#Wave Race: Blue Storm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aspenmissing · 29 days ago

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ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ || ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

7092 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ/ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ (ɪɴ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ), ᴏᴏᴄ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ 'ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ' ɢɪʀʟ ʜᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʏ/ɴ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴅᴏ?

JAYCE

The hum of Hextech lamps cast a soft glow over the room, their sapphire light painting gentle shadows on the walls. Jayce’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm as he slept, his head nestled against the pillow. Yet, beneath his peaceful exterior, his mind was caught in a turbulent storm, ensnared by the grip of a vivid nightmare.

He stood in a crumbling hall, Hextech crystals sparking wildly as chaos erupted around him. Explosions rang out, the air thick with smoke and panic. Jayce frantically scanned the room, searching for her. "Y/N!" he called, his voice hoarse with desperation. In the haze, he caught sight of her—her figure outlined in the flickering blue light, trapped behind a wall of collapsing debris. She was shouting something, but the words were drowned out by the cacophony. He pushed forward, trying to reach her, but his legs felt heavy, as though weighed down by unseen chains. The world seemed to close in, the edges of his vision darkening as she disappeared from view.

“No!” Jayce shouted, bolting upright in bed.

His chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breathing, the dream’s intensity leaving his heart racing. For a moment, he couldn’t discern reality from nightmare. The faint crackle of the lamps and the soft rustle of sheets grounded him, pulling him back to the present.

Y/N lays peacefully beside him, her face calm and serene in the dim light. One arm was tucked under her head, the other resting lightly on the blanket that rose and fell with her steady breathing. Jayce’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he raked a hand through his hair, damp with sweat.

He shifted quietly, not wanting to disturb her, and leaned back against the headboard. Even though she was safe, the lingering dread clung to him. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Her lips parted slightly as she exhaled a soft sigh, her head tilting toward his touch. The small movement sent a wave of warmth through his chest, momentarily chasing away the nightmare’s shadows.

Jayce let out a shaky breath, his hand retreating to rest on his knee. Despite the comfort of her presence, the fear gnawed at the edges of his mind. What if the dream was a warning? What if he couldn’t protect her when it truly mattered?

The weight of his responsibilities pressed heavily on him. Hextech had revolutionized Piltover, but it had also drawn enemies—people who would stop at nothing to exploit its power. The thought of her being caught in the crossfire was a fear he rarely voiced but carried constantly.

He glanced down at her again, his expression softening. In sleep, she looked untouched by the worries of the world, her features illuminated by the faint glow of the lamps.

Unable to help himself, Jayce reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. The contact steadied him, grounding him in the present.

“Jayce?” her voice was groggy, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked up at him, concern lacing her sleepy tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he murmured quickly, though his voice betrayed the remnants of his fear. “Go back to sleep.”

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, her brows knitting together. “You’re not okay,” she said softly, her gaze searching his face. “Was it a nightmare?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. About you.”

Her expression shifted to one of tender understanding as she reached out, cupping his cheek. Her touch was warm, anchoring him further in the moment. “I’m right here,” she whispered. “Safe and sound.”

Jayce closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “I know. It just felt so real. I thought I lost you.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she teased gently, her lips quirking into a small smile.

A soft laugh escaped him, the tension in his chest easing slightly. He opened his eyes to meet hers, the warmth in her gaze chasing away the lingering darkness.

“Lie down,” she urged, tugging lightly on his arm.

She tugged him gently, guiding him to lie back down beside her. Sliding her arms around him, she pulled him close, his head nestled against her chest. Resting her chin atop his hair, she held him tightly, her embrace warm and protective. His arms wrapped around her waist in return, their legs tangled together beneath the blankets, anchoring them in each other’s presence.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone,” she said, her voice a soothing murmur. “I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Jayce exhaled deeply, her words wrapping around him like a balm. “I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly, his tone filled with both awe and gratitude.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied with a soft laugh. “You’re stuck with me.”

He smiled, pressing a light kiss to her collarbone “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As her breathing slowed and steadied, Jayce found himself attuned to the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath him, the rhythmic thrum of her heartbeat filling his ears. It was the very essence of her life, grounding him in a way words never could.

The nightmare still lingered at the edges of his mind, but it felt distant now, diminished in the presence of her warmth and vitality.

With her heartbeat as his lullaby, Jayce allowed himself to relax, the steady rhythm of her life lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

VIKTOR

The soft glow of the moon filtered through the cracked blinds, casting long shadows across Viktor’s desk. His hands moved with practiced precision, adjusting wires and fitting delicate pieces together.

But fatigue crept up on him, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He tried to push it away, but the weariness was too much. Viktor leaned forward, resting his head on his arms, closing his eyes for just a moment. The room was still, the quiet air surrounding him like a blanket. For a brief instant, he let himself drift, succumbing to the quiet pull of sleep.

They had once sat here together, in this very room, side by side, each lost in their own worlds but enveloped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. She would bring him tea, or cookies, or simply sit beside him, reading, waiting, the kind of waiting only someone who loved him could do. But lately, the warmth between them had begun to fade. The laughter had turned into silence, and the moments of peace between them were fewer, more distant. The clatter of metal on metal snapped Viktor from his thoughts, but it was all wrong—too loud, too sharp, too sudden. His breath caught, and his chest tightened as the memory of her voice surged forward, as if it had always been there, lurking. "I can’t keep doing this, Viktor." Her voice was clearer now, too real, too sharp. It echoed, distorting, ringing in his ears. The weight of those words pulled him under, deeper and deeper. Her face flickered in front of him, her eyes wide with something he couldn’t name, something both familiar and alien. He had only nodded—empty, distracted—and her departure had been quick, like a shadow vanishing at dusk. The door had closed behind her with a soft, final click, and Viktor had stayed, frozen, his eyes staring at the empty space where she had been just moments before. The room around him began to shift, bending and warping in an unnatural way. The corners seemed to stretch, the walls pressing in on him, folding like paper. His hands trembled as he reached for something, anything, to anchor himself, but the tools on his desk scattered like leaves in the wind, spilling across the floor in a chaotic blur. Her bags—he hadn’t noticed before. They were packed, sitting by the door. She was gone. Gone. The panic tightened around his throat, a vise that made it hard to breathe, to think. "I can’t do this, Viktor." The words pierced through him like a cold blade. They didn’t sound like they had before, though. They felt like a melody, haunting and sweet in their finality. The guilt... it surged, flooding him from every direction. His mind swirled with thoughts—too many thoughts—crashing together like a storm. And he could hear them. The footsteps. Soft. Steady. But when he turned— Nothing. Nothing but the empty room. No warmth. No soft laugh. No teasing. Just the hollow echo of silence where she should have been. “Miláčku?” His voice was barely a whisper, his chest so tight he could hardly draw air. His heart pounded as if trying to escape, and his vision blurred. The room, the entire world, seemed to shrink in on him, as if the space was closing, folding inward, trapping him. His hands were shaking, and before he could stop himself, he knocked over a glass of water. It spilled, cascading over the papers on his desk, but the liquid seemed to melt into the wood, disappearing as if it had never existed. (Darling) The machinery hummed around him now, louder, frantic, as if it, too, was desperate for something, but Viktor couldn’t focus on it. He couldn’t think. All he could hear were her words, echoing, replaying endlessly in his head. “I’m sorry, Viktor. I can’t do this anymore.” His vision warped, the edges of reality distorting, twisting like smoke curling in the wind. He could see her—her face, her eyes, but they weren’t right. They were too far away, out of his reach, slipping through his fingers. The more he reached for them, the farther they seemed to go. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t—

Viktor awoke with a start, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as he shot up from the desk. His body trembled as he fought to calm his rapid breaths. For a moment, he couldn’t tell what was real—was he still dreaming? His heart raced in his chest, the remnants of his nightmare lingering like a shadow on his mind.

But as his eyes adjusted, he realized he wasn’t in his workshop. The familiar soft glow of the moon filtered through the window, casting gentle shadows across the room. The air was calm, carrying the soothing scent of lavender and cinnamon. The warmth of the space wrapped around him, much different from the cold sterility of his workroom.

Viktor sat up, disoriented, struggling to shake off the lingering unease of the vivid dream. It had felt so real—so painfully real. A heartbreak he feared might be inevitable. He rubbed his eyes, grounding himself, and as his gaze swept around the room, familiar sights began to settle him. The small desk in the corner, the hand-painted mug they’d chosen together, the photo of the two of them at Piltover’s Grand Exhibition—moments they had shared, reminders of a life they were still building.

But what truly grounded him was the soft weight of a blanket draped around his shoulders. He hadn’t even realized he’d been covered, but there it was, warm and comforting, a small gesture he hadn’t even thought to question.

As he shifted, his gaze drifted to the desk. There, on the surface, sat a plate of cookies—freshly baked, golden brown, and just the way he liked them. Beside it, a glass of milk, still cool to the touch, shimmered in the soft light. Next to both, a small note, written in neat, delicate handwriting, rested gently against the plate.

'I saw you sleeping at your desk, and I didn’t want to wake you—you looked like you really needed the rest. But whenever you’re ready, please come to bed and join me. I’ll be waiting for you.' Love, Y/N x

His fingers hovered over the note, the words sinking into his mind as his chest tightened. She was here. She hadn’t left him. She was still with him, still cared enough to leave him this small comfort. She hadn’t given up. The relief was almost overwhelming, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Viktor allowed himself to breathe. He wasn’t alone. He hadn’t lost her.

His heart ached with the weight of the dream lifting from his shoulders. The nightmare, the fear of losing her, melted away with the soft, familiar warmth of her presence in the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d allowed himself to feel this grounded, this safe.

With a small, grateful smile, he carefully stood from the desk, his legs still weak from the hours spent hunched over his work. The blanket, now draped around his shoulders, gave him a comforting sense of reassurance as he moved toward the plate of cookies and milk. He picked it up, the warmth of the gesture filling him with a kind of solace he hadn’t realized he so desperately needed.

He made his way back to the desk, eyes tracing the note once more, the words sinking deep into his soul. The quiet, loving message reminded him of the one thing he could never lose sight of—her. And with that simple reminder, Viktor felt the pull of the warmth, the light, and the love waiting for him just beyond the door.

A quiet promise echoed in his mind as he set the plate down gently. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. This time, he’d find the balance. This time, he’d cherish what mattered most.

Slowly, he made his way to the bedroom. To Y/N. To the life they still had. To the love he almost lost but now vowed never to take for granted again.

JAYVIK

Y/N stood at the edge of Piltover, the skyline a jagged silhouette against a blood-red sky. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of burning metal and decay. The once-bustling streets were now silent, save for the distant crackle of fire and the echoes of chaos. Her heart raced as she turned, searching for the only two people she cared about—Viktor and Jayce. “Viktor!” she shouted, but the words were swallowed by the flames. "Jayce!" She ran, her feet pounding the cracked streets, fear gripping her chest. The city she had loved, that they had all fought for, was crumbling. The walls were torn apart, buildings collapsing into rubble. The smoke thickened, and her breath caught in her throat. She found them—Viktor and Jayce, standing together but broken. Viktor’s face was pale, his hands stained with blood, his body shaking. Jayce, his armor battered, was barely standing, but his eyes were locked in determination. Behind them, a monstrous shadow rose. It loomed over Viktor and Jayce, a grotesque blend of technology and organic matter. The figure was a manifestation of all the choices they had made, all the things they had failed to understand, all the mistakes that had brought them to this moment. “No!” Y/N cried, rushing toward them, but she couldn’t reach them in time. The creature swung its arm, knocking them both to the ground. Blood spilled onto the broken street, and their bodies lay motionless, eyes wide with pain. Her voice broke as she called to them, her heart shattering in her chest. "Please, don’t leave me." But they didn’t respond. The shadowed figure loomed over them, and everything was slipping away. The world around her shattered like glass, the city crumbling beneath the weight of their failures. She tried to move, to save them, but it was too late. The nightmare consumed her, and all she could hear was the sound of her own heart breaking.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, her heart racing in her chest as she gasped for breath. She was drenched in sweat, the vivid images of her nightmare still lingering in the corners of her mind. The dream had been so real—so horribly real. She had seen Piltover burning, the cries of the city echoing in her ears, the destruction of everything they had fought for. She had seen both Jayce and Viktor—her heart twisted at the memory of them, bloodied, broken, caught in the aftermath of their ambitions and choices. The sound of metal clashing, the weight of betrayal, the crushing guilt—it all tangled together, suffocating her.

As her breathing steadied, she slowly became aware of the warmth beside her. She shifted slightly, her eyes blinking against the faint light of the room. Jayce’s arm was draped over her, his strong, protective hold comforting despite the chaos of her dream. His face was relaxed in slumber, a soft, steady rhythm to his breathing.

But then, she felt the soft warmth against the side of her head. Viktor. He had always been an enigma, but somehow, he was there, his face resting beside hers, his presence both soothing and intense. She could hear his faint breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept, the sound of it grounding her as much as it reminded her of how precarious their situation truly was.

Her mind raced, the nightmare still clinging to her like a shadow. She had to get up. Had to escape it, even for just a moment.

Slowly, quietly, Y/N slipped from under Jayce’s arm, trying not to disturb either of them. She padded softly across the room, her bare feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. The air felt cool against her skin as she reached the kitchen, the dim glow of the city’s lights filtering through the window.

She wasn’t sure what she needed—a drink, a distraction, anything to calm the fear still pulsing through her. She poured herself a glass of water, her hands trembling slightly as she brought it to her lips. But even the water couldn’t seem to wash away the lingering images of the dream.

Y/N took a seat at the kitchen table, her eyes unfocused as she stared out the window. The sounds of the city seemed muffled, distant. She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, the gnawing fear that somehow, they would all be consumed by their own actions. She didn’t know if she could save them—if she could save herself.

The chair creaked softly as Viktor appeared in the doorway, his figure framed by the dim light. His sharp eyes softened the moment they landed on her, sensing the tension that gripped her. He paused for a brief moment, then stepped into the room, the gentle tap of his cane against the floor the only sound breaking the stillness.

“Miláčku?” he said, his voice quiet but filled with a steady calm. His presence seemed to settle the air around them. “Is everything alright?” (Sweetheart)

Y/N bit her lip, fighting back the surge of emotion rising in her chest. She didn’t want to burden them, not after everything they had endured together. But Viktor’s understanding gaze and Jayce’s silent presence beside him made her hesitate, and the walls she’d tried to keep up started to crumble.

Jayce’s voice came next, groggy but reassuring, “You know we’re here for you, right?” He stepped forward, his eyes soft with concern, despite the sleep still lingering in his voice. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it on your own.”

Y/N turned to them, the warmth in their eyes cracking through her defences. She didn’t want to drag them into her nightmare, but the weight of it still clung to her, suffocating and real.

“I had a nightmare,” she admitted softly, her voice wavering. “I saw Piltover burning… And I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t save either of you.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the quiet breathing of the three of them. Viktor’s gaze softened, his hand moving slowly toward her, sitting down on the chair besides her. His voice, gentle and steady, broke the silence.

“It was just a dream,” he said, his tone low and soothing. He laid his hand over your shaking one, gently stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “You won’t lose us. We’ve faced so much together already, and we’ll face whatever comes next as one.”

Jayce moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to carry that fear, Y/N. We’re in this together. Always.”

Y/N felt the weight of her fear slowly start to lift, their words wrapping around her like a blanket. The nightmare still lingered in her mind, the terror of losing them and the city’s destruction still echoing in her thoughts. But in that moment, with Viktor and Jayce beside her, the fear seemed more manageable.

The nightmare hadn’t come true—at least, not yet.

And with them by her side, she knew she wouldn’t have to face it alone.

VANDER

Vander lay in the grip of a nightmare, his body tense, his mind trapped in a place where everything felt suffocatingly wrong. His breathing was shallow, heart hammering in his chest as the dream unfolded with horrifying clarity.

He saw Y/N, helpless before him. Her face streaked with tears, her body trembling as she desperately tried to shield herself from the relentless blows raining down on her. He could feel the weight of the world pressing on him, his body frozen, trapped beneath some invisible force. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he willed himself to move, he couldn’t reach her. He couldn’t stop the pain she was enduring. Her cries of desperation echoed in his ears, each one a haunting reminder of his failure. He was bound, unable to protect her, unable to save her. The sound of her cries—soft but desperate—echoed in his ears. The fear in her eyes, the pain that twisted her features, tore at him, but he was paralyzed, unable to protect her. Each strike against her sent a shard of guilt deep into his chest. I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped it. This is my fault. Her eyes locked with his, filled with pain and fear. Please, Vander... help me. But he could do nothing. He could only watch as she crumpled to the ground, unable to shield herself anymore. The guilt he felt was all-consuming, the weight of his failure crushing him from the inside out. I should’ve been there. I should’ve kept her safe. I’m the one who failed. The scene before him blurred, fading into darkness as the last echoes of her cry resonated in his mind. The nightmare swallowed him whole, until he was surrounded by the silence of his own fear, broken only by the frantic pounding of his heart.

Vander’s eyes flew open, his chest rising and falling erratically, sweat dripping down his forehead. He gasped for air, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears. His body was stiff, his muscles locked in the aftershock of the nightmare. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the world outside barely making its way through the thick walls of his thoughts.

He turned toward Y/N’s side of the bed, desperate to find her, but the space beside him was empty. A jolt of panic shot through him, his mind flashing back to the nightmare’s ending—the horrific thought that he had lost her. He sprang from the bed, his hand gripping the cane he had left leaning against the side of the table. Each step he took felt weighted, as if he were walking through water. His heart pounded with an urgency that didn’t seem to let up.

His steps were heavy as he ventured into the living area, his mind still reeling from the fear and guilt of the nightmare. But as he entered the room, the sight before him stopped him cold.

Y/N sat on the couch, her leg propped up on a stool with a pillow beneath her cast. The kids—Powder, Vi, Claggor, and Mylo—were gathered around her, their faces alight with laughter as they scribbled on her cast with colourful markers. The air was filled with their youthful chatter, and the warm morning light filtered in through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. Despite the pain she must have felt, Y/N wore a calm, content expression, her attention focused on the kids as they drew their names and playful doodles on her cast.

Vander stood frozen for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. The weight of his nightmare began to melt away, and with it, the suffocating fear. His heart stilled, his muscles loosening as the reality of the situation sank in. She was there, alive and well, surrounded by the laughter of children, safe and sound.

Y/N glanced up at him, noticing him standing there, her smile gentle and soothing. "Hey," she said softly, her voice like a balm to his frazzled nerves. "You’re up early."

Vander didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked toward her slowly, his heart still catching in his chest, his feet heavier than they should be. He sits down besides her, his arm reaching around her and pulling her body into his size - his head laying onto yours.

“I was... worried,” he finally confessed, his voice quiet and strained, still carrying the weight of the nightmare. His eyes flickered to her cast, then back to her face. “I thought… I thought I lost you.”

Y/N smiled softly, a reassuring warmth in her gaze as she placed her hand on his leg, gently caressing it. “It’s just a broken leg, Hun. I’m okay. Honestly.”

He lowered his head slightly, his face a mixture of guilt and relief. “I couldn’t protect you,” he murmured. “I should’ve been there.”

Y/N shook her head gently, her hand moving to squeeze his arm in reassurance. "It wasn’t your fault," she said softly. "I just slipped down the stairs. Accidents happen. It’s nothing serious, just a little setback. I’m fine, I promise."

Vander looked down at you, her eyes still heavy with sorrow, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. The guilt from his nightmare lingered in his chest, but seeing her here—alive, safe, and surrounded by the children—was a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed.

The kids were still focused on her cast, giggling and chatting as they drew with colourful markers. Powder had scribbled a small drawing of a heart with her name inside, and Vi had drawn a cartoon version of Y/N, looking proud of her work. Mylo had written a playful message about getting well soon, and Claggor had added his own little doodle of a smiling sun.

As Vander looked at the kids, a soft chuckle escaped him, the tension in his chest easing just a little. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude. The nightmare had been a reminder of his fears, of the fragility of life, but here, in the warmth of the present moment, he could feel the weight lifting.

“We’ll always be here for you,” Y/N said quietly, her voice full of tenderness. “You don’t have to carry that burden alone.”

Vander looked down at her, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness he hadn’t known he could feel. The nightmare might still haunt him, but as long as they were together, he knew he would do everything in his power to keep them safe.

“I won’t let anything happen to you again,” Vander promised softly, his voice full of resolve.

Y/N smiled up at him, her hand resting on his, her eyes twinkling with a playful glint. “Oh really? Are you going to beat up all the stairs for me? Maybe destroy every last one of them?” she teased, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Vander chuckled, the tension in his chest easing just a little as he squeezed her hand gently. The kids continued to decorate her cast, their laughter filling the room. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of her love and the joy of the children, Vander finally allowed himself to breathe again, knowing that no matter the nightmare, this was his reality.

SILCO

Y/N and Silco lay in their shared bed, the room quiet save for the faint sounds of the night. There was a comfortable gap between them, not from distance, but from a natural rhythm in their sleeping positions. Y/N lay on her side, her back facing him, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing steady and untroubled. Silco, on the other hand, twisted and turned restlessly in his sleep, his body twitching with unspoken tension. The remnants of a nightmare clung to him even in the silence, the darkness of his past always lurking just below the surface, threatening to rise again.

The world was suffocating. The water pressed in around him, dark and oppressive, as Vander’s face loomed over him, his eyes full of anger and disappointment. Silco reached out, his hand trembling, but every movement only seemed to push him deeper into the water. The faces blurred as his strength began to fade, and all he could think about was how everything had turned—how it had all come down to this. The once-familiar ally had become his executioner, and Silco’s mind was consumed with the pain of it. He thrashed, trying to break free, but the water and the darkness were all-consuming, pulling him deeper, dragging him under. Just as he felt his body go still, ready to surrender to the cold embrace of death, there was a soft, familiar touch. It was gentle, reassuring—a presence that stood in stark contrast to the suffocating violence of his nightmare. Silco's mind was reluctant to let go of the dream, but the touch was real, undeniable.

“Silco,” a soft voice called to him, its gentle tone a lifeline pulling him from the suffocating grip of his nightmare. “Silco, wake up. You’re safe. You’re here.”

His eyes snapped open, the world still spinning in the remnants of the dream. His chest was tight, lungs burning with each shallow breath as he gasped for air. His hands trembled as he reached for something solid, something real. But the cold, dark water, the crushing weight of Vander’s hands around his throat, still lingered in his chest, a phantom ache that wouldn't let go. But he wasn’t underwater. He wasn’t drowning. He was lying in their shared room, bathed in the soft, comforting glow of candlelight, the cool night air swirling around them. Y/N was there, her presence a balm to his mind, her hand resting on his arm, her worried eyes searching his face.

“Y/N…” Silco breathed, his voice raw and broken, still choking on the remnants of the nightmare. The panic gripped him so tightly that his hands clenched into fists, the tension in his body too much to shake off. He could still feel the suffocating pressure, the cold grasp of death.

Silco blinked slowly, his mind still foggy from the nightmare. The cold remnants of fear lingered in his chest, but he didn’t want to show it. He couldn’t let her see that side of him, not now, not after all they’d been through. His pride had always been his shield, and even in the wake of the terror, he didn’t want to burden her more than he already had.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice low and strained as he slowly shifted to lie back down. "It was just a bad dream. You should get some sleep. I don’t need to keep you up for this."

He made an attempt to pull away, to give her the space to rest, but the moment his back hit the pillows, the tightness in his chest only deepened. His mind felt scattered, the remnants of the nightmare still clawing at his thoughts, and it took all his effort to steady his breathing. Yet, as he lay there, still half-drowning in the weight of his fear, he felt the soft, reassuring weight of Y/N beside him.

Y/N didn’t need words, though. She simply shifted closer to him, her warmth radiating through the space between them. Without a single sound, she pressed herself gently into his side, her head finding the crook of his neck. The steady rhythm of her breath calmed him, like the quiet after a storm, a soft and steady comfort that washed over him, pulling him from the depths of his mind.

Her hand moved to his, gently pulling it to her chest, pressing it there as if to tell him, without speaking, that she was right there. That she wouldn’t leave him, not now, not ever. The touch was grounding and tender, a quiet promise in the stillness of the night.

There were no demands, no expectations. Y/N didn’t need him to say anything. She knew how much he appreciated her care, even if he couldn’t always show it, and in this moment, it was enough. The weight of her love was something he had never fully allowed himself to embrace, yet it felt like the only thing in the world that made sense.

Silco’s breath hitched slightly as the flood of emotions crashed over him. The fear, the self-doubt, the old wounds—they all still lingered, but with her there, he felt something different. He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. Her warmth was like a balm to the pain that lived in him, the quiet strength she offered filling the emptiness he never let anyone see.

He didn’t need to say anything more. With her warmth beside him, her presence wrapping around him like a shield, he allowed himself to feel the peace he had long denied. The ghosts of his past, the nightmares that had plagued him for so long, seemed to recede into the background. For the first time in a long while, he felt safe. And he knew, in that moment, he didn’t have to face those demons alone.

He let out a quiet, shaky breath, his arm instinctively wrapping around her as he finally relaxed into the embrace. He surrendered, just for this moment, to the comfort she provided, to the understanding that she would never let him go—even when his pride made him want to push her away. And as he held her close, he knew, without a single word between them, that she was the anchor he hadn’t realized he needed.

JINX/POWDER (PLATONIC)

The darkness of the room pressed in on Jinx, suffocating her as the nightmare replayed in vivid detail. She was back on the bridge, the screams and chaos around her echoing like distant thunder. Her small hands clung onto her sister's hand, she peered past Vi and Vander, her eyes landing on her mother’s still form. She didn’t understand what she was seeing—her young mind couldn’t make sense of the motionless body, the crimson pooling beneath it, or the eerie, hollow silence that seemed to swallow the world around her. “Mom?” she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible amidst the chaos. She turned to Vi, searching her sister’s face for something—anything—to ease the confusion building inside her. But Vi’s expression, pale and stricken, offered no answers. Vander bent down, his massive frame blocking her view as he spoke urgently to Vi, his voice low and firm. “Take her. Go.” His words were a command, but they sounded distant, like they were coming from underwater. Jinx clung tighter to Vi’s hand, her small fingers gripping desperately, her legs trembling. Her sister was her anchor, the only thing holding her steady in a world that felt like it was falling apart. But then she felt it—Vi’s hand slipping from hers. “No,” Jinx whimpered, her voice barely above a breath as Vi stepped away. The warmth of her sister’s hand faded, leaving her alone and untethered. “Vi?” Her voice wavered, small and unsure, as she reached out, trying to reclaim the connection. Vi didn’t turn back. She moved toward Vander, the distance between them growing with every step. Jinx stood frozen, her legs refusing to follow, her chest tightening as the chill of abandonment crept in. Her heart pounded, each beat a desperate plea for someone to come back, to take her hand and make her feel safe again. But no one came. The shadows on the bridge stretched long and menacing, and the ache in her chest deepened into a pain she couldn’t understand.

Jinx jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her chest heaving as if she had been holding her breath for hours. Her heart raced, and cold sweat clung to her skin. The nightmare’s grip lingered, the scene replaying behind her eyes in fragments. The bridge. The blood. Her mother. The emptiness in her sister’s absence.

She buried her face in her hands, trying to steady her breathing, but the room felt too dark, too suffocating. Her trembling hands pushed her blanket aside, and she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. A faint, warm glow spilled out from under her door, catching her attention like a lifeline.

Barefoot and hesitant, she padded down the hallway toward the living room. The soft flicker of candlelight danced against the walls, and there, seated on the couch, was Y/N.

Wrapped in a blanket, a storybook resting on her lap, Y/N’s face was calm but distant, her eyes scanning the worn pages as if searching for something. Jinx hesitated in the doorway, her small frame half-hidden by the shadows.

Y/N glanced up, her warm, knowing eyes meeting Jinx’s. “Nightmare?” she asked softly, her voice steady and reassuring.

Jinx nodded, her throat too tight to speak, and shuffled forward. She didn’t hesitate when Y/N patted the space beside her. Crawling onto the couch, Jinx nestled into Y/N’s side, pulling part of the blanket over herself.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Y/N admitted quietly, her hand coming up to stroke Jinx’s hair, her touch gentle and rhythmic. “I was thinking about my mother. This was her favorite book to read to me when I was little.” Her voice carried a soft, wistful edge, as though the memory lingered with a bittersweet weight.

Jinx glanced down at the book in Y/N’s lap, her tired eyes taking in the faded cover, its once-bright colours now muted with time. The edges were frayed, the spine cracked, speaking of countless nights spent with its stories. “She used to read it to help me sleep,” Y/N continued, her voice soft and steady, like a lullaby in itself. “When the world felt too heavy, this was her way of making it lighter. Maybe it’ll help you too.”

Jinx didn’t reply, but the faintest flicker of curiosity passed over her face. It wasn’t often she heard Y/N talk about her past. The mention of a mother—a figure tied to warmth and comfort—stirred something fragile in Jinx, a longing she barely recognized.

Without waiting for a response, Y/N opened the book, the pages crackling softly as they were turned. The faint, comforting scent of aged paper filled the room, mingling with the flickering warmth of the candlelight. Her voice began to fill the quiet space, steady and gentle, each word weaving into the air like a spell.

“Once upon a time, in a land of endless skies, there lived a little girl with a heart as bright as the stars…”

Jinx shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself before resting her head on Y/N’s lap. The small, vulnerable gesture wasn’t lost on Y/N, who adjusted the blanket to cover them both more snugly. Her hand moved instinctively, stroking Jinx’s hair in slow, comforting motions.

The soothing cadence of Y/N’s voice was like an anchor, grounding Jinx in the present. The vivid echoes of her nightmare—her mother’s still form, Vi’s retreating hand, the empty ache in her chest—began to dim. The words of the story painted a different picture in her mind, one of vast skies and endless possibilities, far removed from the darkness that had gripped her.

“Every night, the little girl would look up at the stars, wondering if she’d ever touch them. But the stars whispered back to her, ‘You don’t have to reach us. You’re already one of us.’”

Jinx’s breath slowed, the tension in her body unwinding as she listened. The warmth of Y/N’s lap, the rhythmic strokes through her hair, and the steady murmur of the story created a cocoon of safety around her. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite name, but it filled the empty spaces in her heart, pushing back the shadows that threatened to consume her.

Y/N glanced down at Jinx, her voice never faltering as she continued reading. She noticed how Jinx’s small hands, once clenched tightly in her lap, now rested loosely by her sides. The lines of worry etched into her young face began to soften, her breathing evening out with each passing moment.

“The little girl learned that her light wasn’t something she had to find in the stars—it was already inside her. And with that, she wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore.”

Y/N paused for a moment, her hand lingering on Jinx’s hair as she turned the page. She glanced down again, noticing Jinx’s eyelids growing heavier, her small frame nestled deeper into the comfort of Y/N’s presence.

The candlelight flickered gently, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. The quiet hum of the room felt like a sanctuary, a rare moment of peace in a world that often felt too chaotic and unforgiving.

Y/N’s voice dropped to an even softer tone, as if speaking directly to Jinx’s heart.

“And so, the little girl slept, cradled by the stars, knowing she was never truly alone.”

Jinx let out a soft sigh, her head tilting slightly as she drifted further into sleep. Y/N didn’t stop stroking her hair, her touch now as much for herself as it was for Jinx. The weight of her own memories sat heavily in her chest, but in this moment, they felt bearable.

For the first time in a long while, Jinx looked peaceful, her small form curled up under the blanket like a child seeking shelter from a storm. Y/N kept reading, her voice barely a whisper now, more for the comfort of the act than the need to be heard.

The room settled into a profound stillness, the only sound the soft rustling of pages and the faint crackle of the candle. Wrapped in Y/N’s care, Jinx allowed herself to let go, her breathing steady and calm.

Y/N gazed down at her, a faint, bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “You’re safe now,” she murmured softly, almost to herself. And for that brief, quiet moment, it felt true for them both.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader

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themultifanshipper · 5 months ago

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Max stormed through the halls of the ER, fuming at the stupidity of his teammate.

He was going to fucking kill Checo.

Warnings: driver!reader, smut, PinV sex, injury, mention of strong ass medication, public sex?, sex in a hospital bed what more do you want from me

The door of your room slamming open startled you as Max walked in with a scowl.

"Jesus Max calm down-“

“No, I am not going to calm down!” he yelled. “That idiot put you in the fucking hospital and caused two other people to crash. I'm going to kill him when I see him!”

You closed your eyes and sighed.

You didn't have any broken bones, thank god, but your entire body was covered in deep bruising.

It was extremely painful and they'd given you some very strong painkillers and a plethora of other medication that hadn’t quite kicked in yet, so you weren’t really in the mood for Max's yelling.

He noticed your pained expression and immediately calmed down, coming to sit on the edge of the bed and took your hand in his.

“I'm sorry schat, I'm just so angry… How bad is it?” he asked, voice wavering.

“Nothing broken, but I don't think I'll be able to make it to dinner” you joked weakly.

He whined and lay his head on your shoulder and you winced, so he pulled back and stroked your thigh tenderly.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry… Is there anywhere I can touch you where it doesn't hurt?”

You smirked, mind in the gutter, as usual “You always know where to touch me to make me feel good, Max…”

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Go on baby, touch me wherever and I'll tell you if it hurts or not”

You wiggled your eyebrows suggestively and Max tried to swallow, his mouth was suddenly very dry.

Perhaps whatever they'd given you was finally starting to kick in.

And evidently, it wasn't just getting rid of the pain, it was making you insanely horny. Like… abnormal levels of horny. You hadn’t realized when you were alone, but the sight of Max in front of you was getting you very hot and bothered.

“Come on Max, touch me, I need it so bad…”

Your hand slowly slid up his denim covered thigh and his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“Baby we can't” he gasped and got a hold of your wrist just before you got to the crotch of his jeans “We're in a hospital and you're badly injured…”

You were giving him your best (albeit a bit droopy) puppy dog eyes.

“And you are on drugs, my love”

You tried to sit up but your whole body protested so you stayed down, tugging at his shirt and pawing at his thick thighs.

“Please Max, fuck it's been so long, I need you inside me now”

It really had been a while. Between the races, your respective factory business was in entirely different countries, so you rarely had time to indulge in anything more than quickies and facetime debauchery.

Max was rapidly crumbling under your heated gaze (and your goddamn paws touching every bit of him you could reach) and his resolve didn't last long as he started going through ways to make this possible.

With every passing moment, your pain was decreasing and the heat between your legs was only getting worse as you whined at him to make you feel good.

He slowly stripped himself of his clothes and climbed over you, careful to avoid putting any weight on you.

As your body was uncovered bit by bit, he felt the anger come back, and then a wave of nausea took over.

There was barely any unblemished skin on your body, most of it coloured in various shades of yellow, purple and blue bruising.

He spread your legs and kneeled between them, running his fingers up the inside of your thighs and stopped just short of where you were almost dripping onto the sheets.

“Jesus baby, you really need me, huh?”

You whimpered pathetically and grabbed his hand to press it against you and rut against it desperately just for some relief.

The sight of you writhing and whimpering under him was overwhelming, and it didn't take long for him to line himself up and start pushing into you slowly.

Every time was like the first time with Max.

He held you in his arms, making sure you were okay as he split you open, burying inside you tight heat that seemed to be molded just for him.

You were drowsy from the painkillers but you felt every inch, every vein caress your walls as he dragged his cock in and out of you desperately.

His head dropped to the crook of your neck and you threaded your fingers through his hair while his hips rolled against yours in a slow rhythm, almost maddeningly so.

He went so deep, bumping your cervix on every slide in, and you let out low moans every time, matching his growls. You tugged harder on his hair while he nipped gently at your neck, cautious of where the seatbelt had bruised it.

His back muscles rippled under your touch and your eyes rolled back, the euphoria soon washing over your body in waves.

As soon as you started clenching around him, Max knew he was a goner. He'd missed the feeling so much, he quickly filled you up, shooting rope after rope deep inside you.

Once he was done, he rolled to the side so that he could lie down next to you but keep you in his arms as you stayed tangled together, sharing a passionate kiss.

“Fuck baby, I love you so much” you said, nails scratching at his scalp while he pressed kisses to your skin.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, making sure to not put any weight on you in the process. “I love you too schat, you have no idea how scared I was, seeing them cart you off in in an ambulance while I was stuck in the paddock doing fucking interviews…”

You hummed, fingers drawing patterns over his skin. “I’m here now, Max. And I’ll be fine.”

Max looked up at you with a smile.

“I know… but I’m still going to fucking kill Checo”

#my thots #max thots #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #formula 1 #f1 #mv1

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librababe99 · 5 months ago

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In the Shadows of Gotham

cw: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, smut, Bruce Wayne x Girlfriend!Reader, fingering, p in v, oral (f! receiving), overstimulation, body worship word count: 3.1K Summary: Bruce Wayne, the man who lives in the shadows of Gotham, the protector and savior of the city, has only one true weakness—you. After a long night of crime-fighting, Bruce returns home to indulge in your presence.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bruce and I've had a few ideas swirling around for some time...I was ready to get something out! Happy reading <3

(Main masterlist) | (DC Masterlist) | (Marvel Masterlist)

The weight of Gotham’s night clung to the man you loved. Shadows danced through the large windows of Wayne Manor, wrapping their cold tendrils around the walls of the lavish bedroom where you lay waiting. The clock on the bedside table ticked past 3 AM, a constant reminder that Bruce was still out there, somewhere in the darkness, risking his life for the city that never slept.

You had grown used to the late nights, the endless hours of waiting, but tonight felt different. There was a heaviness in the air, thick with anticipation. You had caught glimpses of it over the last few days—how the tension seemed to coil around Bruce’s muscles like a bowstring, how his eyes darkened with an unspoken need whenever they settled on you. You could feel it building, the way you felt the storm brewing over Gotham before it broke the sky open.

The low, familiar sound of the Batmobile’s engine pulling into the hidden cave beneath the manor jolted you out of your thoughts. Bruce was home.

The idea made your heart race with a blend of excitement and nervousness. He had been so distant lately, his focus entirely on Gotham’s latest wave of crime. But tonight, as you lay in bed, waiting for him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing tall in the shadows of the room. Bruce Wayne. The man, the myth, the enigma wrapped in darkness. He shed the Bat like an old skin, letting it fall away as he stepped toward you. His broad shoulders were still encased in the black of his suit, but his cowl was off, revealing the intense blue of his eyes that locked onto you.

"You're awake," he said, his voice low and rough from the night's exertions.

"I couldn't sleep." Your voice was soft, inviting.

Bruce stood at the edge of the bed, towering over you. His gaze roamed over your form, lingering on the way your body was partially hidden beneath the sheets, but exposed enough to draw his attention. You felt the burn of his eyes on you like a physical touch, and heat bloomed in your core.

"You should rest," he murmured, though his voice was threaded with something darker, something deeper.

"I was waiting for you," you replied, sitting up slightly, the sheet slipping further down your chest, revealing the curve of your breasts.

His eyes darkened further, and a low growl of approval rumbled in his chest. "You shouldn't have to wait."

"But I want to," you whispered, your voice a breathy invitation. "I always wait for you, Bruce."

His control snapped like a taut wire. In a heartbeat, he was crawling onto the bed, moving with a predator's grace. He loomed over you, one hand coming up to cradle your face with surprising gentleness, while the other slid beneath the sheets, brushing over the softness of your skin.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he rasped, his lips inches from yours. "How hard it is to come back here night after night and not just...devour you."

"Then don't hold back," you breathed, leaning into his touch. "I want you, Bruce. All of you."

His lips crashed against yours in a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. It was desperate, needy, filled with all the pent-up emotion he'd kept locked away behind the mask he wore for Gotham. His tongue slid against yours, and you moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his thick, dark hair.

The hand that had been caressing your face moved down to grip your hip, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, and it sent a wave of heat pooling between your legs.

But Bruce didn’t move to undress you right away. Instead, he pulled back, staring down at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"I need to touch you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "All of you. I need to remind myself that you're here. That you're real."

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he slowly peeled the sheet away from your body, exposing your naked form to his hungry gaze. His eyes roamed over every inch of you, as if he was memorizing the way you looked, committing it to memory in case he never got another chance.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

You flushed under his praise, your body trembling with anticipation as he lowered himself down beside you. His large hands, rough from years of fighting, slid over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He started at your collarbone, his fingers tracing the delicate line of your neck before dipping lower to cup your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and you gasped, arching into his touch.

He took his time, worshipping every inch of you with his hands, his mouth following the path his fingers had blazed. He kissed the hollow of your throat, the curve of your breast, the soft swell of your stomach. Each touch, each kiss, was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of you, the feel of your skin beneath his lips.

You were lost in the sensation, your body humming with pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Bruce,” you whimpered, your hands fisting in the sheets as his mouth trailed lower, kissing along the inside of your thighs. “Please...”

He groaned against your skin, his breath hot as he kissed his way closer to where you needed him most. “Patience, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me take my time with you.”

You whimpered again, your body aching with need, but you knew better than to rush him. Bruce was a man who controlled every aspect of his life with iron discipline, and that control extended to the bedroom. He liked to draw things out, to savor the slow build of pleasure until you were trembling on the edge of release.

And that’s exactly what he did.

His mouth finally found your core, and you cried out as he dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, teasing you with featherlight touches. He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body as he tasted you. His tongue circled your clit, drawing tight, controlled patterns that had you gasping for air.

Your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands tightly as he continued to torment you with his mouth. He licked and sucked, his tongue never stopping its relentless assault on your clit. You could feel the orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure winding in your belly.

“Bruce,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his face. “I’m so close...please...”

He groaned again, his grip on your thighs tightening as he increased the pressure of his tongue, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the heat building, could feel yourself teetering on the brink of release.

And then he stopped.

You cried out in frustration as he pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Bruce, please...I need...”

“I know what you need,” he growled, crawling back up your body. His eyes were dark with lust, his pupils blown wide as he hovered over you. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could protest, he was kissing you again, his mouth hot and insistent against yours. You could taste yourself on his lips, the salty sweetness of your arousal mixed with the raw, masculine flavor of him. It was intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough.

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your slick entrance and slipping inside you. You moaned into his mouth, your body arching off the bed as he began to pump his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot deep inside you.

“Bruce,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his back. “Please...I need...”

“You’ll get what you need,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “But first, I want to feel you come around my fingers. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you clenched around his fingers as the coil of pleasure in your belly tightened once more. He added a third finger, stretching you in a way that was just on the edge of too much, but it felt so good that you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat.

His thumb brushed over your clit, and that was all it took to send you tumbling over the edge. Your body seized, and you cried out as the orgasm crashed through you, your walls clenching around his fingers in waves of pleasure.

Bruce groaned, watching you with a look of pure, unadulterated lust as you fell apart beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “That’s my girl.”

You were still trembling from the aftershocks when he pulled his fingers out of you, his lips crashing against yours once more. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the tang of your release mixing with the roughness of his kiss.

Bruce pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his eyes darker than the Gotham night. His hands were still on your trembling thighs, holding you open for him, and the way he gazed at you was as if you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. There was something primal in his expression, a need so deep it made your pulse race all over again.

"You're stunning when you come," he said in a low, gravelly voice, the sound vibrating deep in your chest. His fingers trailed up your thigh, teasingly grazing your oversensitive folds, and you whimpered at the sensation. You were still throbbing from your first orgasm, and even the slightest touch made you shiver with both pleasure and overstimulation.

But Bruce had other plans for you tonight. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not finished with you yet, sweetheart.”

A thrill shot through you at his words. You could feel the weight of his desire pressing against your thigh, hard and insistent, but instead of giving in to his own need, Bruce seemed intent on worshiping you, on drawing out every ounce of pleasure he could. You had seen him like this before—focused, deliberate, a man on a mission. Only now, his mission was you.

You bit your lip as he kissed down your neck again, his lips and tongue tracing the path of your earlier shudders. He was slow, methodical, savoring the way your body responded to him. Your skin was hypersensitive after your release, and every kiss, every brush of his rough hands, sent sparks of sensation through you.

“Bruce…,” you breathed, unsure whether you were begging for more or asking for mercy.

His lips curled into a smirk against your skin. “Too much?” he asked softly, though there was a teasing note in his voice. His hand slid back between your legs, his fingers lightly tracing your swollen, soaked folds. "Or maybe... not enough?"

The ache between your thighs reignited at his touch, and you moaned softly, your body arching toward him. You were caught between the lingering sensitivity of your first climax and the overwhelming desire for more. The pleasure had barely faded, and already, you felt it building again. Bruce's fingers dipped inside you once more, stroking you with a maddening slowness that made you squirm beneath him.

"I want to feel you come again," he said, his voice rough with need. "I want to see how many times I can make you fall apart for me tonight."

His words, dark and delicious, sent a new wave of heat pooling in your belly. You could feel the tension returning, the slow, insistent pulse of pleasure building as Bruce continued to work his fingers inside you, his thumb brushing over your clit in rhythmic circles. You clenched around him, your body already betraying you, already chasing the high of release again.

He was relentless, patient, his fingers curling against that sweet spot deep inside you, his thumb rubbing circles around your oversensitive clit. You could barely think, barely breathe as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to overwhelm you. You had never been so close to overstimulation before, and it was both too much and not enough all at once.

“Bruce—please, I—I can’t…” You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“You can,” he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You will.”

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster inside you, and the coil of pleasure in your belly tightened so quickly you couldn’t stop the moan that tore from your throat. You were trembling, shaking with the intensity of it, your entire body on the verge of shattering under his touch.

Then, without warning, the orgasm hit you again, harder than before. Your vision blurred, your entire body arching off the bed as the pleasure exploded through you, wave after wave crashing over you. You cried out his name, your voice hoarse with the force of your release, and Bruce groaned in response, watching you fall apart beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Let go, sweetheart.”

Your body trembled with the aftershocks, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Bruce’s fingers slipped out of you, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness, at the loss of his touch. But he wasn’t finished.

He kissed you again, his lips soft but insistent, and you melted into him, still shaking from the force of your second orgasm. His body pressed against yours, his hardness unmistakable as he settled between your legs. You could feel the heat of him, the weight of him, and it sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck. “But I need more. I need to be inside you.”

You moaned softly, your body still thrumming with overstimulation, but the thought of him filling you, of him finally giving in to his own desire, made the ache between your thighs flare with renewed intensity.

"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I want you, Bruce. I need you."

He groaned at your words, his resolve crumbling as he reached down to line himself up with your entrance. He was thick, hard, and the moment the tip of him pressed against your slick heat, you gasped, your body arching toward him in anticipation.

Slowly, agonizingly, Bruce pushed inside you, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling in pleasure. You moaned softly, your hands gripping his biceps as he filled you completely, inch by inch. It was almost too much after everything he had already put you through, but the pleasure far outweighed the pain.

“God, you feel so good,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck as he finally bottomed out inside you. “So fucking tight. So perfect.”

He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feel of him, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled with restraint. He was holding himself back for you, trying not to overwhelm you too soon, but you didn’t want restraint anymore.

"Bruce," you whimpered, rolling your hips against him, urging him to move. "Please…"

That single word broke him.

With a deep, primal groan, Bruce began to thrust into you, slow at first but with a growing intensity that had you gasping for air. Every stroke sent a shock of pleasure through you, your oversensitive body responding to him in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Each time he bottomed out, the head of his cock pressed against that sweet spot inside you, and the pleasure radiated outward, overwhelming you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, your back arching off the bed as you moaned his name over and over again. He was relentless, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force, each thrust driving you higher and higher toward that precipice you had already tumbled over twice tonight.

"Look at me," Bruce growled, his hand gripping your jaw, tilting your head so that your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, filled with heat and adoration, and the sight of him above you, so consumed by his need for you, made your heart race. "I want to see you come for me again."

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The tight coil of pleasure in your belly unraveled, and your orgasm hit you like a freight train. You cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, milking him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

Bruce groaned, his hips stuttering as your release triggered his own. With a deep, guttural moan, he buried himself inside you, his body trembling as he spilled into you. His thrusts slowed, becoming more erratic as he rode out his orgasm, until finally, he collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, slick with sweat and sated.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the sound of your ragged breaths mingling together. Bruce’s weight was comforting on top of you, grounding you as your mind slowly returned to your body. He didn’t pull out right away, staying inside you, still hard enough to keep you full as he kissed your forehead, your cheek, your lips.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with something softer, something tender.

You smiled up at him, your hand sliding up to cup his face. "So are you."

Bruce let out a soft chuckle, his lips brushing against yours in a lazy, languid kiss. “I think I might’ve broken you,” he teased, his thumb tracing the curve of your swollen lips.

“You did,” you admitted with a breathless laugh. “In the best possible way.”

He rolled over onto his back, taking you with him so that you were lying on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and you let out a contented sigh as you snuggled into the warmth of his body.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest, just above his heart.

Bruce smiled softly, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “So could I.”

For a while, the two of you simply lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. There was no crime, no shadows. There was only the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared pleasure, basking in the warmth of your love.

#bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #dc fandom #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #batfam #batfamily fic #batman imagine #bruce wayne headcanon #bruce wayne imagine #batman fic #bruce wayne smut #batman smut

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fierykitten2 · 1 month ago

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What would happen in the hypothetical situation an F-Zero racer was present at the start of a Grand Prix but then fell ill (or was otherwise unable to participate for unforeseen circumstances) before it was over? Surely someone would have to sub in? Thing is I don’t think everyone in F-Zero has someone who could sub in for them (I mean I headcanon Falcon is friends with the Mewtwo from Smash who would absolutely be able to work out Falcon isn’t fit to race, teleport in, grab the Blue Falcon and understand how to drive it all thanks to its psychic abilities but I don’t think anyone else who seems to be a loner has anyone like that. Phoenix and QQQ are probably off the worst because chances are if one of them is racing they’re both racing and I doubt the rest of the Time Patrol is prepared to turn up in 2571 just to sub in for one of them. Actually scratch what I said about Phoenix and QQQ, the Skull definitely doesn’t have any contacts. He probably doesn’t get ill as easily as everyone else of course but that’s not to say he can’t end up in a situation where he was available to race at the start of a Grand Prix but for whatever reason isn’t available during later races but whatever happened isn’t major enough they have to call the entire Grand Prix off)

#I’d ask this about Wave Race too but at least there everyone seems to have someone they can contact #(ignoring Miles because he’s not in Blue Storm. The three from 1080 can probably call the others from 1080)#although to be fair if Serena suddenly becomes ill it’s likely her boyfriend Luis is also ill #same with Akari and her roommate Kyoko #f-zero #yeah I think I started headcanoning that each race in F-Zero takes place on a different day before I learned that was canon in Wave Race #captain falcon #phoenix #qqq #the skull #of course what I do seem to be forgetting is the fact that there are 30 racers at a time (usually) and 41 racers in GX #(counting Gomar and Shioh as one racer and Dai San and Gen as another racer)#so technically they could just ask one of the non-participating racers to sub in #but at the same time depending on how much emphasis is put on how much they’re just subbing in #(especially if they have to use the unavailable racer’s machine)#chances are there’ll be a strong enough rivalry that it ends in sabotage 99% of the time

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luxerians · 19 days ago

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The Last Mask (12)

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

Chapter 12 - Lights Out

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 13

PREV : Chapter 11

A tense silence lingered in the dormitory, each second dragging as if time itself had slowed. The weight of the announcement loomed over everyone. None of you could decipher its meaning, except for two. Gi-hun stood rigidly, his face etched with apprehension, while Young-il exuded an unsettling calmness.

The sharp creak of opening doors shattered the silence. On either side of the main double doors, smaller ones slid open, revealing triangle guards escorting a group of male players. A wave of confusion rippled through you as the scene unfolded. The door on the right was supposed to lead to the women’s restroom. Why were men emerging from it? And why were they being led by triangle guards? Restroom visits during free time had never been an issue before.

Your confusion deepened as you took in the state of the players. Their faces showed clear signs of weariness, their uniforms were disheveled, and some bore visible injuries. A few had streaks of blood smeared across their clothes and faces.

You tried to piece together the situation but before you could make sense of it, a player coming from the door in the O zone charged forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Team O, everyone!”

It was Thanos’ friend, player 124. Blood streaked his face and hands, his movements frantic. “We… When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us! They killed some of us, including my friend-”

His words ignited a spark that lit the room. Many players, including Young-il beside you, rose to their feet, the tension pulling them like magnets toward the unfolding drama. You remained seated, too stunned to move, your mind racing to process his claims.

“Bullshit,” another voice rang out. It was player 047, one of the X players.

At this point, all players who had gone to the bathroom had emerged from the doors on both sides, their steps sluggish, their faces marked with fatigue and wariness. Blood and bruises hinted at a violent encounter. Player 047 pointed an accusing finger at player 124. “You’re the ones who started it.”

The dormitory shifted as X and O players descended the staircases, aligning themselves with their respective allies, and the center became filled rapidly as the two groups faced off. The air was thick with crackling tension. The red and blue lines were the only ones separating potential chaos from an all-out eruption.

Player 047’s voice broke through again, this time addressing the X players around him. “They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

“That’s right!” another X player, his face streaked with blood, shouted in agreement.

“Hey, hey,” countered a bald O player. Blood stained his shirt, adding to the heated atmosphere. “You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!”

“Fuck you. You killed some of us too,” an X player (145) snapped back. His voice was raw with rage. “Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?!”

The crowd’s energy escalated, players inching closer to the brink of another verbal brawl. The shouting grew louder, overlapping into a chaotic storm of voices.

Then player 100’s booming voice silenced them all. “So… which side lost more people?!”

Your breath caught. You stared at him in disbelief. That’s what he cares about? Not the fact that some people among us had crossed the boundary and killed others?

You turned your gaze to the triangle guards stationed by the doors. Their stony silence was unsettling. Why didn’t they intervene? Was this all part of the game? Did they truly not care about players slaughtering each other?

Your eyes shifted to the massive piggy bank suspended near the ceiling. Its ominous presence loomed over the room, a constant reminder of the stakes. In that moment, it all clicked. The guards didn’t intervene because they didn’t need to. Player eliminations, whether by games or murder, were part of the system. Each death fueled the prize money. It was a macabre incentive for chaos.

Horror crept over you as you looked back at the crowd. Soon enough, all players would understand this and take advantage of it. The greed in some players’ eyes was bright and wild at this point. This wasn’t just a game anymore; it was an opportunity for those willing to kill.

Player 100’s voice snapped you out of your grim thoughts. “Everyone! Let’s count the numbers! Come on down!”

Player 047 moved toward your group’s corner, raising his arms to rally the X voters. “Everyone! Gather around!”

Dae-ho followed suit, his voice urgent as he encouraged others to gather. “We need everyone down here! Come on!”

The next thing you knew, every X player had gathered in your group’s corner, sitting on the staircases in a reverse pyramid formation. The only one standing among you was player 047, who stood on the floor, facing everyone and counting each person carefully.

You sat next to Young-il, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the anticipation in the air. On your other side sat Gi-hun, followed by Jung-bae and Dae-ho. Behind your row were Se-mi, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, the mother, and Yong-sik. All eyes were fixed on player 047 as he completed his count.

Once finished, he spoke in a hushed tone, “Two people died on our side.”

“Two out of five,” a female player behind Gyeong-seok noted quietly. “That means they lost three people.”

Se-mi, seated directly behind you, added, “Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow.”

Jung-bae leaned in excitedly, his whisper carrying to everyone nearby. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote!”

His words sparked a ripple of hope among the X players. Whispered cheers and quiet smiles spread through the group, their restraint driven by the need to avoid attracting attention from the O players.

“We’ll win.”

“We can get out of here tomorrow.”

The whispered sentiments filled the air with a fragile optimism. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a flicker of relief. Despite the losses during the bathroom brawl, the prospect of finally leaving this place without more deaths felt within reach.

You glanced at Young-il, hoping to share in the collective hope, but his expression caught you off guard. He remained still. There was no hint of relief or excitement. Instead, he exuded an unsettling calmness. His gaze seemed distant as though his thoughts were already a step ahead of everyone else.

The familiar chime of the school bell echoed through the dormitory, cutting through the murmurs and drawing everyone’s attention. The announcer’s voice followed: “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up and turned to face the gathered X players. His voice was low, meant only for those in your group. “Listen. You cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. Alright?”

A wave of quiet agreement rippled through the group. Nods and murmurs of affirmation filled the space.

Then, remembering the events that had sparked the earlier fight in the men’s bathroom, you leaned forward slightly and spoke in a hushed tone, “If you get bullied or forced to vote otherwise, tell us.”

This time, the nods were more deliberate, accompanied by whispers of support:

“That’s right. Don’t go anywhere alone tonight.”

“Yes, for one night. We can do this.”

As the group’s focus sharpened, your gaze drifted across the crowd. You spotted Yong-sik gently patting his mother’s back as tears brimmed in her eyes. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and hope, as if she couldn't believe the nightmare would finally end soon. Nearby, Hyun-ju was smiling softly at Jun-hee. Her hand rested lightly on Jun-hee’s knee, a quiet gesture of comfort and shared relief. Jun-hee returned the smile, her eyes shining with gratitude.

The sight warmed you. It was rare to see such unity, such shared understanding, especially in a place like this. Despite everything, the X players had formed a bond that felt genuine.

Slowly, the X players began to disperse, their movements calm and quiet. The hope in their eyes, the quiet smiles exchanged between them… it all felt like a fragile promise of better days. You stood, following your groupmates as they made their way back to your spot beneath the stairs.

You and your group sat in the enclosed space beneath the stairs. At first, it was just you, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Young-il, and Jun-hee. Soon, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, Yong-sik, and his mother joined, followed by players 047 and 145. Everyone was welcomed openly.

Forming a circle on the floor, you found yourself seated between Jun-hee and the mother, purposefully creating space between you and Young-il. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to sit near him; you simply wanted to spend more time with Jun-hee. After all, you had been spending a lot of time with Young-il recently and you began to miss your little sister figure in this grim place. As you delicately combed her hair with your fingers, the soothing action seemed to bring a bit of peace to the moment.

Dae-ho stood suddenly, sneaking a glance toward the O players gathered across the dormitory. He crouched beside Gi-hun and spoke lowly, “Those bastards are acting suspicious. It looks like they’re up to something.”

Withdrawing your hand from Jun-hee’s hair, you looked at Dae-ho.

“Suspicious like how?” you asked, your tone innocent but laced with concern.

Dae-ho’s face was a mixture of worry and solemnity as he replied, “They keep whispering among themselves and glancing at our zone. They’re planning something.”

You followed his gaze. The O players were huddled together, their heads bent close, their voices low. Every so often, their eyes darted toward your corner. It was unsettling.

Jung-bae glanced over and scoffed. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it’ll all be over.”

Dae-ho, however, wasn’t convinced. His concern was evident as he asked, “You think we’ll be okay? They say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier.”

Silence fell over the group, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone. You felt your stomach tighten. The memory of the bathroom fight, the deaths, and the lack of consequences made you feel cold. The guards' inaction during such violence sent a chilling message. If players killed each other, it was acceptable. The prize money would still grow.

“Once the lights go out,” Gi-hun’s voice broke the silence. He stared at the floor, his expression grim. “People on the other side will attack us.”

Your breath hitched. The certainty in his tone left no room for doubt. You felt your blood running cold as you fixed your wide-eyed stare at him.

Yong-sik’s wide eyes were glued on Gi-hun as he asked, “Really?”

Gi-hun nodded gravely. “Because if they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the prize.”

Jun-hee’s already pale complexion turned ashen and she instinctively caressed her belly. Yong-sik’s mother froze in fear, her gaze locked on Gi-hun as though seeking reassurance where none existed. Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged uneasy glances, both speechless. Meanwhile, Young-il sat unmoved, his expression emotionless and unreadable.

Yong-sik’s voice cracked slightly as he asked, “So what do we do?”

“Let’s attack them first,” Young-il said, his tone as measured as his words. The statement caused Gi-hun to look at him sharply. His gaze was immediately steely and serious. Young-il elaborated, “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use that to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off him, wondering if he had encountered this exact scenario in his previous game. The certainty in his tone was unsettling as if he was speaking from experience.

Player 047 broke the silence. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

Player 145 nodded in agreement. “I agree.”

Before the idea could settle, Gi-hun’s voice cut through decisively. “We can’t do that.”

His immediate response stunned the group into silence.

Young-il stared pointedly at him in quiet surprise. “But we have to get out of here. You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

Gi-hun didn’t flinch, his determination unwavering. “That doesn’t mean we should kill each other. That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

You blinked. Jung-bae echoed the question that had formed in your mind as well. “They?”

Gi-hun’s eyes shifted to meet yours briefly before scanning the group. He spoke with quiet resolve. “The ones who created this game. The ones who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Dae-ho frowned. “Where are they?”

Gi-hun’s gaze lifted upward, and instinctively, you and the others followed it. The vast space above felt ominous and unreachable, a reminder of the system you were all trapped within. Young-il’s eyes flickered upward briefly before returning to Gi-hun, his expression unreadable but intense.

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from,” Gi-hun explained, his voice heavy with conviction. “The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

Your eyebrows raised at the audacity of his plan, and you couldn’t help but ask, “Are you saying you plan to overthrow this whole management?”

Gi-hun’s determined yet grave eyes locked onto yours. He nodded firmly. “Yes.”

The room fell into a thick silence. You could feel the weight of his words pressing down on everyone, the enormity of what he was suggesting settling in. Some of the group exchanged glances. Gi-hun was a previous winner, and that lent him credibility, but this plan… it sounded almost impossible.

You stole a glance at Young-il, hoping to glean some insight from his reaction. His face was an enigma. It was void of emotion. Unreadable. Yet his unblinking stare at Gi-hun carried a weight of its own. It was as if he was dissecting every word, every intention behind the plan. His eyes seemed darker, his demeanor more solemn than usual like something deep and dark brewed beneath the surface.

You frowned, your curiosity piqued. What was he thinking? Why did he seem so skeptical, so… calculating? You couldn’t shake the feeling that Young-il’s silence carried as much weight as Gi-hun’s bold proclamation.

Finally, Young-il broke the silence, his voice measured. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

Gi-hun’s response was confident. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae pointed out, his tone tinged with innocence and disbelief.

Gi-hun turned to him, unfazed. “We’ll take their guns.”

Jung-bae stared at him, his disbelief morphing into something closer to exasperation. Gyeong-seok hesitated before asking, “From those masked men?”

Gi-hun gave a single, firm nod. Jung-bae sighed deeply, leaning his head back as though the mere thought of the plan was already weighing on him.

“That’s too dangerous,” Young-il interjected. His voice was steady but carried a note of caution. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

“What then?” Gi-hun fired back. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?”

Young-il froze, his mouth slightly open, although his eyes seemed darkly contemplative. Gi-hun pressed further. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

Young-il didn’t counter. He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on Gi-hun. His expression hardened into something unreadable, but there was a weight in his silence – a seriousness that darkened his demeanor.

“Do we…” Hyun-ju spoke up, “...stand a chance?”

Gi-hun’s gaze shifted to her, his determination unwavering. “We do if we catch them off guard. Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

You faintly noticed Young-il clenching his jaw, his expression hardening before he asked Gi-hun gravely, “How are you going to take their guns?”

Gi-hun scowled, his gaze sharp with concentration. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance.”

The group fell silent, waiting for him to elaborate. “When the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends.”

You frowned deeply, your displeasure evident. His plan didn’t sit well with you. Gi-hun pressed on, “Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

“What?” you interjected, surprise and frustration lacing your voice.

Jung-bae echoed your concern. “But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage. Without us in the fight, they’ll be outnumbered.”

“I know,” Gi-hun said, glancing at both you and Jung-bae. He then shifted his focus to the rest of the group. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

Young-il’s gaze darkened, his tone carrying a heavy disbelief. “Are you suggesting that... we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?”

Gi-hun’s eyes locked with Young-il’s, recognizing the weight of his words. Still, he nodded very, very faintly. His voice held determination as he said, “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.”

Young-il’s gaze dropped to the floor. You caught the faintest twitch of his lips as if he found the situation grimly ironic. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, saying nothing more.

Gi-hun continued, “Once the lights come on, the soldiers will come to settle the situation. They’ll try to break up the fight first. They won’t pay attention to the dead. They will scan our trackers to identify us. That’ll be our window.”

Your frustration bubbled over, and you finally voiced your thoughts. “Are you really going to leave our allies like that?”

All eyes turned to you, but your glare remained locked on Gi-hun. You added, “You’re telling me you’d hide under the bed and let the O players attack everyone in this zone? All for your plan?”

Gi-hun’s expression faltered slightly as if shocked that you had spoken up. His face then stiffened into resolve as he answered, “This is the only chance we have. Once this game is stopped, this game will no longer use us as pawns.”

“If I weren’t close to your group or involved with any of you, would I even know about this attack? Would you warn me?” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. “Would I be left to fend for myself against an ambush while you and the others hide?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened. “It’s not about leaving anyone behind. It’s about ending this game once and for all.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t help our people now,” you shot back. “We have to fight back, not just accept them as inevitable.”

Gi-hun’s brows furrowed, his voice rising. “Do you think it’s better to retaliate and play into their hands? Attacking back is exactly what they want. They want us to kill each other. To entertain them.”

“We’re not going to kill them,” you insisted. “We will defend ourselves. We can alert our people about the attack. Get them prepared. Get them to a safe spot where capable men can protect them. If needed, we can subdue the O players without bloodshed.”

Gi-hun’s confidence wavered for a moment under the weight of your words. Yet he persisted. “If we join the fight and lose even a few, it will ruin our chances of overthrowing this game. We must preserve all the best men we have right now.”

“Then we have to join the fight,” you answered in a steady, measured tone. “Defend without bloodshed. Defend as a team. If we join the fight, more capable men will survive the ambush. They will join you willingly.”

Gi-hun stared at you, his gaze faltering, and this time, he had no counter. His lips parted as though he wanted to say more, but the words never came. The others merely watched the two of you, their unease palpable. Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged nervous glances as though they hadn’t expected there would come a time when you and Gi-hun had disagreements.

Slowly, you rose to a crouching position. All eyes followed you, yet your focus remained on Gi-hun. Your voice was firm as you said, “Go ahead with your plan. I’m not stopping you. If you don’t want to join the fight, that’s fine. But the others deserve to know about the attack.”

Without waiting for a response, you stood up, turned on your heel and began walking toward the other X players, ready to share what you knew. You'd make sure no one was left defenseless.

You approached a pair of female X players sitting on a lower bunk bed. Their conversation halted as you leaned in, lowering your voice to a whisper. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I need to warn you. There’s going to be an attack when the lights go out.”

Their eyes widened. One of them glanced nervously around the dormitory before whispering back, “An attack? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “The O players are planning to ambush us. You need to be ready.”

“What should we do?” the other asked, her voice barely audible.

You glanced around. “First, don’t throw away the fork that came with your gimbap. Keep it. You can use it to defend yourself if someone tries to attack you. Then, choose the beds near the wall or under the stairs. Hide under the bed once the ambush starts.”

Their expressions shifted, the initial confusion replaced by understanding.

“Do you have your water bottles?” you asked.

They nodded and quickly pulled the bottles from their bedding, each one half full.

“Good,” you said. “Keep those too. If anyone tries to harm you, aim for their head.”

They both nodded, fear flickering in their eyes.

“Thank you,” one of them whispered, her voice trembling but sincere.

You nodded back, giving them a reassuring look before moving on. As you navigated through the dim dormitory, scanning for more X players to warn, a hand landed on your shoulder. You jumped slightly, spinning around to see Young-il standing behind you. His gaze was calm but serious.

“How many people have you warned?” he asked in a low voice.

“A couple,” you said, catching your breath.

Before Young-il could respond, a group of familiar faces approached. Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, player 047, and player 145 joined you. They stood together next to Young-il, eyes fixed on you.

“What else can we do?” Gyeong-seok asked calmly.

You quickly laid out the plan. “Warn every X players if possible. Tell them that we only defend and subdue. Tell them to keep their forks and water bottles. Get the women and elderly to move to beds under the stairs or near the walls. Before the Os attack us, inform them to hide under the beds for extra protection.”

“And let’s assign a few men to guard those areas,” Young-il added, glancing at the group. “We need to make sure someone is watching over them during the attack.”

“Got it. I will warn everyone on the left side of the zone,” Hyun-ju said.

Player 047 gestured to the opposite side. “We’ll handle the right. Let's warn them discreetly so the Os wouldn't suspect anything.”

Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, player 047 and 145 dispersed to begin warning the players. Young-il’s hand lingered briefly on your shoulder. “You’ve done enough here. Now go and find two beds next to each other for us both.”

You could tell immediately that Young-il planned to watch over you and guide you when the ambush began. That was why he insisted on finding two beds close together – one for him, one for you.

“How’s Gi-hun?” you asked.

Young-il hesitated, his gaze drifting briefly. “He was caught off guard. After you left, I told him to rethink his plan. He’s angry at the game maker and grieving for his friends from the last game, but I reminded him to consider the people here too.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in as you turned your attention to the rest of the dormitory. The quiet sound of shuffling feet caught your ear, and you noticed that many X players were busy preparing. Some were rummaging through the trash for discarded forks, others were marking their beds for strategic positioning, and a few had started spreading the word to others.

Your gaze shifted to Se-mi, who sat upright on her bed. She watched the quiet movements and whispered conversations around her but didn’t join in. Her demeanor suggested she was used to being on her own, even though she didn’t avoid social interactions entirely.

You gestured for Young-il to wait, then made your way to her. Se-mi noticed you approaching and looked up with a small, tired smile.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” you said, stopping by her bed.

“I prefer it this way,” she replied, her tone calm. “At least I don’t have to constantly watch my back or worry about getting betrayed.”

You stayed silent, sensing there was a deeper story behind her words. Maybe she had been left to fend for herself during the Mingle game.

“Then you need to be prepared,” you said after a pause. “Keep your fork and water bottle close. The Os are planning to attack us tonight. We just need to defend ourselves until the guards intervene.”

Se-mi’s eyes shifted toward the O zone, lingering for a moment as if she was trying to look for a certain player there. Then, her gaze dropped to her bed, and she gave a small nod. “Sure. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“If you need help during lights out,” you said, offering a small, reassuring smile, “find me or anyone in my group. We’ll help you.”

She looked at you, staring for a little while as if she was trying to find any trace of fakeness in your expression. Then, she brought her gaze downward. “Thanks.”

You nodded, then turned and walked away, giving her the space she seemed to value. As you moved through the dormitory, you scanned the faces around you, searching for others who might need a warning or reassurance.

The air in the room felt heavier now. More X players were talking in hushed tones, their movements deliberate as they adjusted their beds or collected anything they could use as a weapon. Some looked confident, while others were clearly masking their fear. You couldn’t blame them. The uncertainty of what was coming was enough to unsettle anyone.

You spotted Hyun-ju near the wall, speaking with a small group of women. She caught your eye and gave a subtle nod, signaling that she was making progress on her side. Not far from her, Gyeong-seok was quietly showing a few older players the safer spots under the stairs. Everyone was falling into place, the plan taking shape with a kind of quiet urgency.

As you continued to move, Young-il’s presence beside you was both reassuring and grounding. He didn’t say much, but his watchful gaze and calm demeanor made it clear he was assessing everything, ready to step in if needed.

“Do you think they’ll really try something?” you asked him quietly.

“It’s likely,” he replied. “There are no consequences, and the prize money grows with every elimination. For some people, that’s enough motivation.”

You nodded, his words confirming what you already suspected. The Os weren’t just competitors now. They were potential threats.

***

“Lights out in ten seconds.”

At this point, everyone was in bed. Your bed was right next to Young-il. You were lying on the bed on your back with the blanket up to your chest. With one glance to the side, you noticed Young-il staring upward calmly, lying on his back.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, mfour , three, two, one.”

The lights went out, darkening the whole dormitory except for the O and X lights on the floor. The piggy bank light was turned off for some reason this time.

Nevertheless, you quickly moved out of the bed as silent as possible. You noticed more figures getting out of their bed too in the X zone. You noticed they were all women and the elderly. They were moving to hide under the bed or to a safe spot.

You quietly moved to hide under your bed. Young-il stayed in his bed, feigning sleep with his eyes closed. You looked towards the center and there they were.

The O players were quietly creeping from their beds and onto the floor. They crept slowly and silently in the center towards the X zone. The blue light of the O sign below them shone light on their forms. They were carrying forks. They were led by player 124, the late Thanos’ close friend. You faintly detected player 100 behind all of them, choosing to stay safe and let his pawns do all the dirty work.

Once a few of them crossed the red lines belonged to X zone in the center, they sprinted. They no longer cared about being heard. They dashed towards the X players’ beds and climbed up.

You were shocked to see someone rushing towards Young-il’s bed and aimed his fork on him, but Young-il was fast. He simply wrapped his arm around with his blanket and then wrapped it around his neck. Young-il tugged the blanket – which was coiled around the assailant’s neck – until the O player was tied to the railing of his bed, subdued.

Screams began to erupt, startling you with how horrifying it sounded like. It was like hearing humans scream in desperation, greed, helplessness in one place. It was bone-chilling.

The lights began to flicker erratically, casting the dormitory into an alternating rhythm of stark brightness and shadowy darkness. Each flash illuminated the chaos: figures clashing, beds overturning, and forks gleaming mid-strike. It felt intentional, as though the game maker had programmed this light to amplify the terror and confusion.

That’s when a body fell on the floor right beside your hiding spot under the bed. You glanced over to see it was O player. He was groaning in surprise and you saw a broken shard of glass embedded in his arm. No doubt he was caught off guard by X players’ readiness to defend themselves.

Your heart raced as you watched the chaos unfold. The O players had underestimated the X zone’s readiness, and now their ambush was turning into a messy, desperate fight. From your hiding spot, you could only hope the preparations had been enough.

You scanned the room from under the bed, your eyes darting across the chaos. On the far side, two O male players were closing in on three X women, cornering them against the wall. Fear flashed across the women’s faces as they huddled together, their backs pressed against the cold surface.

Without hesitation, you slid out from under the bed, staying low to avoid drawing attention. As you moved, fights raged on both sides, the sounds of shouts and grunts filling the air. Your heart pounded as you dodged flailing arms and feet, pushing through the chaos toward the women.

Your mind raced. You weren’t here to kill anyone, just to defend yourself and your allies. But you had no combat experience, and your hands trembled as you reached into your pocket and gripped the fork. It was the only weapon you had.

When you reached the two O players, they were focused entirely on the women, their backs turned to you. Steeling yourself, you lunged forward and drove the fork into one man’s forearm, aiming for a non-lethal spot. The metal prongs sank in, and he let out a sharp scream, jerking away from the pain.

You swiftly pulled the fork back and the man spun around, clutching his bleeding arm. His eyes met yours, wide with a mix of fury and shock. Before he could react further, you stepped in front of the women, positioning yourself as a barrier between them and the attackers.

The injured man sneered, “You’re gonna pay for that.”

You didn’t respond. Your teeth clenched as you readied yourself for their attack. Both men advanced, their forks glinting ominously under the flickering lights. Every instinct told you to stay focused and move.

One of them lunged, his fork aimed straight for you. You dodged at the last second, feeling the rush of air as the weapon missed you by inches. Without thinking, you retaliated, driving your fork into his shoulder. He screamed in pain, stumbling back. But before you could catch your breath, his friend rushed at you.

This time, you evaded the fork, but his kick landed squarely against your side, sending you flying backward. You yelped, colliding into the three women huddled against the wall. Their hands came up instinctively to soften your fall, steadying you before you hit the ground.

You pushed yourself upright, ignoring the sharp ache in your ribs. The men were closing in again, their faces twisted with anger. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a blur of movement.

Young-il emerged from the chaos. His face was a mask of silent, restrained fury. Without hesitation, he went for the man with the injured shoulder. Grabbing the man’s wrist, he twisted it sharply, forcing the fork to clatter to the floor. In one smooth motion, he swept the man’s legs out from under him and drove his knee into the man’s face, breaking his nose. The man instantly fell unconscious.

The second man tried to attack while Young-il was occupied, raising his fork and lunging. But Young-il was ready. He caught the man’s wrist mid-strike, holding it firmly in an iron grip. With a swift, controlled motion, Young-il twisted the wrist, forcing the fork out of the man’s hand and onto the floor. Before the man could react, Young-il landed a punch on the man’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As the man doubled over, Young-il swept his feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Both men were now subdued, groaning and immobilized. Young-il stood over them, his breathing steady and controlled.

“Go! Hide somewhere safe,” you told the women, urgency lacing your voice.

“Over here!” a voice called out. You turned to see Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok near the stairs. They were guarding a group of women and elderly in a safe spot under the stairs.

“We have a safe spot right here!” Hyun-ju shouted, waving the women over.

The three women nodded and hurried toward the stairs. You watched them go, relief mingling with the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. Turning back to Young-il, you saw him straighten up and scanned you up and down.

“You okay?” Young-il asked, stepping closer under the flickering lights.

You pressed a hand to your side where the man had kicked you. Pain flared when you applied pressure, but you managed to reply, “This is nothing.”

Young-il opened his mouth to say something, but his attention snapped to the side. Following his gaze, you saw six O players approaching, their steps slow but deliberate. The murderous intent in their eyes was unmistakably fixed on him.

Without a word, Young-il grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him. You let him, your hands instinctively landing on his lower back, just near his waist, as you braced for the inevitable.

The two of you took a step back as the men advanced, their weapons glinting in the erratic light. Some held forks; others clutched broken bottles with jagged edges. A knot of worry tightened in your chest. While you had confidence in Young-il’s abilities, he was still outnumbered six to one. And he wasn’t just fighting for himself. He was shielding you too.

Your retreat ended when your back hit the corner of the dormitory, the walls pressing against your shoulders. The O players formed a loose semi-circle, blocking any chance of escape. Your heart pounded as you realized there was no way out.

Young-il spread his legs into a firm stance, raising his hands slightly, ready to defend. His posture pinned you securely behind him, effectively making himself the sole barrier between you and the attackers.

“Young-il, please be careful,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hands clenched into fists against his back.

The first man lunged with a fork, aiming for Young-il’s side. Young-il grabbed the man’s wrist mid-strike smoothly. With a sharp twist, he forced the fork from the attacker’s hand and used the momentum to slam his face against the wall. The man fell unconscious right away.

Another assailant immediately charged, swinging a broken bottle in a wide arc. Young-il ducked under the swing and drove his palm upward into the man’s chin. The attacker stumbled back, dazed, and Young-il followed up with a swift kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the ground.

Two men attacked simultaneously, one aiming high with a fork and the other swinging low with a bottle. Young-il stepped back just enough to avoid both strikes, then surged forward. He grabbed the fork-wielding man by the collar, pulling him into the path of the bottle. The jagged glass scraped across the first attacker’s arm, making him scream in pain. Before the second man could react, Young-il struck him in the stomach with a powerful knee, forcing the air out of his lungs. Both men crumpled to the ground.

The remaining two attackers hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. One of them growled, gripping his weapon tighter, and rushed forward. Young-il caught his wrist and twisted it, the sound of the bottle shattering as it fell to the floor. In the same motion, Young-il elbowed the man in the face, his head snapping back as he collapsed in a heap.

The final man hesitated, his eyes darting between Young-il and his fallen comrades. With a yell, he swung wildly with his fork.

Before the man could get close to Young-il, a sharp crash echoed through the chaos as a glass bottle shattered over his head. He crumpled to the floor instantly. Both you and Young-il turned toward the kind perpetrator.

Gi-hun stood there, breathing heavily, gripping the broken neck of the bottle by its cap. His gaze shifted between you two, his expression calm yet conflicted. A small smile crept onto your face, relieved to see him join the fray.

Behind Gi-hun, Jung-bae and Dae-ho rushed forward. Dae-ho flinched at every sound of fists and bodies hitting the floor, his arms extended forward as if staying connected to Jung-bae was his lifeline.

“You’re late,” Young-il said solemnly, sparing Gi-hun a brief glance.

Gi-hun ignored the remark and instead turned to Jung-bae and Dae-ho. “Remember. We defend and subdue only.”

With a nod, Gi-hun led the pair deeper into the chaos, heading toward other X players in need of help. As Young-il stepped aside, giving you room to breathe, your eyes darted across the room to assess the situation.

Toward the left, you spotted Hyun-ju. She sidestepped an O player’s swing with a fork and grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply until he dropped the weapon with a yelp. She followed with a clean strike to his cheek, sending him sprawling. Gyeong-seok, a few steps behind her, tackled another O player attempting to blindside her. He wrestled the man to the ground, holding him down until Hyun-ju swiftly secured the situation with a sharp, calculated elbow strike that rendered the attacker motionless.

Further back, you caught sight of Jun-hee, the mother, and Yong-sik huddled together under a bed. Their wide eyes darted between the legs of fighters clashing nearby. The mother whispered something to Jun-hee, who nodded, clutching her belly protectively. Yong-sik’s trembling hands clutched the bedframe tightly, his face pale with fear.

Nearby, player 047 and player 145 were fending off two O players who had unfairly ganged up on a single X player. Player 047 grabbed the arm of one attacker mid-swing and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to the ground. Meanwhile, player 145 used a discarded piece of bed railing to parry the other O player’s attacks, buying enough time for the overwhelmed X player to recover and join the fight.

Your eyes landed on Se-mi at the far end of the room. She was weaving and dodging, narrowly avoiding the relentless swings of a certain O player wielding a fork. It was player 124, the late Thanos’ friend. His face was deranged, grinning maniacally, and each swing came with more force, driving Se-mi back until her shoulders hit the wall. Trapped, she barely had room to maneuver.

You didn’t hesitate. You dashed toward her, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the noise of the fight. Behind you, you heard the familiar, steady steps of Young-il following closely.

As you reached Se-mi, player 124 swung the fork again, this time aiming for her face. You lunged forward, pushing his arm away so hard, forcing him to drop the fork. He growled and turned on you, his fist coming at you in a wide arc.

Before it could connect, Young-il was there. He grabbed player 124’s arm mid-swing and, with a swift motion, locked it behind his back. Player 124 struggled while shouting curses at him, but Young-il kicked his legs out from under him, sending him face-first to the ground. Keeping his grip firm, Young-il pressed a knee into the man’s back, effectively pinning him.

“Fuck you, old man!” yelled player 124. “Let me go, bastard!”

Se-mi looked at you, her breathing ragged but steady.

“Thanks,” she managed, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face.

“Go,” you told her urgently, gesturing toward the stairs. “Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok have a safe spot under the stairs. Get there now.”

She nodded and ran toward safety, glancing back only once before running past the ensuing brawls around her. You turned to Young-il, who was still holding player 124 down.

“Release me! How long are you going to pin me down, huh?!” shouted the deranged player 124.

Young-il released his hold and shifted his knee off player 124’s back, letting him get to his feet. But as soon as the man stood, he lashed out, swinging a wild punch at Young-il.

You barely had time to react, but Young-il moved faster. He ducked smoothly under the attack. Before player 124 could recover, Young-il delivered a sharp, precise strike to his jaw.

The force of the blow sent player 124 sprawling to the floor. He hit the ground hard and lay there, completely still. Unconscious.

Young-il straightened, his breathing steady as he glanced at you.

The lights suddenly steadied, illuminating the chaos around you. A loud, blaring sound filled the air as the double doors at the front of the dormitory swung open. Triangle guards rushed in, their guns raised and scanning the room. Behind them, a square-masked guard entered, holding a pistol. The sight of their arrival made everyone scatter instantly, breaking apart in all directions.

Remembering Gi-hun’s plan, you and Young-il dropped to the floor, feigning death. You closed your eyes, doing your best to keep your breathing steady. Around you, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed as guards spread out across the dormitory.

“Hands up. Get back,” one of the guards barked at a group of players.

“Drop your weapon. Hands up,” another commanded, their tone sharp and commanding.

“Check the IDs of the dead,” the square guard ordered.

You kept still, listening intently as the footsteps grew closer. A single set of boots approached you and Young-il. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you stayed motionless.

The sound of boots stopped right beside you. You felt a slight tug at your collar as the guard bent down. Something cold pressed against the spot behind your ear. You fought the urge to flinch.

Suddenly, a blur of movement. Young-il sprang forward, grabbing the guard’s weapon with precision and speed. Before you could even sit up, he twisted the gun against the guard and pulled the trigger. The loud crack of the shot echoed in the dormitory, and the guard fell lifeless to the floor.

You opened your eyes to see Young-il standing over the fallen guard, his grip firm on the weapon he had just taken. Around you, the sounds of shouts and gunfire erupted across the room. Commotion rippled through the dormitory, signaling that the rest of your group had launched their surprise attack on the guards.

You ducked low as Young-il moved with precision, firing at the guards with unwavering focus. Gunshots filled the air, each one echoing sharply through the dormitory. Players who had no knowledge of the plan cowered in fear, their expressions frozen in shock. Under one of the beds, Jun-hee, Yong-sik, and his mother stayed hidden, clutching one another tightly.

Your eyes scanned the room and landed on the fallen guard beside you. On his hip holster was a pistol. Without hesitation, you grabbed it and checked the magazine. Seeing it was full, you flipped off the safety, gripping the weapon firmly.

Crouching low, you peeked over the edge of the bed to assess the situation. Young-il, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, player 047, and player 145 were engaged in a fierce gunfight with the guards. The guards, clearly caught off guard by the ambush, were struggling to regroup, and most of them were taken down with relative ease.

As you moved to find a better position, a guard suddenly emerged from a hiding spot under the stairs. He raised his weapon, aiming at the group’s exposed backs. Heart pounding, you dove behind a nearby bed, using it as cover. Taking a deep breath, you steadied your aim and fired.

The first shot missed, but the second and third found their mark, hitting the guard in the stomach and shoulder. He staggered before collapsing to the floor, lifeless. You exhaled sharply as you lowered the pistol.

Glancing back, you noticed Young-il’s gaze flicking toward you. His expression was unreadable, before he turned his attention back to the guards. He and Jung-bae were positioned behind an overturned bed, using it as a makeshift barricade.

You took a moment to observe the others. Despite the chaos, their movements were controlled and deliberate. Each of them handled their weapons with a level of familiarity that could only come from experience. It struck you then: in South Korea, military service was compulsory for men between the ages of 18 and 35. This wasn’t their first time handling firearms.

The gunfire continued, but the guards’ numbers were dwindling rapidly. Your group moved with purpose, systematically taking them down one by one.

The tide of the battle shifted abruptly when a mechanical announcement echoed through the dormitory: “Retreat. Retreat.”

The remaining guards, realizing their position was untenable, began cautiously stepping backward toward the double doors. They fired sporadically as they retreated, their shots aimed to cover their exit. The double doors started to slide shut, and the guards sprinted through the narrowing gap to escape. However, the square guard misjudged the timing. The doors closed firmly, leaving him stranded inside.

“Stop! Hold fire!” Gi-hun shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. He leveled his gun at the square guard cautiously.

Jung-bae jogged toward the guard, his weapon trained steadily on the man. Player 145 followed closely behind, flanking the guard from another angle.

“Hands above your head! On your knees!” Jung-bae commanded, his voice sharp and firm.

Satisfied that the situation was under control, you flipped the safety on your pistol and tucked it into your pocket. Scanning the room quickly, you spotted Jun-hee, Yong-sik, and his mother still huddled under a bed. You jogged toward them, weaving through the aftermath of the battle.

“Are you okay?” you asked, crouching down to meet their level. Your voice softened as you looked at them. “Is anyone hurt?”

Jun-hee’s pale face turned toward you. Her wide eyes were filled with residual fear, but she managed to shake her head.

“I… I’m okay,” she said quietly, resting a hand protectively on her belly. “The baby’s okay too.”

“Thank goodness,” you replied with a small, relieved smile. You turned your attention to Yong-sik and his mother, who were clutching each other tightly.

“We’re fine,” Yong-sik’s mother said firmly, though her voice carried a faint tremble. She looked at you, her eyes sharp despite the situation. “How about you? Are you alright, miss?”

“I am, thankfully,” you said, smiling.

You heard the shout echo across the dormitory. “You goddamn bastards!”

Turning your gaze to the far end of the open space, you saw player 047, his gun aimed at five O players. Blood stained their faces and hands, evidence of the chaos they’d left in their wake. The O players, clearly terrified, raised their hands high in surrender.

Gi-hun sprinted toward the scene, his expression urgent as he grabbed the barrel of player 047’s gun and pushed it downward. “No!”

“Move!” shouted player 047. “Do you not see this?”

Gi-hun glanced around, his eyes falling on the lifeless bodies of X players who had been unable to defend themselves. You looked too, your heart sinking at the sight of the carnage. The dormitory, once a place of tension and fear, had become a blood-soaked battlefield where greed turned people into monsters.

“They are not human,” player 047 growled, his voice trembling with rage. “They’re like goddamn vermin blinded by money!”

Player 047 raised his gun again, aiming directly at the cowering O players. Gi-hun acted quickly, gripping the weapon firmly and meeting player 047’s glare with steady resolve. His face reflected both understanding and a deep determination as he said, “This is not what we took these guns for. If we do this, we’ll be no different from those masked men.”

As the tense standoff unfolded, you turned and walked toward Young-il. He stood silently nearby, his gun resting against his abdomen. His stillness was striking in contrast to the chaos around him.

Meanwhile, player 047 remained rooted in place, his teeth clenched in frustration. His eyes brimmed with anger and sadness as he glanced at the bodies of his fallen X allies. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his gun. His shoulders sagged with defeat, but he yielded to Gi-hun’s reasoning.

Gi-hun patted player 047 on the shoulder. Whether it was a gesture of pride for his restraint or an attempt to comfort him, you couldn’t be sure. After a brief pause, Gi-hun turned and walked to the center of the dormitory. His voice rang out, strong and steady.

“Everyone! Don’t be scared. Gather round, please!”

You glanced at Young-il. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise at the look on his face. His expression remained blank, but there was something contemplative and unsettling about it. It was as if he viewed Gi-hun’s actions with a sense of disapproval, a distaste that lingered just beneath the surface.

NEXT : Chapter 13

PREV : Chapter 11

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! So, what do you think about your disagreement with Gi-hun? What do you think about the overall lights out? What about Young-il joining the battle and just sticking with you the entire time? And him protecting you all the time and just not letting anyone harm you?? I also want to know your take on Young-il's mysterious reaction towards Gi-hun's "let's hide and let Os attack everyone else" plan and his plan to overthrow the game? Now, what do you want "you" to do in the next few chapters? Because we are really reaching the end of Season 2 and I am terrified.

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

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

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Note

Grid Kids: y/n pregnency!!

Grid Kids: Bun in the Oven

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: moments with the grid kids during your pregnancy

Series Masterlist

Kicking Up a Storm

“Did the little one just ...” Charles’ eyes widen as he pulls back his hand abruptly from where it had been resting on your stomach.

Lando, lounging on the other side of the room with a video game controller in hand, smirks, “Did what? Tried to escape? Can’t blame it, considering the rest of its siblings."

You swat playfully at Lando as Max and George, engrossed in assembling a nursery chair, look up in anticipation. “Come on, let us feel!” Max pleads, abandoning the chair pieces on the floor.

As everyone gathers around, taking turns to gently place their hands on your baby bump, you feel a flutter, a gentle kick responding to their touch. The room fills with gasps of wonder and joy.

“Feels like a future driver if you ask me,” George grins, looking at Sebastian, who chuckles, already imagining another Vettel on the tracks.

Lance, feeling a tad left out, decides to jump in. “Can it hear us? Hello in there, it’s your brother Lance! Remember to pick me as the fun brother, okay?”

Mick, who has been reading every pregnancy book he could get his hands on, chimes in, “You do realize the baby can’t differentiate voices yet, right?”

Lance waves him off, “Details, details.”

Cravings Are No Joke

“Pickles and chocolate? Seriously?” Max raises an eyebrow, holding up the two seemingly mismatched items as he stands in the middle of a grocery store aisle.

Lance, pushing the cart, shrugs. “Don’t question the cravings, just go with it.”

Charles, scrolling through the list on his phone, adds, “Oh and don’t forget the spicy ramen, blueberry pie, and ... pineapple pizza?”

George groans, “Pineapple pizza? Come on! Anything but that. I’m not even Italian and I’m still offended.”

Lando, with an impish grin, quips, “Remember when she wanted the mango gelato at 3 am? That was a fun drive.”

Mick chuckles, “Or the time we went to five different bakeries just to find that particular lemon cake she couldn’t live without.”

Lance pauses, looking thoughtful, “And wasn’t there a phase where she only wanted foods that were purple?”

George nods, “Yep, aubergines, purple potatoes, grapes ... I still can’t look at a plum without laughing.”

As the grid kids continue shopping, picking out items based on the rather diverse list you gave them, they share more anecdotes of the past months. The store’s other patrons watch in amusement as the young men navigate the aisles, often debating the merits of various brands or flavors, all to ensure they get it just right for you.

Later, back home, your grid kids proudly present their haul. You and Sebastian look on with affection as they lay out the eclectic mix of food.

“Did you guys get everything?” You ask, trying to hide your laughter.

Max feigns offense at being questioned, “Of course, we’re professionals.”

Sebastian leans in to whisper in your ear, “I’m just glad they didn’t try cooking this time. Remember the schnitzel incident?”

You giggle, recalling the disastrous attempt. “Of course I do. I was cleaning flour off the cabinets and ceiling for weeks. But hey, it’s the thought that counts.”

It’s a …

The preparations for your gender reveal are in full swing at the local park and your grid kids are at the heart of it. They’ve split into two factions: Team Girl, led by Charles and Lance, and Team Boy, spearheaded by Max and Lando.

Charles and Lance have laid out a series of pink challenges, including a three-legged race where participants wear pink tutus. “It’s going to be a girl, no doubt about it!” Lance proclaims confidently.

Max and Lando, on the other hand, have a blue-themed obstacle course, complete with a mini kart race. Lando, wearing a blue bandana, shouts over the ruckus, “I have no idea what you’re talking about because it’s definitely a boy.”

George has taken on the role of referee. Dressed in a striped shirt, whistle in hand, he’s ensuring that the competition remains friendly. “Remember, it’s all in good fun!” he reminds everyone, though his “Team Girl” badge suggests where his loyalties lie.

Mick, though undecided, has tie-dye patches of both blue and pink on his shirt. “I just want a healthy sibling for all of us,” he says with a gentle smile, standing back and enjoying the antics.

Sebastian, watching the chaos unfold, leans over and whispers in your ear, “Did we really think letting them plan this was a good idea?”

You laugh, “It’s a bit crazy but look at them. They’re having the time of their lives!”

The moment everyone’s been waiting for finally arrives. At the center of the park, a large, sealed box waits. As you and Sebastian approach, the grid kids form a circle around it, their playful banter coming to a halt.

With a shared look of excitement, you both pull on the ribbon. The box flaps open, releasing a cloud of ... green smoke?

The park erupts in a mixture of laughter and confusion.

Max looks baffled, “Green?”

Charles chuckles, “Guess neither team wins today!”

Lando, trying to waft away the smoke, jokes, “Alien? Oh my god, you’re having an alien!”

Mick wraps an arm around you, “Like I said, as long as it’s healthy.”

You smile, nestling into Sebastian’s side, “We thought we’d keep everyone guessing for a little longer.”

False Alarm

“Sebastian! The baby! I think it’s happening!” You exclaim, feeling a sudden tightening in your abdomen.

Sebastian, who was in the middle of mediating a lively debate with Max and Charles over who will be the baby’s favorite brother, nearly trips over the rug in his rush to get to you. “Okay, okay, okay. Deep breaths, in and out.”

Lance, eyes wide as saucers, frantically begins googling “how to deliver a baby” on his phone while George starts making a list of things needed for the hospital. “Towels! We need towels, right?”

Lando is somewhere on another planet, muttering to himself, “This isn’t happening. I am not ready to see a baby being born. Nope, nope, nope.”

Mick tries to restore some order. “Calm down everyone. Y/N, are you sure it’s really labor?"

Before you can respond, Charles bursts through the door, holding a bucket of ice. “I read somewhere you might need ice. Here!”

You laugh through the discomfort, appreciating the chaos ensuing because of your grid kids’ concern. "Actually guys, I think it’s just Braxton Hicks. False alarm.”

A collective sigh of relief sweeps the room. Sebastian, still slightly pale, pulls you into a hug, “You sure know how to keep things exciting.”

Lance looks up from his phone, “What’s Braxton Hicks?”

“It’s like a rehearsal for the real thing,” George explains, folding up his hastily made list.

Max, trying to regain his cool, smirks, “Well, if that was a rehearsal, the main event is going to be epic.”

You chuckle, patting your belly, “Guess the little one just wanted to see how quickly you all could jump into action.”

Putting the “Student” in “Student Drivers”

As you and Sebastian sit on the couch, going over your prenatal class schedule, a curious George peeks over. “What’s that? Are those the birthing classes?”

You nod, “Yep! We’re starting next week. It’ll help us prepare for the big day.”

Suddenly, Charles pops up beside George, eyes widening in interest. “Can we come?”

“That sounds cool! I’ve always wondered what those classes are like.” Lando chimes in from where he’s keeping an ear out in the kitchen.

Sebastian looks a bit overwhelmed, “I thought it was just going to be the two of us.”

Lance joins the group, scrolling through a magazine article about celebrity dads attending birthing classes. “Look at this! It’s a thing now. We could all go and support you both.”

Max adds, “Besides, we’re family. We’ve been there through everything else. Why not this?”

“Do they even allow so many people to join?” Mick ponders.

You can’t help but laugh at the eager faces in front of you. “I never thought I’d have to bring an entourage to a birthing class.”

Sebastian rubs his temples. “Okay, how about this? We’ll ask the instructor if it’s okay. If they allow it, you guys can join on one condition.”

Lando bounces on his toes, “What’s that?”

“No teasing or making jokes during the class. We’re there to learn and be supportive.”

Charles nudges Max, “That’s mainly directed at you.”

Max fakes innocence. “Me? I would never!”

You shake your head, “Alright, I’ll call tomorrow and see if our little ... or rather large group can attend.”

Your grid kids cheer, excited about the new adventure. As they scatter, already planning and discussing among themselves, Sebastian leans over to whisper in your ear, “This baby is already turning our world upside down and they’re not even here yet.”

You smile and squeeze his hand, “With this family, every moment is an adventure.”

***

The birthing center’s usual tranquil ambiance is slightly offset by the excited chatter of the grid kids as you all enter. The instructor, a calm and composed woman named Clara, raises an eyebrow at the large group but doesn’t comment. After all, it’s not every day that half of the Formula 1 grid walks into her class.

The session starts with everyone introducing themselves. Most couples share sweet stories of their relationship journey. When it's your turn, Sebastian starts, “I’m Sebastian, this is my wife, Y/N,” he pauses, motioning to the group, “and these are ... our sons.”

The room erupts in chuckles. One of the expectant mothers quips, “That’s a lot of kids! You two have been busy!”

Clara moves on with the class, demonstrating breathing techniques. Everyone’s earnest attempt to follow along results in a mix of deep breathing, snorts, and a few stifled laughs. At one point, Max, struggling to get the rhythm right, looks over at Lando and mutters, “I feel like I’m preparing to go underwater.”

When it comes time for practicing labor positions, the grid kids enthusiastically volunteer. George and Charles end up demonstrating a position, with George playing the supporting partner and Charles the laboring mom-to-be. The sight of Charles leaning into George, pretending to be in labor, has the room laughing, especially when Charles exaggerates with dramatic moans.

Lance and Mick take a turn next and when Lance offers words of encouragement to “pregnant” Mick, saying, “You’re doing great, sweetie,” you almost fall off your chair laughing.

Towards the end of the class, Clara demonstrates the use of a birthing ball. Lando decides to take a leap onto one only to bounce off, crashing into Max and sending both of them tumbling to the ground. The room is in stitches.

Despite their hilarious antics, your grid kids genuinely try to grasp the concepts, asking thoughtful questions and engaging in the exercises.

As the class wraps up, Clara approaches you with a smile. “I must say, this has been the most ... lively class I’ve ever taught.”

You grin, “That’s one way to put it.”

She chuckles, “But it’s clear they all care deeply for you and want to support you both in any way they can.”

Sebastian nods, wrapping an arm around you, “We’re very lucky to have them.”

For Real This Time

Lando and Charles are in the middle of a heated argument over the best way to make a sandwich (complete with props and charts) when you suddenly feel a warm sensation. Looking down, your eyes widen. “Uh, guys?”

“What is it?” Sebastian jumps up right away.

You swallow, “I think my water just broke.”

For a moment, there’s stunned silence. Then … mayhem.

Max yells, “To the car! Now!” while Lance scrambles to grab the pre-packed hospital bag.

George accidentally knocks over a vase in his attempt to find your phone. “Sorry! We can clean that up later, right?”

Mick tries to maintain calm, “Everyone, deep breaths, remember the class?”

Lando, eyes wide, mutters, “This is nothing like the class.”

Upon arriving at the hospital, the reception area becomes a scene of organized chaos. As Sebastian wheels you in, the grid kids follow in a flustered procession.

A nurse at the reception desk blinks in surprise. “Is there a convention in town?”

Mick, panting slightly, replies, “No, just family.”

Lando adds, “The biggest family you’ve ever seen.”

Another nurse, recognizing some of the faces, chuckles, “Formula 1 drivers in the maternity ward? Now I’ve seen everything.”

Inside, as the medical team preps you, the grid kids stand outside, pacing and nervously waiting. They take turns peeking through the small window, offering waves and thumbs-up.

Sebastian holds your hand and doesn’t complain once as you grab back hard enough to break every bone in it, “You know, I’ve faced pressure on the track but this ... this is on another level.”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand, “Just remember, I’m doing the hard part.”

Soon enough, after what feels like both a minute and a lifetime, the beautiful cry of your newborn fills the room. Your grid kids, hearing the sound, cheer loudly, causing several nurses to hush them.

Charles, tears in his eyes, says, “We’re big brothers now. Like, for real.”

“Wait,” Lando interjects, “aren’t you already a big brother?”

“Shush mate, let me have this moment.”

Max rolls his eyes but smiles, “Welcome to the family, little one. We’re a bit crazy but we already love you so much.”

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