#boiling my husband alive in oil

[ball-of-catgirl]

Eggman's Announcement but it's the TikTok TTS lady

absolutely dumbfounded to discover this was not at all on YouTube before today so I took it upon myself to forge it proper

[skelevision]

quick wip sketch. i forgot how to draw

[eightfourone]

the way my own blog was one of my most reblogued blogs

[stellarspecter]

Ok next opportunity I have to play a new dnd character I'm gonna be a warforged and my character voice is gonna be the tiktok ai voice

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (49)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, anxiety, angst, smut ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

For the last few days, which had seemed to him like long nights melted into one, he had forgotten how soothing his wife's touch had been to him. How calming her warm, tight walls had been to him, clenching on his fat erection in pleasure, refusing to let him go, wanting to keep him deep inside her.

I need you, husband.

He longed to hear it.

He needed to know that he was necessary to her as she was to him, that she too found peace in his arms when he filled her to the brim with his seed.

He was ready to give her everything and he did indeed.

As he laid on his side with her, panting heavily with his nose snuggled into her hair, he ran his fingers along the inside of her palm, tracing with his fingertips the cut mark of the dragonglass, a reminder that she was only his.

"− I’d like to spend some time with Royce − he’s overwhelmed with his responsibilities − he needs me −" She whispered, and he felt his stomach twist unpleasantly, his body tensed all over. He pressed his lips together, swallowing quietly.

I'm the one who fucking needs you.

He couldn't get the words out of his throat, embarrassed by his simple, baseless jealousy and regret. He knew that Royce had suffered as he had, that he had just lost his father, was still waiting for him to be buried.

That, apart from his sister, he had no one now.

"Do you trust me?" She asked softly, and he felt a squeeze in his heart. He sighed heavily, sinking his face into her hair, fighting his possessive side with difficulty.

"Yes."

And then she left, leaving him alone. He stared ahead, lying on the bed, the sheets beneath him suddenly seeming terribly cold and empty. He breathed steadily, fighting the images before his eyes, fighting the sight of Borros disappearing into the fire and Daeron choking on his own blood.

He got out of bed and tied his breeches, swallowing hard, sitting in a chair in front of the fire as if in lethargy, just trying to survive until she return.

He had the feeling that his body was colder than before he flew out to Harrenhal.

That something had changed in him, that another drop had fallen into the goblet filled to the brim with his madness.

He squeezed his eye shut, trying to think of their child. He always saw the same thing – his wife lying in his bed, cradling their offspring in her arms, singing a lullaby in the candlelight.

This vision soothed him, filled him with warmth, made him realise that even though he sometimes didn't want it, he was still alive.

He opened his eye when he heard the sound of the door opening, his wife walked into their chamber, looking up at him with a gentle smile. He felt a sense of relief, which, however, found no expression on his face. She approached him slowly, with her hands placed on her womb, and looked down at him.

"– do you wish to take a bath, husband? –"

He looked from the side at the servants who were filling the tub with hot water at his wife's orders.

He wanted it to be boiling hot, he wanted to feel discomfort and pain, to burn himself.

To punish himself.

He watched as his wife began to pour in his favourite oils, the scent of lavender teasing his nose.

He realised that the last time they did this was before her beautiful body burned.

When everything was ready, she ordered the servants to leave their chamber and nodded at him to come up to her. He rose lazily from his chair approaching her with an unhurried step, looking down at her, her hands with sure, quick movements began to undo the buckles of his leather tunic.

She drew in a loud breath as his hand suddenly tightened violently on her hair, his lips pressing voraciously into hers, forcing his tongue down her throat, robbing her of breath. She threw her arms around his neck and for a moment they simply caressed each other with their mouth, their kisses intense, sticky and fast, pulling away with a wet click, panting into each other's throats.

"– my water is cooling, sweet wife –" He breathed out into her mouth and she hummed softly, her hands went back to undressing him, but her puffy lips did not leave his, brushing and teasing his skin – he felt his erection getting hard again, his manhood pulsing painfully in his breeches.

She pulled away from him when she felt it, untying the material and glanced down involuntarily, her cheeks flushed.

Even though he had fucked her so many times, even though she saw him bare almost every day, the sight of his cock still filled her with sweet embarrassment.

He ran his hand over his cheek as she lifted her bright, warm gaze to him again – he thought that perhaps she was slowly beginning to recover from her father's death and kissed her forehead.

He stepped into the bath and sighed heavily, feeling both pleasure and discomfort from the temperature – the water around him was steaming, droplets of sweat appearing on his skin. He tilted his head back and laid it on the base ot the tub, murmuring loudly as he felt his wife approach him from behind, untying the ribbon in his hair, keeping their ritual.

He felt her spill some oil water in his hair after she tilted his face back, not wanting to pour water into his healthy eye. With a gentle flick of her hand she pulled his eye patch off his head and he didn't stop her, completely relaxed – at some point he had already forgotten to put it on with her, used to the comfort of sleeping without it for weeks.

He gave himself over completely to her gentle, tender treatments, her hands rubbing oils into his hair only to rinse them away with water again moments later. He felt her fingers on his cheeks, touching him there just for his pleasure, for his sense that she was by his side again and all her attention was on him alone. He swallowed quietly at the thought.

"How is your brother feeling?" He asked out of the blue, without opening his eye.

He heard his wife come around the bathtub, sitting down next to him on the wooden stool, dipping a piece of soft cloth into the water. She began wiping his arm, thoughtful.

"He's trying to manage, but the new responsibilities are overwhelming him. He's afraid of marriage and he's afraid he won't make it as a commander. As a Lord." She said quietly, and he opened his eye and looked at her – her hand dipped into the water with a quiet splash only to emerge and continue trailing over his body.

He hummed quietly, looking ahead again.

"He's been preparing for this all his life." He said indifferently, without accusation or mockery, more stating a fact. He felt his wife look at him.

"You weren't afraid before we got married? After your father died?" She asked uncertainly, dipping her hand in the water again, and he pressed his lips together.

Of course he was afraid.

"My real father died in the Eyrie." He whispered before he had time to think about what had actually left his mouth. He swallowed loudly, glancing at his wife and met her surprised gaze, her lips parted in disbelief.

He felt embarrassed by his words and knew that he needed to give them context.

"I told him, then, when I threatened him, that even though my mother treats you as if you were her daughter, he doesn't treat me like his son." He muttered.

He could see her chest rising and falling in accelerated breaths, her eyebrows arched in pain, her eyes turning red.

"− Aemond −" She choked out with difficulty, though it sounded more like a plea, as if his words brought her pain and relief at the same time.

"− ever since that night when he saved me, I have imagined what would have happened if my father had sent me as he sent Daeron, only not to Old Town, but to Storm's End − if, after I had lost my eye, he had stated that I needed, as a future Lord Commander of my brother's army, to learn the art of war, so that I could watch from the sidelines how the best army in Westeros, the Baratheon army, functioned −" He felt the words literally pour out of his throat, as if he could no longer hide what he had been thinking about in recent weeks.

"− If Borros had shared with me everything he himself knew, if I could have trained with Royce, if I could… −" He said and looked at her as if he was only now seeing her for real again, her lower lip trembling, her eyes flooded with tears that ran down her cheeks one by one, her hands lying on the edge of the tub clenched into fists.

"−… get to know you sooner − maybe then… −" He said and felt his voice break.

"−…maybe then I would have been a different person −" He mumbled hiding his face in his hand, feeling vulnerable, weak. He felt her warm, soothing hand on his face, on his shoulders, his chest.

"− my beloved − I wish so much that this was true − I wish so much that I had met you sooner −" She whispered, and he swallowed loudly and looked at her, her face red with tears, her gaze full of pain and love.

Love for him.

He stood up suddenly with a loud splash of water and took her in his arms, walking with her towards the bed, heedless of her squeals, of the fact that he had wet her entire gown. He laid her on the sheets and knelt over her, the water from his hair dripping onto her face as he untied the ties of her gown and sleeves, which she tried helplessly to help him with.

"− I would have taken you for myself sooner − I would have kissed you in the cold corridors of your father's fortress −" He breathed out in a trembling voice, slipping her top gown off with difficulty, his wife reached back behind her back, untying her bottom skirt, slipping it off quickly, remaining at last in just her nightgown.

He sank into her plump, sweet lips pressing her body with his own to the bed, spreading her thighs in front of him, the tip of his hard, throbbing manhood pushed against her slick entrance, drawing a helpless mewl from her throat. His hand ran through her hair, his forehead pressed against hers, his other hand caught her thigh, holding her in place, not letting her escape.

"− would you visit me in my chamber? − in my bed? −" He panted into her mouth, sucking and licking her lips, sliding in and out of her with a quiet clicks of her mositure in a lazy, slow motion of his hips, her body quivering under him with pleasure.

She threw her arms around his neck, holding him close, moaning sweetly, her nipples hardening visibly under her nightgown from his words, her fleshy insides welcoming his fat cock with ease.

"− yes, gods, you know I would −" She mewled, responding to his every thrust with the impatient roll of her hips, panting along with him, crossing her legs around his waist, their bodies wet with water and their sweat slapping against each other with a sticky, loud smacks.

"− I would be your prince − brother − lover − fuck! −" He hissed, listening to her sobs at his words, her insides clenching around his length so tightly that he knew she was about to come.

His words were arousing her.

She wanted it.

"− A-Aemond − oh gods −" She mumbled out with difficulty, feeling his hips begin to accelerate, pumping his erection into her with a loud slaps of her moisture, her hands tightening on his hair.

"− fuck, fuck, fuck −" He exhaled loudly, slamming into her brutally and quickly, clenching his eye, imagining him fucking her in his chamber in Storm's End.

He came hard hearing her loud moans, her violent orgasm squeezing his hot spend right out of him into her throbbing core. He ran his nose over her wet, sweaty face, placing sticky kisses full of tenderness, love and devotion on her hot skin.

"− my sweetest − shhh −" He whispered, trying to calm her shaking body, her eyes closed, her lips parted sweetly in uneven breathing, her hands stroking his naked back.

"− Aemond −"

They fell asleep in each other's entwined arms, sleeping peacefully through the night for the first time in many days − it was only in the morning that their servant woke them up, informing them that they had to prepare for the ceremony of burning Prince Daeron's body.

They did not speak to each other as the servants helped them put on their black mourning robes, both thoughtful. They left his chamber together, walking slowly through the cloisters of the keep.

He pretended it was not his brother's funeral, but someone else's, that Daeron was in the Citadel.

He didn't know who lay on that big wooden pyre and didn't want to know.

He looked with indifferent eye at Sunfyre standing on the hill above them, Aegon standing beside her and Helaena next to him, embracing their children with her arms.

His sister was trembling all over, her face covered by a dark, transparent veil, but he was still able to see the tears running down her cheeks and her trembling, pale lips. Their grandfather held their mother, who was barely standing on her feet, hugged to her father's chest, looking somewhere to the side, distant in thought.

"− I can't −" He heard a quiet whisper and looked to the side, he, his wife and Helaena stared shocked at Aegon.

Aegon, standing in his mourning royal attire, wearing Aegon the Conqueror's crown was shivering all over, his eyes red, open wide, terrified, staring at their brother's shroud-wrapped body lying right in front of them.

"− I can't − I can't −" He mumbled, Helaena's hand tightening on his arm. She said something to him in a trembling voice, and Aegon looked at her. She touched his cheek with her and he swallowed loudly, nodded and looked ahead.

This was the first time he had seen Helaena touch his older brother of her own free will.

Aegon raised his gaze, clenched his hands into fists and looked ahead, his lower lip trembling before he uttered his order in a loud, breaking voice:

"Dracarys."

Their mother sobbed loudly as Sunfyre's maw opened to envelop their brother's body in a wave of flames that consumed what was left of his flesh. She wanted to throw herself towards him, but Otto stopped her, catching her in half, whispering something to her quickly.

He had the feeling that he had only participated in all this with his body.

He felt nothing.

He shuddered when his wife's fingers touched his hands placed behind his back. He swallowed loudly, his thumb running almost imperceptibly over her palm, just as it had when he had first touched her cheek in Storm's End.

Afterwards, they were to sit down to a grand shared feast, prepared for all the lords who had come from afar to attend their brother's funeral ceremony and to congratulate the King on winning the battle. He knew that the battle of the Eyrie had been crucial in consolidating his power in the eyes of his subjects and magnates.

He and his wife hardly touched the food – Aegon decreed that there would be no music during the feast. It was not a time for rejoicing or dancing.

He leaned against the back of his chair, taking a sip of wine, thoughtful, involuntarily seeking his wife's womb with his hand, her proximity, subconsciously checking that she and his child were safe. He was answered by the touch of her hand, tender, gentle, soothing.

He thought they would get through this together.

And then the door from the throne room opened, one of the guards stepped inside announcing that Lord Borros Baratheon's daughter had just arrived. He felt his wife move beside him hopefully, swallowing loudly, and then they both froze.

Floris stepped inside, descending the stairs slowly, as if her aim was to keep everyone looking at her for as long as possible. Her long, ornate, emerald gown with buff, slit sleeves from under which her nightgown shone shimmered with the colours of the Hightowers, her wordless devotion to the King despite the fact that everyone around her wore black. Her hair was combed into an ornate, exquisite braid – he looked at her in disbelief and glanced at his wife.

She looked at her sister with her lips parted, her gaze expressing pain and disbelief.

Her sister looked like a copy of her.

He gave her a protracted, angry look when she finally approached their table, noticing only the same details that had caught his attention when she had come to his chamber that night to suck his cock.

Her face wasn't as smoothly formed, her hair wasn't as dark, her lips were shaped differently, her nose was rounded differently, her eyes weren't the same shade.

He felt like getting up and spitting in her face.

Floris bowed before his brother, on her face something that if he didn't know what she was capable of could be seen as gentleness and concern.

"My King." She said calmly, with a feigned humility from which his stomach twisted. "I come on behalf of my sisters to take our father's body to Storm's End. Know that we are blessed that he died in defence of the kingdom, protecting your brother, so inexperienced in matters of war after all −" She said calmly, and he felt his jaw clench in rage, fingers of his terrified wife squeezing his hand.

He thought he'd fucking kill this whore with his own hands.

"− I place in your hands my words of assurance that Storm's End remains faithful to you, my King." She said, bowing low, everyone at the table looked at her in shock. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his brother and froze.

He knew that gaze.

A gaze full of desire for love and acceptance, a gaze full of his stupidity and naivety.

He pressed his lips together in rage, knowing what it meant, that he had fallen for this cheap, feminine trick.

Floris didn't even know how much she had been hit with her appearance − by wanting to humiliate her sister, by dressing and combing like her, by wanting to show her her superiority and dominance, she had become, in Aegon's eyes, the perfect object of his desire.

A copy of his wife.

_____

Taglist 1

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[lovelace-writer]

Your Father

Your father, truly, is a man of honor.

He doesn't really know how to be a person. To be well-groomed, to grit his teeth through polite banter, and to be selfish, sometimes, too, when the weather calls for it.

Although, he never truly said that three words. No, now, he would mutter and grunt other things, and still I would be grateful.

So I would manage a smile, using his mother's diamonds, and she would be so disappointed in both of us. He didn't think too much about it, for the first time, in his name and legacy, so he could marry someone impulsively.

Not like we were made for each other, we just didn't know or wanted nothing else. He would show his teeth to the old ladies, and I would be granted punching them.

Although now is different, and I still somehow put stitches on his back for every backstabber, both literal and symbolic. At late nights, when is too cold for either of us, and I would climb the walls waiting for him to come back.

And he always would.

So I manage the polite banter, to be the one making the shady deals and shaking people to the bones, as long he would never break the crystals and I would never stain his name.

What about it? We never truly wanted to change, to be different from our 9-year-old selves that would spill champagne in the rich man's suit.

Because we can make it work, I guess. He would say it, promise it, because he truly believed in it.

We probably could, we did, actually, even if neither of us truly changed.

But he is just a man. He's no angel descending from the skies to save humanity, and I was the one stitching every injury, promising to have his back and to never betray it.

"Marry me," he said, that one time. He was no man to drink, completely sober, at least from alcohol.

So miserable, the man didn't even ask. I wouldn't say no, anyway.

It hurt. Not the sensation or his demand. He didn't like seeing me cry, so I didn't. It was very proper, very hidden from the light and the media would only know until a month later.

I would manage to go to the parties and smile at the old ladies saying "In my day-", and I would resist the urge to say she should have died from old age. The whole city would say he was cheating on me, with anyone, everyone, and I was doing the same, but worse.

I laughed at it because, heavens, who they thought your father was? He didn't want any better, he wanted me.

Oh, but it broke his heart. He would grip my hand, he could break it but he wouldn't; buy and burn them twice just to be sure. It would be boiling over for enough time for him to be truly angered.

And when they say that fundraisers, shopping and tea parties were hell to do every day, they were right. Bloody right, I recall, as I wanted to set the canapé table on fire. He would let me, he would pay for it, and he would break the chin of every man saying I wasn't a proper wife.

(His father, if alive, would bail me out of jail, say I was equally hilarious and rightful.)

Okay, I said, answering, not the most traditional answer, you can be my house-husband. Like I ever was going to let any work slip through my finger, or any moment, for instance. He laughed, and I think that was the first time he laughed since his parents died.

The wood floor and the oil on canvas family pictures, and the candlelight, and his mother's diamonds; and I suppose he had a plan, somewhere, involving flowers and things straight out of a fairytale. Too bad, we never settled for anything besides each other.

He blurted the two words, demanding because that was what he made best, for the first time not following the plan.

We came back for each other, in progressively shorter intervals. Six years, one year, then five months, then one day, then every day, for the rest of our lives.

Is it morning?

Almost noon.

Shit, I have work to do.

Forget about it.

Like I was going to be a housewife. I can't fix whatever is wrong with him, but he can make me worse. We can make each other worse, if it works.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

You don't even know what an hors d'oeuvre is.

Probably a spell.

Your father, truly, is a man of honor. He kept his word, and we even managed to bring you to this mess, too. Until death do us part–

But he never said that three words.

I wouldn't love me either.

[mowu-moment]

only thing good out of tiktok is the tts lady making any sorta-strange textpost 3x better. boiling my husband alive in oil 😊

[thejaymo]

Digital Narration from Apple Books

Apple just launched digital narration service using voice synthesis!

From the Forbes article:

The initial target: long-tail books that will never be worth paying a human narrator for.

“More and more book lovers are listening to audiobooks, yet only a fraction of books are converted to audio — leaving millions of titles unheard,” Apple says. “Many authors — especially independent authors and those associated with small publishers — aren’t able to create audiobooks due to the cost and complexity of production.”

Apple is releasing four voices to start, two female and two male. Voices are optimized for specific genres of books, so Jackson is intended for fiction or romance with a deep, somewhat husky voice, while Helen is a soprano designed for nonfiction and self-development.

If you click though to the Apple authors announcement you can hear samples of the 4 voices. They are in my opinion, extremely listenable.

Understandably, I've seen a lot of people railing against the move. People worried about putting voice actors / narrators out of work. Other commentators question listener fatigue and the sort of attention level that can be given to an AI generated voice over a long period. But also, good for small authors, the cost of producing and audio book (even if you do it yourself) is colossal. I think AI voiced long tail / self published books will be really popular.

I know people (Ross I'm looking at you) who use over cranked TTS voiceover voices to read PDFs and other non fiction to them in the car when they are driving around, this voices are much more natural and will be popular if *built in* to devices int he near future.

Growing up in the 90's AI / Computers speaking were supposed to sound like HAL, Marvin the Robot or Stephen Hawking.

Instead we got the the TikTok lady. Which had its own crazy 'ethics in AI model creation' story a few years ago.

I was thinking recently that the TikTok lady has - at this point - got to be the most famous voice in the western world? An order of magnitude more famous than any living person surely?

Also I'm still laughing about the 'Boiling my husband alive in oil 🥰' post I reblogged yesterday.

Anyways, I built my own voice model last year using the 10's of hours of podcast's I've recorded. I've been sneakily using it for replacement here and there in my new interview show. Unless you looked at my working files, no one will ever ever know. I wonder how many professional voice actors who narrate for a living also have their own custom models too?

Whats interesting to me about Apple's move is the 4 voices optimised for different kinds of genre out the gate?

The chirpy upward inflection of the TikTok lady voice is optimised to deliver meaning as clearly as possible inside the typographic container of TikTok's media environment.

Audiobook producers of course have been making casting decisions for years around content and narrator but it seems significant to me that right out the gate there are certain kinds of voices best suited for certain kinds of content?

Theres a big difference of course between hearing and listening (cf Pauline Oliveros, R. Murray Schafer, Deep Listening etc).

Comprehension is always an active process. The philosopher Mortimer J. Adler talks about how teaching and learning are a reciprocal process

“Just as teaching will not avail unless there is a reciprocal activity of being taught, so no author, regardless of his skill in writing, can achieve communication without a reciprocal skill on the part of readers.”

The same is also true of effective storytelling. There is the teller of stories and the person being told.

I want AI voice Narration to be turned up to 11 - tomorrow. The optimisation of Human-Like voices to deliver meaning I'm convinced could be pushed a lot further.

Why not create a Human-Like voice that is optimised to deliver meaning at 2/3x speeds?

What does a synthesised voice that reaches 'I know kung-fu' levels of comprehension to a willing and active listener even sound like?

At that level of speed and active comprehension do we need to tweak for realism or optimise for something else?

[le-velo-pour-dru]

[Image ID: A Tumblr post by kushblazer666 that reads, "*ai tiktok tts lady voice* boiling my husband alive in oil! [smiling face surrounded by hearts emoji]". /end ID]

[hydr0generati0n]

Boiling my Husband,- Oh? She transitioned? Good for her. Anyways

Girling my Husband Alive, in Oil!

[shittyclive]

Boiling my husband alive in oil! /q

[thunderpounce-inc]

Finally! At long last, they are clean!

and I didn't even end up using the grill to heat the water,,, which was the main reason this took so long (too rainy); I ended up being too scared of the propane tank (it is not my grill either)

next up is the repairs, which are kind of extensive; they are missing the left back plate, wing, and tail fins, AND their helmet. I plan to measure their dimensions, figure out a 3D modeling software (shouldn't be too hard considering I've used Autodesk Inventor,,, although granted that was intended for modeling like, industrial parts (I used it mostly for making toys),,, and I used a student version... that I do not have anymore), then send the files to a 3D printing company

please note, DO NOT replicate this indoors!

I did this outside/in the mudroom specifically because TRANSFORMERS TOYS ARE MADE OF PLASTIC! The temperatures I used (170°F / 76.6°C) were high enough that there was a noticeable heated plastic smell, similar to that of a 3D printer. A 3D printer (and anything else significantly heating plastics that isn't dishes in a dishwasher) should be USED IN A VENTILATED AREA.

I also did not keep the temperature 170°F through the whole thing; since I took the water OFF the stove, it dropped at a rate of about 1°F/min; so the super high temps of 170-160°F were not sustained for more than 10 minutes

'Boiling My Husband Alive In Oil' audio is from this post

[levithestripper]

help i read this as “boiling my husband alive in olive oil” and idk if that's better or worse tbh

*ai tiktok tts lady voice* boiling my husband alive in oil!🥰

[valdotjpg]

hi guys sorry for the inactivity i have been Burning and Boiling and Broiling alive for the past week or so

[aurasaurora]

Emotionally Intoxicated

Summary: Your husband was the image of a perfect working man and father, what would happen when you discover he is not what you expected?

Parings: The Salesman x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Manipulation and lying. A short smut scene, oral (f receiving), fingering and missionary. ALSO I did keep one of the character that died alive. So yeah.

A/N: I know the smut scene is kinda out of place, but Gong Yoo makes me feel some type of wayyyy. Also I use the salesman actor name because I don't recall them giving him a name...ANYWAYS enjoy!

“Hey baby, how was work?” You asked your husband as you continued to chop the vegetables. He approached the kitchen island and gave you a kiss on the cheek then turned to look at what was boiling on the stove. “Work was alright. Boring as usual” he never gave many details of what he actually would do during his work. You knew he was a salesman, but what he was trying to sell to people was a mystery to you. Your friends tried to point out how much of a red flag that was, but stupidly you ignored him. Your love and attachment towards him blinded you from accepting the issues with his secrecy.

“What are you cooking?’ He asked, as he began to sir the boiling pot himself. “Smells good, as always.” He turned to smile towards you. You were going to respond but then you remembered something. “Oh, right. Um, two guys came at the door this morning asking for you. One had red hair, the other said he was a businessman. Their names slipped my tongue, but they told me to let you know that they want to speak with you.” You stopped cutting the vegetables to grab another frying pan from the cabinets. Your back was facing him, so you couldn’t see how his expression dropped at your words. His work never interfered with his personal life, ever. He always made sure of it. Not even his boss knows about you or the kids. “They came here?” his voice almost came out in disbelief; how did they even know where you guys lived? “Yeah, even left a fruit basket for the kids. I put it on the table.” You said, finally standing up and heading to grab the oil to add to the frying pan. Gong Yoo headed to the dining room and grabbed the fruit basket aggressively off the dining table. There was a small card, no bigger than a business card with a number on it. He took the card but grabbed the fruits and dumped them into the trash.

“Gong-Yoo what..why? That was for the kids, Iseul was excited to eat it!” You were a little shocked by his behaviour. Fruits are expensive in South Korea, in contrast to your homeland. Not only that but he wasted perfectly good fresh food. And Iseul your oldest child had been begging you non-stop if she could have a bit for dessert.

“I can buy my wife and children their own fruit baskets. I don’t need some guy doing my job.” Legitimately he didn’t care about the fruit basket, he never got seriously jealous because he knew you’d never even think about another man. He just couldn’t say ‘hey honey, two guys who survived from my bosses battle royal came back for revenge so I’m not sure whether or not the fruits are poisoned or something.’ Letting you know too much would put you in danger. So going the jealousy route was best bet for him.

“Oh, come on babe. It was just a kind jester.” You stated as you began seasoning the vegetables. Gong Yoo left out an overexaggerated sigh, “Well I’m going to go check on the kids” giving your ass a swat on his way out.

“Aera is napping don’t disturb her peace.” You groaned in annoyance. You were instantly reminded by the fact that you had to basically battle that 5-month-old to go to sleep somewhere that wasn’t your body.

He creeped up the stairs, looking for the four-year-old and three-year-old. He missed them dearly considering it’s round up season (in which he needs to round up players for the games to begin) he hasn’t seen them as much, as he liked too. “Iseul, Minguk, Appa is home.” He toned down his voice not to awaken the sleeping demon. But it was a mistake because the two toddlers came down running his direction with burst of happiness. Charging towards his direction to give their father a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you guys so much.” He said while his children suffocated him with their affection. Minguk gave his father a kiss on the cheek, meanwhile Iseul ran back into her bedroom.

“Have you been treating your mother well?” He asked playfully. Minguk was the least troublesome of the three, but he had attachment issues like no other, so he was consistently around you. Unless his older sister wanted to play.

Before Minguk could answer his sister came running back “Appa! Appa! Look! Look!” She handed over him her new toy.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Gong Yoo didn’t mean to yell, but it slipped out. It was a gun, but one that looked awfully like the one that Gi-Hun had pointed at him when they first came in contact. Minguk covered his ears at his fathers cursing, and Iseul looked at him with shame and disappointment. “No bad words!” She scolded him, and her brother nodded furiously in agreement. “I’m telling Eomma.” She began to walk off angrily but Gong Yoo grabbed her tiny body in one swift movement. “Hey monkey, where did you get this?”

“A friend.” She said so simply.

“Which friend?” He asked

“Ummm.” She thought about it for a moment. “From the park. Appa after dinner can we-can we play” He knew he wasn’t going to get any direct answers from a four-year-old. So he’d have to figure shit out himself. “Yeah, we can, just don’t tell Eomma.” He pinched her nose which made her giggle.

“Dinner is ready.” Your soft voice caught him off guard, he didn’t even realize you had come up the stairs. “Yay.” Minguk said before he started running. “MinMin baby, stop running. You’ll hurt yourself.” You turned to look at Iseul, then you saw it. “Why is there a gun?” you went to pick up what you assumed was a toy gun. “Jesus Gong Yoo, you always give the kids the weirdest gifts.” You opened your bedroom door and tossed, the gun into it, then closed the door behind yourself and started walking downstairs with Minguk.

The dinner was oddly talkative yet quiet. The kids babbled about literally anything, normally both you and your husband would be fully engaged in their conversations to help their development, but suspiciously he was pretty quiet. There was a lot of “mmhmm..nice..wow..cool.” rather than actual dialog, while it might have not been clear to the kids. It was clear to you, that he was not paying attention. Eventually the two oldest finished up and you suggested them to go out and play in the backyard. The two of you grabbed your own plates and went to go and sit on the patio table and eat outside while watching the kids play.

“You okay?” You asked, placing a hand on his thigh allowing your thumb to circle his thigh

“Yeah, just drained from work. Um how’s it going with you and your friends.” He quickly changed the subject before you could ask any further.

“Not good. Cho Hee’s husband, you know him, right? Well, he came to us today while we were at the park with the kids. Saying his wife went missing, apparently, she went to play a game or something. I don’t know the whole story is weird.” You felt uncomfortable with the idea that your friend was missing, you wanted to help but Cho Hee’s husband’s story made no sense.

“Oh, I mean it’s unfortunate his wife is missing. But you know Kyong is an unreliable narrator.” He lied. It’s only been maybe an hour or so but the two worlds he specifically never wanted to collide. Were essentially smashing together all at once.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Well..you know…He’s a heavy drug user. His mind is all over the place.” Now Kyong did do drugs, but all he did was smoke some marijuana in his free time. Your husband made it sound like he was an avid crack user.

You looked at him in shock. “Holy shi- wait is this true? He seemed completely normal to me; how did you know?” You were now concerned because his erratic behaviour would make a lot more sense. Asides from his wife being missing, allegedly.

“Functioning addicts seem normal, but it doesn’t take much to crack them. I’m sure his wife is fine, or probably tried to escape him who knows.” He took a swing of his soju bottle and glanced over at you to see your reaction. He was taken back a bit by your worrisome reaction. It was his turn to comfort you, he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, I’m sure everything is going to be okay.”

“I really hope so.”

***

Your kids currently were with your mother-in-law. Today was your day alone, and you usually did it to go on your runs, workout, and complete your hobbies.

You went out on your morning jog, going around the neighbourhood as you normally did. You went around and did over 5 laps, it was on your 6th lap that when you felt an arm pull you towards the forest near your neighbourhood. You began to kick and scream, begging for someone to help you. Your attacker covered your mouth and pleaded with you to stay quiet. He sounded so empathetic, and incredibly guilty. “Please, please just listen to me.” You continued to attempt to break yourself free from your grip. “I won’t hurt you; I just need to talk.” Hearing his voice again made you recognize it instantly. He was the businessman who came to your door. You stopped fighting not because you believed him. But rather you wanted to catch him off guard. When you stopped screaming and your breathing paced back to normal, he let go of you and you waited 30 seconds before kicking him in the balls and started sprinting. You made it far enough, but surely, before you were able to get out of the forest, he made it in time to drag you back in.

“Please Ma’am we just need to talk, that’s all I want to do. I don’t have much time currently. I swear on my life I won’t hurt you.” His grip being tight around you, was making it hard to believe he didn’t mean any harm. Considering you probably got bruises just from the altercation 30 seconds earlier. He didn’t wait for you to respond. “Your husband, he can’t be trusted.”

“And I’m supposed to trust the man who is strangling me? You’re insane.”

“I have evidence, it’s not much. But it’s enough to show you at the very least he’s not trustworthy.” He huffed out the last part.

“Let me guess, you are one of his associates he may or may not have screwed over financially and now you’re coming for revenge. Whatever money you loss, I’ll pay it back. Just please let this go, let me go.” You were growing tired of battling and attempting to escape his grip.

“No amount of money can fix the amount of blood loosed on his hands. While he might not be the direct cause, he’s still complicit. Hundreds of people are dying every year because of him and his people. You are the one closest to him, help me stop them.” He was pleading with you, and you could tell that he was believing his own words. You were baffled by the sheer stupidity coming out of his mouth.

“You are fucking sick in the head. You know that? You’re saying that my husband is indirectly the cause of hundreds of people’s death annually. T-That’s not fucking possible.” Your denial was in full force, and understandably so.

The businessman pulled out a thumb drive and handed it over to you. “My name is Cho Sang-Woo, if you wish to stop this, contact the number on the drive.” He let go of you and he began walking too wherever.

You immediately got up and started sprinting to your house. You turned your head every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t following you back to your house. You immediately got inside and turned on all the alarm systems. And made sure all the doors were locked, and curtains pulled shut. You ran up to your room with a baseball bat and sat on your bed. You grabbed out your phone and dialed out your husband’s phone number. You knew he was at work, so you tried to not disturb him while he worked, but you desperately needed him.

He didn’t pick up on the first call, so you sent a text to your mother-in-law asking if it would be possible to let your kids stay over for the weekend. After you sent the text message, you immediately got a call back.

Before he could speak you immediately started to talk. “Baby I need you to come back home, like right away. Some asshole tried to grab me when I went on a jog and…and then he- shit.” You couldn’t even speak coherently because the whole situation felt unreal. How do you even tell him what Sang-Woo is accusing him of the murder of an insane amount people. Even if the story felt like bullshit to you, you couldn’t even comprehend how you’d explain it to him.

“He did what? What the fuck did he do to you.” His voice was harsh, but it filled with concern.

“He-…Are you in a train station?” The noise of a passing train took you by surprise. It made no sense for him to be in a train station at this time of day.

“Sweetheart, answer my question, what happened?” He asked again, but this time more calmer.

“He dragged me into the forest near our home. Saying things like I can’t trust you, and that y-you’re complicit in the murders of hundreds of people annually. Just some crazy shit.” Your voice was all over the place, trying to recount what happened.

You heard him curse, then his end went quiet for a minute. “A-and then he just let you go, after spewing lies?” You looked over to the thumb drive, and then closed your eyes for 3 seconds. “Y-yeah. He wanted me to know the ‘truth’ about you.” Something inside of you was telling you not to mention the thumb drive. Your inner thoughts were screaming at you not to say it.

“I’m coming home, I’m an hour or so away. Don’t answer the door for nobody, understood.”

“Yes.”

“Love you baby.” He breathed out hopelessly.

“More than anything.” You responded.

When the phone line went dark. You immediately went to go and grab your MacBook and plugged in the thumb drive. A few files, filed with pictures of your husband, his alleged boss, and a bunch of people who went missing, torturous games. The one photo that stood was your husband slapping a woman, in the next photo it was clearer who the woman was, Cho Hee. She was wearing the same outfit on the last day she was scene. Another photo was Cho Hee dead, captioned on the bottom “Cause of death: Tug of war.” You couldn’t continue looking through the photos, it was far too scary for you to handle. Your denial was kicking in again, and you absolutely refused to believe the man you married, the father of your children, was capable of working for someone like that.

***

When Gong Yoo came home he was feeling incredibly anxious, he normally knew how to handle situations, he always found a way. But now he had no clue how he was going to handle this, he needed to distract you one way or another.

He opened the door and disarmed the alarm. He closed the door slowly not wanting to bring himself to acknowledge his presence in the house. The house was dark with all the curtains shut, and the lights off. He turned on the lights and announced his presences to you. “Baby I’m home.” His voice came without confidence.

You walk down the stairs incredibly slowly, not intentionally, but the previous mental breakdown you had was enough for you to walk down the stairs slightly menacingly.

“Oh look, the pathological liar is home.” You said so expressionlessly. “Wonder what he’s going to lie about next?” By the time you were able to arrive to the bottom of the stairs you could see his hopeless facial expression. “Baby it’s-“

“What? It’s not what I think? Were you really going to pull that lame ass excuse? Seriously? The audacity that you must seriously think I’m going to believe that, not when I have proof.” Even though you appeared to be mad, you were mostly hurt. You couldn’t believe that you were being lied too.

“Proof can be doctored.” He began to walk closer to you, expecting for you to back away from him but you didn’t because the unfortunate pathetic thing about you, you were willing to forgive him. You did not want to believe that your husband was working for the devil himself, a man who would put poor people through hell and back for his own sick entertainment, have hundreds of people die. For his own satisfaction, you couldn’t bear to imagine your husband being okay with any of that.

Ignoring his statement you continued, “You knew about Cho, you saw her before she diapered. You made out her husband to be fucking crazy, tainted another man image you save your own…why Gong Yoo..why the fuck would you do that.” He was quiet for a bit, so you pulled out your phone you’d transfer some of the pictures to your phone and showed him the picture of him and Cho.

“S-So a picture of her and I at the train station is evidence of me having anything to do with her disappearance?” He figured that if he could drag out the situation and over state the obvious, it might make you rethink your intelligence, which he hated doing. However, he could not let you find out the truth, the separation between both worlds were necessary for the protection of his family.

‘You have a car, why would you be at a train station? And in another picture, you were slapping her. Shit doesn’t add up.” You responded back aggressively.

“My car can’t get me everywhere on time, I drive it to the train station, but it’s quicker and more time efficient to leave in parked in the parking lot and go catch a train. And I slapped her because she was talking shit about you, I didn’t tell you that because I know how much that so called friendship means to you. You had a hard time adjusting to living here, and you finally seemed happy.” He was weaving truths with lies. Of course, he didn’t slap Cho Hee because she was talking shit, it was because she kept losing to the game. However, he did over here Cho Hee spoke tremendously terribly about you on several different occasions, to him she was a jealous fake bitch. It’s why he had absolutely no problem recruiting her to the game.

“If you knew she was fake, why not fucking tell me?” You knew realistically you shouldn’t be believing his words, but love was blinding you, as it normally did. “And you’re always so mysterious about your job…baby I don’t know what to believe.” You plopped yourself onto a step putting your hands in your face. Gong Yoo immediately took the opportunity to go and sit beside you and place his arms around you pulling you into his chest “I know that this situation is fucked up, but I need you baby, I need you to just trust me. Okay? I love you so much, and we are a team, and as a team we need to trust each other, okay?’ His charisma was working in full effect, and you fell for his words. Before he could finish his sentence, you planted a kiss on his lips. You just wanted to block out the world and all the bullshit going on, whether he is lying, or telling the truth. You just wanted to feel this moment, you wanted to feel like you did when you first met him, when things were simpler. And while you could never go back to a time like that, you could pretend, just for a moment.

He accepted the kiss and began to slowly make out with you. Instead of the rough passion that you were normally accustomed too, instead there was a sense of sadness and grief. An acknowledgment that the relationship will never return to what it once was. Your hand began to travel downwards, and he knew exactly what it meant. “Upstairs” he mumbled.

When the two of you arrive upstairs, you drop yourself on the bed and he climbed on top of the bed. Lifting your shirt off Gong Yoo waisted no time removing his own, then unbuckling his pants. You removed your own pants, and immediately he slipped his fingers into your pussy.

He watched as you accepted each wave of pleasure as he thrusted his fingers at a sensual pace, you small moans escaping your mouth gave him a sense of peace. He twirled his fingers causing your wetness to spill out as he fingered you. He brought his mouth onto your clit and began to lick it slowly, occasionally allowing himself to suck on your clit. ‘You taste just as sweet as you always do.” He complimented.

You were suffocating by the waves of pleasure hitting you, making it hard to focus on proper breathing. “Gong Yoo I need your dick, please.” You couldn’t even keep your eyes open to look down at him.

He gives your ass a light slap, and you became aware of your mistake. “Oppa, please. I fucking need you inside of me.” You begged. He brought his fingers out of you and pulled his harden dick out of his boxers. He slicks his finger with your wetness and placed it on his dick. Jerking himself off lightly to prep himself. Once he was ready, as much as you were. He slides his dick inside your dripping cunt. The warmth sent shivers down his spine as he adjusted to the new sensation. You guys fucked a million times over, but each time felt like the first time, and it was always amazing whether you were going quickly, or slowly.

His thrust was passionate, and he brought himself closer to you, he’d suck on the skin of your neck as you moan out mercifully. You could feel the power within each thrust as he was hitting your sweet spot, he’d transition from your neck to your mouth, and before you were about to cum you separated the kiss, “I fucking love you so much.”

Mumbled his love back to you before he felt himself spill all inside of you, he kept thrusting. Making sure that you’d still cum even after himself, and so you did. You clenched onto his body as you threw your head back.

Eventually the two of you came crashing down onto the bed. You went under the sheets as you cuddled yourself into him. Aftercare with him always felt so relaxing. He kissed your forehead and kept his arms around you. Eventually you feel asleep, and he got out of his bed.

He tried to slowly exist the bed without waking your presence, but it seems the movement of the bed disturbed you enough to give him a grumble “where are you going?” he told you he needed to go to the washroom, and it was enough for you to go back to sleep. He did walk to the washroom; however, he wasn’t going to use it.

He went into the washroom with the water bottle from the nightstand. Pouring the water in the toilet to give the illusion he went to pee. He then turned on the sink and let the water run. He pulled out his phone dialing the number that he was forbidden to call, only in the series of a legitimate issue, an issue that could threaten the game.

The phone ringing scared him a bit, he was on edge so he thought you might overhear. When the caller finally answered Gong Yoo Knew he only had to say a few words to get the message a crossed.

“Code 907. We are dealing with a strategic takedown. It needs to be dealt with immediately.” Gong Yoo stated simply.

“Understood. Who are we dealing with, and how are we handling it?”

“Seong Gi-Hun, and Cho Sang-Woo along with any accomplice of theirs. Make no exception we are currently under attack. Everything is jeopardized.”

“How are we handling it.” The person on the other side aside of the phone call ask again.

“As we normally do, death.”

[demilypyro]

Metal Gear Solid 5 AI lady voice: boiling my husband alive in oil.