arminmy4ss

[arminmy4ss]

Helloo!! Can u pls write a Namgyu smut where they are in squid game, the reader is Semi’s annoying friend and Namgyu becomes the reader’s dirty little secret on the night of the six-legged pentathlon?? (I luv ur writing style btw😭😛😛)

Hello Anon! Thank you so much for the requestt and the compliment

no idea if i did it how you wanted but 🧍‍♀️

Answered here

[arminmy4ss]

Dirty Little Secret — Nam-gyu, Squid Game

Request from Anon

Summary: After the six legged pentathlon, at night, you have to go pee. Nam-gyu also goes. You don’t like him—or pretend to. Semi, your only friend, hates him after all. At the toilet well you and nam-gyu fuck and its clear: se-min can not know any of this.

Tags: lots of ‘shut up’s, kinda enemies to lovers or fuck buddies, dom!nam-gyu, sub!reader, creampie, unprotected sex, risk of getting caught

Word Count: 1,7k

⸻

The dormitory is suffocating in silence, most players having collapsed into exhausted sleep after the day's brutal games. But your bladder won't let you rest, the pressure becoming unbearable as you shift on your bunk bed until you just can't take it anymore. You stand up, careful to not wake up Se-mi, who was sleeping in the bed beside yours, and make your way towards the only light source. The door to the toilets.

You catch the eye of a nearby guard, raising your hand hesitantly. "I need to use the bathroom."

The masked figure doesn't even acknowledge you.

"Please," you try again, more urgently. "I really need—"

"No movement after lights out."

Your jaw clenches in frustration. You're about to give up when that voice cuts through the darkness—the same cocky tone that grated on your nerves during the game.

"I need to go too." He says, running a hand through his messy hair. Even in the dim light, you can see that insufferable smirk.

You want to disappear into the floor. Of all people to witness your rejection…

“Oh no,” you groan. “Not Mr. Shaky Hands.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

The guard considers for a moment, then jerks his head toward the bathroom corridor. "Five minutes. Both of you."

"What?" The word escapes you before you can stop it. "I asked first—"

"Five minutes," the guard repeats coldly.

You glare at Nam-gyu but move anyway. He stretches lazily, falling into step beside you as if this were his idea all along.

The door opens, and you both make your way to the bathrooms.

The corridor is colder than the dorm, your steps echoing against concrete. The guard’s presence fades behind you until it’s just you and Nam-gyu.

“Guess I just saved your ass.” he murmurs.

“Didn’t ask for your help.” You snap.

“Right,” he says, grin widening. “Because begging works so well.”

“You would know, right?”

“What?”

“Don’t think I forgot how you begged your purple-haired ‘friend’ for these pills because you were shaking so badly.” That shut him up, but not for long.

“You’re even more annoying than that cunt friend of yours,” he mutters suddenly.

You stop dead in your tracks, spinning on him. “Excuse me?”

“I got you through that game,” you shoot back. “You should be thankful.”

He scoffs. “Thankful? You almost got us killed. Took way too long.”

“You’re seriously blaming me? I had a hard game and did well. You were way slower than me! And you had the easier game!” You throw your hands around.

His jaw clenches. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

The words hang sharp between you. His eyes darken, and for the first time, you see something different there—not just annoyance, but something hotter. Meaner. Hungrier.

In the bathroom you duck into a stall, refusing to let him have the last word. But when you step out, he’s there. Waiting.

He doesn’t speak. Just leans against the cracked tile wall, watching as you move to the sink. The faucet squeaks, cold water pooling in your palms. You splash your face, trying to ground yourself.

Then his shadow falls over you.

His hand slams down on the sink beside yours, the sound echoing like a gunshot. His other hand closes on your hip, spinning you until your back meets the porcelain. His chest presses into yours, close enough that you feel the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“Hey—” you start, but your voice falters when his eyes lock on yours.

“Shut up,” he growls, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear.

You shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. “Get off.”

“Or what?” His grip tightens. He’s daring you—daring you to push harder, to fight.

Your heart hammers. “You think this scares me?”

“I think,” his voice drops lower, darker, “you’d like it more than you want to admit.”

The sink bites into your spine, water dripping from your still-wet hands. His face is so close it’s impossible to think straight, impossible to breathe.

And then his mouth crashes into yours.

It isn’t gentle. It’s rough, messy, all teeth and anger. You taste heat and adrenaline, feel the scrape of porcelain against your back and the hard press of his body pinning you there. Your fists clutch his shirt, ready to shove him away—but instead, you pull him closer.

His hands roam, one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. You’re dizzy, caught between fury and something hungrier, darker. When you both tear apart for air, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard.

“Pinning me down doesn’t make you in control…” You mutter quieter than expected. He laughs at your desperate attempt to regain composure.

“Doesn’t look like you’re fighting me off.” He replies low and smug.

“I hate you.”

“Funny. You don't kiss me like you do.”

Then your mouth is on his again. It's even rougher than the first kiss, more desperate. One of his hands grips your jaw to control the kiss while the other slides lower. From your waist to your hip and then your thigh.

Your own hands are at his shirt again, clutching before sneaking under it, feeling the heat of his skin.

When you finally tear apart for air, he spins you around, your front facing the mirror, your ass pressed into his crotch.

He holds you in place, one arm on the sink, the other slung around you, pulling you closer against his aching, hard dick. “I need this so bad, oh my god…” he grins, looking down to your ass. “Need you…”

You make eye contact through the mirror.

“What do you think Se-mi would say if she saw this, mh?” He asks, leaning forward.

At the mention of her name, your eyes go wide. "Don't you say a single word—" you're cut off by your gasp when his hands go under your shirt and roam over your boobs. Still you try to seem unfazed. “—of this to Se-mi.” You grit your teeth. You know if she knew, she would probably leave you behind. Search for someone else to team up with. You would be alone.

He just laughs darkly and spits into his hand. You frown, your thoughts still with Se-mi.

He pulls his dick out of his pants and rubs the spit-covered hand over it. Then, "Don't act like you don't want this." He pulls yours down. You gasp, suddenly being exposed.

“This is insane—“ you spit out.

“Shut up and spread your legs.” He commands.

“Who do you even think you are—?” You protest. So he does it himself, forcefully. His hand collects a bit of the wet truth from your pussy. You shiver at the contact—at the sensation.

"Exactly what you need right now. Look at yourself.” He says, bringing his hand up so you can see. “This is how much you fucking want this, so shut up.” He was right you desperately needed to relieve some stress.

You feel him rubbing his tip right at your entrance and then—without a warning—he shoves himself into you. You cry out at the stretch. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, grinning.

“Better keep quiet.” He starts moving. Fast. Desperate. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You squirm underneath him; moans, cut off by his thrusts, leaving you. He shoves two fingers into your mouth, muffling them at least a little bit. But it’s really just to humiliate you more.

“Or Se-mi might hear you.” He whispers, his breath hitting your ear. You clench around him subconsciously.

“Shit—you like this, huh?” Nam-gyu asks smugly when he feels it. He takes one lick across your neck, kisses

“The thought of Se-mi seeing me fuck you?” You clench again. His dick pushing in and out of you makes you go dumb. Unable to answer.

“Fuck—you slut.” You look at him through the mirror, and then your eyes fall on yourself. You look so desperate. So… slutty. Your hair is messy, and spit is dripping down your chin.

“Say it.” He pants behind you, making your eyes snap back to his. “Say you need me.”

“Never.” "You say stubbornly, your fingers digging into the sink.

“Say it.” He grits, slapping your ass hard. His hips snap harder against yours, and suddenly he's hitting that spot. You lose every kind of shame or composure just chasing the feeling.

You try to resist, you really do, but when he suddenly pulls out of you, you whine. Feeling empty.

“Say it, or you won’t get to cum.” He says, while his hand wraps around his cock, jerking it at the loss of your squeeze.

“Please…” You push your ass back against him.

“I need you—need this—” You then say, earning a smirk from him. With one thrust he slams into you again. 

“—fuck—” you groan, your hands moving down to your clit, messily, desperately rubbing circles around it. You need it, need him. So much.

Then—knocks at the closed door. “The five minutes are well past over.” The guard.

“We’re almost finished!” Nam-gyu yells angrily, and you don't know how it's even possible, but he fucks you even faster.

You break after 10 more seconds, the orgasm tinted with shame and something else. It feels so intense; you lose control over your body for a moment. The release so relieving you feel as if your body is floating, though it is, right now, pretty much going limp.

You can barely stand, still being pounded from behind by the man you thought you hated. 

Then with a grunt, he shoots his seed inside of you. Then he pulls out and takes a tissue to clean off his dick. While he pulls his pants up, you reach for one too, but he slaps your hand. Instead, he collects what had dripped out of you and slid down your thigh with his fingers and pushes it back into you with a “no-no”.

You gasp, startled. He pulls your pants up too, yanking you towards the door.

“Better keep this between us, huh?” His grin is sharp. Dangerous.

“Wouldn’t want your friend to know you’re fucking Mr. Shaky Hands.”

Your stomach twists, heat curling low in your chest. “Shut up.”

But your voice comes out weaker than you mean it to.

⸻

A bit of a shorter one but i hope i did it right Anon, you can give me feedback anonymously over the asking section if you’d like and i’ll edit what you’d like to be changed ;]

THANKS AGAINN 🙏

[arminmy4ss]

Stay With Me — Cha Hyun-soo, Sweet Home

Summary: You have symptoms and have to go in quarantine, you’re alone in there with Hyun-soo. You start crying because youre scared and he comforts you.

Word Count: 2,3k

A/N: this takes place in season one it’s totally spoiler free. contains fluff and smut. Tried to do my best with portraying the feelings please have mercy im not that good at that. No special Tags, just comfort and sex.

⸻

The quarantine room is quiet.

Which wouldn’t normally be a bad thing—quiet also means no danger. But this silence makes every sound painfully obvious: the rustle of blankets, uneven breathing, your muffled sobs.

You try to keep quiet, but your thoughts won't stop spinning. You're infected. You have symptoms, and that means you will die soon. You will become one of those things. A monster. 

“Are… you crying?” Hyun-soo’s voice cuts through the darkness.

Your breath hitches, muscles locking in place. Oh no. Were you that loud? You swallow hard, biting down another sob. You’d barely spoken to him before this—just polite nods in the hallway. Even now you were just giving short comments to each other, whatever was necessary. And now he is hearing you fall apart.

“No.” Even though you try to sound steady, the way your voice trembles gives you away immediately.

“You are.” He shifts on the couch across the room, and you can hear the hesitation in the silence that follows. He doesn't know you well enough for this, doesn't know if he should get involved. But after a long moment you hear him stand anyway.

His footsteps are careful, uncertain. He stops a few feet away.

“I’m fine.” The lie sounds hollow even to you.

“You’re clearly not.” Another pause. “I… what is it?” The question comes out awkward, like he's not sure he has the right to ask. waits patiently, waiting for an answer.

You feel the mattress dip as he sits beside you—not too close, leaving space between you like the strangers you are. His hand hovers near your back for a moment before he finally, tentatively, places it there.

The gentle touch breaks something in you. Your sobs come harder now, and before you can stop yourself, you're leaning against his shoulder. He stiffens—this wasn’t what either of you expected.

“I don't want to die…” you whisper through your tears, over and over again. „I don't want to turn into one of those things."

For a moment, he doesn't move. You can feel his uncertainty, the way he doesn't quite know what to do with a crying girl he’s never really talked to. Then, slowly, one arm comes around you. Then the other.

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is quiet, unsure, but there’s something fiercer underneath it.

“It’s okay… I'm here.” The words come out rough, like he's never said them before. Maybe he hasn’t. His grip tightens, and you fist your hand in his shirt, anchoring yourself to this unexpected comfort.

You continue to cry, but it doesn’t hurt as much now. Because it really feels like he is here. He understands. 

All his “It will be fine”s, “I’m here”s, and “Don’t worry”s and pats on your back while he lets you cry and hears you. It helps.

Before all this, even though it sounds strange, you felt alone. So this feels overwhelmingly nice. The warmth of another person, while they soothe your fears.

You don't know how long you stay like this; you shift a few times to be more comfortable, but after some time you just stay like this. In his arms.

You can hear his heartbeat, and it… grounds you somehow. It's slightly quickened, but so is yours.

When you finally pull back, the air between you feels charged. You meet his eyes hesitantly, suddenly aware of how close you are, how this stranger is holding you like he's known you forever. His arms are still around your waist. Your hand is still gripping his shirt.

There's something in his gaze—not just concern, but something deeper, hungrier. Like he's been watching you longer than you realized. Like this isn't just kindness.

You let out a huff of air. “Sorry…” you laugh while removing your hands from his shirt, looking around the dim room. He also pulls his arms back to himself. The cold slips back at the loss of his body heat.

“I don’t know what…” You lose your words when you meet his eyes again. His features look softer in the glow of the night than at daytime. 

The silence between you feels calm but electric at the same time. 

Your gaze wanders over his face and gets stuck at his lips. They're parted slightly. They look so… soft. Your eyes dart back to his.

Meanwhile, Hyun-soo had glanced at your mouth; there's a moment of pure want before his eyes snap back to yours, conflicted.

Then—you don't know what brings you to do it—you lean forward. His breath catches shortly before he leans forward too.

The kiss is hesitant at first—soft, questioning. Like you're both asking permission for something neither of you expected. His lips are as gentle as you imagined, and when you don't pull away, he deepens it slightly, his hand coming up to cup your face.

When you break apart, you're both breathing harder. The reality of what just happened settles between you—two strangers who barely knew each other's names a week ago, now crossing lines that seemed impossible before.

"I..." he starts, but the words die when you lean in again.

This time there's more urgency. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, his chest, mapping the unfamiliar territory of someone who was just a face in the hallway not long ago. His touch is reverent, careful—like he still can't quite believe this is happening.

You push him back and down at his shoulders and move to sit on his lap. When he seems overwhelmed, you smile to yourself. It's cute.

When you straddle a little bit, accidentally grinding against him, he shoots up, gasping and moaning. You pull back, gasping.

“Oh—sorry.” You try to apologize, but he slings his arm around your hip, grinding you down himself. While his other hand is pulling your face down to his, searching for contact with your lips. It's getting more and more obvious you both need this. 

“Don’t apologize.” He smiles into the kiss.

You can feel it. He's hard. It's pressing into your cunt, and you're sure he can also feel how soaked you are.

When you pull back from the kiss, you begin to undress yourselves, discarding your clothes, throwing them to the side. First you take off your shirt, then help him pull his over his head. You take a moment to look at each other. 

Your hands rest on his chest; his are at the sides of your waist again.

The room is quiet. Warm. Intimate. Like just you two exist, nothing else. Not the monsters. Not the others. Just you two. Just staring at each other admiringly. Hyun-soo’s gaze is hot on your bare skin, tracking over every dip and curve with quiet, shy hunger.

“Never thought I'd get to see this.” He whispers, reverent and awed, so low you almost miss it.

You blush under his gaze but don’t look away; you can’t. Not when he's staring at you like this.

“What?” You frown. “A woman naked? Are you a virgin?” You ask, perplexed.

“No, no…” He pauses, breaks eye contact, bites his lip. “You.” 

His eyes meet yours again. Hesitant.

“If I’m being honest, I kinda had a crush on you—even before this whole thing.”

The confession hangs in the air for a moment. You just look into his eyes. Before smiling and answering with a slow, passionate kiss. 

You break the kiss and move down, sliding your hands lower from his chest to stomach and stopping at his pants. You look into his eyes and, with a nod from him, pull them down.

His cock springs free. slaps against his stomach. He’s painfully hard.

You spit into your hand and wrap it around. A dreamy sigh left him, which made you press your legs together automatically. 

This has never felt this intense before. Even though you don't know him at all. Just his face and name. It feels so, so right.

You lower your face and swallow. Then your tongue darts out, licking him from the base to the top, swirling around it. Then you give the head a kiss. You wrap your mouth around it. You waste no time taking him as deep as possible. The tip hits the back of your throat.

A shaky whimper comes from him, which makes your stomach flutter with warmth, and your other hand reaches down into your pants.

One of your fingers collects slick and enters you, stretching you a little. Then another finger. Plunging in and out of you while you suck his cock.

The slight penetration combined with his sound makes you moan; you can even feel yourself clenching around your fingers. The sound sends vibrations through his cock, which you can tell he likes because of the way his stomach muscles tense slightly.He tips his head back, and his hands come to stroke through your hair. You do it again.

Then you release him from your mouth. Fiddling with the zipper of your pants, hurrying to take them off. 

"Are you sure?" he whispers. You climb on top and feel his breath against your neck. You can hear the conflict in his voice—desire mixed with uncertainty, the weight of unspoken feelings he's carried.

Your answer is in the way you pull him closer. Kissing him once again while grabbing his cock and positioning him at your entrance.

What follows is tender and desperate all at once. You sink down, moaning into his mouth while he moans into yours. His shaking hands rake through your hair and slide along your sides as you start moving.

“Fuck…” you breathe hard. The quarantine room that felt like a prison becomes a sanctuary, the outside world forgotten.

There's something raw about it—the way you cling to each other, the way every touch feels like a small act of defiance against the darkness closing in. Neither of you speaks much, but your bodies find their own language. The only thing leaving your vocal cords are short, gaspy moans and whispered curses. 

You move in sync. Like you've done this a thousand times before. He whispers short “I’m here”s and “You don’t have to be afraid, I’ll protect you”s into your ear while he grinds into you, chasing the same high as you.

These sweet reassurances make warmth pool in your lower stomach, and you can feel it almost consuming you.

“Fuck—ah…” you are able to bring out. “I’m close.” His eyes sparkle, like he's proud. With a nod he quickens his pace, not brutally. Longingly. Desperate.

Your hand comes down to rub circles around your clit, bringing you closer. Goosebumps form on your skin; each touch you both share so hot it leaves tingling behind. 

You can feel yourself clenching around him, your muscles tensing on their own before—it snaps.

Release washes over you. The knot unraveling so flawlessly, the world around you becomes white for a second, except for him.

He stays clear, panting, sweating. He's here. The look on his face tells you he is almost there too. 

You, still orgasming, slam down harder on him, making sure he gets to release too. And just moments after yours, his high reaches him.

He pulls out before cumming all over your stomach. After catching your breath, you plop down beside him.

“Wow” is all he says. 

The room feels different now. Smaller, somehow. More intimate.

You're pressed against his side, head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It's still quick, but slowing. His arm is wrapped around you, fingers tracing absent patterns on your shoulder.

Neither of you speaks for a long while. There's no rush to fill the silence—it's comfortable now, warm where before it felt heavy with unspoken fears.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, his voice rougher than usual.

You nod against his chest, not trusting your voice yet. The fear is still faintly there—the infection, the symptoms, what comes next—but it feels manageable now. Distant. Like it belongs to someone else.

His fingers pause in their gentle movement. "I didn't... I mean, I never expected..."

"Neither did I," you whisper.

He shifts slightly, and you feel him press a soft kiss to the top of your head. The gesture is so tender it makes your chest tight.

"The symptoms," he says after a moment, hesitant. "How do you feel?"

You take inventory of your body—the ache in your limbs, the fever that's been coming and going. It's all still there, but somehow it doesn't feel as terrifying as it did an hour ago.

"The same. But different." You lift your head to look at him. "Less alone."

His eyes search your face, and you can see the conflict there—the same fear you're carrying, but also something softer. Something that wasn't there before.

"Whatever happens," he says, his thumb brushing across your cheek, "you won't be alone. I promise."

You believe him. In this small room that's become your world, with this boy who was a stranger but isn't anymore—you believe him.

You settle back against his chest, letting your eyes drift closed. Outside, you can hear the distant sounds of the apartment building—muffled voices, footsteps, the hum of generators. Life continues, despite everything.

"Hyun-soo?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

His arm tightens around you. "For what?"

"For staying. For..." You trail off, not sure how to put it into words.

"You don't have to thank me," he says quietly. "I wanted to stay."

The honesty in his voice makes something warm bloom in your chest. You press closer to him, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

For now, the infection can wait. The fear can wait. The uncertain future can wait.

Right now, there's just this: the warmth of his body against yours, the safety of his arms, and the quiet understanding that whatever comes next, you'll face it together.

You drift toward sleep like that—tangled together in the narrow bed, breathing in sync, holding onto each other and this moment of peace in a world gone mad.

⸻

No idea if anyone will read/like this but i just had to finish this

[arminmy4ss]

I’m actually gonna crash out i can feel my writer’s block returning

I’ll try to push through

[arminmy4ss]

Side effects — Nam-gyu, Squid Game

Summary: You and Nam-gyu take drugs that he got, he swears they’re the good stuff. They are. What you both dont know: They're laced with an aphrodisiac.

Tags: Drug use, High sex, desperate nam-gyu, protected—> unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 3k

A/N: In this they are taking ecstasy/MDMA and yeah i just wanna say, i have never taken any drugs and tried my best at portraying it. Have mercy

⸻

You sit cross-legged on the floor of Nam-gyu’s living room, your back resting against the couch. The low lamp in the corner casts long, uneven shadows across the walls, making the room feel smaller, closer.

“Look what I’ve got.” Nam-gyu steps through the doorway, his voice casual but carrying that edge of excitement you recognize.

You snap your head around—because you already know.

Drugs.

And you’d been looking forward to getting high tonight.

It’s nothing new—you’ve done this plenty, usually with the others too. Thanos, for example. But everyone else bailed, so it’s just you and Nam-gyu tonight. Not a bad thing. Honestly, he’s the reason you come anyway. With him, nights like these always hit different—deep talks, stupid jokes, laughter that carried way too late into the night.

The ‘chill playlist’ hums low in the background, wrapping the room in something warm and easy.

“Trust, this is good shit.” He waves a little bag in front of your face, colorful pills inside it.

“Mhhyeah?” you ask, raising a brow.

“Yeah. Dealer even gave it to me for regular price. We can trust him.” His tone is so matter-of-fact it almost convinces you by itself.

With a quiet “alright,” you shift, making space beside you. He drops down next to you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours.

You watch as he opens the bag, pulling out two pills—one shaped like a heart, the other a skull. Balanced on his palm, they look almost like candy. He holds them out, waiting.

You take the heart. Of course.

“Alright. One… two… three.” He counts. Together, you pop the pills, washing them down with a cup of water.

The bitterness lingers a moment, sharp and chemical, but it’s not nearly as bad as the first time. Back then you’d chewed by mistake and nearly spat it out—until Thanos had clamped a hand over your mouth and Nam-gyu shoved another glass of water at you, both of them laughing at your scrunched-up face.

This time, it’s easier. Clean. Smooth.

Now all that’s left is to wait. Wait for it to kick in.

“You wanna watch something?” Nam-gyu asks, lifting himself up and dropping onto the couch. You do the same, settling in beside him.

“Sure. Why not?”

⸻

At first, nothing feels different. The two of you scroll aimlessly through streaming menus, trading half-hearted suggestions and laughing at dumb movie titles. It’s normal. Familiar.

But somewhere between the opening credits and the second swallow of water, you notice it—the edges of things softening. The glow from the lamp seems warmer, the music in the background weaving itself into the room instead of just playing on top of it.

Your body feels lighter, looser. Like your limbs want to sink into the carpet, into the couch, into the space between you and him.

“You too, huh?” he asks, catching your dilated pupils and the dumb grin tugging at your lips. His pupils are wide too before he looks back at the TV.

Nam-gyu laughs at something on screen, and for some reason it lands harder than it should, his voice curling around you like smoke. When he shifts beside you, his arm brushes yours again, and the tiny spark of contact lingers, spreading outward long after it should’ve faded.

The warmth builds slowly, like a tide creeping higher, until it’s too strong to ignore. Your skin prickles, your shirt suddenly too heavy, clinging where you wish it wouldn’t. Every brush of fabric feels like a spark.

Nam-gyu tugs his sleeves over his hands, laughing softly. “This one feels… smoother, don’t you think?”

You tilt your head, trying to pin down what’s different. He’s right. Usually the rush comes fast and hard, buzzing in your chest, but this—this feels slower. Warmer. Like heat pooling in your stomach and spreading outward in waves. Not just the usual rush, but a heavy warmth that clings to your skin, leaving you flushed and restless.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It’s not hitting as wild. More like… creeping in.”

“Dealer said it was good shit,” he shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Guess he wasn’t lying.”

The two of you share a grin, and for some reason it lingers a beat too long. Neither of you thinks much of it. Just the high settling in. Just the room shrinking a little closer around you. 

Your body feels overheated, like the air is thicker than it should be. You tug at your shirt for a little space, but the fabric sticks to your skin, holding the warmth in. The more you notice it, the harder it is to ignore.

Your body buzzes as if it doesn’t belong entirely to you anymore, every nerve alert and alive. You realize suddenly that he’s closer than before, knees brushing yours where you sit on the couch. The contact is small, almost nothing—yet it lands electric, sparking another wave of warmth through you.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch, useless. The air between you feels fragile, stretched tight, like one more glance, one more touch, might be enough to break it.

And when you finally look at him, his pupils are wide and dark, reflecting back the same restless energy humming under your skin.

The heat is impossible to ignore now. You shift against the couch, tugging at your shirt again as if that’ll help. You reached for the remote and pause the movie. “Fuck, do you also feel so warm?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

Nam-gyu exhales a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Way too warm. I’ve got something cold in the fridge.”

“I’ll get it.” You say, pushing yourself to your feet, the room tilting slightly as you stand. He watches as you pad across the living room, the shadows stretching long around you. You don’t notice the way his gaze lingers—following each step, tracing the easy sway of your body. Your ass looks so tight in these jeans. 

When you are out of the room, he reaches down to his pants, shifting uncomfortably. He knows now. The pills are laced with some kind of aphrodisiac. It was only a matter of time before you would start noticing too, either because of yourself getting horny or because you notice his boner.

By the time you come back, his jaw is tight, his pulse loud in his ears. The buzz in his veins coils low, restless, until sitting still feels impossible.

You noticed how he sits at the edge of the couch now, leaning forward. One arm reaches for the sprite in your hand, the other one leaning on his lap, hiding the side effect of the pill.

You frown shortly before sitting down next to him. Opening your sprite and chugging half of it down in one go.

“Yeah, this is better.” You say, because it was. But not for long. The heat still lingers in your lower stomach, and as you lean back, you notice it. How his arms look more muscular tonight. How his features catch the light of the lamp. How his hair sticks to his forehead.

You shift, crossing your legs. You don’t do it on purpose, but you press your thighs together. And when you close your eyes suddenly there's a flash of him in your head. Groaning while throwing his head back. You gasp, trying to muffle it as best as possible, but he hears.

“Huh?” He sigh-asks, turning around, eyebrows slightly knit together, to see what's wrong. That only makes another image of him on top of you flash through your mind.

“Uh—Nothing.” You say quickly, waving your hands in front of your face. He is too close yet too far away. You can feel the heat of his body reaching to you. Then you think again, notice how he breathes heavily and looks at you like he’s… feeling it too! He is feeling it too. It’s the drug. Must’ve been laced. 

The realization that you and he feel the same and you know hits you both at the same time, eyes wide as you stare at each other. The heat, the restless energy, the sudden rush of attraction—it all clicks into place.

Nam-gyu's gaze rakes over your body, pupils blown wide and dark with desire. You can see the bulge straining against his jeans, and it sends a jolt of lust straight to your core. Your skin feels too tight, too hot, like you might combust from the intensity of it all.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Nam-gyu growls, voice low and rough. 

You can only nod, breath coming in short gasps. Your thighs clench together, seeking friction, and Nam-gyu's eyes track the movement, burning with hunger.

They dart back to yours, and it's clear what you both want. Each other. 

He leans back against the couch; your shoulders brush. 

Then he moves. Crashing his lips down on yours. Your arms find their way around his neck, pulling him closer. His are flashing over every part of you—your waist, your shoulders, your hips, your thighs. Like he’s trying to make sure this is real and not a hallucination caused by the pills.

You shift, slightly pushing him; he gets what you want, pulls you onto his lap, hugging your waist with one arm to pull you closer. The other hand gropes your ass.

Then he breaks the kiss, and his mouth is everywhere—urgent, rough, desperate. Sucking at your neck. He’s kissing like he’s starved. The laced high makes every brush of his lips feel molten, every drag of his hands across your skin unbearable in the best way.

You gasp against his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck… it’s—”

“—too much,” he growls, cutting you off with another bruising kiss. “I know.”

Your bodies crash together in frantic rhythm, clothes tugged, shoved, discarded like they’re burning. His shirt is the first to go, falling forgotten to the floor, then yours follows, leaving you in the heat of bare skin pressed tight. You pull your jeans down too. He groans at the sight of you, voice thick with hunger. Then you're back on his lap.

“God, you’re—” He can’t even finish the thought. His mouth takes your throat instead, biting lightly, sucking until you’re gasping and arching beneath him.

You grind up against his thigh without meaning to, the friction dizzying, and his hands clamp onto your hips like he’ll tear through them. “Fuck, keep doing that,” he hisses, voice ragged, need leaking through every word.

The high sharpens everything—his lips hot and wet, his skin slick with sweat, your nerves lit like live wires. You reach for his belt without breaking the kiss. He moans into your mouth at the touch. Both of you trembling with impatience.

He can feel you struggling to open it and smiles into the kiss before doing it himself. 

“You have condoms?” You ask breathlessly when he breaks the kiss to shove down his jeans. "Yeah, bedroom, nightstand , top drawer."

You rush there and grab them, almost tripping. When you come back, his pants are off, but his boxers are still on. You drink in the sight of him, mouth watering at the expanse of tanned skin and hard muscles.

"Come here," he growls, crooking a finger at you. You do. Kneeling down in front of him. Tossing the condoms aside for now.

Your hands are slowly sliding up his thigh, his muscles tensing under your fingertips, until you reach his crotch. His dick twitches inside his boxers before you even touch it. 

You search his eyes before you palm him through them. 

Nam-gyu lets out a shaky breath. “Fuck…” He bites his lip. His hands come up to his face, wiping some hair from his face. 

You free his cock, and it springs against his stomach, then you take it into your hand. The tip is already crowned with a pearl of pre-cum. Your thumb rubs it across the head. 

Nam-gyu’s head falls back with his arms over his eyes shortly, but he looks back quickly as he feels your tongue make contact with his dick for the first time. 

It swirls around the tip, letting you taste his salty pre-cum, while one hand strokes him and the other rests on his thigh. His hips jerk forward involuntarily, making his dick crash against your lips and teeth. You chuckle at that.

“Sorry,” he laughs quietly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t torture you for any longer.” You say, then take him into your mouth. A choked-up groan escapes his throat.

First your mouth is wrapped only around his tip, continuing to stroke what wasn't inside yet. Then you start bobbing your head up and down, taking him deeper into your mouth each time. 

His hands come to grab your head, tangling in your hair. Again, his hips jerk up into your mouth, now. It hits the back of your throat, and you choke on it. 

“Oh—sor—” He tries to apologize but is cut off by his moan when you slam your head down on his dick.

Your hand comes to his balls, massaging them while continuing to suck him off. Your mouth leaves his dick with a wet pop. You stroke it instead, holding it beside your head and looking up at him.

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty like this.” He murmurs, stroking through your hair. 

You lick his dick from the base to the tip and then suck him again. Moving your head up and down while hollowing your cheeks out. You don't care when you choke on him, which you do every time his tip meets the back of your throat. It only makes your core ache more.

You feel him twitch inside your mouth, and his hands suddenly grab your head. “Fuck—baby—wait—” he stammers and pulls you off his cock. 

“Was about to cum…” he pauses. “But I still wanna fuck you.” 

You grin, standing up and grabbing the condoms, taking one out and struggling to fit it on his dick. He helps you as he sees it, the effects of the pills still present.

When it's on, you go to sit on his lap again, positioning him at your entrance. You both look into each other's eyes, searching for any kind of hesitation, but there was none.

Then—he finally pushes inside you. It’s rough, sudden, and your cry tears through the silence. The stretch is overwhelming, but the pleasure slams through you just as fast, blurring into the drug’s fever until you’re clutching at him, pulling him deeper.

“Shit—” he groans against your neck, voice shaking. “You feel… fuck, you feel insane.”

He catches your mouth in a slow, passionate kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth with ease. You start moving slowly, lifting your hips just enough to keep him still inside you, then sink down again. 

He shifts, and also starts moving himself. When he breaks the kiss, his mouth wanders to your neck, and he presses muffled moans into it.

You gasp into the air at the way he is fucking into you and sucking at your neck.

He sets a fast pace at first, hips snapping hard against yours, both of you chasing the high, the heat, the release. The couch creaks beneath you, your nails scrape his back, and the sound of your breathless moans mixes with his low curses. It’s messy, desperate, animalistic.

But then, between thrusts, something shifts. He slows just enough to look at you—really look. His forehead presses to yours, sweat dripping between you, eyes dark and glassy but focused only on you.

“This isn’t just the shit talking,” he pants, voice low and raw. “It’s you. Fuck—you.”

Your chest tightens even through the haze, and you kiss him like an answer—slower, deeper, almost tender. 

You pull him out of you and reach down. He breaks the kiss and looks where your hands are.

“What are you...” he asks, confused, but his eyes widen knowingly when you pull at the condom. “Are… you sure?” He asks.

“Yes.” You breathe out. “As you said, this isn't just the shit talking.” The condom is now discharged on the ground somewhere, and you position him again, then slam down on him.

The urgency doesn’t vanish; if anything, it’s more present. But still it softens around the edges, the roughness balanced with sudden sweetness. His thrusts grind instead of slam, rolling deeper, pulling moans from your throat that sound more like confessions.

You cling to him like you’ll break without him, and maybe you would. His lips crash back to yours, swallowing your cries as you both spiral higher, the high and the heat merging into something blinding.

As you continue the motion, you start to feel the heat becoming more intense. With every sound he makes, you clench harder around him, and he feels it too.

“Mhhh you close?” He asks breathlessly, but he already knows the answer. 

You nod, pressing your eyes close. He only fastens his pace, also chasing the other kind of high. It's like you were meant to be like this; you understand what the other one wants without even opening your mouth.

It’s like telepathy.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer, the heat overwhelming you.

When release finally rips through you, it’s violent and consuming, your whole body shuddering on top of him. Nam-gyu groans loud and broken, clutching you like he’s falling with you, pulsing deep inside as he loses control.

Everything dissolves for a moment—sweat, smoke, the sound of your racing hearts.

He pulls out, his cum dripping out of you.

When the world steadies, you’re sprawled together on the wreck of the couch, chests heaving, limbs tangled, his forehead still resting against yours. Neither of you speaks at first. Words feel too fragile, too small for what just burned through the room.

Finally, Nam-gyu mutters, voice hoarse but almost soft, “Guess the good stuff works.”

You laugh weakly, still breathless, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “Yeah… but don’t think I’m blaming it all on the pills.”

His smirk returns, but it’s slower this time, touched with something real. He presses a lazy kiss to your lips, like a promise.

“Good,” he whispers. “Because neither am I.”

⸻

Hope you liked it and that i could portray everything right

[arminmy4ss]

Discount — Nam-gyu, Squid Game (pt. 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (you are here)

summary: The month is over again and Nam-gyu comes to collect the last payment (*wink*) of your debt.

Tags: cunnilingus, blow job, rough sex, dubious consent, dominance/submission (dom!nam-gyu, sub!reader), praise/degradation, stalking, bondage, unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 2,6k

A/N: long awaited part 3, y’all have been at my ass since i posted part 2 and honestly this took WAY too long. I’m so sorry. I originally wanted to finish + post this yesterday but i got a REAL bad migraine and I didn’t, honestly kinda glad abt it because I don’t think this would have come out if i would have done it yesterday. I’ve been looking for a way make this not be a copy of the first 2 parts and i hope i did it. 🙏

⸻

1.6 million won and 1 month. 

It was possible, hard but possible. Though, after last time, you didn't even try. Weeks have passed since he came. But the feeling didn't leave.

You’ve felt his eyes on you constantly—in crowds, on empty streets, through your window at night.

But instead of fear, it’s been… intoxicating.

You started wearing certain outfits when you know he’s watching, lingering longer by your bedroom window, moving slower when undressing—for him. 

You used the money you made to pay back the people you borrowed from. It's been a long time since you enjoyed living that much. 

And the reason: him.

The dreams haven't left; instead, they've been fueled with more fantasy from the last time he came. It’s been one month again. Time didn't fly by; instead, it felt like a decade. A decade of masturbating on your bed and your couch, sometimes with a knife close. Every time you used the same knife to smear butter on your toast, it reminded you. Of how desperate you are for him.

Every time you felt him near, it felt like torture. You wished he would just come out and fuck you like the slut you are.

And he did too, but he didn't. Instead, he placed his phone at your window and recorded when you pleasured yourself to the thought of him, while jerking off himself.

He knows how much you need him. And how much he needs you.

On the 30th day he waits in your kitchen, looking at the drawer where your cutlery is stored. 

When he hears the door open and keys being tossed, as well as clothes shuffling, he leans back against a counter. Patiently waiting for you to come into the kitchen-living room area. 

When you do, he can't bite back the smile that plays on his lips.

“Missed me?” You gasp quietly, not out of fear, but surprise.

“You’ve been following me.”

“Following you?” He scoffs. “Mouse, you've been putting on a show.” Then turns to you fully. “Have to admit I enjoyed it.”

You try to hide how the corners of your lips curl up, but it's useless because he already caught you. Smirking himself when he speaks again.

“How much money do you have?”

“200.000.” You look away, but you can feel his grin growing.

“Such a slut.” He chuckles. “You didn't even try to get all of it.” 

You hear his steps echo through the room. Coming closer to you before stopping.

“And what if I didn't, huh?” You whip your head back to him. Finding him closer than you thought, just inches away to your left, leaning against the wall.

“Oh mouse, I know you didn't; it's not an ‘if’.” He shifts, steps in front of you, leans forward. His arms rest at either side of your waist, pulling you against him, while his head is buried at your neck.

“Because you wouldn’t have bought this—” he hooks a finger under the waist string of the red thong that is part of the lingerie set you bought, and pulls on it before letting go, making it slap against your skin “—if you did.” 

The sting makes your core ache. He is right. 

“Nice surprise tho, mouse.” His breath tickles against your skin, voice low and amused like he has all the time in the world.

You swallow, pulse hammering in between your legs. “Maybe I just bought it for myself.”

He laughs—sharp, disbelieving. “For yourself? Don’t lie to me.” His teeth graze the curve of your jaw before he leans back enough to look you in the eye. “You wanted me to see it.”

Your lips part, but no words came out. Because he is right.

“That little window striptease of yours?” He tilts his head, eyes glinting as he studies every twitch of your face. “Mouse, you begged me to come back without even opening your mouth.”

Heat shoots through you at his words, your throat tightening. You want to protest, to deny, but your body betrays you. The smirk tugging at his lips told you he saw it.

“You waited for me.” He drags the words out, savoring them. His fingers toy with the edge of your thong again, softer this time, teasing. “Thirty days. Exactly. Like clockwork.”

You try to roll your eyes, to gather some kind of defiance. “And you like that, don’t you?”

His chuckle is dark, chest vibrating against yours. “Like it?” He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear. “I live for it.” 

The words stick to your skin, hot, dangerous.

You try to laugh it off, but it comes out shaky. “Sounds like you’ve been just as desperate as me.”

“Desperate?” He pulls back only an inch, enough to catch your eyes. His smirk deepens, sharp enough to cut. “No, mouse. You’re the one who spreads your legs for an empty room just because you think I might be watching.”

Your breath hitches. He has you cornered with nothing but the truth.

His hand slides from your waist, fingertips brushing the bare skin of your thigh. He doesn’t rush—and that slow, deliberate pace makes your knees weak.

“You wanna know the real reason I didn’t come sooner?” His mouth ghosts over yours, close enough to make you ache. “Because I like watching you lose control. I like seeing how long you’ll last before you break and whisper my name through the night.”

“I don’t—” The protest dies in your throat when he presses closer, his body pinning yours to the wall with ease.

“You do,” he interrupts smoothly, almost tender, though his eyes burn with the opposite. “You’ve been waiting for this. For me.” His lips brush your cheek, then trail dangerously close to your mouth. “Tell me I’m wrong. Go on.”

You don't. Can't.

And he knows it.

His grin spreads slowly and wolfishly. “That’s what I thought, mouse.” His fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face up until your lips almost meet. “So… ready to pay?”

You don't answer with words, instead just closing the space between you, kissing him hungrily. You feel him smile against your lips as he pulls you with him towards the couch.

When you get there, he pushes you down, not gently but not roughly enough to hurt you. 

He is on top of you now and between your legs, his hands at your side for stability. You hug his waist with your knees, pulling him closer against you. When he breaks the kiss, you whine at the loss of contact.

“Stop rubbing yourself on me.” His hands press into your hip sharply. “Don’t forget who’s in control here.”

“Yes…” you whisper. He looks at you with a threatening look on his face. Waiting for you to notice what you forgot.

“—Sir.” He gives you a look of approval.

“Good Mouse.” He says proudly, the smile returning to his lips again.

“Now… you're not gonna do anything without asking me for permission. Yeah?” 

“Yes, sir.”

With an approving look, he lifts himself up, standing beside you. “So mouse, here’s the deal: that laughable 200,000 is enough, but you'll be my personal fucktoy from now on.” You press your legs together automatically to create some kind of friction. He spreads them again, forcefully. His nails digging into your skin.

“What did I say, mouse?” He says gritting his teeth. You bite your lip, only getting more aroused from this.

“That I…have to ask for permission, for anything…” 

“Right.” He lets go. “Now sit.” 

You obey. 

“Take off your clothes, except the sexy fucking panties.”

You do. slow and sensual. Unhooking your laced bra extra slow, until you were only left in your red lingerie bottoms.

Nam-gyu drinks in the sight of you on the couch, clad only in your sexy red lingerie. His gaze is hungry, predatory, making your skin prickle with anticipation.

"Fuck, look at you," he growls, palming himself through his jeans. "Such a pretty little plaything, all dolled up for me."

He unbuckles his belt, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his aching erection. You lick your lips at the sight, mouth watering with the need to taste him.

"Come here, mouse," Nam-gyu commands, stroking his length lazily. "Put that cocksucking mouth of yours to good use."

You scramble off the couch, dropping to your knees in front of him. His musky scent fills your nostrils, making your head swim with desire. You lean forward, nuzzling your cheek against his rigid shaft.

"Mmm, beg for it," he purrs, tangling a hand in your hair. "Beg me to fuck your pretty face until you choke on my cock."

"Please, sir," you whimper, breath hot against his skin. "Please let me suck your dick. Want to taste you so badly. Want to feel you thick and heavy on my tongue."

He groans at your filthy words, guiding the head of his cock to your lips. "Open up then, slut. And don't forget, if you want to cum, you're gonna have to ask permission first."

You part your lips, letting him slide into the wet heat of your mouth. His flavor bursts across your tongue, salty and intoxicating. You moan around him, hollowing your cheeks as you begin to suck.

"That's it, take it," Nam-gyu grunts, hips thrusting shallowly. "Such a good little cock whore for me."

You bob your head, taking him deeper with each pass. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the stretch, but you don't let up, gagging and slurping noisily.

One hand comes up to fondle his balls, rolling them gently. The other slides between your own legs, fingers dipping into the soaked material of your thong.

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" Nam-gyu snarls, pulling your head off his dick abruptly.

Your hand flies away from your pussy, eyes wide and apologetic. "Sorry, Sir, I just—"

He cuts you off with a sharp slap to your cheek, the sting making you gasp. "I don't care what you 'just' You're not allowed to cum unless I say so."

He yanks you to your feet, spinning you around and bending you over the arm of the couch. 

"Ass up, slut," he demands, kicking your legs apart. "Hands behind your back."

You obey, interlacing your fingers at the small of your back. “Didn’t think I'd have to use this mouse, but you give me no other choice.” 

Nam-gyu pulls a rope from his bag, tying your wrists together. "Fuck, look at this perfect cunt," he groans, running a finger along the arousal that has soaked through your panties. You shudder at the sensation. 

"Did you wear this the whole fucking day?" 

You nod, earning a laugh from him. “You slut. So fucking desperate.”

He takes them off in one motion and ties your ankles to the couch feet, leaving you spread open and exposed. 

Something about being this helpless, this exposed to him, makes you so unbelievably desperate. And as if he could read your mind, he kneels down and takes one lick, dragging his tongue through your folds.

You moan loudly, slightly shivering at the touch. You can feel him smile into your pussy as he pushes his tongue into you. The couch back gives you support; without it you would be uncomfortable, but it was enough leaning on it. 

His tongue continuously digging into your cunt would have erased any discomfort anyway. And his thumb that comes up to rub the nub on your pussy makes your mind go blank, and you whimper into a pillow.

When he is satisfied with how you were drooling out of two holes for him, he stands up. You want to protest first, but then you feel it.

He presses the head of his dick at your entrance, rubbing teasingly through your folds. You push back against him, desperate.

"Please, sir," you whine, trying to push him in yourself. "Please fuck me already! Want you to make me yours. your fucktoy."

“I already did, mouse.” Nam-gyu chuckles darkly, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You'll get what I give you, slut."

With one brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. You cry out at the sudden fullness, clenching down hard around him.

"That's it, squeeze my cock," he praises, setting a punishing pace. "Milk me dry with this greedy little cunt."

Your tits bounce with every thrust, nipples rubbing deliciously against the fabric of your couch. You arch your back, pressing your ass higher to meet his strokes.

"Fu—uck—Mh—" you cry, pushing back against him eagerly. "Harder, sir, fuck me harder—" cut off by another gasp.

He answers with a feral growl, hammering into you with ruthless precision. The wet sounds of your arousal fill the room, punctuated by the slap of skin on skin.

“I finally won’t have to watch back the video i took of you where you finger-fuck yourself to the thought of me to jerk off, i will just come and fuck you, mouse.” Your eyes go wide and you clench around him.

“Yeah you heard right mouse, i recorded it.”

"I—I'm gonna cum," you gasp out, feeling the pressure building low in your belly. "Please, sir, can I cum? Need to cum on your cock!"

Nam-gyu leans over you, teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your shoulder. "Do it then; cum for me like a good little whore."

His command sends you hurtling over the edge, orgasm crashing through you in relentless waves. You scream his name, convulsing around his pistoning length as he continues to pound into your spasming pussy.

"That's it, fucking milk me," he snarls, hips stuttering against your ass. "Gonna fill this pussy up and make you mine."

He didn't stop thrusting, but his pace became messed up. He hugs your waist, fucking into you like a dog in heat while groping your breasts from behind. Then he lifts himself, grabbing your tied hands, pulling you back against him.

His one hand slaps against your ass a few more times before—with a final brutal thrust—Nam-gyu stills inside you, pulsing as he spills his release deep within your fluttering walls. You feel him coat your insides with his cum, claiming you as his once more.

He collapses against your back, both of you panting harshly as aftershocks shudder through you. Nam-gyu presses kisses along your neck and shoulder blades, soothing touches that contrast with the sharp sting of his teeth moments ago.

"I missed this," he murmurs against your skin, hands rubbing slow circles on your hips. "Missed watching you fall apart on my cock. Fucking addicting."

When he pulls out of you with a groan, you feel empty again. You feel his cum dripping out of you, sliding down your leg, and you can tell from the low chuckle he let out that he enjoys the sight. 

Nam-gyu takes his time unwinding the ropes from your limbs, massaging the blood back into your joints with his strong fingers. 

You go into your bedroom and get the money while he is wiping his cock clean of your and his fluids with a tissue. When you come back, he is fully dressed again.

“So mouse, now, you're free of your debt, but don't think you will be free of me.” He whispers against your ear. “I will come whenever I want to fuck you, and you will take it like the good little slut that you are.” 

“Yes, sir.” You say while you are still completely naked.

“Good Mouse.” He pats you on the head before he disappears once again.

⸻

Hope you liked this. If you want to request anything, please do.

+ have another Nam-gyu smut in my drafts hehe you can check the premise on my masterlist, will probably post it on Fridayyy or earlier, whenever i finish it

[arminmy4ss]

.⊹˖ᯓ★. ݁₊ Masterlist ₊ ݁.★ᯓ ˖⊹.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓☽˖ ݁𖥔. Welcome to my all of my Works, i mainly write smut, requests too (here is information if you would like to make one or more), but also fluff. I am new and still trying to improve and stay consistent. Hope you enjoy! (This is my attempt at being aesthetic)

Last updated: Thursday, September 4th, 2025

Alice In Borderland

Ryōhei Arisu

Wet Dreams: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

☼ Summary: Arisu and you met during a game, traveled together, as friends. But now that you two live at the beach, something different than the want to survive comes into the picture…

⟡ Total Word Count: 4,9k

☾ Type: smut

Wired Confession

☼ Summary: You and Arisu share wired headphones and realise how much you like eachother.

⟡ Word Count: 1k

☾ Type: fluff

Attack On Titan

Armin Arlert

Tactical Error (potential multi-part; being written…)

☼ Summary: You and Armin are both strategists and put together in one team to design plans. You hate eachother and are send on a date together to work this tension out. Works a little to well.

⟡ Word Count: ??

☾ Type: smut, fluff

Death Note

L

No title(being written…)

☼ Summary: You are a criminal and L is chasing you. Or is he really?

⟡ Word Count:

☾ Type: smut

One piece

Roronoa Zoro

No Vacancy (coming soon…)

☼ Summary: When the inn you're staying at on an island runs out of rooms, you and zoro are forced by the others to share one room—and one bed. You both don’t like each other and the others think you might work things out and get along better. He comes into the room very drunk and… well.

⟡ Word Count: ??

☾ Type: smut

Dockside drama (idk abt the title tho, being written…)

☼ Summary: A flirtatious local takes a little too much interest in you, and Zoro’s irritation is impossible to miss.

⟡ Word Count: ??

☾ Type: ??(probably smut)

Vinsmoke Sanji

Crowded Quarters (also dk abt this title, being written…)

☼ Summary: You go shopping with Sanji at a crowded market. The crowded streets mean walking pressed close together, holding hands to not get separated. They linger longer than they need to.

⟡ Word Count: ??

☾ Type: ??(probably fluff)

Squid game

Nam-gyu

Dirty Little Secret

☼ Summary: After the six legged pentathlon, at night, you have to go pee. Nam-gyu also goes. You don’t like him—or pretend to. Semi, your only friend, hates him after all. At the toilet well you and nam-gyu fuck and its clear: se-min can not know any of this.

⟡ Word Count: 1,7k

☾ Type: smut

Discount: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

☼ Summary: You owe Deok-su a debt. Nam-gyu is assigned to “collect” it. You don’t have the money, but instead of hurting you, he tells you he is willing to give you a discount if you earn it.

⟡ Total Word Count: 7,8k

☾ Type: smut

“Missed Me?”

☼ Summary: Your Ex Bf got released from prison earlier than expected.

⟡ Word Count: 4,1k

☾ Type: smut

Side Effects

☼ Summary: You and Nam-gyu take drugs that he got, he swears they’re the good stuff. They are. What you both dont know: They're laced with an aphrodisiac.

⟡ Word Count: 3k

☾ Type: smut

Sweet Home

Cha Hyun-soo

Stay with me

☼ Summary: You have symptoms and have to go in quarantine, you’re alone in there with Hyun-soo. You start crying because youre scared and he comforts you. (!takes place during season 1, spoiler free!)

⟡ Word Count: 2,3k

☾ Type: kinda fluff, smut

Weak Hero Class

Yeon Si-eun

Extra Credit

☼ Summary: You and Si-eun became (academic) rivals. At a party he confronts you. Maybe you don’t hate each other that much.

⟡ Word Count: 3,7k

☾ Type: smut

[arminmy4ss]

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Do not promote yourself or other people on here except if asked for.

I am way too lazy to hunt you down and block you if you are not 18+ or don’t have an age stated in your bio. I am not responsible for what you do.

Requests

Open? Yes.

If you request something i suggests giving more than just one sentence. Maybe a beginning or how the story should develope. If its not included in the request i will do it myself, so it might not fit your expectations.

If smut, I also suggests giving some tags what should be in it. For example: choking or degradation, etc., …

I write for 18+ characters. If the characters are close to 18 i will age them up. I do not support child ponorgraphy in any way!

I do not write incest or rape/non-con.

Lastly please be patient with me. I will give myself an approximate time limit of 2 weeks, but I do not promise to get it done within that time frame.

My fandoms:

Anime:

One Piece

Attack On Titan

Haikyuu!

Jujutsu Kaisen

Death note

Chainsaw man

Hunter x Hunter

K-drama:

Squid Game

Weak Hero Class

Many roles of Roh Jae-won (Kim Seo-wan — Daily Dose Of Sunshine; Nam-gyu — Squid Game; Ha Sang-min — A Killer Paradox; and more because I‘m watching everything rn)

Sweet Home

Other:

Alice In Borderland

Mixte 1963 / Voltaire High

Arcane

[arminmy4ss]

Wired Confession — Ryōhei Arisu, Alice In Borderland

Request from @mie-isnthere (i hope i tagged right)

summary: You and Arisu share wired headphones and realise how much you like each other.

Word count: 1k

A/N: this is pure fluff. ive been in SUCH. a bad bad writing slump again. But i got out finally. So sorry this took so long.

⸻

The Borderlands aren't exactly known for quiet moments. But somehow, between the games, the adrenaline, and the constant lurking shadow of danger, you and Arisu manage to find one.

You're both sitting on the rooftop of your current hideout, backs pressed against a wall, the faint chirp of birds filling the silence. Arisu's legs are stretched out in front of him, and he's fiddling with the ancient MP3 player he found in an abandoned shop earlier today. The screen is scratched, the case slightly cracked. You wouldn't have bothered with it, but Arisu took it, insisting he could somehow get it to work.

"It's not going to magically work, Arisu." You sigh, head leaned back, eyes closed. You don't have anything against him trying, but it's been thirty minutes and the clicking sounds are slowly starting to irritate you.

"Just let me—" A sharp gasp cuts through the air.

You whip your head toward him, eyes wide with concern, expecting to find him hurt. But he isn't hurt—he's grinning at the MP3 player in his hands.

He turns it toward you. The screen is glowing.

"Oh my God!" A wide smile spreads across your face as you nudge his arm softly, turning your body toward him.

"Told you," he says with a smug expression, but it slowly shifts to dumbfounded realization. "I... don't have any headphones..."

You wait a beat, enjoying the look on his face before feeling too bad for him, pulling a pair of wired headphones from your pocket.

"No way!" he exclaims happily.

"I took them just in case you actually repaired that thing. Guess it was a good idea." You say this proudly, unpacking them and handing them over. His hands shake slightly from excitement as he plugs them in.

"It's been so long since I heard music," you say, clasping your hands in your lap.

You let Arisu choose a song from whatever was uploaded on the device. He hands you one of the earbuds.

The cord dangles between you now, the Y-split leading one earbud into his ear and the other into yours. You feel the faint tug whenever he shifts, hear the soft hiss of static before—a note plays.

It's almost too much.

You glance at him. He's staring straight ahead, expression soft. There's no trace of the usual exhaustion after a game, no glassy look in his eyes. Just him. Calm. Listening.

"Wow," he says softly.

"What's this one called again?" you murmur.

He blinks, like you pulled him back from somewhere far away. "Oh—uh... it's from a game soundtrack. Shadow Memories, I think. I used to play it all the time."

There's that smile—small, barely there, but warm. You love when he smiles like that. Not the polite kind. Not the relieved 'I survived' kind. Just the quiet, honest one that slips out when he talks about something he loves.

"It's nice," you say, leaning your head back against the wall.

For the next two songs, you both just listen.

He glances at you, and your knees almost pull in on instinct. His gaze is gentle, but it makes your chest feel uncomfortably full.

"You've been quiet," Arisu says after a moment.

"Just listening."

"To the music?"

"...Maybe."

His head tilts. "Or to me?"

That shouldn't make your heart stutter the way it does. "Don't flatter yourself," you mutter, but the heat rising in your cheeks betrays you.

The corners of his mouth lift. "I'm not. I'm just wondering if you're okay."

You want to look away, but something in his tone keeps you still. You could say you're fine. You could wave it off like you always do. But instead—

"I'm better right now."

His eyebrows lift slightly. "Because of the music?"

"Yes, but also because of the company."

He freezes for just a beat, then lets out a quiet laugh—like an exhale of disbelief.

The quiet settles again between you, just the music filling it. But when the next song fades out, you say it.

"I'm glad it's you."

He turns to you, looking surprised, his cheeks tinted faintly pink.

"You can't just say stuff like that," he murmurs.

"Why not?"

"Because..." His voice trails off. His gaze drops to the cord between you, fingers fidgeting with the rubber coating like it's holding the words he's searching for. "...because I like hearing it too much."

Your throat goes dry.

The music keeps playing—slow, melodic guitar—but you're not hearing it anymore.

"I mean—" He runs a hand through his hair, looking mortified and determined at the same time. "I like... this. Us. You. I didn't mean to—uh—"

"Arisu," you say softly.

His eyes snap to yours.

"You don't have to take it back."

Something unspoken passes between you. Neither of you moves for several seconds, as if the air has thickened, holding you in place. Then—slowly, hesitantly—he pulls the earbud from his left ear. You do the same, the cord falling slack between you.

It's almost funny how removing that tiny tether suddenly makes everything else louder. His breathing. Your breathing. The faint brush of your knees.

You don't overthink it this time. You lean in, just enough for your noses to brush. He freezes for a heartbeat, then closes the gap.

The kiss is gentle, almost tentative. No rush, no desperation. Just the warm press of his lips against yours, like you're both afraid to break the moment.

When you pull back, his breath is warm on your skin.

"I like you too," you murmur.

His smile is small, but it lights him up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He leans back against the wall, but his shoulder stays pressed to yours. You shift slightly and rest your head on it. After a beat, he holds out the earbud again.

"Wanna finish the playlist?"

You smile, slipping it back into your ear. The music starts again—something upbeat this time—but it doesn't matter. The song could be static and you'd still stay here.

Because it's not the music you want to listen to.

It's him.

And now you know—he wants to listen to you too.

⸻

If anyone has a better name please tell me.

[arminmy4ss]

I LOVEEEEEEE DISCOUNT SM, u write him so damn good 😏😛😛😛😛😛 can i request nam-gyu [can be ex or kind of a bf] as ex-convict coming home to fem!reader earlier than expected and it becomes spicy later ofc ❤️‍🔥 somethng like that!

“Missed Me?” — Nam-gyu, Squid Game

First up thank you so much, Anon! I tried to orient on how i wrote him in discount, just a little bit more flavour of bf. Idk. You can tell me how you like it anonymously, if you'd like. You can be honest and point out anything you don’t like! I will edit it. And i am super sorry this took a bit longer. Don’t have an excuse for that just been kinda in a writers slump but i think this one brought me out of it.

Summary: You’re ex bf gets released from prison earlier than expected.

Tags: exes to lovers, dom!nam-gyu, sub!reader, chocking, degration, (little bit of) praise, orgasm denial, blowjob, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: 4,1k (i feel like with every fic these get longer)

⸻

You first met him when you were out with friends.

Nam-Gyu.

The kind of person you noticed without meaning to—leaning against the bar in a black button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to show the tattoo on his forearm. He was the club promoter for a new spot called Pentagon. The club itself was fine—decent music, good lighting—but the best thing there was always him.

That first night, he caught your eye and didn’t look away. He came over, leaning in so you could hear him over the music.

“You look like you don’t belong here,” he said with a grin, as if it were a compliment.

You laughed. “And you do?”

“I run this place,” he replied, sliding a drink across to you like it was a dare. “Try this. If you hate it, I’ll buy you something else.”

The second time you went, there wasn’t as much talking. There didn’t need to be. You were pressed up against the hallway wall in your apartment twenty minutes after leaving the club, his mouth on yours, his hands on your bare skin, him inside you like he’d been waiting all week. Which he probably was.

The sex was so good. Addictive.

And it didn’t stop there.

You started showing up more often. He noticed. He always noticed. Every time, there’d be some sly remark.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

“Careful, people are going to think you’re my girl.”

Nights always ended with him fucking the shit out of you in your bed. He was phenomenal.

But then—after 2 months or so—you started meeting outside the club.

Not quite dates—not yet—but not nothing, either.

There was the night he pulled up outside your building in a beat-up silver car, the passenger seat shoved so far back it almost touched the rear seats. It smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and cologne. You drove aimlessly through the city at two in the morning, neon signs smearing into blurs through the rain-streaked windshield. You split convenience store kimbap in the front seat, plastic wrappers crinkling between you. Every so often, he’d glance over between bites, that lazy, knowing half-smile on his face like he was in on some joke you weren’t.

Another time, you sat together by the Han River, your hands wrapped around paper coffee cups that steamed into the cold night air. His jacket hung heavy over your shoulders, carrying his scent���warm, sharp, familiar. He told you outrageous stories, his voice dipping low and then breaking into laughter, and you could never tell if he was pulling them out of thin air just to make you smile.

Some nights felt almost domestic. The two of you on his couch, a dumb late-night variety show flickering across the TV. His head would tip back against the cushion, your legs sprawled across his lap, his hand idly tracing circles on your shin. He’d make smart remarks about the show like he could rewrite the script himself. When you tried to get up, he’d hook his fingers around your ankle and say, “Stay. The show’s almost over.” And you always did.

Your friends didn’t like him—he looks dangerous, they’d say. But they hadn’t seen the sides of him you had. The quiet one. The soft, almost-sweet moments he didn’t show anyone else.

Eventually, the questions started. “Are you two together now, or what?” They’d ask it more and more, their eyes searching your face for a reaction. You’d shrug and change the subject.

He’d told you at the start that he didn’t ‘do girlfriends’. But it didn’t feel like that was true anymore. He practically lived at your apartment. You went out together—dinners, movies, late-night drives—and there were moments, unplanned, when "I love you" slipped out like breathing.

You remember the day he asked you—really asked you.

It wasn’t some grand, orchestrated thing. No candlelit dinner, no perfect sunset. Just an ordinary evening, the kind you didn’t realize was important until much later.

You were both in your apartment. It was raining outside—the steady, soft kind of rain that made the city glow under streetlamps. You’d ordered fried chicken and tteokbokki, the containers spread out on the coffee table between you. A variety show played in the background, half-forgotten.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, hair damp from the rain, wearing that faded hoodie you’d stolen once and he never asked for back. He was picking at the chicken with one hand, holding a beer in the other.

“You know,” he said suddenly, eyes still on the TV, “you’re basically my girlfriend.”

You looked at him, unsure if he was joking. “Basically?” you teased, taking a sip of your drink.

That lazy smirk appeared. He set the beer down, finally meeting your eyes.

“No… I mean, you are. If you want to be.”

Something about the way he said it—casual, but certain—made your heart stutter. You tried to play it cool, leaning back on your hands. “You said you don’t do girlfriends.”

He shrugged, reaching for another piece of chicken. “Guess I lied.”

You laughed, but there was a heat in your chest you couldn’t ignore. “Fine,” you said, pretending to think it over. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”

He didn’t say anything right away—just reached over, hooked a finger in the hem of your shirt, and pulled you forward to kiss you. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that made your knees weak or felt like fireworks. It was better—slow, steady, the kind that said, "This is mine now."

Later that night, lying in bed with his arm draped over your waist, you stared at the ceiling and realized you were smiling. You’d dream about that moment a thousand times after—the rain, the taste of fried chicken, the weight of his hand on you.

You remember the first time he showed up at your door drenched in blood.

It wasn’t his blood—at least, you don’t think it was. He was panting, chest rising and falling like he’d just run blocks, his knuckles raw and split open. His hoodie was darkened in patches, the fabric clinging wet to his skin. There was a wildness in his eyes, sharp and unsteady, like he was still halfway in whatever had just happened.

That was the first time you understood, fully and without denial: this man was dangerous.

And yet… something about it didn’t make you turn away. If anything, it pulled you closer, like watching a fire you knew could burn you but couldn’t stop staring at.

It wasn’t the last time, either. Nights like that happened again and again. He’d show up with bruised ribs, split lips, and blood on his hands—and never an explanation you could believe. That’s when the fights started.

You’d ask him, again and again, “What are you doing out there?”

And he’d shut you out.

Sometimes it was two hours of tense silence, the air in your apartment so heavy it felt like it could shatter. Other times, it ended with him pinning you to the bed, his anger burning into something else entirely—the kind of sex that left you breathless, shaken, and more addicted than you wanted to admit.

He started changing, refused to tell you why. But you figured it was drugs.

Then one day, he stopped coming altogether. No calls, no warnings, no fights. You told yourself he’d finally had enough—or maybe you had. But when you found out he’d been arrested, everything twisted in your chest.

You visited him. Six, maybe seven times. Sitting across from him in those gray plastic chairs, the glass between you is cold under your fingertips. At first, he’d smirk and act like it was nothing, like you’d just caught him in the middle of a long day. But as the visits went on, the conversations got shorter. You stopped writing letters. Then one day, you didn’t go at all.

That was maybe 1 year ago. He got a 2-year sentence, so you still have a little bit of quiet—or so you thought.

You are in your kitchen, cooking ramen. Something simple. Work had been really exhausting. That's when you heard the door lock turn.

You freeze. What the fuck was that?

You don’t move.

The ramen is burning in the pan, steam curling up into your face, but your hands stay frozen on the counter.

Another sound—the metallic click of the deadbolt turning all the way.

Your first stupid thought is that you forgot to lock it.

The second, sharper one: no one else has that key.

You take the turner you used to turn the ramen and hold it as a weapon, hiding against the kitchen doorframe.

It opens slowly—deliberate, like whoever’s on the other side knows you’re there.

You jump to reveal yourself, clutching onto the turner for dear life.

And then you see him.

Nam-Gyu.

Hair a little longer than you remember, curling damp at the ends like he’s been caught in the rain. A plain black t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, dark jeans, and a faint smear of something—grease?—on his jaw. He’s thinner than before, but not by much. The same sharp cheekbones. The same eyes that could cut glass.

He leans against the doorframe like it’s a casual thing, like it’s just another late night after the club.

“Hey,” he says, like no time’s passed at all.

Your pulse is so loud you almost miss the way he’s looking at you—not with that lazy, teasing smirk you remember, but with something heavier.

“I—” Your voice catches. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say. “You’re not—you’re supposed to—”

“Got out early.” His tone is flat, like he’s daring you to ask how.

You do not ask.

“I missed you,” he says suddenly.

You lower the turner so he won’t see the way your hands are shaking.

“You can’t just—” you start, but you don’t finish, because he steps forward, closing the distance.

The smell hits you first—cigarettes, faint detergent, and the rain from outside still clinging to his shirt. Too familiar. Too much.

“Your hair’s longer,” he says, eyes scanning you in a way that makes your skin feel too tight. Itchy. “I like it.”

You should tell him to leave. You should ask why he’s here, how he even—

Instead, you just stand there.

“Still cooking the cheap stuff,” he murmurs, glancing toward the stove, turning it off. “Guess some things don’t change.”

When he looks back at you, there’s that almost-smile—not quite lazy this time, but dangerous in a different way. The way you're shaking is now painfully obvious.

“Aww, that's not quite the welcome I hoped I'd get.” He says pitifully. He takes a step towards you. You step back, your back hitting the wall.

“I figured you’d be surprised, but darling…” He comes even closer. So close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. He can just reach out and touch you. He does.

One of his hands rests on the wall beside you, the other tucks a few stray pieces behind your ear, and he leans to your ear.

“Oh baby, I've missed you so much.” Then kisses it.

He pulls back enough to study your face. The hand that was just in your hair is now on your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Why did you stop coming, mh?” He asks, squeezing your waist just enough that it hurts and shows that he's angry.

“Life got busy.” You try to sound confident, but it's hard with the way he's so close to you. The smell of him brings your mind back to how he fucked you so good countless times.

His fingers flex against your waist, the pressure sharp enough to make you wince.

“Life got busy,” he repeats slowly, like he’s tasting the words and deciding whether to spit them out or swallow them whole. “Bullshit.”

Your throat feels tight. “It’s the truth.”

He studies you for a long moment, his gaze locked on yours—the kind that pins you in place. You can feel your pulse hammering in your wrists, in your ribs, everywhere.

“I sat in that fucking place,” he says, voice low but edged, “and every time the guard said I had a visitor, I hoped it was you. For the first few months, it was. Then…” His jaw works, the muscle ticking. “Nothing. Not even a letter. Not even a note.”

“I—” You falter, the excuse catching somewhere between your chest and your mouth. “I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t?” His grip tightens, dragging you a fraction closer until his chest brushes yours. “Or you didn't want to?”

The air feels heavier now, the smell of rain and cigarettes thick between you. The wall is cold against your back, but every inch of him pressed against you is heat—unsettling, familiar heat.

His thumb drags along the curve of your hip, slow, almost tender, and it makes you shiver. He notices. Of course he notices.

“You think I didn’t count the days?” He murmurs, his voice so close to your ear it makes your skin prickle. “Every one without you felt like a fucking year.”

Your heart is thundering. Part of you wants to shove him away. Another part—the reckless, traitorous part—remembers exactly how good it felt when you didn’t.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper.

“Maybe not.” He smirks faintly, but there’s no real humor in it. “But I am.”

And then his mouth is on yours—not slow, not steady. Hungry. Possessive. Like he’s trying to make up for every second he lost.

You don’t know if you kiss him back because you want to or out of habit.

His tongue slides against yours, rough and demanding, and your body responds before your mind can catch up—hands fisting in his damp shirt, arching into him with a muffled sound.

His grip shifts, one hand tangling in your hair, tilting your head back for a deeper angle while the other slides down to grip your ass, hauling you flush against him.

You can feel his cock already hard against your hip, the heat of him searing through his jeans.

His teeth catch your lower lip, sharp enough to make you gasp, and he uses it to his advantage—deepening the kiss until your lungs burn.

When he pulls back, his breath is ragged.

"Oh fuck, I've missed this," he growls, fingers working the button of your pants.

"Missed the way you taste." He kisses you again. Not less desperate.

When he finally undoes the zipper of your pants, a hand slips inside, his rough fingertips dragging along your hipbone, then down to the pool of arousal that seeped into your panties—then into your panties, running two fingers through your slick folds, collecting your arousal. You moan into his mouth as his fingers faintly brush the nub.

He breaks the kiss and exhales hard against your lips, almost a laugh. "Missed how fucking wet you get for me." He pulls his hand out again, spreading the two fingers coated with your fluids.

“Seems you did miss me.” He says, pushing his fingers into your mouth. Then placing his lips on yours again. “Or at least your body did.” He smiles against the kiss.

“Don’t worry, baby. My body’s missed you too.” He says, pressing his stiff and throbbing dick harder against you.

“Can you feel how much more I've missed you, baby?” He asked, burying his head in the crook of your neck. Kissing it once.

“All those times I thought about you bouncing on my cock. But you weren't there…” He lets out a huff of air.

“You’re going to have to make up for it, babe.” He pulls back to see your reaction. While he smiles at you, your eyes are wide. Your expression was slightly panicked but tinted with a hint of needy desperation that only turned him on more. He knew how you looked when you were already imagining him inside of you.

Your legs start to press together unconsciously, trying to create any kind of friction.

“No no, you're not allowed to do that, darling. First…” He says placing both of his hands on either side of your shoulder and pushing you down. You don't protest kneeling down in front of him. Your eyes meet when you look up again.

“Don’t look at me like you’re so innocent. C’mon, get to it.”

You don’t hesitate, undo his belt and his zipper, and pull both his boxers and pants down in one swift motion.

His cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. Tip red. A pearl of precum crowning it.

Nam-gyu grabs his dick with one hand and with the other the back of your head, pulling you closer, and smears the liquid across your face. Slaps his dick at your cheek. Then laughs.

“You know how pathetic you look? Just like a whore.” The little huff he lets out almost gives you butterflies.

“A desperate little slut.” Then he removes both his hands and signals you to get started. You do.

His cock twitches against your lips, hot and heavy, the salt of precum still smeared across your cheek. You lick a slow stripe up the underside, savoring the way his breath hitches and how his fingers—that had found your head again—flex against your scalp, not pulling yet, but ready.

"Fuck," he grits out, hips jerking forward when you take just the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue.

"That's it, baby. Just like that." You hollow your cheeks, sinking deeper until his tip hits the back of your throat. His groan is ragged.

"Shit, forgot—" His grip tightens, guiding your pace, his thighs tensing. "Forgot how good you are at this." A low whine escapes you as he rocks into your mouth, slow at first, then harder, the drag of his shaft rough against your tongue.

He watches with dark eyes, jaw clenched, his other hand fisting in your hair to tilt your head just right.

"Open," he commands, thumb pressing your lower lip down so he can see where he’s fucking in.

"Yeah. Look at you—taking it so fucking pretty." Your fingers dig into his thighs, nails biting skin, and he chuckles—cruel and fond.

"Missed my slut’s mouth," he rasps, thrusting deeper, making you choke. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. He pulls out with a wet pop, cock glistening, and taps it against your lips.

"Tell me," he demands.

Your voice is wrecked already. "Missed you too." His grin is sharp. "Good. Now get me all the way there."

He shoves himself all the way in.

You choke first—your eyes rolling back—then suck hard as you work your hand around the base, twisting on the upstroke just the way he likes.

His hips stutter forward, control slipping as his fingers tighten in your hair.

"Fuck—just like that, baby. Keep those pretty lips tight." The smell of him floods your senses, thick and primal. You can feel the way his cock throbs against your tongue, veins straining as he gets closer.

His breath comes in rough bursts, thighs tense under your grip.

"Gonna cum down your throat," he growls, voice strained.

"Unless you want it on your face like the messy little slut you are." You moan around him in answer, taking him deeper until your nose presses into his skin.

His groan is guttural, one hand shoving your head down as he pulses hot and thick into your mouth.

You swallow greedily, throat working around him until he finally pulls back with a shudder. He tilts your chin up, thumb wiping the stray drop from your lips. His smirk is all satisfaction.

"You look so pretty." A pause. "My cum painting your face" His hands tighten on your shoulders, turning you roughly toward the bedroom.

"On your knees. Facing the headboard." His voice drops. "And don't pretend you don't know what's next."

You get up, legs almost giving up because of how aroused you are, and make your way towards the bedroom. Do as he says.

Nam-gyu follows close behind you, watching your ass. It reveals your pussy when you bend forward, your head towards the headboard.

He hummed approvingly, taking you in. Then he climbed on the bed too, his hands groping your ass.

“Fuck.” Is all he says before he inserts one finger into you. You gasp loudly, arching your back.

That reaction satisfies him, a low chuckle escaping his throat. Then adds a finger.

“Fuck—ahh—Nam-gyu,” you whine.

His fingers curl inside of you, making you shiver. Turn. Twist. Pushing back so he is deeper inside you.

“Please—Slow—“ your cut off by a slap to your ass.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do after you left me in that shit hole” he grunts, adjusting the pace to be even faster.

His thumb starts rubbing your clit, bringing you even closer. “Fuck—I’m—you’re re—Nam-gyu,” but then he stops.

You whine and look back at him.

“You don’t deserve to cum yet, you slut. Get up.” You obey. He takes your spot, sitting down, leaning against the headboard. His dick is hard again.

“I want you to do all the work. As an apology. If you do good, I’ll happily give you that orgasm.” That sends waves to your core. And you get on top of him.

“Good girl.” He says proudly.

You sit on his lap, your legs at either side of his waist. His cock lies underneath your pussy. Pressing painfully against it.

You slide forward, then back, then forth again before lifting yourself just enough that you could guide his tip to your entrance.

You lock eyes with him. He seems amused by how needy you are for him.

Then—in one—you slam down on him.

He seems surprised, guessing by how his muscles flex. How his brows raise and his mouth opens—a strained moan coming from them. How His hands grab your hip automatically.

He throws his head back slightly, but keeps eye contact with you.

“Ahh, fuck, baby. You don’t know how much I missed this. How much I needed this.”

You are breathing, adjusting to the sudden penetration. You moved your hand to your stomach, feeling the bulge he is creating with his cock.

Then slowly, you start moving. Too weak to lift yourself up and instead just shoving yourself back and forth, simultaneously also gaining friction on the nub.

“Don’t you fucking cum until I allow you to, yeah?” He asked breathlessly. —the squeezing of your pussy is too much for him.

You're moving faster now, lifting yourself now. The sound of skin hitting skin and moans filled the room.

You start moving even faster then—stopping moving in circles on his lap. Repeated the process again. And again.

Every time you stop, it feels like you're truly one. Connected not only physically. Almost like it did before you started fighting.

He shifts, and you get the message: position change.

He is now behind you pounding into you. Taking control this time.

“All those times you didn't come to visit me.” He grunts, slapping your ass.

He leans forward, whispering against your ear.

"You're gonna pay, you fucking slut." Nam-gyu grabs your throat, pulling it up, slightly choking you. On purpose.

Your back hits his chest while you arch from how hard he fucks you.

His other arm hugs your waist, pressing against the spot in your stomach where you could feel and see his tip.

“Nam-gyu…” you mumble breathlessly. Distracted by how he's filling you up so good and how your stomach feels warmer and tighter by every second.

"Yeah, slut? Can’t hear you when you're so quiet.”

“‘Mm—m’ close.”

“Oh honey, I know.” He laughs.

“You think I can’t feel you clenching around me?” He took a deep breath before pulling you off his cock briefly. Then pushing you down. You turned to lie on your back. Spread your legs again for him.

“You’re so obedient.” He then pushes inside you again, moaning lowly. You let out a gasp-moan.

“Or just extremely desperate.” He smiles.

He started pounding into you once more, though you could feel his pace getting sloppier too. Feel him twitch inside of you. He is also close.

“Don’t worry. You're allowed to cum; you did good.” You don't hesitate moving your hand to your clit, rubbing. But you were so close before that it's enough to send you to heaven. The knot that had been building in your stomach finally snapped.

Nam-gyu wraps one of his hands around your throat again, his other resting on the headboard behind you. That only intensifies the way your body pulses beneath him. His touch feels hot, as if it's burning you. But the pain isn't bad; it feels good. Elevating your orgasm.

“Fuck—Baby—” He exclaims before slamming one last time into you, shooting his hot cum into you.

He thrusts two more times before plopping down next to you, pulling his dick out of you in the process. Covered in sweat and having trouble breathing.

The quiet settles between you as you remember how to breathe again. Nam-gyu pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around you.

“Can't wait for morning sex.” He smiled, pressing a kiss on your head.

The ramen you had made is long forgotten.

⸻

Again, Anon, thank you so much for the request and compliments! Oh, and since you mentioned it, I am planning on making a part 3 of Discount (somebody asked and i wanted to reply but i couldn’t find their comment anymore), but i can really not tell you when i will write it—or even if. I kinda felt like i was kind of copying myself in the second part but idkk. If i know how i want it, i will definitely be writing part 3. Y’all can definitely suggest how i could do it. Anyways i hope you had fun with this!

[arminmy4ss]

Ahh so happy!! Love the shows u listed :D Could you possibly do 2000s dressed fem reader x si-eun just like a enemies to lover sorta thing ( so taken back from the super low rise jeans and tight sweaters , smut ) and/or fem reader x arisu where the reader is sharing wired headphones with him, and they realize really how much they like each other! [literally so sorry if that’s too much] Hope you have a fantastic week!! <33 Please and thank you ☺️

P.S UR WORK IS SOO AWESOME

Extra Credit — Yeon Si-eun, Weak Hero Class

summary: You and Si-eun became (academic) rivals. At a party he confronts you. Maybe you don’t hate each other that much.

tags: enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, creampie, kinda dom!si-eun, sub-reader

word count: 3,7k

A/N: this is in the first season but an alternative storyline. Si-eun is aged up to 18. i didnt know how to make them enemies otherwise so i chose to go the academic route, hope thats okay!

⸻

Yeon Si-eun.

That was the first name you learned when you transferred.

He was unusually cold to everyone. Didn’t speak unless spoken to. Not polite to be kind — just polite because it was expected.

He didn’t feel real. Too precise about everything he did.

You didn’t know when it started. Maybe when you first met.

You were assigned the seat next to him on your first day. You greeted him, but all you got was a low—almost annoyed—“Hello“. You frowned but didn’t think too much of it. Maybe he was just having a bad day? But the next day, and the one after that, he was exactly the same.

People told you he was like that with everyone, but somehow it still felt personal.

Or maybe it started when you were partnered up for a group project and he rewrote all your parts without asking. You asked him why.

He said they were missing everything they needed—not to the point, and overall just wrong. Or at best, unfinished.

You tried not to let it get to you. But you did.

You started noticing everything after that.

How he didn’t look at you when passing out worksheets.

How he sighed when he was paired with you.

How he always looked at you with that tired, bored expression in his eyes.

How he didn’t answer when you asked where you were in the lesson—or, when he did, muttered “I don’t know” without looking up, then solved the next problem seconds later.

How, when you had cleaning duty together, he always went over your spot again.

How, even though he was supposed to, he never gave you the full notes when you were sick — just bits and pieces — and you ended up getting a bad grade for something you didn’t even know you missed.

Speaking of grades:

You weren’t the best, but not the worst either.

You used to do enough. That was before him.

After him, you started studying harder.

Not for the grades. For the satisfaction.

You pulled an all-nighter before a math test and beat his score. Even got praised by the teacher.

You lived for the look he gave you when he found out. That slight twitch in his jaw. That moment of disbelief.

And then you did it again. And again.

Everything became a contest.

Who scored higher?

Who ran faster?

Who got more praise from the teachers?

A silent war between the two of you.

When you were forced to work together again, you redid his parts out of spite. Not because they were wrong. Just because.

Somewhere along the way—you didn’t know when—it stopped being about proving him wrong and started being about getting his attention.

You heard what people said when they thought you weren’t listening.

“You’d think they dated and broke up.”

“They act like exes who never kissed.”

You didn’t know how much it actually got to him—until later.

His grades were everything to him.

So being beaten—by you—was humiliation. The worst kind.

The breaking point came at the end-of-year ceremony.

The student with the best overall score was called to the front and honored with a certificate.

He was certain it was him. Knew the competition was close, but he still thought he’d won.

So when your name was called instead — not his — he froze. Stood up. And walked out.

People noticed. He didn’t try to make a scene but ended up doing it anyways. Inside, he was unraveling.

That was today.

Just a few hours ago.

⸻

You’re in your room, still buzzing from earlier. When you got home, your parents welcomed you like you were royalty. Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it—and honestly, you’re proud too.

Your friends invited you to a party, and you said yes without even thinking twice. Finally, you have some free time again. You never planned on being an A+ student with zero life outside school.

Now that the holidays are here, it’s time to actually use that freedom.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a mess of makeup and clothes. Jina’s digging through your jewelry box, holding up chunky hoop earrings with a grin. Definitely a must-have.

You can finally wear real clothes again—not that stiff, boring uniform. Real clothes mean 2000s style, and you swear this is the best look out there.

You grab a pair of super low-rise jeans and a tight sweater.

“Ayy,” Mira says, nodding approvingly. “Definitely those.”

The three of you giggle like idiots. Clothes in hand, you head to the bathroom to change.

In the hallway, you stop in front of the big mirror.

You lean back and take it all in—the low-rise jeans hugging your hips, the sweater squeezing your curves, and butterfly clips sparkling in your hair. You don’t just want to look good tonight. You want to be unforgettable. To make heads turn.

When you walk back in, your friends erupt.

“Guys, don’t—don’t—” You pretend to protest but then strike a pose, closing your eyes to show off your look.

“Don’t stop,” you laugh, feeling a rush.

“You look absolutely delicious,” Jina says, rubbing her hands together like a maniac.

“You’re gonna break hearts tonight,” Mira adds with a smirk.

“I’m just so glad I finally have time to do that again.”

“Right? I wasn’t expecting you to turn into a total nerd with no social life.”

“Yeah, that Si-eun really did a number on you.”

“Oh, stop, Mira.” You roll your eyes jokingly. If you think more about him, you swear you could explode. But today was—is a victory.

————

The party’s already loud by the time you get there.

It’s at some girl’s house—big enough to fit a crowd, but not enough to make it feel less claustrophobic. Music thumps through the floorboards. The bass hits your chest like a second heartbeat. Lights flicker in blue and pink. Someone’s already spilled beer on the hallway rug.

You step inside with your friends, shoulder to shoulder at first, but Mira and Jina quickly scatter toward snacks and boys. That’s fine. You’re not here for chips and flirting.

You make your way into the main room, cup in hand, pretending to be just another party girl out for fun.

You definitely attract looks. Some even come to you. But no one is really your type.

You are talking with a girl you just met in the corner. Your thoughts drift back to that moment Si-eun stormed out of the ceremony room.

You haven’t seen him since the ceremony. Since you were the one called up. Since he stood and walked out like the world had just betrayed him.

You told yourself you didn’t care.

But you did.

You catch your reflection in the dark glass of the balcony door—glossed lips, low-rise jeans, tight sweater clinging just right.

You raise your cup, take a sip, and lean against the wall like you own the room.

Then the door opens.

And just like that—

You feel him before you see him.

You are startled. He isn't the type to go to parties. 

“Hey, are you fine?" The girl you were just talking to asked. Searching for what you were looking at.

"Oh, is that your ex? I get it, but don't be afraid you look bomb. He's gonna see what he's missing.” You turn to her.

“No—He's not—no.” You protest, but she gives you a knowing look. 

You wave the girl off with a forced laugh, turning back toward the crowd—but you can’t help it. You look again.

He’s there.

Si-eun stands near the entrance, eyes scanning the room like he’s trying to decide whether he should’ve come at all. He’s not dressed for a party—dark hoodie, clean sneakers, the same bored expression he wears in class—but somehow, he still looks like the most important person in the room.

His gaze passes right over you at first. And then it stops.

Lands. Holds.

Your stomach tightens.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just looks.

And then—like nothing happened—he breaks eye contact and walks away.

You exhale, only then realizing you were holding your breath.

“Definitely your ex,” the girl says under her breath, sipping her drink.

“He’s not,” you murmur, but it’s too quiet to convince anyone.

You take a long sip from your cup, ignoring the way your hand shakes just slightly.

Your eyes track him across the room. The way people naturally give him space. The way he doesn’t seem interested in talking to anyone, like this party is just something he’s enduring. Like he’s here for something, not just to hang out.

Or maybe someone.

You turn your back to him, pretending to listen as the girl tells you a story you’re not really hearing. You nod at the right times, give polite laughs—but your attention’s somewhere else. Heat rises in your neck.

Si-eun is only here, because he was forced to. Su-ho didn't give him the option to not go. He said he should just relax, get his mind off school. Off the… incident.

When he sees you, his heart is beating. With rage—he thinks. He looks you up and down, notices how slutty you're dressed. He tries to seem unfazed, as always. But as soon as he turns around, Su-ho notices something wrong.

Then he sees you too. He sighs.

“Si-eun, don't waste a single thought on her today. Just enjoy it. C’mon, let's get you a drink.” He drags him to the kitchen, where they then fill some drinks into their cups and go somewhere where you're not.

————

You gave up on thinking about Si-eun maybe one and a half hours ago. You haven't seen him since he entered. 

So it does surprise you when he's suddenly behind you. You almost spill a drink on him. He just yanks your hand and pulls you with him.

“What are—Hey—you doing?!” You ask loudly. Shocked.

“We need to talk.”

“No, we definitely don't!" He just pulls you up the stairs into a quiet room. Not really quiet, but it is empty, except for a cupboard and a bed. A guest bedroom. The music is muffled.

“Hey, what the fuck was that?” You ask, finally yanking your hand from his grip.

He turns to you, jaw tight, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“What was that?” You repeat, louder this time. “You can’t just drag people around like that!”

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asks, voice low but firm. 

You're thrown off. “What?” You ask Perplexed.

“You heard.” Only now you notice how drunk he is. It is obvious now that you know. He is not stable in his stance, he wanks from right to left. Slurs his words.

“Okay, I am not doing this. You’re drunk as fuck.” You turn around to open the door, but he slams a hand on it.

You flinch. Not because you’re scared, but because of how close he suddenly is.

“What are you—? Let me out!” You snap, pushing at his arm.

But he doesn’t move.

He’s leaning close now, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused but still locked on you like he’s trying to figure you out. Trying to demand something from you that even he can’t name.

“No,” he says. “Not until you tell me why.”

“Why what?” You shoot back.

“Why you look at me like that,” he says, voice low, heavy, like the words cost him something. “Why you do what you do.” 

You're quiet.

“You serious?” You scoff. “You started this! I should be asking you.”

“What?” He laughs out of disbelief.

“Don’t act so clueless! You're so arrogant, God. You ignored me every time I tried talking to you, ask something. Send me unfinished notes, which I then get bad grades because of. Just cancel all my work and do it yourself. And this look on your face—it pisses me off so much! I’m just mirroring you.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Do I look like I am?”

“You’re unbelievable!” he says angrily. Loud.

Your hand is still on the doorknob, but you don’t turn it.

“Oh, I’m unbelievable? You’ve been an asshole to me since the day I got here!”

“No, I wasn’t? I just didn't know how to act around you!”

“Well, definitely not like this!”

“I didn't want this! I never wanted you to hate me!”

“I also didn't want this if you think so!”

You’re both shouting now. Face-to-face. No space. Breathing the same air.

“God, you're so—…” He begins but trails off.

He stares at you, eyes burning with something you don’t know how to name. His chest rises and falls like he’s just run a mile. You feel your pulse in your ears, in your throat, everywhere.

He looks at you, at your eyes, and then your lips.

“I hate this,” he breathes.

“Good,” you say. “So do I.”

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him.

But then his mouth is on yours, and it’s not gentle.

It’s messy. Angry. Clumsy. Teeth clash. Your back hits the door with a thud. His hands are in your hair, your jaw, your waist, like he can’t decide where to touch first. You pull him closer, fingers tugging on the strings of his hoodie, and he groans into your mouth like he’s needed this for longer than he can admit.

You gasp when he bites your lip—and then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.

“You drive me insane,” he says, forehead pressed to yours.

“You think you’re easy to deal with?” You shoot back, just as breathless.

His hands slip under your sweater. Warm skin against warm skin. Fingers skating up your ribs like a threat.

“This is a bad idea,” you say, but you’re not moving away.

He nods. “Terrible.”

And then his lips are on yours again. This time deeper. Slower. Like the fight cracked something open. Like he wants to devour you. Memorize you.

“You wore this on purpose? Mh?” Si-eun mutters lowly against your lip. He moves to your ear and whispers.

“So slutty…” His breath hitting your earlobe. You moan when he places kisses on your neck. 

You couldn't answer, too busy whimpering. Si-eun looks down, seeing your thighs press together.

“Are you horny? Did this turn you on?” He asks, amused.

What? You didn't even notice.

“Fuck you…” you try to say, but it comes out as barely louder as a whisper—more a whimper.

He laughs. 

“Yeah? Want me to stop? Pretty sure you kissed me back.” His mouth is back on your neck, and you can feel he's smirking, but it slides lower to your collarbone. He licks, kisses, sucks at it. While his hands move up to your breasts.

“Si-eun…” You breathe out.

“Stop me if you don't want this.” 

You don't.

You let him touch you. You let him kiss you.

One of his hands is at your ass now, squeezing it inside the low-rise jeans. He presses against you and buries his head in the crook of your neck while whisper-moaning your name.

You could feel how hard he is.

The muffled music from outside is a background noise now.

“As soon as I saw you, I knew. These low jeans. This tight fucking sweater.“ He kissed your neck, now only mumbling.

“I knew you’d make me this hard. You do, even in that uniform…” He rubs himself against you. 

Then he leans back, searching for any discomfort in your face. There is none. Only flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes staring at him.

A short pause.

Then—you both launch at each other, aggressively kissing again, while your hands roam his body and his roam yours. You reach behind you and turn the doorknob, lock the door, and push him towards the bed.

You reach for the hem of his hoodie, desperately pulling it over his head, then—your sweater. He slides it off you in one fast, desperate motion. 

You kiss again as soon as you're both free. Next your hand goes to his belt, trying to undo it. He helps, smiling into the kiss. Then he reaches for your jeans. Takes them off too.

You push him on the bed, climbing on top of him. His touch burns. He yanks you down harder against his lap, grinding you onto the stiff outline of his cock through his boxers. You gasp, nails digging into his neck, the kiss turning filthy—all tongue and teeth and desperation.

His hands skim up your back, deft fingers unhooking your bra like he’s done it a hundred times before. You shudder when the fabric falls away, his palms sliding around to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate circles. Your hips jerk against him instinctively, chasing the friction.

“Fuck,” he growls, breaking the kiss to pull back shortly to take in the sight of you before dragging his mouth down your throat. He bites at your collarbone, then lower, his tongue flicking a nipple before sucking it deep. You whimper, arching into him, one hand fisting in his hair.

Then his lips vanish. You make a noise of protest—cut off when he flips you over. Now you're under him.

His mouth is fast on your body again. Trailing kisses down your stomach while his hand tugs at the waistband of your panties.

He briefly looks at you, then pulls your panties off in one motion. His hands press down on your legs and spread them. He moves back up and leans in to place kisses on your lips again. While his fingers glide through your wetness, testing, teasing. 

You moan into the kiss. He pulls back to see your face.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, leaning back down, lips brushing your ear. “Soaked for me.”

You barely have time to process the words before two fingers sink into you, curling just right. Your thighs tremble, a moan ripping from your throat. You try to close your legs instinctively, only to be blocked by him between your legs. He works you ruthlessly, his gaze locked on your face.

His mouth is on your breast now. Sucking it. His tongue circles around the nipple, which only makes you weaker. 

You arch into him, back lifting off the bed, into him.

He works you up perfectly, and just as you think you're close, his fingers vanish and he kisses you again. It's grounding, a motion that slows you down. Deep, passionate.

You reach down to his boxers, palming him through it. He whimpers into the kiss.

When you break the kiss, your hands are at his shoulders, slightly pushing them. He understands what you want without you having to say anything.

You push him onto his back and slide down his body, fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help, exhaling sharply as you peel the fabric away, his cock springing free—hard, flushed, already glistening at the tip. 

You lower your head, and your tongue darts out, flicking over the bead of precum, then swirling around the tip.

He hisses, watching you. Then you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch. His groan is ragged, hands fisting the sheets. You work him with deliberate strokes, hollowing your cheeks as you pull back, then sinking deep again, savoring the way his thighs tense under your palms. 

“Shit—” His voice cracks when you swirl your tongue around the head again, teasing the slit before swallowing him down once more. You glance up, meeting his darkened gaze as you cup his balls. 

His stomach muscles clench, his hips twitching like he’s fighting not to thrust. You let him slide from your lips with a wet pop, crawling back up his body. He catches your mouth in a searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue as his hands grip your waist, pressing you down on his hips.

“Ride me,” he rasps, bucking up against you. 

You don’t hesitate, you stretched this long enough—sinking onto him in a halting motion, both of you gasping at the stretch. His hands roam your body, skimming your ribs, thumbs brushing your nipples as you start to move. 

Slow at first, grinding down, taking him impossibly deep. He grips your hips, helping you find the rhythm—up, then down, a slow, maddening drag that has you both panting. 

His fingers dig into your skin as you clench around him, your own hands braced on his chest, nails scraping lightly. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he grits out, eyes locked on where your bodies join. You lean forward, sealing your mouth to his, swallowing his groan as the pace turns desperate—not faster, but deeper, harder.

“Si-eun—“ cut off by a gasp and a slow moan.

“Still hate me?” He asks, voice wrecked.

You answer with another moan of his name and a harsh fall down his cock. Your hand reaches down to circle around your clit, working yourself closer, while your lips meet his again.

He breaks the kiss. “You don’t know how many times I thought about this—ahh fuck—“ he thrusts his hips into you involuntarily. You know, he's close.

You're too. 

“Fuck—you’re squeezing me.” His abs clench again. Almost there.

It hits you like a wave. This overwhelming sensation. The tingling is more intense than what you ever experienced before, it reached its way all the way to your heart. You shudder, leaning down on him as your whole body throbbed. Every part of you that was touching him burned.

He feels it too as he follows with one last thrust as he buries himself inside you. 

You plop down beside him, both of you panting.

After you two regain the ability to breathe—and think properly—the silence hangs in the air. The silence of the tiny confessions both of you just made, with words and—well the sheer fact that you just fucked the person you swore you would murder if he came closer than arm's length to you.

“So… that just happened.” He speaks first.

“Yeah…” 

Another moment of silence.

“Let's stop this… rivalry.” He suggested.

“Deal.” Another pause.

“I never even really hated you, to be honest.”

You push yourself up, turning to look at him. Then lay your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole.” You whisper, taken aback by his confession.

“Yeah, me too.”

⸻

Okay— i have no idea if this is what you had in mind when you requested this, let me know how you like it! This has been laying in my drafts for well over 3 days now i just struggled with the smut, but other then that it was really fun, thank you so much for the request 🫶

I did have an amazing week and I hope you had— and have too! Thank you so much, i really appreciate that you enjoy my work. <3

Btw I am also gonna do the arisu one (first fluff kinda nervous—if you want to be fluff of course)

+ to everyone i am not sure abt the name. “extra credit” is honestly just a place holder, if you have suggestions please lmk

[arminmy4ss]

Discount — Nam-gyu, Squid Game (pt. 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 (you are here) | Part 3

summary: the month is over and Nam-gyu comes again to collect the money (or something else —*wink*)

Tags: fingering, blow job, rough sex, dubious consent, dominance/submission (dom!nam-gyu, sub!reader), choking, praise/degradation, fear-arousal dynamics, orgasm control, and power imbalance, stalking, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 2.8k

A/N: this took so long please forgive me ahhh

⸻

It's been a month since then.

You worked hard, took extra shifts, even borrowed money from your coworker, and skipped meals. But it's still not enough. 4 million won in one month was just impossible.

Every free minute you had, your mind wandered back to the night it happened, and you know you shouldn't feel this way.

You shouldn't press your thighs together when you remember his cock inside of you, his hands around your neck, the blade against your skin, the slap against your cheek, and his voice. Oh, his voice.

You heard it in your sleep, but instead of nightmares, they were repasses of that night.

You tried to feel disgusted by what he did, but the truth was, it was turning you on.

At night you recreated his touch. How his hands caressed your sides and slid through your hair. How his fingers slid against your clothed pussy—then inside.

All while replaying his voice in your head.

You even choked yourself when you were close, while rubbing on your clit with your other hand.

Each time you came, it didn't feel as good, and so you find yourself almost excited. Because he’ll come again soon. You denied it, but it was true.

You could just hope it was him again, not someone else. You're ashamed. How could you even be turned on by this. You know it's wrong. But it still feels so right.

Tonight, the 29th day since he made you feel so good, you touch yourself again. You’re still on the sofa.

The same sofa where he ruined you — body, brain. You never got the stain out. Not that you tried hard. It’s a reminder. One that you sit on often.

Your thighs are slick, a knife trails over your stomach. The metal is cold and dull, but your body doesn’t care. Your body remembers.

His breath.

His gum.

His voice.

“Good Mouse.”

“Look at me.”

“Strip.”

You shouldn’t be doing this.

You should hate him.

You do hate him — or you think you do—but not enough to stop your hand from slipping lower.

11:58 p.m.

You bite your lip. The handle of the knife—a butter knife, to be exact—sliding lower. From your stomach to in between your legs. You breathe in as it touches the nub, then you shudder at the sensation. You move your hand to your mouth, collecting spit, which you then rub around the handle.

It moves in circles around the nub before it slides down further. It presses at your hole and then—enters.

You moan out softly as you move it out and then in again. It slides in and out easily because you're so wet.

A low chuckle behind you.

“Looks like you’re enjoying yourself.”

You jerk up. Pulling the knife handle out of you. And turn around.

Nam-gyu.

You pull the blanket over you, trying to hide something.

“Don’t stop, Mouse,” he chuckles. “I was enjoying the show.”

“How did you get in here?” You ask, your tone hearably panicked.

“There was an open window. You should be more careful. Or else someone dangerous might break in.” His tone is sarcastic. He steps forward, sitting down on the couch.

“And? You have the money? After all, I spared you last time, gave you a chance. More time.”

“No, I’m—I don’t have enough…” You murmur, voice trembling, yet there’s a flicker beneath the panic—something warmer, darker. A low flame fed by the very sound of his breath, the weight of his presence.

Nam-gyu tilts his head, eyes gleaming like a predator toying with prey already caught. “How much do you have?” He asks softly, dragging out his knife like it's his phone and flicking it open and shut.

“800.000 won.” you confess, the shame tightening your throat.

A beat of silence. Then he laughs—a quiet, guttural sound that coils down your spine. His fingers tap the side of his thigh as he studies you, wrapped in your own blanket of guilt and want.

“You know,” he says, voice a velvet threat, “if I were anyone else, I’d be angry. Maybe even violent. But lucky for you—” He leans in, close enough that his cologne, sharp and smoky, curls into your nostrils “—I’m generous when I’m entertained.”

You stiffen, the blanket clutched like a shield, though you both know it offers none. He lifts a hand, brushing it slowly across the back of your neck, the touch featherlight but fill of dominance. “And you were entertaining, Mouse.”

“Don’t call me that,” you whisper, but your voice lacks conviction. His touch trails lower.

He tuts. “What were you doing just now with that knife?”

Your breath hitches.

His smirk deepens. “What, or better, who were you thinking about?”

You look away, and he chuckles.

“You wanted me to come back, Mouse?”

“No I—“ you start but can't finish as you get lost in his eyes again.

“Oh good mice don't lie. So let me try this again.” He takes a breath and looks you in the eyes.

“You were thinking about me, weren't you?”

You look down. A small slap on your cheek. His hand yanks your head to him again. “No, look at me when I'm talking to you, Mouse.”

“So. Again. Were you thinking about me?”

“…Yes…”

“Again. Call me sir.”

“…Yes, sir…”

A proud grin appears on his face.

“Good Mouse~” He drags it out to humiliate you even more.

“So,” he continues, pulling back. “As I told you last time, I would be willing to give you another deal—even better than the last—if you perform well.” You breathe in nervously.

“I’ll triple the amount of money you made. So 800.000 won become 2.400.000 won—and I’ll even give you more time again. Another month. In exchange—” His eyes dart down to where the blanket is.

“You let me do with you what I want.”

You tremble as he rises, towering over you like a storm long awaited. “What do you say, Mouse?” he murmurs, trailing a finger under your chin and tilting your face to his. “Want to earn yourself another month and this beautiful, generous discount?”

You think — or you pretend to.

“…Yes.”

A slap. “You forgot something, Mouse.”

“Yes—sir.” That proud grin appears on his face again as he grabs your hand.

“Come with me, Mouse.” Not a question. An order. Again.

“Whe—“ you are cut off when he pulls you up. The blanket slips away, and you turn to grab it, but he cuts you off.

“Leave it.” You do. Nam-gyu pulls you with him down the corridor. The air is cold against your bare skin.

“Where are we going?” You ask while you try to hide yourself with your free arm.

“Bedroom. I don’t want you to need to come to the living room when touching yourself and thinking about me—.”

“I wasn’t!” You speak a little too loud, earning a sigh from him.

“Mouse, I thought we discussed this. No. lying.” Instead of a slap, his grip around your wrist tightens so much it hurts. A warning. Now you’re quiet.

You are in front of your bedroom. But Nam-gyu stops.

“Open it.” You do. That grin again. He is enjoying how you obey him.

“Good Mouse."

Inside, you both sit on the bed. One of his hands is still around your wrist, the other one ghosts over your thigh.

“Undress me. Then get on your knees.”

You hesitate for a moment, heart racing with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Then, slowly, you reach down to the hem of his pullover, slowly lifting it over his head. You trace your fingers over his chest as it's bare.

His skin is warm and firm beneath your touch, dusted with coarse hair. You can't help but lean in to press a kiss to his collarbone before moving down to his stomach. Nam-gyu's abs flex under your lips, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

"That's it, Mouse," he murmurs, fingers threading through your hair. "Worship my body like the good little toy you are." Your cheeks flush at his words, but you don't stop your ministrations.

You trail open-mouthed kisses down his stomach until you reach the waistband of his pants. Looking up at him through your lashes, you run your thumb over it.

Then hook your fingers in the waistband and tug his pants down slowly.

He is hard. You can see the clear shape of his cock through his boxers. There is a wet patch right at his tip. Pre-cum.

“Look how excited you made me, Mouse.” He chuckled lowly, hissing when you stroke his dick through the boxers.

When you pull them down, his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach.

"Fuck," he breathes.

You wrap a hand around his shaft. He's hot and hard and heavy in your grip, pulsing with need. Nam-gyu's head falls back against the headboard, hips rocking into your fist, urgently.

"Suck it," he demands, voice rough with desire. "Show me how much you want this discount." You lean forward and swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, lapping up the bead of precum leaking from the tip.

You watch his face. His eyebrows knit together, and he almost looks desperate. He has this grin on his lips again.

Then, slowly, you take him into your mouth, inch by inch, until he hits the back of your throat. All while holding eye contact.

"Oh yeah, just like that," Nam-gyu groans, hands fisting in your hair. He starts to thrust shallowly, fucking your face.

"Take it deep. Choke on my cock like a good little whore." You gag and sputter around his length, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

But you don't pull away. You relax your throat and take him deeper, nose pressing against his pelvis as you swallow around him.

Nam-gyu throws his head back with a hoarse shout, hips stuttering.

"Fuck, I'm close," he grunts, holding you in place as he pistons into your mouth.

"Gonna cum down your throat. Swallow every drop, Mouse." You moan around him, sending vibrations up his shaft.

Your hand slides down to rub your aching clit, but Nam-gyu slaps your cheek again.

“No, Mouse. You're not allowed to come until I say so.” He thrusts a few more times into your throat before he cums. He forces your head down his cock as far as possible and groans loudly. You're sure your neighbors heard.

His hot seed flows down your throat. You gulp it down greedily. He doesn't let you pull away when you try to, to breathe.

When he finally pulls out, you gasp for air, spit dribbles down your chin.

"Good girl," he praises breathlessly, wiping your face with his thumb. "Now get on the bed and present yourself. I want to see that sweet pussy."

You obey. Getting up from the floor and sitting back down on the bed. You lie down and hesitantly spread your legs.

“Fuck,” you hear Nam-gyu whisper. “You’re so wet, Mouse, wow.” He says, louder now, while grinning.

He kisses your lower stomach, then wanders higher. He caresses your breasts while he leaves wet kisses in between them and then licks along your collarbone.

He lets out somewhat of a laugh when you squirm, trying to close your legs to cause some friction, but he's in the way.

He sucks and nibs at your neck before he moves to your mouth. Kisses you. Slowly.

Then he moves back just enough to see your eyes, still close enough to kiss you.

One of his hands wanders in between your thighs, running a finger through your slick pussy.

He watches the way you shiver.

Then Nam-gyu inserts one finger. You moan. Loud.

“Such a desperate Mouse.” He laughs. “But you sucked me off so good, you deserve a little reward.” Then he inserts two.

You watch his eyes, how they watch your face. Your eyebrows raised. Mouth open. Small cut-off sounds leave your mouth.

They sound like music to his ears.

He curls fingers inside you and bites his bottom lip when another moan escapes you while you arch your back.

When he feels you're close, he stops. You whine. He leans down to your ear.

“Not yet. Just a little bit longer, Mouse. Haven't fucked you yet, and I, of course, want you to come on my cock like a good slut.”

He stands up, and you frown.

“Stand up and sit on top of me. I want you to ride me.” He smirks while he says it. A faint red paints your cheek at the thought.

You then do as he says. Now sitting on his lap.

You lift yourself a little, supporting yourself with your hands on his shoulders. You reach for his dick with one hand and bite your lip subconsciously.

He watches. Amused. Entertained.

Then you position his dick at the right spot and let yourself down. Sinking slowly, inch by inch. Down on his cock.

Nam-gyu lets out a low groan, his hands on your hips. You let out a shaky breath.

“Fuck—yeah, Mouse. That's great.” It feels like a reward when he moans. Praises you like this.

You lift yourself again. Sink down. Slowly. Repeated it. Each time a little bit quicker.

Nam-gyu enjoys the show.

He rocks up, slamming into you, and observes how you moan. Bend. He laughs.

“You’re doing a great job. You really are a slut.”

You feel embarrassed but can't deny what those words do to you. How they make your stomach feel warmer. How they make you clench around him. You don't answer, just press your lips together and continue moving.

“Move faster, Mouse.”

You do. But for him it's not fast enough. When you lift yourself—about to sink down again—he thrusts into you. Fucks you. Fast.

You gasp, roll your head back, and let out whimpers—cut off by him slamming into you again and again. His nails dig into your hips as he tightens his grip.

“That's what you get when you don't listen, you brat.” You whine. And clench around him again.

He lifts you up and throws you on the bed again. Then slams into you again. Now above you.

You’re overwhelmed by the penetration. You're close.

He stops. “Mh? Are you close, Mouse?” He asks like he pities you. You look away. Embarrassed.

He slaps your ass.

“Look at me when I'm talking to you.” You do.

“Oh, so you do know how to follow orders.” He says, fake-surprised.

“You want me to fuck you again, Mouse? Get that discount?” He pauses.

“Then beg for it.”

You want to look away. But that would mean disobeying him. You are embarrassed but too desperate to not do it.

“…please…”

“Yeah?” He asks as if he can't hear you.

“Please, Nam-gyu. Fuck me.”

“I can't hear you, Mouse.”

“Please, Nam-gyu! Fuck me!” You whine. Tears now forming in your eyes. “Please. Sir.”

He grins again. That proud one.

“Good girl.”

Then he positions himself again and continues to fuck you. Fast. Hard. Without mercy.

He leans to your ear. Whispers.

“Now you have something new to think about when you touch yourself. Don't have to go to the couch. Don't have to use that knife.”

“I wasnt—“ you were cut off by a hard, forceful thrust and a slap to your cheek again.

“Nah-ah. No lying.” You’re quiet.

“I know. I noticed how you enjoyed yourself. Countless times.” You frown.

“What?” You only know about today.

“I’ve watched you, from your balcony. Heard you, from your window.”

Your breath hitches.

“Yeah, I was here. More than one time.” He whisper-groans into your ear when you clench around him again.

“I knew you'd like it.” He fucks into you, feeling you squirm more than before. Your eyes close. You arch your back. You're almost there.

“You close Mouse?” You nod.

“Then cum. Cum on my cock again like you wanted this whole month.”

That's all it takes to throw you over the edge. The knot in your stomach releases, and warmth settles. Your body throbs, especially your core. Your breath is uneven. You gasp for air.

It lasts long, and all the while. Nam-gyu fucks you. Uneven too.

His rhythm messed up by how close he is too.

“Yeah, just like that Mouse—“ he grunts and thrusts one last time before he spills inside you, moving his hands to your neck and choking you. His hot semen paints your walls.

When he pulls out, he watches how his cum flows out of you. Just like last time.

Proud. Like he's finished a painting.

“Good Mouse. You really earned that discount.”

He stands up. Watching you still recovering from your orgasm.

“I’m excited for next time. See you in a month.”

You can't deny it anymore.

You were too.

He took the money and left.

⸻

I have no idea if you can tell but i could not concentrate after writing the brat line because i kept thinking of duncanyounot and other memes

[arminmy4ss]

not really a question but i LOVEE your arisu fics 🩷 you keep us fed from this arisu shortage !

AHH THANK YOU SO MUCH

i wasn’t really sure if anyone would read what I’m writing but I’m surprised and thankful that so many people like it

I will definitely keep posting stuff

And yeah i was surprised how little works there are about arisu because he’s literally the main character of the show (which also isn’t unpopular) but yeahh

Im SO excited for season 3 and when it comes out i will definitely be writing stuff so stay tuned hehe

[arminmy4ss]

Before I request anything, what fandoms do you write for (ahem weak hero) 😦

Ahhh thank you so much for asking hehe

As you maybe or maybe not know I started really writing (and posting my works) two weeks ago

I would write (mainly male characters) for:

Squid Game

One Piece

Attack On Titan

Haikyuu!

Jujutsu Kaisen

Death note

Many roles of Roh Jae-won (Kim Seo-wan — Daily Dose Of Sunshine; Nam-gyu — Squid Game; Ha Sang-min — A Killer Paradox; and more because I‘m watching everything rn)

Alice In Borderland

maybe Hunter x Hunter, but only adult characters of course (+Kurapika because he is 19 later on in the series)

Arcane

Mixte 1963 / Voltaire High

Weak Hero Class 1 ,I‘m on s1 ep 7, i should be able to finish it by tomorrow so request what you want to request :)

[arminmy4ss]

Discount — Nam-gyu, Squid Game (pt. 1)

Part 1 (you are here) | Part 2 | Part 3

summary: You owe Deok-su a debt. Nam-gyu is assigned to “collect” it. You don’t have the money, but instead of hurting you, he tells you he is willing to give you a discount if you earn it.

(Backround: this is before s1 of squidgame, lets just pretend nam-gyu just gets the drugs for deok-su and isn't an addict himself.)

tags: fingering, rough sex, knifeplay, dubious consent, dominance/submission (dom!nam-gyu, sub!reader), choking, praise/degradation, fear-arousal dynamics, and power imbalance, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 2.4k

A/N: before anyone has to google it: 5 million won are about 3075 euros/ 3600 us-dollars.

⸻

5 Million Won.

That is all you owe to Deok-su. Not more, not less.

It isn't much compared to what others borrow, but it isn't nothing either.

And Deok-su doesn't even need the money, at least not your ridiculous 5 million, he is just getting off on hurting those who owe him.

He either sends people or does it himself.

And for you, he sends someone. To teach you a lesson.

Nam-gyu. Cold. Loyal. Unflinching.

He is known amongst the club scene and the Deok-su scene. Acting as his right hand. Rumor has it he gets the drugs that keep Deok-su entertained, making him one of the essential members in Deok-su’s gang.

You do work hard to collect the money, too afraid of what could happen if you can't pay it back. Last time they caught you, they threatened to cut out your kidney or stab your eye out. If they caught you again, it would likely mean they'd do it, or something worse.

Nam-gyu is already waiting in your living room when you come home. Sitting on your sofa, cutting an apple from the bowl on the coffee table with his pocketknife.

“Oh, look who finally came home. Took you long enough.” he says in an annoyed tone, placing the apple down and observing his pocketknife.

Your breath hitches. Heartbeat picks up. You don't move, just stand in the door with wide eyes and the grocery bags still in your hands.

No. No, this can't be. You don't have the money gathered yet. You need more time.

He looks at you, dark eyes unreadable.

“Think you forgot something? Mh?” He stands up and comes closer, each step slow, measured. Pocketknife still in his hand. Tilting his head as he stops in front of you.

Your eyes are still pointed forward, looking at his chest. You're trembling in your stance, legs shaking from the fear.

“Hey mouse. Look at me, come on.” He bends down slightly to meet your eyes. A grin displayed on his face. He chews a gum in his mouth, his minty breath hitting your face. Then he shakes a hand in front of your face.

“Hello, earth to mouse.” He says louder. The grocery bags pull at your hands, but you can’t drop them.

“HEY! I SAID LOOK AT ME!” He slams one fist against the kitchen counter to your left. The sudden movement made you flinch, dropping the groceries and spilling them on the ground. Your hands move above your head instinctively, but you force yourself to look at him.

“Good Mouse." He smirks, satisfied that you obeyed. Analyzing your face and looking as insane as ever.

“Back to the question, think you forgot something?” He asks again, keeping eye contact.

“I—I don't have all of the money yet. I'm sorry. Please give me more time, I swear I can get it for you!” You stammer, pretending to search for something on the ground. He grabs your chin and yanks it so you look at him again.

“You’re lucky, you know?” he says, voice low, almost bored. He leans against the counter now, poking his index finger against the tip of the knife.

“Others would have already sliced you up. But lucky for you, I am here.” He points at you with it.

You can't tell if he is joking, because one thing is clear: him being here is not a good thing. But he is right, he didn't hurt you… yet.

“How much do you have?” He asks, but anyone could tell he doesn't really care what you say.

“500,000.” He hisses while making a bitter face.

“Ahh Too bad mouse, that's not enough.” A dangerous smile plays at Nam-Gyu’s lips, his tone full of fake sympathy.

“Please—give me some more time, I’ll pay, I promise!” You cry out only to find him shaking his head.

“Let's sit and talk for a minute, yeah?” He moves his hand to your back, gesturing towards the sofa. It would almost be a gentle gesture if he didn't have the hand with the knife pressed against your back.

You obey because what else could you do? Your legs are still shaking, almost making you trip on your way to the sofa.

You both sit down, him next to you — too close, one arm around your shoulder, the other on his thigh.

“Tell me, how come you owe Deok-su money?” You can feel his hot breath against your neck. A pause.

“Come on, don't be shy, tell me.” He encourages you.

You decide to answer before he makes use of the knife in his hand, the one that was threateningly close to your neck.

“I borrowed it to pay off my brother's debt.” You tell the truth.

“Paying off a debt while creating a new one? You're dumber than I thought.” He lets out air, not quite a chuckle but something close to it.

“He borrowed from dangerous people who threatened to kill him, so I had to do it.” You continue. He scoffs—almost laughs.

“But you know, Deok-su isn't quite harmless either, right?” You swallow, it's true. It was dumb. But it was necessary.

“I know—now—but still I couldn't let my brother die.” You squeeze your hands together that are lying uncomfortably in your lap.

“Oh how sweet, your brothers gonna get you killed now.” You freeze.

"K—killed?" You turn to him, shaking.

“Well, that's what's gonna happen if you can't pay Mouse.” He speaks as if he pities you, but you know he doesn't. He gets off on this just like Deok-su.

"That's if you can't. If you can, you're gonna stay whole, of course.” He continues.

“But… I don't have the money—please just give me more time!” You cry out again, tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

“Well, if that's the case, there's only one other way to pay, with your body.” he paused.

“No, please don’t hurt me! Just—give me more time! That's all I need!” Your voice shakes as you beg, but he just chuckles low.

“Oh, Mouse. I’m not gonna hurt you, I’ll just…” His hand moves from his thigh to yours. Your breath hitches again, but this time it isn’t just fear. Your thighs tense, a betraying pulse between them.

So that's what he means by ‘paying with your body.’ Your stomach twists violently. There’s no way to back out — no safe place left inside your own body.

“You know what? I’ll give you more time— even a discount. If you earn it.” He pats your thigh with a too-kind smile on his lips.

“How… do I?” You ask, and he breathes out happily. But then his expression changes, darker, filled with lust.

“Strip.”

It wasn't a suggestion or a question. It was a command.

You stare at him.

Not moving. Not breathing.

Your brain’s trying to catch up, but it can’t. It’s stuck in the moment — in the weight of that word.

Strip.

He’s watching you, gum clicking between his teeth, head tilted just slightly. His expression’s unreadable now. A little smug. A little bored. But his eyes — his eyes stay locked on yours like he’s daring you to make him repeat himself.

You open your mouth. No sound comes out.

He sighs. Loud and theatrical, like you’re wasting his time.

“Thought we had a deal, mouse.”

His hand drifts again — from your thigh to your stomach, hovering just below your waistband. The knife is still in his other hand. Resting on your neck.

“You said you’d pay. And I’m even giving you more time and a discount. Honestly, that's a pretty good deal if you ask me, but if you'd rather be harmed—no problem—.”

“Wait!…”

Your fingers tremble as they reach for the hem of your shirt.

This can’t be happening.

But it is.

You lift the fabric slowly, inch by inch. Nam-Gyu leans back just slightly, arms spread along the back of the sofa like he’s settling in for a show.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice smooth like poisoned honey.

The shirt drops to the floor.

You sit, half-bare, skin prickling under his gaze. He doesn’t rush. He lets his eyes wander slowly — over your chest, down your stomach. You can feel the heat of them like hands.

“What a fucking waste it’d be to carve you up.”

You flinch.

He smiles. Real slow. Real cruel.

“Relax, mouse. I said I wouldn’t hurt you. I’m just collecting.”

The knife taps gently against his knee.

“Keep going.”

You stand this time. Bare feet on cold tile. Fingers at the waistband of your pants. Every second feels stretched, elastic with tension, like you might snap.

You push them down. Step out of them. Now you’re standing in just your underwear.

Nam-Gyu hums low in his throat, his gaze dragging down, pausing at your hips.

“You’re prettier than I thought.”

You hate that your body responds. That there’s a pulse between your legs now, a subtle shift in your breathing. He sees it. Of course he does. He’s watching your chest rise and fall like it’s telling him secrets.

He stands.

And suddenly he’s close again.

Towering. Calm. Dangerous.

The knife lifts — not to hurt, not yet — just to toy. The cold metal grazes the skin just above your waistband. He kisses you. Not slow or measured at all. Instead, hungry, needy. He traces the tip in lazy circles, then slides it higher, over your ribs.

“Ever been fucked with a blade this close?” he whispers.

“It makes everything sharper.”

You shake your head.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep it friendly. Unless you give me a reason not to.”

The blade slides under the strap of your bra. With a quick flick, it slices clean through. The fabric falls, and you gasp — not hurt, just startled.

His eyes darken.

“You look better shaking.”

He steps closer — chest pressed to yours, breath warm against your neck. You feel the knife leave your skin, tossed casually onto the couch behind you. One hand grabs your jaw, tilting your head up. The other slips between your thighs, fingers rough, greedy, already sliding along your clothed heat.

You whimper.

“See? Your mouth says ‘please’ but your pussy’s dripping.”

“That’s why I don’t feel bad about this, mouse.”

He pushes your panties to the side, and two fingers push inside you — no warning, no hesitation. You choke on a moan, hips bucking against his hand.

“Tight,” he mutters, teeth scraping your jaw.

“You’re lucky I didn’t bring the others. You wouldn’t survive two cocks in this sweet little cunt.”

You make a sound — half fear, half arousal. Your thighs tremble.

“You gonna cum for me?” he sneers. “Or do I need to fuck it out of you?”

You don’t answer.

So he does it for you.

He shoves you back onto the sofa, climbs over you, yanks your underwear down with one hand while the other presses your thighs apart.

He undresses. Pulls his shirt over his head, opens his pants, and pulls them down. Then himself — already hard, already leaking.

He positions himself at your entrance, slides his tip up and down your slit a few times, and watches your face twist with pleasure while you make a whining sound.

“Ah-ah, not yet, mouse.” He stands up and yanks your head forwards. Your lips right before his cock.

“Suck.” He commands again. You open your mouth and stick out your tongue.

He shows no mercy, slamming your head down on his cock all the way. You choke on it. He laughs, satisfied. While fucking your throat, he moans. When he looks down, he sees your eyes rolling back. He slaps your cheek.

“Hey slut, look at me.” You do.

“Good Mouse. Look at me while you choke on my cock." He smiles wide, slapping your cheek again, thrusting a few more times before he pulls your head off him.

“You earned this discount.” He is back, positioned at your entrance. Looking at you while he teases you again.

And then he’s inside.

Thick. Deep. Unrelenting. Sudden.

You cry out — from the stretch, from the sensation, from the way he owns your body without hesitation.

He looks at your face closely. Watching how your eyes roll back, close. How your mouth opens. How your eyebrows knit together.

He grins, proud of what he does to you.

His hands grip your hips tight. He pulls back and then pushes back into you. Then again. Again. His pace picks up. Now brutal, punishing, like he’s making a point.

“This,” he snarls, slamming into you, “is what five million buys now.”

Your head spins. Your fingers claw the cushions. You’re falling apart, unraveling under him — and he knows it.

“You like it,” he leans down, breathing against your ear. “You fucking like it.”

You don’t answer.

But your body does.

You clench around him, earning a moan from him. His hands find your neck, choking you.

You clench again. He moans again and laughs while watching your eyes roll back. Then he lets go of your neck again.

“Come on, mouse. Touch yourself while I fuck you.” You obey, moving your head towards your clit, rubbing circles. As the knot in your stomach tightens, you arch your back. You whimper again, the pleasure too great of him fucking you like this and you working yourself towards your orgasm.

You feel his pace getting messier, feel him twitch inside, hear him moan. It only throws you over the edge more.

“Yeah, mouse. Cum on my cock like a good slut.” He commands, and like always, you obey.

You cum hard, clenching around him, moaning into his neck. He laughs — a low, breathless thing—but doesn't stop yet. He fucks you through it.

“Ohhhh yeah. Good girl.” — and then bites your shoulder as he follows, pulsing inside you shortly after.

For a moment, it’s quiet.

“You’ve got 4 million left. 1 month. And I’m taking the 500,000.”

He pulls out, tucks himself away, and grabs the knife from the cushion. You just lie there.

That's it? For 500,000 won, you let him use you like this. You felt dirty but so good at the same time.

“But if you fuck this good next time, I might give you an even better deal.”

Next time? Oh no.

And just like that, he’s gone.

⸻

I enjoyed writing this sm im not gonna lie hehe

[arminmy4ss]

Wet Dreams — Ryōhei Arisu, Alice in Borderland (pt. 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (you are here)

Summary: after arisu keeps excusing himself the next few days. You go to his room to ask what's wrong only to find him masturbating to the thought of you. And then you fuck.

Tags: Voyeurism, cunnilingus, dom!arisu, sub!reader (,confession), unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 2,3k

A/N: sorry for the wait, i was a little busy the past few days, anyway enjoy hehe

⸻

After he came back that day, you knew something was off. You noticed how flushed his cheeks were, how hot he was whenever you touched him, how he couldn't keep eye contact with you, and how he got quieter only with you.

The next few days it doesn't get better. Arisu keeps excusing himself to take care of what his dirty thoughts did to him. It was as if every time he got hard, his lust possessed him. He is ashamed of what he thinks.

⸻

It's late. The Beach hums quietly with the threat of tomorrow — another game always waiting just past the sunrise. You can't sleep. You try. But every time you close your eyes, it's the same reel: Arisu's flushed face, the stutter in his breath when you lean too close. The way his eyes flick to your mouth or breasts or hips when he thinks you don't see.

It's driving you insane — the not-knowing, the almost.

So you slip from your bunk. Bare feet cold on cracked tile. The halls smell like chlorine and stale sweat, but you don't care. You tell yourself you'll check on him. Just to talk. Just to clear the air — push or pull, anything but this endless maybe.

⸻

His door's ajar — just a finger's width, enough for stale air and the faint creak of the old bed to slip through.

You push it open.

You stop breathing.

⸻

He's half-sprawled on the thin mattress — shirt rumpled, shorts pulled down, hair a messy halo on the pillow. One hand covers his mouth — trying, failing, to keep quiet. The other is shoved under the blanket. The blanket that's not doing much to hide the shape of him, the way his hips twitch up into his palm like he can't help it.

It's your name, he whispers — ragged, breathless, soft like a secret.

Your mouth goes dry. You know you should pull back, let the door click shut. Give him this scrap of privacy he thought he had. But you don't. You can't. You stand there frozen, heartbeat crashing in your ears so loud you're sure he'll hear it.

He doesn't — not yet.

Not until your foot shifts on the tile, the softest scrape — and his eyes snap open.

Time stops.

⸻

You both just stare — heat and horror clashing between you. His hand jerks back like he's burned himself. He scrambles for the blanket — drags it over his hips, breath heaving, face bright red even in the half-light.

"Hey—!" His voice cracks when he says your name. His chest heaves like he's been running. "I— I didn't—"

You're still frozen in the doorway — mouth half open, words stuck somewhere behind your teeth.

He looks at you like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. His hand fists in the blanket, knuckles white. "I— just— it's— it's not—"

You hold up a hand, finally finding your voice — barely a whisper. "Don't. It's— it's fine. I— I'll—"

You back out, hand on the door, heart pounding like it wants to crack your ribs open.

You almost close it. Almost. But for half a second, you catch his eyes again — wide, dark, burning with something that's not quite shame. Something that makes your stomach flip and twist until you don't know if you're embarrassed or something else entirely.

You don't say goodnight. You just pull the door shut, your palm trembling on the rough wood.

⸻

In the dark hallway, you stand there for a moment — forehead pressed to the door, breath hot in your throat.

You can't unsee it. The way he looked at you. The sound of your name breaking from his mouth when he thought you'd never hear it.

Your skin prickles under your thin shirt. Your hands curl into fists at your sides.

You press your thighs together subconsciously, revising the way he sounded. That's when you decide: you're going back in there.

Your hand goes up to knock, but you just push the door open.

Inside you find him on his bed, pants pulled up, head in his hands, looking like he's trying to disappear. When he registers that you came back, his head shoots up, looking at you.

“Please– listen to me, it was—I wasn’t— it’s not—” He tries but fails. You close the door behind you, saying nothing. You're looking not at him but at the ground, breathing heavily.

He stands up and walks two steps towards you, now in front of you. “Believe me—” Before he can finish, you look at him slowly, your eyes locking with his. His gaze is needy as he takes in your flushed cheeks and heaving chest. You can feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the musky scent of his arousal. It makes your core throb with need.

"Arisu..." you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. "I… heard you. I heard what you were saying... doing."

He flinches, shame and desire warring on his face. "I...I didn't mean for you to hear that. I was just..."

"Just what?" you challenge, taking a step closer to him.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, now avoiding eye contact. “You know what? I––” he started but stopped when he looked at your eyes again. “I like you. I mean, I really like you, and I can't help it. I keep having these dreams and thoughts where we— …I’m sorry.” he confesses, his eyes finding the ground again.

Your breath hitches at his confession, your nipples hardening beneath your thin shirt.

Then there's a moment of silence. You take another step forward. Now so close you can feel his hot breath against your face. Your heart is beating against your ribcage, almost jumping out of it. You lean forward, look at his eyes, then his lips, then his eyes again, only to find him staring at your lips too. Then your eyes meet one more time.

The next moment feels like the quiet before an explosion. He closes the distance between you and —the explosion— his lips touch yours. Hesitantly. Careful. Longing. You feel your chest blooming with heat. Your stomach is full of butterflies. Your thighs press together more as you lean into him.

You reach out to grab his shirt and pull him closer to you. To deepen the kiss that was long overdue. He places his hands against your hips. Both of you making low moaning sounds that blend together beautifully.

Arisu groans, his hands gripping your hips rougher. As he presses against you, you can feel just how hard he is against you, letting you feel how desperate he is. "We shouldn't," he grits out through clenched teeth. "There's no room for things like this in a world like this. I'm supposed to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" You purr, nipping at his earlobe. "From this?" You grind against him, moaning at the delicious friction. "Or from how good it will feel when you finally give in and take what we both want?"

Arisu growls, low and deep in his chest. In one swift motion, he spins you around and slams you against the door, pinning your wrists above your head. His other hand slides down to grab your ass, squeezing hard. "You're playing a dangerous game," he warns, his voice rough with lust. "If we do this, there's no going back. I won't be able to control myself."

"Then don't," you gasp, arching into his touch. "Let go. Take what you want. Make me yours."

All of the shame, embarrassment and disgust he felt before leave his body, and he gives in to his lust. With a feral snarl, Arisu crashes his mouth against yours again in a now bruising kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, dominating you. You moan into the kiss, your body melting against his.

He breaks away suddenly, leaving you panting and wanting. "Take your clothes off," he commands, his eyes flashing with hunger. "I want to see all of you."

Your hands shake as you obey, peeling off your clothes until you're standing before him in nothing but your skin. Arisu drinks in the sight of you, his gaze like a physical touch on your heated flesh.

"Fuck… you're perfect," he breathes, reaching out to cup your breasts. He tweaks your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. "So soft and smooth... I can't wait to taste you."

He drops to his knees, burying his face between your legs. His tongue delves into your folds, lapping up your arousal like a starving man. You cry out, tangling your fingers in his hair as he eats you out with wild abandon.

Arisu feasts on your pussy like a man possessed, alternating between long licks and shallow thrusts of his tongue. He circles your clit with the tip, flicking it mercilessly until you're writhing and begging for more.

Just when you think you can't take any more, he backs off, leaving you panting and aching for release. "Not yet," he chuckles darkly, standing up and shoving his own pants down.

He grabs your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. Your dripping pussy rubs against his hard length, making you both groan. He carries you to the bed, where he sits down with you on his lap. His arms at your side, your arms on his shoulders "Ready?" Arisu growls, nipping at your throat. “Fuck, I’ve been waiting so long for this.”

"Please," you whimper, grinding yourself shamelessly against him. "Please do it, Arisu. I need you so bad. Need you to make me feel good."

Arisu snarls, positioning himself at your entrance. He looks you deep in the eyes before slowly making you sink down on him. First the tip, then halfway, then the whole thing. Until your pelvis met his. All the way through, both of you hold your breath, and when it's done, a beautiful whimper leaves his lips. You shudder at the sensation, at him inside of you, at the sound, and moan into his chest.

When you adjust to the feeling, you look him in the eyes again, lifting yourself just enough for him to still be inside of you, and then— you sink down again. You see his head and eyes roll back slightly, his mouth wide open but tsill forming a smile. A shaky breath against your neck escaping it. You're mirroring his expression while feeling him twitch inside of you.

“Fuck— Ah— you feel better than I could’ve ever imagined.” He whispered, leaning forward for a kiss again.

The slight shift in position made you fall down on him, resulting in a loud moan from both of you that is muffled in the kiss. He lunges his arms around you, and you put your arms around his neck.

He moves, slowly, out of you and then back in. Back out, and then—with one hard thrust, he buries himself inside you again. You both cry out at the sudden penetration, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He breathes for a second, pausing before he starts again, a fraction faster. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts.

You throw your head back, giving Arisu access to your neck. He leans forward, kissing, licking, and sucking on it. You whine out at the stinging sensation. He moans against your neck.

Then he lifts you up off his cock to lay you down on the bed. You cry out, feeling empty all of a sudden, closing your legs subconsciously. Arisu spreads them back open.

He grabs his dick and positions it at your entrance. He looks up to your face while he pushes himself back inside you. Seeing it twist just like in his dreams. Arisus's eyes are dark when he starts moving in and out of you again.

You arched, rolling your head back. Earning a brief slap on your ass from him. “Look at me.” You obey, and as soon as you do, he starts moving faster. Still holding your thighs as support as he buried himself so deep inside of you you can feel it—even see it in your stomach.

Arisu fucks you hard and fast now, like a man possessed. He pounds into you with reckless abandon, chasing his own pleasure as much as yours.

After some time you couldn't take it anymore and your hand comes to your clit to rub circles on it, looking for relief of the knot forming in your stomach.

You lose yourself in the sensation of his thick cock driving into you again and again, hitting that sweet spot deep inside that makes stars explode behind your eyes. Your pussy clenches around him greedily, milking his shaft for all it's worth.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Arisu groans, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Fuck—mhh— you just feel too good. I’m close— ah.” he moans out, and you nod. “Me—too.” You stammered, rubbing faster.

"I'm going to fill this pretty little cunt with my cum. You want that, mh?"

"Yes!" you scream, throwing your head back as your body gives in. Your whole body pulsing, throbbing. So relieving you start bending, moaning uncontrollably under him. "Arisu!"

Arisu groans as he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you. You feel his hot seed flooding you, marking you as his. Your pussy milks him for every last drop, greedy for his essence.

He collapses beside you onto the bed, panting. Arisu pulls out of you slowly, a satisfied groan rumbling in his chest as he watches his cum leak out of your well-fucked hole.

"That was...intense," he murmurs, pulling you close and nuzzling your neck. "I don't know what came over me. I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you."

You snuggle into his embrace, feeling safe and sated in his arms. "Don't apologize," you murmur back, trailing your fingers over his sweat-slicked chest. "I liked it."

A comfortable silence fell over both of you. Only your breathing sounds could be heard.

“Arisu?”

“Yeah?”

“I like you too.”

⸻

Ahhhhh arisu is so ughhhhhhh he is so fine i can’t

(If you have any requests please tell me I’m begging you, i don’t have any ideas rn)

[arminmy4ss]

Wet Dreams — Ryōhei Arisu, Alice In Borderland (pt. 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 (you are here) | Part 3

summary: After that night, arisu gets flashbacks at the pool, where he sits with you. He goes to the bathroom and jerks off.

tags: kinda pervy, dirty thoughts, guilty/disgusted at horniness, (disgusted after) masturbation

word count: 1,3k

A/N: i guess i implied dom arisu

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The sun today is merciless. Arisu didn't feel like going out. He wanted to lock himself up for what he did. He still felt disgusting. But staying in his room all day would only roast him completely — and it would beg questions from others. So he decided to go out. He originally wanted to avoid you. 

But here he was, sitting cross-legged with you in a patch of shade by the half-empty pool. You picked a spot behind a stack of broken deck chairs, away from the worst of the noise, a pocket of quiet, just yours for now.

You're fiddling with a piece of deck tile, scratching shapes into the dust at your feet. Arisu tries to pay attention — he really does. You're talking about the next game, asking if he thinks the Beach really can help them get out. He should be thinking about the suits and the cards and the doors that might open if they find the right ones.

But all he can think about is the way your knee bumps his every few seconds. The way your hair sticks to the side of your neck. The hollow at your throat, catching the light exactly like it did in his dream.

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He tries to focus, but the dream keeps slipping back under his skin, prickling at the base of his spine. The heat curls low in his stomach before he can kill it. He shifts where he sits, pulling one knee up to hide how his shorts don't hide anything right now.

You don't notice — too busy scratching your patterns, voice soft. You ask, "Are you listening?"

"Yeah," he croaks, but it comes out raw, strangled. You glance up — frown — and lean closer to see if he's okay.

It's like someone punched the air out of him. The curve of your shoulder so close. The faint sheen of sweat where your collarbone dips. The faint smell of sun-warmed skin and salt water that clings to you now. You lean forward, just enough so he can see your breasts under your shirt. Your eyes are so innocent it kills him that he thinks such dirty things.

He feels it — the rush of blood, the pressure against his zipper that says move, now, before she sees.

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You catch the way he shifts again, hugging his knee tighter to his chest. "Hey. You okay? You look flushed."

He nearly chokes. "Yeah. Just — sun's hot."

You reach out, brushing your fingers along his forehead to check if he's feverish, and the soft drag of your skin on his hairline makes him flinch like he's been burned.

You pull back, surprised. "Sorry. Did I—?"

"I — I just —" He's on his feet so fast he nearly knocks the chair pile over. You stare up at him, confused.

"Arisu?"

He won't look at you. "I'll be right back. I just — I gotta — toilet."

And then he's gone — cutting through the noise and bodies, heart hammering in his throat.

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He rushes inside the half-ruined bathhouse, the air is damp and reeks of mildew. He ducks into the nearest stall, bolts the flimsy door, and presses his back against the cracked tile. His chest feels too tight, like the shame's lodged right under his ribs.

It shouldn't feel like this — it shouldn't still be this strong. But every time he tries to forget it, the dream comes back in slices: the curve of your waist under his hands, your laugh melting into a sigh, the heat of you pressed against him like you wanted him. The phantom echo of it crawls down his spine.

He palms himself through his shorts — barely a touch, but he's already so hard it hurts. He bites down on the sleeve of his shirt to muffle the sound that slips out when he squeezes too hard.

He thinks it before he can even stop himself: ‘Fuck, I want to grab her hips and slam her down on my cock right now.’

He shouldn't be doing this. Not here. Not about you. Not when he's supposed to protect you, be your friend. But his brain won't listen. His hips rock forward, hand slipping under the waistband, rough and desperate. 

‘I want to hear her moan and scream my name. 

I bet her pussy feels so tight and wet.’

He tries to keep quiet, but a low grunt breaks free when he imagines your mouth where his hand is, the sound of your breath mixing with his own.

‘I want to slide my fingers inside her, make her squirm. Beg for more.’

He circles his finger around his tip, just like you did with your tongue in the dream. 

He sees your eyes in front of him, half-lidded. He hears the sounds you made, the way your face looked. The way your eyes rolled back when you first sank down on him. The way your mouth opened, you let out a gasp when he accidentally slammed into you out of desperation. He imagines when he fucks into his fist, it's your pussy instead. 

His other hand moves under his shirt, recreating how you had moved your hand along his chest. How you had used it as support as you bounced up and down on him. In between strokes he squeezes his dick, like you had when he felt he had hit a certain spot. Oh, how you moaned when he had. 

He bites down harder on his shirt as he was getting louder, barely being able to keep the sounds in. Through it all he feels his eyes water. He is close. 

But at the same time he doesn't want to do this. You're sitting at the pool right now, probably worrying about him. Maybe even talking to Usagi about how strange he was behaving today. 

His mind goes to thousands of what-ifs. What if anyone finds out? What if you find out? What if you would hate him for it? What if you would never talk to him again?

‘I'm such a dirty bastard, imagining these things. She's my friend, not some object for me to fantasize about.’

But what if you would like it? What if you feel the same way? What if he could live that dream? 

He throws his head back, the shirt that muffled at least something now falling out of his mouth. His stomach feels warm, a knot forming. He breathes out. heavy and slow. He stops stroking his dick momentarily to make this sensation last just a little bit longer. 

And then — a wave of pleasure rushes through him. He quickly moves his hand to his mouth, a painful-sounding whimper escaping his throat, being somewhat muffled by his hand. 

He could feel his dick and whole body pulsing, his fingertips, his head. It feels like anyone could hear his heart hammering against his chest. 

The white truth sticks to his hand. Too real, too much proof of something he can't shove back down anymore.

The shame tangled with relief. He stays like that for a moment — forehead now pressed to the cold tile, breathing hard. He wipes his hand with toilet paper that crumbles in his grip, trying not to imagine your name on his tongue.

When he slips back out, he splashes water on his face at the cracked sink, hoping the sting of it will scrub the heat from his skin. Hoping you won't look too close when he comes back.

He looks into the mirror before going back to the pool, realizing the weight of what he had just done. 

Hoping he can keep pretending he's still just thinking of you as a friend.

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I already know i'm gonna make a 3rd – and probably last part where reader and arisu fuck fr