to hang up or ignore it because he has a setting to answer on her behalf, benign all happy and cheerful on the phone, asking how she’s been and having Batman yelling at him to put the damn phone down.

Both Oliver Queen’s and Bruce Wayne’s darlings is just kind of indifferent to it all, it does change any of their circumstances in the long run. Then thanks to Bruce none of them will even have the chance to get out of there, you know those ankle bracelets that people wear on house arrest? Ya turn that up to eleven, pulse, mics, precision point accurate tracking, and a small shock to keep them in line and out of forbidden areas. Though a few won’t let their darlings have this on, because what if something goes wrong or what if it malfunctions and it hurts them? This is namely Clark (because he can always have eyes, or ears rather, on his darling at all times), Hal (his darling was stabbed in the back, literally, when she was a detective and is paralyzed from the waist down, like hell he is going to let something go wrong and fuck her up and hurt her even more), and then Kyle just doesn’t like the vibe of it all.

Kyle Rayner’s and John Stewart’s darlings are just kinda all used to it at this point, with the things they have heard about from the Green Lanterns it’s normally just a question if they should be not worried, slightly worried, or very worried and normally this means how much they need to bunker down. When Hal’s darling comes along they just kinda form a group with how much they get tossed around from place to place for their own protection while they are away.

Then there is just J’onn J’onnes’ darling, who I see being in more of an aroace relationship with him, she is just over everything, literally nothing bothers her because well she does not have no more privacy of her own mind. Like while everyone else is slightly scared or when members of the League are leaving their darlings there, she is just sitting in an armchair, reading her book, completely unbothered by what is happening even when she gets one of Bruce’s cuffs on her ankle.

Now onto the interesting bit of things, it’s one of the nights when they are all alone, they had just finished cleaning up from dinner and everyone is settling down for the night, all of them going off and doing their own things.

And things certainly go wrong in the night.

…

When the Justice League returns they certainly do not expect what they see…

Everything is in ruins…

Blood lining the walls…

The cuffs on the ground and-

Oh god that is an arm.

The footage was bugged so they cannot even look back to see what happened, the power was cut which made everything a complete blackout.

Bruce would barely be able to track anything if it was not for the last security measure he put in place, a chip in his darling’s neck so he could track her if anything went wrong.

While everyone else is arguing about what to do, Bruce and Clark have already figured out their location, though Bruce is much more put together than Clark is.

The Superman looks mortified, just standing there in shock and staring down at the ground.

“There is only one heartbeat…”

Their unborn child never got to see life because of what happened.

It was some mass terrorist organization who the Justice League had bumped heads with before. They saw an opportunity and took it, god knows how they got the information but if they were able to hack the system of the Hall of Justice then they really should not be surprised.

They can’t kill…

But they have to rescue them first…

And then shut down what’s going on.

The Green Lanterns will get to the darlings first, use their constructs to stabilize whatever happened to them, Clark’s darling is a priority since a miscarriage can be deadly, so is Hal’s darling due to her condition, along then with whoever lost the arm. The others will clear the way and-

When they find them all they are a complete mess…

Serious lacerations on every single one of them.

Hal’s darling was clearly thrown against the wall when they arrived and she clearly had head damage and was laying in her own blood that she could not even push herself out of due to the injured state of her arms and the uselessness of her legs.

Serious damage to the left eye of Barry’s darling, cut by some sort of rusted weapon.

Kyle’s darling had broken her right ankle and left leg, along with a huge gash on her upper back. John’s darling was looking after her as the best she can with a broken foot.

Oliver’s darling is the one with the missing arm, clean sliced off along with a punctured lung and in a state of unconsciousness while Bruce’s darling looks after her since she was lucky to get off with only a sprained ankle.

Then there was Clark’s darling, a complete mess, head trauma, broken ribs, and a miscarriage causing her to bleed out. Similar to the previous, J’onn J’onnes’ darling was in well enough condition to take care of her, just enough to stabilize her.

When everything is said and done and they are safe again, there is a heavy bitterness in the air.

The kidnapped them saying that they were keeping them safe…

Hal’s darling entered a coma from her head injuries after being rescued and has not woken up yet after her surgeries.

Barry’s darling had to get her eye removed in order to prevent infection, and then minor damage to the other eye.

Kyle’s darling can’t move out of the awkward position the doctors put her in on her side, so she doesn’t put pressure on the gash on her back or the shattered leg with a metal pole in her leg because of it.

John’s darling is one of the lucky few with only a boot and crutches for a few weeks.

Oliver’s darling had gone into surgery after surgery for her injuries, her arm and lung getting her placed in severe intensive care for at least a few months.

Clark’s darling is in a state of pure emotional distress along with her injuries, her head having been braced and stitched up after a surgeries to take care of her head damage and her… her miscarriage.

Clark is just as much in a state of distress as his darling over her injuries and the fact that he was supposed to protect her and their child and now one of them is dead and the other has injuries she will never fully recover from.

J’onn’s darling and Bruce’s darling are far more focused in looking after the others since they are far more healthy than the others. They visit them all in the medical wing, Bruce’s darling leaving flowers at their bedside, J’onn’s darling reading to them (I think she would be a librarian before all of this), and either of them sitting with Hal’s darling while she is in her current state along with Oliver’s darling who is in recovery.

All of them are in extremely pain emotionally and physically, they were kidnapped, told it was to keep them safe and for their own good, and now one of them is in a coma after she was paralyzed a number of months prior, another is missing an arm along with extremely brain trauma, one of them is missing an eye along with being now legally blind in the other, and one of them is now dealing with the loss of a child.

God when Hal’s darling wakes up she will be having a field day when she was right all along.

[mskenway97]

This is what I would have from some of my thoughts in mind, about their encounter:

D-16 has had a monotonous life, focus on the mine, draw energon... At least admiration for the Primes and especially Megatronus Prime.

At least he felt fulfilled following the protocol until one day the work in the mines was going well all secured without explosions, no damage or losses the mine tunnels were fully secured until he saw a somewhat rare breach that he went to investigate alone, he was going to warn with the link but had lost the signal, he was going to return to see that the entrance had been completely closed.

He had no choice but to move forward seeing that the tunnel widened more and more. He had to turn on the lights admiring the beauty of that place, the raw energon everywhere. D-16 only thought about the success he was going to have and that Sentinel was going to recognize his great feat, he only had to try to communicate with someone, until he was astonished to see a huge robot standing, it was as big as if it was the whole Iacon, D-16 compared it and it didn't reach a big part of his pede.

Guided by curiosity, D-16 kept looking at that big titan it was red and blue it looked like it had lost power long ago or had fallen long ago. D began to inspect it closely but it was somewhat complicated to try to climb. It looked like it was dormant, it was moving carefully by the legs, slowly it was getting closer to the chestplate, seeing the big hole in it. it was with its servo it got closer to the chest.

Then a blue spark ignited and from D's face red marks came out near the optics making him startled. D was getting more and more scared as he saw that the titan's optics had activated, causing D to instinctively run away as he saw it move, the cave was starting to shake as well.

D was regretting what he had done, he ran as fast as he could until he saw a giant servo approaching him faster and faster.

He tried to dodge it but his other servo had caught him he had no escape, he thought it would be the end of him he saw the big titan approaching close to his face.

D was trembling he didn't know what to do he was terrified he would end up in pieces.

-Please don't hurt me... I didn't want to bother you," said D.

There was only the sound of movement and what sounded like a smile.

-It's been stellar cycles without being able to move, thanks buddy... My name is Orion Pax," said a voice from his mind making D look to see what was going on, "Confused huh? You'll get used to it. Tell me your name

-Well... I... D-16, miner, sir it's an honor - said D-16 with a laugh ringing in his head.

- Don't give me formalities, D-16... I think we are going to get to know each other quite well," said Orion smirked.

In those moments D literally didn't know where he had gotten himself and the impact it was going to have on his life.

[luridon]

Honeycomb

If the height of happiness means death, then he's died a thousand happy, mundane ends by your hand

♡characters: yandere!bee x fem!courier!reader

♡warnings: MINORS DNI, blood, murder, victim-blaming, bugs, this may or may not be some alien/fae thing or just a supremely odd concubine sorta dude who thinks in bee metaphors of all things, MINORS DNI

♡notes: I was gonna put yandere!drone but that could have set false expectations of a robot. This is not about robots this is about bees, no explicit smut but questionable vibes abound, why do I keep writing about bugs

♡w/c: 900+ | ♡masterlist♡

He's harmless.

Something soft and tender, a lover who hasn't known anything but such a life. Something raised precious, given a large room and the sweetest, choicest food. He never learned how to work, beyond the lightest tasks. He never had to. He was supposed to find a queen, and he was to die as he lay with her.

He was born too late for that.

Winter came, and he was cast out by his kin. The sisters that fed and raised him now sent him to die. He would be a burden to the hive otherwise. When he tried to return, they threw him out again. When he tried once more, they chewed away his wings, the only way he had ever been of help to anyone, even if it was a mere task of casting a breeze for his kin.

He was born too late to die happy, and so he would die by the cold, abandoned for being too soft, too tender, too useless, even if he was raised as such, even if he never had a choice but to be so.

He cannot work. He cannot fight. He only knows how to be pretty, and even that has been ruined by the scars from his forceful exile.

He's harmless, so you take him in.

You're a traveler, a messenger, a courier for messages that require the utmost secrecy. In the lull between delivering the words of the elite, you find your pleasures in the pretty sights you see in your travels, and in mundane messages between the common folk.

He is something small and light. It is not difficult to take him with you to southern lands, away from his cold kingdom. You share with him your modest fare, your warmth on cold nights, your words until he understands them, though his mouth cannot quite form your language.

He's a pretty thing with big, dark eyes and soft fur. He's a clever thing, quick to learn, to understand. He is useful the moment he can be, a watchman on dark nights, with his glimmering gaze and the knife you gave him. His frame, thin and frail from the elements and his abandonment, fills out under your care, and he grows to tower over you, and help you carry your heavier loads.

He is useful, isn't he? He is. He has to be, or you will tire of him, and cast him aside.

He will work. No matter the burden or trial or task, he will succeed or die trying. You say you have no such burdens, but he vows it all the same, with his odd, chittering tongue.

He will bite. He will fight with fang and the stinger you gifted him. He will rend and tear until nothing remains of whatever beast may come, and bring you the spoils so that you can praise him for his good work.

He will be soft and pretty if that's what you prefer, something soft and warm to hold onto when the day is long and hard, and you'd like more of a pet than a person to soothe your strife.

It must be his nature that he prefers the last of these. That despite however much he thinks he may have grown from what fate had for him, what he likes best is to be held close by you-

How could he not adore you though? You who saw such a useless creature and deigned to give him the time to learn. How could he not think you as anything but worthy of all his paltry love? You are his wings, his sun, his queen, and he thinks sometimes, of how he was meant to die in the peak of bliss, but that even a peaceful moment just by your side is something that he revels in far beyond any memory of his indulgent youth. If happiness is death then he has died a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand times since you found him, from every moment that he is in your presence, your stern care and steadfast patience that pushed him to change.

It has to mean something, doesn't it? That you have built him up into such a being, a creature strong and capable, that you crafted him with such a heart that beats for you alone. All he is, then, all he does, then, is something born from your own doing, to turn him into this.

Whatever he breaks could only be so destroyed because you fed him until he was strong. Whatever he builds could only stand because you encouraged him to learn. Whether his hands are dyed red by beast or man, they are offerings to the one who pressed the dagger into his palm.

If you end up alone and trapped, unable to use the legs you loved to travel with nor see the sights you so adored, if you can do nothing but drown in the sweetness that you drew out from him, are you not in a cell of your own creation?

He was only a harmless thing until you took him, and helped him become more.

Perhaps your patience will wear thin before then. Perhaps you will strike him with your own present, tear yourself away from him like his wings once were, banish him from sight and cast him out of your warmth and into the cold again-

But even if you choose to end his life, why wouldn't he be glad to die at your hand? Why wouldn't it be his greatest joy to give you even a little happiness through the only thing he can give?

After all, his life was already yours to take, and he was always meant to perish by his love for his queen.

♡ a/n: Shout out to @monstermunchmurder whose tags and replies and asks have single-handedly given me the motivation work on some wips I had for this blog. Um. Hope you don't mind being tagged on the bee one?