#hes really giving everything he has and doesn't has for them no matter what that means for him

[fangel]

ohmygosh… you’ve done it (∩´﹏`∩)♡ my rambles ･���➴

i’d like to start with WHATTHEFUCKKK the concept alone is so good, so unique — I LIVE AND LOVE to find dark fics that are actually different from the ‘oh he’s a serial killer blah blah omg the nth scream slasher inspo blah blah’ NO GIVE ME PASSION, GIVE ME A MAN WHO IS TRULY LOST IN HIS WAYS W/ HIS MIND CRUMBLING IN ON ITSELF BC HES SO OBSESSED SO GONE !! GIVE ME REASON AS TO WHYYY HE IS A MESS !! you delivered that 🤍 !!

the way he has this dominance over her even without being there: picking out her clothes, specific preference to hair and makeup, surrounding her with his work--the dolls of her that can never quite be her no matter how hard he tries--aka the constant reminder of his afflicted obsession !!!! AHHH and she feels so has to maintain that perfection to keep his best interest to the point it's all she knows even tho disgusted !!!!

at first i was lowkey mad at him bc why are you spending all day trying to make a doll that looks like (me) her when the real thing is right at home !?!? but after reading i get it. he's just a sick fuck who is scared of the perfect love being gone one day. he's so desperate to hold onto the idea that he needs to preserve it, keep it forever. tbh.. #NeedThat level of obsession

okay ngl when she talks about the dolls and how they move and watch her etc i was like oh no she's gone schizo.. she's going crazy being cooped up at home with all those lookalike dolls -- BUT NO THEY'RE LIKE ACTUALLY MOVING ANDF SHIT?!?! wth and then i was like wait are they real people !? spirits !? THE HUMMING -- and then the missing girls that look like her on tv.. him being gone all the time.. okay i see you sunghoon. i know what you are

the dollhouse. just that. the dollhouse. how it depicts what's happening WOW ! such a cool twisted way to incorporate how she slowly puts things together. reminds me of until dawn with the dollhouse in the basement -- and more on the dolls, people or spirits whatever the hell, NO they are lil guardian angels trying to save her !! to warn her of what is really happening !!

the smut. HELLO???!/ the smut is a world in its own. absolutely insane but in a beautiful way. should i be scared? yeah, but i am Horny instead. break me apart !! mold me, shatter me, recreate me however you want just keeping fucking me with those glasses on dgasgfksgfa but fr... there's so much hidden tellings even in the smut. she's begging him to release that darkness he harbors onto her, telling him 'to do it' but doesn't realize the weight of her words and what's she's telling him to do. the way the darkness stirs in him, indirectly getting her permission to indulge on his twisted desires of having her as his REAL DOLL. crazy. all out of love they're both losing themselves yet getting what they want. (the audience stands and applauds)

"the experiment" and the dolls all being trial and error... fucking insane. i love everything about this so bad. his dedication.. his oath..

"Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. -- You didn’t care, you just liked the feeling of his hands on you, even if its intention was to destroy."

⤷ LOVED THIS, i feel like this sets up the whole story right here.

It’s what he couldn’t help but do to you every night. It was the only time he liked you to be messy, when you were laying in a heap of doll parts beneath him. He tried to be gentle with his curiosity, he really did, but it was as if something overtook him. That dark look in his eyes got bolder until he couldn’t hold himself back—until he just had to tear you apart

⤷ the way that this is literal... at night in workshop with literal doll parts and in bed with her she's breaking apart under his hold. wow. also doll parts by hole mention !!

her in the beginning "These days, you just wanted to be." and then sunghoon in the end "It just is"

⤷ chefs kiss, perfect. idk what else needs to be said.

the concept reminds so much of an old rpg game called "mad father" i was OBSESSED with it when i was younger and you've allowed me to escape in a (loosely) similar world. ily for this

dear kipo, your attention to details and way of storytelling is so wonderous and amazing. you've captivated me in this horribly perfect lil world. such a fucked up, pretty story. you are so so talented!! i could dissect the whole story tbh but i need to stfu

one last thing hdfjakhfkas this is so long im sorry but PLEASE listen to this song. i've had the artist on repeat for like 2 weeks and this song reminds me of this story SOOSO MUCh pls tell me what you think >.<

anyways <3 i ate this tf up. ty for your service 🍽️ !!

THE DOLLMAKER ˒˒ 박성훈 ▸  𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲!

you were sunghoon’s muse, his flawless, perfect wife that he dresses in frilly dresses and makes sure you always looked like the idealized woman. that much was evident from all the dolls he made of you that sat proudly throughout your home. but, when sunghoon isn’t there, the dolls move and show you things that would otherwise be hidden in the shadows. one day, they show you something so frightening, something completely sinister that you force yourself to believe that it isn’t real. your beloved husband wouldn’t do something like that, would he? you weren’t so sure about your answer anymore.

pairing ⸝⸝ park sunghoon 𝑥 fem!reader 𓄵 𝓯eat. ꔛ 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦!

genre ⋆ 📓 ⸝⸝ established relationship, angsty & mature themes, smut, some fluff, husband & dollmaker!sunghoon, gothic vibes, supernatural elements

warnings ⸝⸝ dark content, heavy dubcon, dollification, mentions of murder and kidnapping, really creepy dolls, sunghoon is actually insane lmao, heavy gaslighting, possessiveness, unprotected sex, soft dom!sunghoon, heavy body worship, slow sex to rough sex and back to soft sex (you’ll see), manhandling, handjob, cumshots, clit stimulation, fingering, brief somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, mentions of oral (f. rec), praise, petnames (my love, darling, doll), hair pulling (m. rec), cockwarming, a lot of skinship, teasing, brief nipple play, mentions of aftercare, they are very very codependent, traditional marriage aspects

𝓴ipo’s note ⸝⸝ went a bit insane writing this because why is the smut scene alone 5.4k words??? but it’s finally here!! my first post on my new blog (that’s not part of a series) and my first darker content fic!! this was really fun to write and opened a primal lust within me for sunghoon that made me crazier… hehe enjoy loves!!

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ❨ 14.8k ❩    ╱    ❨ 𝓶. list ❩ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏  ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

You always strived to be nothing short of perfect, and you were immensely proud at the fact that you have never strayed from the path of the idealized woman in the eyes of their beholder.

And you were perfect. The perfect person, the perfect woman, the perfect wife. It was what you were born and bred to be, and with a smile you lived your life knowing that not a single frizzy strand of hair was out of place nor was there a single wrinkle in your dress. You were pretty, pristine, perfect. You’d ask for nothing more.

But, as the days started to pass—and your husband was out later and later for work—you started to hate the idea of perfection. You clawed at it like a noose wrapped around your pretty throat. Gone were the days where you’d be set alight with how well you presented yourself—with how much your husband loved to stare at you. These days, you just wanted to be.

In the beginning, you loved to be under Sunghoon’s watchful eye. You loved how he’d dress you in perfectly fitting clothes suited to what he loved to see you in—frills and lace. Loved how he’d fluff your hair if it was too flat or if it wasn’t up to his standard, or smooth down the fabric of your dress. You loved when he treated you like his perfect little doll. It meant the world to you, especially when it came from such an expert dollmaker like your husband himself. In his eyes, it meant you were the best of the best, that no other doll that he has made could compare—his perfect creation.

Now, the more you think about it, the more your throat closes up. But, as much as you’re growing to hate the idea, you just can’t let go of the deeply rooted perfectionism you still strive for. It’s as if it’s embedded in your skin, as if it’s in the marrow of your bones and in the blood that pumps through your veins. You don’t know how to live a life that isn't perfect, and at this point, you’re too scared to find out what that life entails.

So you put on the dress Sunghoon lays out for you before work and you style your hair just the way he likes it—and you be perfect. Because that is all you know how to do.

You stare at yourself in the mirror in your bathroom, your brows knitted together. Confusion spread throughout your body as you tried to put a name to what you were feeling. Disgust, maybe? Hatred? You didn’t know. Sighing softly to yourself, you picked up your makeup brush and dusted more of the blush onto your cheeks.

Sunghoon had already left for work, so it didn’t even really matter what you looked like right now. You stepped out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. Dolls of various sizes greeted your sight. Some had intricate and realistic outfits, the same ones that you wore, and some of them were more plainly dressed. There were dolls everywhere in your home, even some perched on the open shelves of your kitchen. It was a little girl’s dream home. The most unsettling thing about all the dolls around you no matter where you turned was how much every single one of them resembled you in some way.

It was as if Sunghoon could never quite capture your likeness exactly. With some dolls, their eyes were too big, their lips were too small, or the arch of their brow wasn’t quite right. Sometimes he couldn’t accurately carve the curve of your nose. You knew it drove him mad, not being able to immortalize you in his craft.

“You’re too flawless,” Sunghoon had told you once. You were laying in bed together and the tips of his fingers trailed along your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He used to always give you goosebumps, the good ones. Now it feels more like a chill down your spine.

You stared up at him from your pillow and watched as his eyes devoured your frame. His fingers twitched, briefly stopping their descent back down your arm, and you could tell he had the urge to test his hand at making you again. “I don’t think I’m flawless,” you smile at him, “I’m just as flawed as everyone else—just as human.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked up to your face, specifically to your smile, like he was committing it all to memory. He moved the hand that was trialing your shoulder up to cup your cheek. His thumb gently caressed the soft skin before he grazed it along your lips. There was a certain glint in Sunghoon’s eyes that you knew all too well.

“You’re flawless to me,” he stated. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip and pulled it down a little. You watched as his pupils dilated and the mix of lust and fascination that swirled in them grew. Ever so slightly, his eyes widened, too. Sunghoon moved his thumb down to your chin before leaning down to press his lips to yours.

He captured them with a certain roughness—the type that always shocked you with how gentle it initially seemed. Sunghoon’s hand grabbed your chin harder, his fingers creating soft indents into your skin as he leaned your head back and further into the pillow.

You were so moldable for Sunghoon, a shiny lump of clay ready for his skilled hands to turn you into a masterpiece. He hummed into the kiss and his teeth delicately bit down into the flesh of your bottom lip, only enough to not leave a mark. You moaned into his mouth, your arms raising to wrap around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. In response, Sunghoon pulled his lips away from yours. He pressed feather light kisses to your cheek and up to the shell of your ear. “You’re my muse,” he whispered, before his head dipped to the crook of your neck to leave kisses there too.

You suppose that being so perfect wasn’t so bad if it meant that Sunghoon couldn’t keep his hands off of you—if it meant that he couldn't keep his hands off of his tools to try and remake you over and over again. Perhaps you were viewing it all wrong. Maybe it wasn’t a noose around your throat, but a pretty handmade necklace crafted by his nimble fingers. If it meant that Sunghoon never leaves, then you could be as perfect as he wanted forever. If it meant that he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he ever laid his eyes on, then you would be his doll for as long as you lived.

Maybe it wasn’t perfectionism at all, but an act of complete devotion—an act of love.

Sunghoon left open-mouthed kisses along your chest and moved further and further down until the lace of your lingerie blocked his lips from your skin. He pulled away from you fully and looked down at it like he was offended. You squirmed beneath him, your chest heaving as you tried to take in any air that you possibly could. “Please,” you inhaled, looking up at him desperately.

You weren’t quite sure what you were begging for exactly; maybe for his lips to be back on your skin, or maybe for him to quell the heat radiating from your body. “Please,” you said again, your voice coming out quieter and more forlorn.

Sunghoon ran his hands underneath the sheer fabric at your stomach and you gasped at his touch. “So soft,” he sighed contently, hands trailing further up until they physically couldn’t anymore and were blocked by the lace at your breasts. His calloused hands were a stark contrast to your velvety skin and the slight roughness made you shiver.

He pushed the sheer fabric up your stomach with the movement of his hands until the bottom half of your body was completely bare under him. Sunghoon must’ve decided that he couldn’t wait any longer, couldn’t bear to take the extra second to lift the lingerie over your head, because the harsh sound of fabric ripping filled your ears and the swift coldness of sudden exposure had you gasping again.

Sunghoon tossed the tattered fabric somewhere off to the side next to the two of you and in the corner of your eye you saw it fall to the floor below. His hands surged upwards, no longer bound by the restraints of your lingerie, and grabbed your breasts. Sunghoon’s thumbs rubbed against your hardened nipples and you arched your back off the mattress to give him more access. His hands dropped down to your thighs and he pushed them towards your stomach as he spread them further apart.

Sunghoon’s breath hitched when his eyes finally got a look at your glistening pussy, completely on display for him. His hand then moved from the back of your thigh and he dragged his fingers through your folds, collecting the slick on his fingertips. “Perfect,” Sunghoon breathed out.

Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. It’s what he did to you every night—left you in a heap before cleaning you off and making you new again. You didn’t care, you just liked the feeling of his hands on you, even if its intention was to destroy. You knew that it was just a morbid curiosity. As long as he remained by your side, you were content in being a pile of doll parts for him to play with as he pleased.

In your bedroom, your eyes landed on a doll that wasn’t there when you had stepped into the bathroom. It sat in the center of your bed, dressed in the same lingerie that Sunghoon had ripped up. It didn’t look at you, but at the entrance of the room, with the hint of a smile that you knew was carved into the doll but couldn’t help but feel was mocking.

No matter how often it happened, you’ll never get used to the fact that the dolls moved around on their own. It only happened when you were home alone. The dolls never dared to move when their maker was home, but you still felt their eyes on you nonetheless. You had told Sunghoon about it—the two of you even waited around to see if one of them would move, but they never did. It was extremely frustrating.

You sighed at the doll and straightened your back. Leaving said doll where it was without a word, you left your room to put a start to your day.

What you weren't expecting was even more moved dolls in your kitchen. You stopped in your tracks as different, mini, and almost identical versions of you stared directly at you from the kitchen table in a circle. Usually it was only one doll that moved here and there, but this many moved dolls in the span of minutes was completely odd. Cautiously, you stalked towards them to see what they were surrounding.

It was the TV remote. You scoffed.

You grabbed the remote with a roll of your eyes. Aiming it towards the tiny box TV in the kitchen, you clicked it on and placed the remote back down onto the table next to the dolls. You let whatever channel it was left on play in the background as you started making breakfast for yourself.

“We’re here with the mother of one of those young girls today. Can you tell us a little about your daughter, ma’am?” you heard the news reporter ask. You took a pan out from under the lower cabinet and placed it onto the stove, ticking on the heat. You watched as a flame ignited, quick and large as lightning, before calming to something smaller.

A grief stricken voice filled your ears next between your soft humming. You didn’t realize that it was the tune Sunghoon always hummed when working from home—something he didn’t do as often anymore. “She was the most beautiful girl in the world—the most gentle and kind. She loved everyone and she loved love. My daughter was the single spark in this bleak night. Please, if you know where she is, please let a mother know.”

You moved about the kitchen, ignoring the way the dolls’ eyes seemed to follow your every move. Cracking the egg, you let it fall into the pan with a sizzle, fanning away the sudden smoke that rises. “The news station also has an anonymous tip hotline open for anyone who may know any information. The search for the six missing girls is still on. This Friday, the mayor will hold another search party and encourages everyone who can to join.”

Turning to throw away the shell of the egg, you caught a glimpse of the TV. “This has been—” You gasped, the shell falling to the tile below with a soft crack as your hand flew to cover your mouth. On the small screen were the pictures of the six missing girls—six missing girls who all looked eerily alike to one another, eerily alike to you. You rushed forward towards the screen, desperately needing to get a closer look at the girls’ image.

Fear and panic prickled at your skin and clawed its way up your throat. What if you were next? What if whoever was taking these girls had their eye on you to take next? You glanced around the kitchen, the dolls suddenly gone from the kitchen table and perched back in their rightful places on various shelves. What if one day you stepped out of your home to run an errand only to be met with a cloth to your nose and mouth?

You began to tremble as you focused your attention back onto the TV. Did the police have anything on who was taking the girls? Any physical descriptions or perhaps a drawing? You waited for the news to mention anything else, but they didn’t. 

Lightheaded, you felt yourself begin to spiral. Your hands grabbed tight to the kitchen counter as you tried to steady yourself and not let the fear cloud your mind. Maybe it was all a coincidence. Maybe you just happened to look like those girls but the perpetrator was after someone else. You inhaled sharply, trying to swallow down the fear and panic and let the oxygen get through instead.

The sudden loud ringing of the smoke alarm startled you and made you jump. The eggs. They were still on the stove! “Oh!” you breathed as you hurriedly moved to turn off the stove. You accidentally stepped on the egg shell in the process. “Oh no,” you said softly under your breath as you moved from the stove to the trash can. You scraped off the burnt eggs, your appetite suddenly gone. You sat the pan in the sink for you to wash later.

Bending down, you meticulously picked up the pieces of egg shells on the floor to throw away as well. When you turned from the trash, there was a singular doll back on the kitchen counter. You jumped again.

It pointed towards the hallway to get to your living room, unblinking. You stared at it for a moment—at yourself. Why were the dolls doing this? “Fine,” you say, smoothing out your dress, “I’ll play along.” You need a distraction from the missing girls anyhow.

You left the kitchen and made your way down the hallway that the doll pointed to. As you slowly made your way down it, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary besides the way the various dolls’ eyes followed you. You make the bend to the end of the hallway and freeze.

At the end of the hallway was the displayed dollhouse that you didn’t touch. Sunghoon didn’t even let you clean it, opting to clean it himself. It meant a lot to him and he took great care for it to be in as pristine condition as possible. The dollhouse was a perfect replica of your home, down to the welcome sign you weaved on the front of the door. You’ve never even seen the inside of it… until now.

There was a crowd of dolls on the ground below it, more than you’ve ever seen moved before, pointing up at the scene portrayed in it. Swallowing thickly, you stepped further forward as a chill ran down your back.

In the dollhouse were only three dolls: one of you, one of Sunghoon, and one that you couldn’t even begin to understand what it could be. You took another cautious step forward, leaning in to get a better look and taking care to not step on any of the dolls. The scene depicted in the dollhouse was quite simple. You were upstairs in you and Sunghoon bedroom, asleep. Sunghoon was in some room you’ve never seen before, carving away at a doll that you could only assume was of you. Behind him was the other doll, covered in different, mismatched layers of fabric. It was so covered by copious amounts of fabric that it didn’t even seem to have the body of a doll anymore. It was almost grotesque looking, in a way.

Very quietly, almost indistinct, you heard the same melody Sunghoon hums when working. Your eyes widened in shock as you furiously tried to digest and decipher the scene. You shook your head a little. “I don’t understand,” you say, the confusion dripping from your voice. “What does this mean? What is that behind him?”

There was a creaking behind you and you swung around at the sound. More dolls were behind you, pointing. You weren’t sure if they were pointing at you or the dollhouse. Maybe it was both. You swung back around to the dollhouse when you heard something move.

Now Sunghoon was in front of the other fabric-covered doll. His doll was slightly bent at the torso and his head was tilted. The thin, wire-framed glasses he wears sat low on his nose bridge. You knew that look—that inspecting look. That morbid curiosity. It felt as if the dolls were screaming at you, “Do you understand now?” You still weren’t sure that you did. Too many puzzle pieces were missing from the board and it hindered you from seeing the whole picture. The sound of Sunghoon’s humming still filled your ears and you didn’t know what to do to stop it.

More creaking and you turned to look behind you. More dolls. They filled the entire hallway, their tiny fingers pointing at you, trying to force you to understand what they were trying to show you. Behind you, the dollhouse began to violently shake and you gasped as you looked at it. Sunghoon was now back in the bedroom with you. He stood over you, his hand hovering over your arm. You knew the action it was trying to convey—you could feel the tips of his fingers trailing up and down your actual arm now, making you shiver.

You stumbled backwards, even more confused and scared at the shaking dollhouse. The front of the dollhouse slammed shut, locking in the scene of you and Sunghoon inside, and stilled. Your chest rose and fell heavily and you clumsily stumbled your way out of the hallway and into the living room, avoiding any pointing doll that you could.

Later that day when Sunghoon came home from work, you didn’t mention the moving dolls or the dollhouse. It was as if nothing happened at all, every doll was where he placed them and the dollhouse was just as pristine as he left it. You especially didn’t dare mention the scenes depicted in the dollhouse. You feared your husband would think you were crazy.

You carried the plate of hot food to where Sunghoon sat at the kitchen table. “Eat up!” you smiled placing the plate in front of him before placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. You felt him smile before you pulled away. You were turning to make yourself a plate when Sunghoon grabbed your wrist to stop you. You jumped, a gasp slipping between your lips. Trying to cover it all up, you turned back to Sunghoon with a smile.

His own smile faltered and his thick brows drew together. “Thank you, darling…” he trailed, the words falling from his lips one by one. “What’s wrong? You’re never so jumpy.”

You’d been jumpy since he got home, still shaken from the morning’s encounter. It was so bad that you nearly burnt yourself on the stove while making dinner, suddenly startled by the sound of the front door opening and Sunghoon returning home from work. When he kissed you hello, his arms coming to wrap around you, you jumped then too. You tried to distract him with your smile, but you should’ve known that nothing gets past your husband.

“It’s nothing,” you say, smiling again and giving him a slight shake of your head. “I guess my body is just getting used to not being by itself now that you’re home.”

Sunghoon sighed and pulled you back towards him by your wrist. You let yourself be pulled into his lap. Sunghoon buried his head in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry,” he says, his words coming out muffled. “I know I've been working more and more lately and I haven’t had much time for you.”

You leaned into his touch, sighing contentedly. “Can’t you work from home?” you asked meekly, voice barely louder than a whisper, “Like you used to? You work so much and you’re always gone. I miss you when you’re not here, and in return I’m sad the whole day.”

Sunghoon’s black hair tickled you as he lifted his head to press his lips to your neck, right where the thumping of your heart could be felt. His eyes met yours and the gentle pout of your lips. “I don’t have all the tools here that I do at the shop,” Sunghoon responded. When you sighed again and looked away, he continued. “But, I might be able to work from here tomorrow… I already finished most of the workload. We can spend tomorrow together, what do you say to that?”

You glanced back at him, trying to not let the happiness you felt break through your sulky demeanor. Clearly, it didn’t work, because the smile returned back to Sunghoon’s face even larger this time. “I suppose that’s okay,” you grumbled, the smile tugging more at your lips by the second.

Sunghoon chuckled, “Yeah?” You nodded, giggling at the way he dragged his nose along your cheek and the coldness of his glasses. “I love that sound,” he says, holding you closer. “I want to hear it forever.” He pulled away from you just enough to get a good look at your flustered face. Sunghoon brought his lips to yours, capturing them in a sweet and slow kiss.

Giggling more into the kiss, you broke away from him with great effort. “Eat,” you say, standing to your feet. Sunghoon didn’t let you get far. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Your dinner smells amazing, my love, but I think I want something else on the menu,” Sunghoon replies. You swatted him with the kitchen towel hanging from the pocket of your apron, your mouth falling into an open-mouthed laugh. Sunghoon just laughed more. “Do what I said,” you scolded him.

Sunghoon pulled you down to chastely kiss your lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

That night as you were getting ready for bed, you gathered all the courage you had. As you moved about your bedroom, Sunghoon watched you from the bed, his eyes trailing your figure and never leaving it. He was lounged up against the bed frame, his head tilted and the wire frames of his glasses low on his nose bridge as he stared. You were in the middle of brushing your hair, trying your best not to get crushed underneath his heavy stare. You were as bare as you could be without taking your clothes off.

When you stood from your vanity, the flowy fabric of your short nightgown moving with you, you met his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke and you just stared at each other. “Those missing girls…” you started, finally finding your voice, “on the news… Isn’t it odd that they favor me?” Your voice shook slightly and you swallowed down the lump forming in your throat.

Sunghoon sat up straighter, his eyes still on you as his brows drew together. You looked away, shakily climbing into the bed next to him. “I-I mean… how they favor each other. And I favor them too, don’t you think?” you continue. You really hoped that you didn’t sound crazy. That your time alone in the house hasn’t started to drive you mad and see things that aren’t there—that aren’t true. Finally getting settled as the words poured from your mouth, you looked over to him. For a split second, his face was completely devoid of anything—no emotion, not even a quirk of his eyebrow, nothing. Then, in a blink of an eye, his face was how it was before you looked away from him. Maybe you were crazy after all.

“I’m scared, Sunghoon,” you said in the gentlest whisper, “What if I’m next?”

“Missing girls?” Sunghoon says, “I’ve heard about them. But, don’t worry—” he reached over to caress your cheek “—I won’t let anyone hurt you. You’re safe here, with me.” His hand on your cheek trailed down to the crook of your neck and then to your shoulder before he pulled you towards him. The two of you laid down onto the bed and Sunghoon enveloped you completely in his arms. You rested your head on his chest and listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “No one but me will ever touch you,” Sunghoon muttered against your hair.

His comforting words did nothing to dispose of the uneasy feeling you still harbored. The images of those missing girls were burned into your mind and every time you tried to close your eyes and sleep, you saw them staring back at you. While Sunghoon fell fast asleep, him still keeping you protectively in his arms, you lied awake.

Your mind shifted from the missing girls, to the moving dolls, and to the dollhouse. What did it all mean? What were they trying to tell you? You went over the scenes portrayed over and over and over again and still didn’t get it. The answer seemed so close, but so far away at the same time. What were you missing?

You thought about the scene of Sunghoon standing over you while you slept. Did he always do that, stare at you like that? How often did he do it? You wanted to ask him, but you didn’t want to risk him thinking there was something wrong with you—didn’t want to risk him thinking that you weren’t flawless like he believes. And the way he trailed his fingers over the soft skin of your arm… Perhaps it was just him checking on you. Maybe he left the room for some water and when he came back he was making sure you were okay. Yeah, that sounded logical.

Him touching you wasn’t something new—he always touched you at any chance that he could. Always admiring every curve and plane of you completely, it’s normal for him to do so. The tension in your shoulders finally dissipated and you relaxed, snuggling more into Sunghoon as you let your tired eyes flutter closed. You didn’t know what the dolls’ game was, but you didn’t like it. Sunghoon was just being a good husband, is all. It even showed subconsciously in the way his hold on you tightened as you leaned into him. He loves you. He’d never do anything that came remotely close to hurting you, ever. You were more sure about that than you were sure about anything in the entire world.

Slowly, you began to drift off—your body getting heavier and heavier in his arms—and you let sleep overtake you.

A couple hours later, you were suddenly awoken by the sound of something falling onto the hardwood floor. You jumped, eyes flying open. You were met with the cold bed, Sunghoon nowhere to be found in your bedroom. Sitting up, you looked around the room to see what fell.

You sighed as your gaze landed on the doll, it was laying on its side on the ground, staring at you. “Enough,” you said lowly, another sigh pulling from deep within you. “I don’t know what you all want from me.”

The moonlight peeked into your bedroom through the curtains and gave a little light to see with in the dark. You slipped from the bed, deciding to see where Sunghoon was. Smoothing down your bedridden hair and wrinkly nightgown, you opened the door to your bedroom and was immediately met with another mini doll version of you waiting by the top of the stairs. You couldn’t keep doing this.

You passed the shelves on the wall filled with dolls of you and other trinkets as you made your way towards the stairs. You didn’t even give the doll a second look as you made your descent down them.

Sunghoon wasn’t in the kitchen either, but there was another doll there, pointing down the hall again. You tilted your head up at it and followed its directions. He wasn’t in the lounge room or the dining room either. You turned the corner in the hallway and your eyes landed on the closed dollhouse. It was backlit by the hallway sconce, the light making the dollhouse look illuminated.

You dipped into the living room and Sunghoon wasn’t there either. None of the bathrooms were occupied as well. You were convinced that he just wasn’t in the house at all. You stood in front of the dollhouse, annoyance coming off you like steam. Your arms were folded across your chest and you glared at it. It was closed this time, and you were deciding on whether it was not to play into the dolls’ game and open it or just go back to sleep and question Sunghoon in the morning. Alas, you were too curious for your own good.

You slowly opened the front of the dollhouse, expecting to see some confusing scene waiting for you inside. Instead, there was only one doll inside—the grotesque looking one covered in different scraps of fabric. It was in the same exact place that it was in earlier, except this time there was no doll of Sunghoon inspecting it. It was alone.

Taking a closer look, you tried to figure out where this mystery room supposedly was in your home. In the dollhouse, it was located between the living room and the hallway bathroom. You looked at the hallway you were currently standing in with its own mini dollhouse inside. Your brows knitted together in even more confusion. According to the dollhouse, the room should be right where you were standing.

That couldn’t be right, unless the room was in front of you and behind the wall where the dollhouse was displayed. Closing the front of the dollhouse, you moved closer to the wall, inspecting it. There was no outline of a suspected door, no uneven floorboards that could suggest the entrance was underneath you. There was only the hallway, the small bookshelf filled with your cookbooks and Sunghoon’s doll making books, and the dollhouse. You placed your ear against the wall; maybe if there was a room behind it you could hear something.

After a few moments, you almost gave up, deciding not to play the game anymore and just go to bed. But, right when you were about to lift your ear from the wall, you heard something—humming.

It was the same tune you hummed earlier, the same tune Sunghoon hums when working. The same tune Sunghoon hummed when the dolls showed you him working in the dollhouse. This time, you knew it was real. You stumbled backwards from the wall, your elbow knocking the doll over that was suddenly perched there. You gasped before quickly covering your mouth.

Frozen in fear, you swear you heard the humming abruptly stop. You then heard slight creaking, like someone was walking towards you. Scurrying back around the curve of the hallway, you peaked around it to see if anything else would happen.

What if Sunghoon wasn’t even in there. What if it was some stranger living in your walls, and you were just assuming that it was him—that the dolls thought it was him. Or, maybe they were trying to warn you of the stranger in a way that they knew you would listen. What if Sunghoon wasn’t in the house at all right now? Your hand pressed harder into the wall and you began to shake.

More creaking broke through the air, and you watched as the small bookshelf slowly began to push off the wall like a make-shift door. You ducked further behind the wall, just enough to ensure you weren’t seen. You saw a shadow dancing across the floor as the bookshelf slowly closed again.

You were so scared they could hear how fast your heart was beating. So sure that they could feel how hard you trembled through the floor. Hear your heavy breathing like a hawk listening for its prey.

The shadow got larger and you saw a figure start to be illuminated by the light on the wall. A hand reached from the shadows and towards the doll of you that had fallen over—Sunghoon’s hand. He stepped into the light and you could finally see him clearly; saw the way the warm light bounced off his skin, the way the light reflected off his glasses, and how his dark hair fell into his eyes. You pressed your fist to your mouth to keep quiet.

Why did Sunghoon have a secret room in the house? Why did he never tell you about it?

He fixed the doll; shifting its dress so it laid properly and flattened its messed up hair. You saw the corners of his mouth raise as he placed the doll back on the shelf above the dollhouse. It’s big eyes bored into you.

Without a sound, you made your way back to your bedroom as quickly as you could. You closed your bedroom door silently and slipped back into bed, willing your body to stop shaking and your breath to even out. You closed your eyes.

You tried to remember what the inside of the secret room looked like from the dollhouse. From what you could remember, it looked to be some sort of workshop, similar to the one Sunghoon would have at the shop. If it was just a simple place for him to carve dolls, why hide it? It was possible he kept it hidden so you wouldn’t worry about how much he was working. Sunghoon knew how much you disliked him getting obsessed with his work, always carving and shaping dolls until the tips of his fingers were scarred. You relaxed again.

You’d be upset and worried, yes, but he didn’t have to hide it from you. You would understand his dedication to his craft.

A couple moments later, you heard the door knob twist. As you heard Sunghoon’s footsteps near you, you hoped you looked like you were still asleep. His presence covered you like a blanket. Just before you could feel the heat of his fingertips on your skin, you turned to look at him.

With false sleepiness in your voice, you ask, “Why are you out of bed?”

Sunghoon smiled down at you, lightly shaking his head. His hand caressed your shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, my love. I was just getting a jumpstart on work so we could have more time together. Go back to sleep.” His voice was soft and gentle, like he was trying to lull you back to sleep with his voice alone.

You sat up more. “Well, I’m not tired anymore,” you say, a smile pulling at your lips. Sunghoon’s hand at your shoulder raised to smooth your hair before coming to your chin to lift it up. He leaned forward and delicately pressed a kiss to your lips. “No?” he asked in that same soft and gentle voice.

Sunghoon was already climbing on the bed and on top of you before finishing his question. He placed more delicate kisses around the edges of your mouth, his hands dipping lower. You shook your head. His hands slowly lifted your nightgown up your stomach. “You’re sure you aren’t tired anymore?” Sunghoon asked, the corner of his mouth raising ever so slightly. He was lifting the nightgown over your head so you were in nothing but your panties underneath him.

Light giggles left your mouth as you shook your head again, “Yes.”

Sunghoon’s fingers hooked underneath the hem of your panties and he slowly pulled them down your thighs. His eyes were completely focused on the way each tug revealed more and more of your cunt and how it glistened with the strips of moonlight coming through the window. You heard him exhale softly, like he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. “Fuck…” he muttered lowly, “I don’t think I’ll ever get use to seeing this, and it’s all for me to admire.”

He fully pulled your panties off and tossed them somewhere to the side of the bed. Sunghoon spread your legs open and pushed them up towards your chest so he got an even clearer view—just like he always did before taking you apart. He moved his hands so they splayed out on the back of your thighs right near your pussy he was still admiring. You squirmed a little, the air suddenly cold on your skin and from laying there completely open for him as you waited. “Entirely,” you said hushed, looking up at him. His glasses reflected the moonlight and covered the look in his eyes. “It will always be all for you—I’ll always be all, entirely yours.”

You gasped, body jolting when a thumb was pressed into your eager cunt. Sunghoon ran his thumb along your folds, collecting the gathering slick that was forming by the second. Bringing his other thumb to your cunt, he spread you apart even more, like he wanted to watch the arousal drip out of you himself. A soft whine left your lips. You were completely naked and under your husband’s watchful eye while Sunghoon was still completely dressed. He hasn’t even pulled his pajama pants down despite the way you saw him strain against the thin fabric.

“Is that so?” Sunghoon asked, his gaze finally flicking up to you. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards and you inhaled sharply when you finally saw that all too familiar dark look in his eyes. It reminded you of the way people dissected animals, excited to see its insides and how the body worked. Just beneath it you saw his intensely desperate, fiery hot need for you. The two expressions folded on top of each other over and over like an endless piece of paper, like he couldn’t decide what made him more excited. But, you knew which one would win tonight—which one always won.

You nodded slowly at his question. After all, no matter how bitter the idea of perfection tasted in your mouth, it was nothing compared to the sweetness of your husband’s love. It overshadowed everything, clouded your mind until you could think of nothing else. You lived for it, you’d do anything for it—to keep it. And Sunghoon, he loved you for it. So, the cycle continued until you forgot what the bitter aftertaste even belonged to.

Was it so wrong for you to love the suffocating attention he gave you once he wasn’t busy? Maybe. Maybe you should feel some shame for how obsessed you were with Sunghoon. But, at least you knew the feeling was mutual. If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be surrounded by a house full of dolls that looked nearly identical to you made all by his hands. Right? Doll making was a labor of love, and Sunghoon never shied away from showing you how much he loved you.

Sunghoon leaned over you. You felt his arms brush against your thighs as he pushed his soft pajama pants down. His face hovered over yours and you stared at him with big, doe eyes. His lips brushed against yours, pulling away slightly when you tried to chase them. Sunghoon tossed his pants and boxers to the side and you felt his cock slap against your thigh, sending a wave of arousal throughout your entire body. The entire time, Sunghoon’s eyes never left yours. “Like my own, personal little doll,” he continued, his voice low. “The real thing, not any of these flawed imitations. Complete perfection, and all under my hands to do with as I see fit.”

His lips captured yours in an unexpectedly rough, hungry kiss. He moved further over you until his body shadowed you. His hands were on either side of your head as he pinned you to the bed with his body, the kiss deepening and growing hungrier. Sunghoon pulled away from you, lips plumped and wet with saliva that still connected his lips to yours. He tenderly caressed your cheek and asked, “Do you know how much I love you?”

With his other hand, Sunghoon grabbed his cock so he could line himself up with your entrance. He quirked a thick eyebrow as he waited for your answer, eyes trailing the way your chest rose and fell heavily and your breasts pushed more against his own chest. “How much,” he continued, slowly slipping the tip of his cock inside you, “I’d do for you? How I’d do anything?” Your mouth fell open as your back arched slightly at the action. Sunghoon’s gaze returned to you, his hips halting once his thick tip was completely inside you. “Do you?” Sunghoon asked you once again, his heavy gaze weighing down on you.

Your husband liked to dissect things. He liked to break things apart and put them back together all shiny and new. It’s what he couldn’t help but do to you every night. It was the only time he liked you to be messy, when you were laying in a heap of doll parts beneath him. He tried to be gentle with his curiosity, he really did, but it was as if something overtook him. That dark look in his eyes got bolder until he couldn’t hold himself back—until he just had to tear you apart. You used to be scared every time it happened, still not learning to expect it. You should be ashamed that you did let it happen. But, as time went on, you began to like being taken apart; began liking how each time you’d blink away the fog, you were more perfect in his eyes.

Nodding, you inhaled deeply. “I do,” you say quietly, meeting his swirling dark stare. “And I love you just as much. I’d do just as much.”

“No,” Sunghoon spoke plainly. You drew your brows together, confused. “The way I love you, it’s… cavernous. Deep and dark—pitch-black. There is no end, no beginning, it just is.” His hand trailed down to your chin. “It consumes me, my love for you. I can’t control it… I can’t control the things I’d do to ensure you’ll always love me. And you will… won’t you? Always love me?” Sunghoon asked, his eyes boring into yours.

“Yes,” you say meekly. Despite the way Sunghoon’s body blocked the little light in the room, you could still see the way he fought the darkness inside of him. “I’ll forever love you. There’s nothing that would ever change that, Sunghoon. I promise.”

Sunghoon’s body relaxed over you, and his eyes briefly fluttered shut as he shakily breathed in to further calm himself. “Good…” he muttered, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear despite him being so close. “Because sometimes… The thought of you no longer loving me… i-it drives me completely insane.” His grip on your chin tightened and he bent down to sloppily kiss your lips. Sunghoon’s lips slowly worked against yours, like he was using you to calm himself even more. Like he was basking in your love for him like you did with his love for you.

He pulled away, just enough that with each word from his mouth, his lips brushed against yours. “It makes me want to rip you limb from limb. Polish all the parts so you can see it—see how much my love for you breaks me apart.” With a harsh thrust, Sunghoon pushed himself into you completely. You cried out, the sound being muffled by his lips so close to yours. Your nails dug into his shoulders at the action. Sunghoon pulled out of you until just the fat tip of his cock remained inside. With each word, he thrusted into you. “My sweet love, my perfect wife, my doll.”

Loud gasps rang from your mouth and Sunghoon took your hands from his shoulders and pinned them above your head with one of his own. His eyes never once left yours. He wanted to see how you cracked and shattered beneath him. He wanted to witness it. Sunghoon trailed his other hand down the side of your face, his thumb running over the soft skin of your cheek before it moved closer to your mouth. His eyes shined when he dipped his thumb into your mouth and you eagerly swirled your tongue around it, his own mouth opening. Sunghoon’s pace slowed as if he was remembering himself. The languid strokes drove you crazy and your hips lifted off the bed to gain more friction.

It was a constant back and forth of back to back harsh thrusts that felt like it was splitting you open to slow, sweet thrusts that had you begging for more. With your arms pinned about you, you couldn’t even really move besides the slight lift of your hips, and they could only lift so high with how close Sunghoon pressed himself into you. He had complete control over you; over how you moved, how deeply and at what pace you felt him, and over what sounds you made with his thumb in your mouth. Your eyes began to get glassy with how much you wanted him.

You guessed that you liked being used—liked being his toy, his plaything. You guessed that you liked feeling desired, feeling like his doll. You glanced around your bedroom, back arching and loud, unashamed moans falling from your lips at the way Sunghoon fucked you. It felt as if every single doll was looking at you, watching you. Watched you succumb to your husband and watched as the cracks in your porcelain body began to crumble. Watched how you loved every second of it. How wet it made you to the point that Sunghoon was slipping in and out of you with ease and how the vulgar gushing sounds bounced off the walls.

Sunghoon’s pace slowed and he watched how his cock slowly disappeared into you before he slowly pulled it back out and examined how it dripped with your arousal. A soft chuckle left his parted lips as he did it over and over. You clawed at his arm still holding yours above your head, a loud whine came from the bottom of your throat and your body shifted in any way that it could to feel him deeper, to have his cock drag against your walls faster.

He replaced his wet thumb with his mouth, completely silencing your moans and whines. Sunghoon’s mouth worked slowly against yours once again, soft groans vibrating against your lips as he kissed you.

“You feel so good,” Sunghoon whined, barely able to get his words out before his lips were back on yours. He let out another moan, his shallow strokes growing quicker. “Taking everything I give you so well, my love. It’s like your body was made for mine.” Sunghoon finally let go of your arms, giving your body some space as his lips traveled down to your chest. He left wet kisses all over it, teasingly kissing around your perked nipples while you dragged your hands through his hair and pulled at the tips of the strands. Everytime his lips touched your skin it felt like white-hot coals were being placed on you where they touched. Sunghoon looked up at you over the rim of his glasses, lips pressed to your skin with a hint of a smile. “Do you feel good, darling?”

Sunghoon’s hips picked up speed, just barely, but enough to make your head spin wildly. His pace was agonizing and you were sure your frustration showed in how you tugged harder at his hair and pulled his head back and the way your hips pathetically raised to meet his. Sunghoon’s mouth opened and he let out a laugh. “Please,” you begged him, your eyes filled with unfallen tears, “please.”

He sat up, lips brushing against your skin one last time before he pulled away. Sunghoon pushed down on your hips with his hands to stop them from moving, his own still continuing at that agonizing pace. “Please, what?” he asked, head tilted to the side as he watched you squirm beneath him and claw at the bedsheets. “What are you begging me to do to you?”

You whined when his hands moved up to your waist and sent tingles throughout your body. Through your blurry, tear-filled eyes you could see his smile. Pitiful moans escaped your mouth and your chest rose and fell so heavily you would’ve thought you weren’t breathing at all—instead trying to gasp in gulps of breath. “Please,” you begged again. Sunghoon inhaled sharply at the way you clenched down on him, at how your whiny moans filled his ears and the way the corners of your eyes flooded with tears. He halted his movements and pulled out of you completely.

“No, no, no!” you cried and leaned up to reach for him. He pushed you back down to the bed gently. Sunghoon’s own breathing picked up as his wet cock hovered over you. He took one of your hands in his and guided it towards it. “I’ll continue once you can tell me—” his breath hitched once your hand wrapped around his thick length “—what you want.” Sunghoon guided your hand up and down his cock slowly, his hand tightening on top of yours so you squeezed him more. His breath shuddered as he watched your hand work, his stomach tightening every time your hand squeezed his mushroom tip. He moaned again at how easily your hand slipped over him from your arousal, and his moans grew louder when he’d move his hips to force your hand back down his length again and again.

“Tell me…” he breathed out, his eyes fluttering closed, once you still didn’t give him an answer. Sunghoon’s hands laid flat against the back of your thighs—right next to where you needed him the most.

“I… I-I want you…” you stuttered out, voice small. Sunghoon hummed in question, bringing his thumb to your clit. He rubbed circles into it at the same speed he moved his hips. You gasped, back involuntarily arching off the bed. Your hand paused mid-stroke of his cock before his hips rutting against it stirred you back into action. “Closer…” Sunghoon says through a grunt, “but, I’m going to need more than that from you, my love. Don’t you want to be good for me and do what I asked?”

A soft whine left his lips when you squeezed a little too much at the base of his cock. “I want to hear those pretty moans of yours as I fuck you with my cock… see your pretty face as you cum around it. Won’t you give that to me? Do you really want to settle for my fingers tonight, darling?” Sunghoon continued.

How could you tell him what you really wanted? Explain the deepest desire that you had right now? He told you about his inner battle with how much his love for you consumes him. He told you the things that it made him want to do. You wanted him to let go and do it. You wanted him to wipe you clean so you watched it all—saw it all. Enough with holding back—like he tried to do every single night without fail. It was no use when you both knew what was coming. You wanted him to lose control. You wanted that swirling darkness in his eyes to take over. You wanted him to do what he said he wanted to do if you didn’t feel the same way he felt about you. How do you express that to him?

“Do it…” you say, your words coming out strained. A sweet moan left your mouth and you looked him dead in the eyes as the tears finally slid down your hot cheeks. “I w-want you… to do it.” Your voice was just above a whisper, loud enough that only his ears could hear your words despite being the only two people in the entire house. You squeezed down onto his thick cock more as your wrist worked harder. The hand he wasn’t using to rub circles into your puffy clit grabbed your thigh tighter, his fingers surely leaving indents into the plush skin. Sunghoon’s head hung lowly as he tore his gaze away from yours and went back to watching your hand.

Sunghoon plunged two fingers deep inside your dripping entrance and you felt like you could finally feel the oxygen reach your lungs. He pushed them in and out of you, his gaze flicking over to his movements instead of yours to relish in the way his fingers came back out more and more wet. As his fingers curled inside you, causing breathy moans to leave your willing lips, you watched the way his stomach tensed and his hips faltered. Without saying a word, you could tell what was running through his mind right now. You could see his eyes grow more and more darker, fill up more and more with desire. Sunghoon finally looked back up at you, his wire-framed glasses low on his nose bridge. “Do what?” he asks, his voice just as quiet as yours was.

You didn’t have to say anything else. Sunghoon’s hips froze and his stomach tightened even more as a pretty moan ripped straight through him. His eyes fluttered shut, his fingering waned and you lifted your hips to chase his hand. Sunghoon’s warm cum shot all over your stomach and splattered up to your breasts in thick spurts. He let out another moan, this one dragging out from deep within him as his body finally relaxed. You helped him through it all—hand never stopping as he rode out his high and marked more of your stomach with his cum until you were painted a creamy white and he was completely empty.

His eyes blinked open and he looked down at how messy you were. Something in his demeanor shifted as his eyes grazed over you and you couldn’t tell what had changed until he looked at you. You inhaled sharply at his stare, your breathing picking up. His own chest still heaved from his recent release. Sunghoon took his wet fingers out from your cunt, taking a moment to drag them through your folds to spread your arousal even more, all while his eyes never left yours. Gone were the barriers that held him back, that darkness took him over full force.

Meek whimpers escaped your lips and you dug your nails into the bedsheet beneath you. “You like being my doll, don’t you?” Sunghoon asks. His voice was almost flat, and he was still speaking in that hushed tone. His expression was decidedly blank except for the subtle way his brows drew together. “Don’t you?” he asked a little louder when you didn’t answer him. His hands squeezed the back of your thighs and his fingers dug into the soft skin there. You timidly nodded, not daring to look away.

His hands relaxed and his thumbs brushed over where his fingers dug into you comfortingly, his eyes finally leaving yours. Sunghoon grabbed his cock and rubbed his flushed tip in between your folds, the wet sounds it made piercing the silent bedroom. “You know,” he starts, his voice no longer so low, “you really are truly flawless, doll. My muse…”

Sunghoon is already slipping back inside you before you can process the way his thick cock completely stretches you open. You cry out as more unshed tears fall from your eyes. He continues, “It angers me how much I can’t capture you fully. How none of these dolls can compare to the real thing—the real you. It makes me… so angry…”

He’s pulling back his hips as he speaks, the tip of his cock just barely leaving your pussy, before he roughly thrusts his cock back inside of you. Another loud moan emits from you and your vision blurs from more tears as your face gets hot. You could barely hear Sunghoon’s wry laugh over the sudden ringing in your ears.

Sunghoon’s pace is brutal, and you’re suddenly regretting whining so much about how slow he was once going. It gave you whiplash, how fast he fucked into you, and the only thing you could do to keep yourself grounded is tightly wrap your hands around his wrists at your hips. Your arms smeared and got sticky with his cum but you didn’t care. With each thrust, your body shook and pushed you further into the mattress. With your iron-clad grip on Sunghoon’s wrists, your tits pushed together and bounced in accordance with his hips against yours. Sunghoon was fucking you like he wanted to break you in half.

“S-Slo—” you tried to speak but was cut off by the waves of sudden pleasure hitting you one after the other. Sunghoon just shushed you, his hands pulling your hips towards his so you’d feel him deeper. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you couldn’t think about anything other than the way he was making you feel so, so good. You wanted to feel this way forever. Wanted him to stay lost so you never escaped this feeling of immense pleasure. Wanted him to use you to take out his anger at himself—at you—like you meant absolutely nothing, just a doll for him to handle and put back in its place.

You adore it, the way he makes you feel.

Such nasty sounds fill the air, but neither of you could bring yourselves to care about it. If anything, it turned you on more just how loud and demanding to be heard it was. With how much the sounds of the sex the two of you were having penetrated your ears, you would’ve thought that you’d be getting multiple noise complaints at any moment. You both definitely weren’t trying to be quiet in the slightest.

Between your moans, you heard Sunghoon speak. “I want to take you apart, carve into you like I do my dolls, but this time make something real. Have you be so perfect forever.” His voice was almost scarily plain, like he thought this over time and time again before. You blinked away tears and finally got a clear view of him and the way he stared down at you with a hint of a smile, head tilted as he watched you crack and begin to fall into yourself. “Forever my perfect little doll, to bend—” he pushed your knees closer to your chest so you were practically folded in half “—and to break—” he roughly thrusted into you once more, his hint of a smile growing into a smirk as you clenched down on him “—and to put back together and play with as I please.”

“Sunghoon,” you sobbed as your stomach tightened and you started to shake. You didn’t get the chance to get another word out before you were violently orgasming, your cum pouring out of you and leaving a white ring around the base of Sunghoon’s cock as he roughly fucked it back into you. Wet, gushing sounds came from his cock plowing into your pussy and your cum poured out from around him and down the curve of your ass. You could scream at the sudden overstimulation.

“That’s my girl,” Sunghoon says as he watched you shatter. He used your hands still limply wrapped around his wrists to pull you up off the bed and halfway into his lap, his cock still buried within you. One of his hands supported your back and the other came to wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Pretty dolls don’t cry.”

Sunghoon brought your hands to his shoulders and you held tightly onto the soft fabric of his shirt. His own hands dragged down the expanse of your stomach and he wrapped one of his arms around your back. Sunghoon lowered his head so he could look you in your eyes, his free hand lifting your chin to raise your head more. “I love you,” he murmured, pausing a beat to make sure you heard him, before roughly moving his lips against yours and cutting off one of your watery whines.

Your hands moved from Sunghoon’s shoulders to wrap around his neck and pull him closer to you. You deepened the kiss, letting Sunghoon open your mouth so his tongue could slip in and dance with yours. You’d give anything to keep his lips on yours forever.

Sunghoon began to thrust into you again, his hips moving slow at first before they rapidly picked up pace. You moaned against his lips, your eyes squeezing shut. You felt Sunghoon’s lips pull into a smile, “I love you so much.” He said it like it was a confession.

Head falling into the crook of his neck, you cling to him tighter with your last remaining strength and whimper into his warm skin. Your body shook all over until it felt like you might explode. It felt like Sunghoon kept repeatedly turning and turning the winding key in your back, going way beyond the motor’s limitations. It made you nervous for when he would let go and you would burst into action.

His deep moans and grunts rang in your ear and his arm around your back tightened. With his other hand, he pulled you back so he could look at you. Your face was tear-streaked, splotchy with drying tears and you tried to not cry even more. Your brows were knitted together from the overstimulation and whimpers fell from your lips. Sunghoon’s cum stuck to your stomach and your forearms and parts of his shirt, your own cum covered your pussy and Sunghoon’s cock. You were a mess.

Over and over, three words came from Sunghoon’s lips like a mantra as he filled you up with his cum to the brim and past that too. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I—”

Finally, silence rang through the air besides both of your heavy breathing. After another moment, your body finally stilled. The silence was so thick that you felt like you couldn’t move at all. Delicately, like he held the shards of you in his hands, Sunghoon laid you back down onto the bed. He pressed feather-light kisses to your jaw and cheeks before they finally landed on your lips.

You were so overwhelmed with emotions and feelings that you couldn’t feel anything at all. Your head was still foggy and your only penetrating thoughts swirled around him. Despite your eyes being wide open, your vision was cloudy.

Sunghoon kissed you again. “Stay here,” he says, pushing away from you. Your arms fell to your sides limply. He leaned back and pulled his cock out of you, eyes shining with adoration at the way yours and his mixed cum spilled out and dirtied the bedsheets. Sunghoon rubbed the tip of his cock through it a couple times, ignoring how you squirmed and whined. “Absolute perfection,” he said under his breath before standing to his feet.

You laid there on the bed, still spread open and a mess of cum, as your eyes went in and out of focus. When the clouds in your vision did part, all you saw were all of the dolls and how they stared at you. Sunghoon came back a couple moments later, his face coming into focus as the moonlight bounced off his glasses. He climbed over you and began cleaning you up.

You were barely aware of the way he meticulously made sure every nook and cranny was polished nor how he moved you to put new bedsheets on the bed. Your mind didn’t start to come back to you until he was pulling you over him and sitting you onto his cock. You came alive at his hands trailing the expanse of your body before landing on your hips. You moaned quietly, your gaze dripping to look down at him. The darkness in his eyes was not quite all the way gone.

Sunghoon brought you down to lay on his chest. “I could fuck you all night…” he trails and his voice vibrates throughout your whole body as he shallowly thrusts up into you, “and into the morning, too.” His hips stilled and instead his fingers caressed your back. “But then we wouldn’t have the full day together, would we, my love?”

You shook your head slightly and Sunghoon wrapped an arm possessively over you before pulling the blankets overtop of you both, his other arm caging you against him completely. As the moonlight filtered through the window of your bedroom, the two of you slowly fell asleep.

In the morning, you were awoken by kisses on your neck and your pussy fluttering around Sunghoon’s slow strokes. He lifted your leg into the air and you turned your body towards the warmth at your back, blinking away sleep. You hummed, a soft whine pulling from your throat as you looked at him.

His glasses were off, which let you know that it hadn’t been long since he woke up himself. Sunghoon leaned down to press his lips to yours, his cock still dragging at a snail’s pace against your walls. “Are you sore?” he asks, pulling away from your lips to kiss your shoulder.

You nodded. Him still inside you, lazily fucking into you felt good, but you couldn’t ignore the way he stretched you open and the deep soreness that came from it. “A little,” you say.

Sunghoon turned you onto your back so you laid beneath him and he pulled out of you completely. “I’m sorry, my love,” he says and his lips meet yours again. “Let me make you feel better.”

He kissed your lips once more and started trailing kisses down to your jaw and along the length of your neck. Sunghoon looked up at you through the strands of his black hair, kissing lower down your body to your breasts, his hands massaging them as he kissed at your perked nipples. Soft moans left you at his touch.

His kisses spread to your stomach, to your hips, and finally right above where you were already wet for him. He spread your legs open more. “I’ll be gentle,” Sunghoon says, placing a kiss to your clit before his tongue poked out to lap at your entrance.

Without Sunghoon around, the idea of perfection was bitter on your tongue—acidic in your chest. But, when your beloved husband was around, finally in your arms again, you understood why people strive for it. You love it.

If perfection was how Sunghoon saw you, then you’d forever be the most absolutely perfect person, woman, wife you could be.

Days pass and you are once again left alone in the vastness of your home. Sunghoon stood true to his word as best as he could, spending as much time with you when he didn’t have to work, but it still wasn’t enough. The house still felt empty, and the occasional early nights when he would come home didn’t help.

It felt like the early nights home he took came at a price. Most nights when he would finally walk through the front door, you were already asleep or close to it. He would wake you up with a kiss and a content sigh. It made your chest ache even more than it already did when he is away.

You were in the middle of washing the dishes, mind trailed off to someplace else as you idly let the sounds of the TV float around you. “The search for the six missing girls is still going strong. Police still has not found the perpetrator, but an interview earlier with the Chief says that they are very close to finding out who has taken these girls. Our anonymous tip hotline is still up and running for anyone who may have any valuable information on where these girls might be.”

The words brought you back to life, and you gasped quietly as you looked towards the tiny screen. You examined the bold numbers at the bottom of the screen. It reminded you of the secret room behind the dollhouse that you completely forgot about. You quickly finished the dishes, leaving them in the strainer to dry completely as you dried your wet hands.

Slowly, you took quiet steps towards the hallway where the dollhouse was displayed. You looked to the front door to ensure that it was still locked. Sunghoon could walk through it at any moment and you didn’t want him to know that you knew about his secret workshop before you had the chance to see what was inside.

You recalled the way the door to the room opened—the pushed opened small bookshelf that revealed the make-shift door. You tip-toed to the bookshelf, examining its sides and the books on it.

You didn’t really look at the books on the bookshelf besides your own cookbooks. Sunghoon’s doll making books were something you rarely touched, if at all. But, you took a hard look at those too, your fingers running over the spines. They all felt like books, the spines hard and sturdy, but something about them still felt off to you. You looked at Sunghoon’s books again, pulling each one out a little to take a peek at the covers.

In the middle of you pulling one of the books, you heard a quiet click and the bookshelf came loose from the wall. You took a step back, shock showing all over your face. Gently, you grabbed the side of the bookshelf and pulled.

The bookshelf creaked open and revealed an opening that you had to bend down a little to enter. When you stepped inside the surprisingly large room, your eyes did a sweep of what was inside. You froze, your stomach dropping as you stared at what was in front of you, absolutely horrified. You didn’t even really know what was in front of you… It looked like an amalgamation of various body parts, stitched and sewn into one. Its skin was weirdly shiny, almost like it was made of some kind of plastic or resin while still keeping its elasticity.

You disregarded the rest of the room, instead taking careful steps towards the strange creation in front of you. It didn’t look neither dead nor alive and that confused you even further—it barely looked human. Its eyes and lips were sewn shut and it was completely hairless. It was held up onto its feet by long strips of silk hanging from the ceiling that was tied around its naked body. Next to where it stood was a table with thick locks of hair tied with ribbons of your favorite color.

Maybe this was the final crack in your mind and it was crumbling completely, but it kind of looked like you too. Even the hair on the table matched yours perfectly. If you looked past all the stitches, the weird shiny skin, and the lack of hair, it almost seemed like you were looking in a mirror. It looked like an unfinished, life-sized doll of you. Your stomach turned in on itself.

The fear in you raised tenfold in you when it started to twitch. You took a couple steps back from it when it began to pull on its restraints a little. It seemed to start to panic and its shiny arms pulled at the restraints keeping it up even more as it tried to reach out to you. You jumped back more, fearful tears filling your eyes. Your mouth opened to speak, but no words would come out.

The uncanny creation tried to speak, though, before realizing that its mouth was sewn shut. When it began to frightfully hum—the sound off tune and terrifying—did your body start to feel heavy and limp. It pulled at its restraints with all the little strength it had as it reached out to you and began to hum wildly… it hummed Sunghoon’s melody, the one he hummed when he worked.

Realization hit you like a tsunami. Not only was you dear husband making dolls of you, but he was trying to make a real, life-sized human doll of you. And it seemed that every part of this surreal creation was taken from another until it resembled you as close as he could get it. Your mind flashed to those six missing girls—the six missing girls that all looked eerily similar to you. Despite having all the puzzle pieces right in front of you, your mind refused to see the whole picture.

You backed up further, the back of your thighs hitting the desk that was against the back wall near the make-shift door. You twisted towards it, chest heaving as you scanned the scattered papers and opened books. You picked up what looked to be a journal Sunghoon kept and read over the open page with trembling hands.

The entry remarked at how the experiment was working well and how none of the body parts were rejecting like they did before. He praises how the process was much smoother than last time, how the girls he chose were the perfect fit. The journal dropped from your hands.

Those girls going missing due to Sunghoon was no longer speculation. Your eyes snapped back to his “experiment.” It must be those poor girls, their bodies sewn into one to look like you. You still didn’t want to believe it.

Tears poured from your eyes as fear sunk its claws deep within you and forced its way down your throat and into your heart. Your entire world came crashing down around you and quiet sobs left your mouth as you fought against the idea that your husband wasn’t who he said he was—that he was a kidnapper, a killer.

You rushed forwards, your arms raised towards his creation before you wrapped them around yourself and remained a safe distance. “No!” you exclaimed as you rapidly shook your head. “No, this is all a misunderstanding—a mistake! Sunghoon wouldn’t do this… He isn’t that type of person!” You wiped at your eyes, almost believing your own words until you dropped your hands.

Dolls completely surrounded the peculiar creation—Sunghoon’s experiment. It was even more that the ones that surrounded you in the hallway when they were showing you the scene in the dollhouse. They all looked at you for a moment before slowly turning to look up at how the amalgamation of stolen girls thrashed towards you, still frantically humming.

The dollhouse.

It was a warning. Those scenes the dolls showed you… it was all a warning. This was what they were trying to tell you this entire time. This wasn’t just any ordinary experiment for Sunghoon, a dollmaker going completely mad in his craft—no. This experiment was for you. He was using these girls, tearing apart their bodies limb from limb and creating some freakish doll of them that was meant to be you. It was practice… He was doing all of this so he knew exactly what to do when he laid his tools down and cut into the real thing. You were next.

Sunghoon’s words rang in your ears and bounced around in your head: “I want to take you apart, carve into you like I do my dolls, but this time make something real. Have you be so perfect forever.” You finally understood it now.

Suddenly, all thrashing ceased and the humming finally abruptly stopped. The only thing that filled the silence was your muffled sobs. “I’m sorry,” you cried, unsure if it even heard you. “I’m so sorry.”

You stumbled towards the opening of the room and barely missed hitting your head on the way out. You didn’t even wait for the bookshelf to click back into place before rushing through the hallway and to the kitchen. For once in your entire life, you hoped that Sunghoon had a long night at work.

Nearly falling into the kitchen counter, you shakily grabbed the landline on the wall. Those bold numbers of the anonymous tip hotline flashed behind your eyes and you rushed to put in the numbers, putting the ringing phone to your ear. “This is the anonymous tip hotline for the six missing girls. Please only share useful tips that could help a breakthrough in the case. Do you have any information to share?”

Your breathing came out heavy and you tried to force the oxygen to reach your lungs, inhaling sharply as you tried to find your words. “I… I-I think my husband kidnapped those girls…” you breathed in a whisper. The woman on the other end of the line started talking, but your focus was abruptly taken when you heard another, more familiar voice behind you.

“Something scare you, darling?” Sunghoon asks, his voice gentle and filled with worry. You couldn’t tell if he was being genuine.

You jumped, pressing further into the kitchen counter as you spun in place, the phone leaving your ear. Sunghoon sat at the kitchen table, his thick brows knitted together. You didn’t even hear him come back home. Despite the landline being away from your ear, you still heard the woman on the other end asking you questions, frantically asking if you were still there. You were completely frozen.

Sunghoon rose to his feet and the stove light illuminated him. You saw him differently now. No longer was he your loving husband, he was something else. Still, you hated the way your heart soared when you locked eyes on him. How your body relaxed, even in the slightest. You hated how you felt complete now that he was here and how you wanted to run into his arms.

He crossed the short distance to you, his arms coming to rest against the counter on both sides of you. You inhaled shakily now that you and Sunghoon were face to face. Without his eyes leaving yours, Sunghoon took the phone from your quivering hand and hung it back up on the wall. His arm returned to its position next to you, completely caging you within his arms.

Sunghoon leaned his forehead against yours. “I thought I told you that you had nothing to be afraid of, not when I’m here.” His voice was still gentle—soft—and it was lowered as he moved one of his arms to take one of your shaky hands in his. You wanted to pull away from him and wrap your arms around him simultaneously. You felt exhausted.

You voice shook, “Y-You kidnapped those girls, didn’t you? Turned them into… into…” Sunghoon drew back to look at you, his head falling to the side as his brows pushed together. His confused look made you start to question if you had been imagining everything—the dolls, the dollhouse, the hidden room, the experiment. “Into… what?” Sunghoon asks.

“...Into me!” you exclaimed, more tears running down your already wet cheeks as you choked out a sob. Sunghoon’s hand tightened around yours. “You killed them… and who knows how many others! Am I next? Are you going to kill me too?”

Sunghoon let go of your hand so he could cup your face with both of his hands, his thumbs wiping underneath your eyes to get rid of the fallen tears. “They aren’t dead!” he says. “And I swear to you that I’ll never hurt you, my love. You know that. Think of them as… reborn.”

You started to tremble in his arms and tried to shift away from him, but Sunghoon wouldn’t let you go anywhere. “Is that what you’re going to do to me? Was all of this—” you gestured around the room at all the dolls of you sitting pretty on the various shelves around the kitchen “—just practice for the real thing?” you spat out. You tried to move again, but Sunghoon’s hands dropped from your face to your upper arms to keep you in place.

“No!” Sunghoon started, his voice coated in disbelief that you would even ask him that as he shook his head. “No… can’t you see? This—” he used a finger to motion around the kitchen at the dolls “—is a reflection of how much I love you. My devotion to you. You, above anything else, above everything else. A peek inside my mind and how the only thing in there is you.”

“A-And that experiment of yours—the missing girls? Behind the wall?” you asked.

“That… is my dedication to you—m-my oath.” Sunghoon was completely desperate. He pleaded with you, his eyes wide and begging you to believe his words. His eyes were watery, like if you didn’t believe him he might cry as well, and he looked at you over the rim of his wire-framed glasses that slipped down his nose bridge.

You didn’t know what to believe. Didn’t know what to say. You just wanted to go upstairs with Sunghoon and lay in your bed and forget about everything that you’ve witnessed as he held you close to his chest. It was all too much, and your resolve was starting to crack and shatter. You wanted to smooth down your wrinkled dress and fix your messy hair, but Sunghoon didn’t let you move a single inch in fear that you would run from him. You couldn’t tell which one of you was more terrified.

His hands slid down from your upper arms and down to your hands, grasping them so tight that it started to hurt. “Come… Come with me…” he trailed, gulping thickly. You stared at him with wide, frightful eyes, suddenly unwilling to move, but Sunghoon desperately pleaded with you. He looked like he was seconds from getting down onto his knees. “Please,” he begged, pulling you into him, as his voice cracked. “You know I’d never do anything ever to hurt you.”

Sunghoon took a step back, hoping that you would follow after him, and you did. You let him guide you down the hallway all the way to the bookshelf and into the room behind it, his grip on your hands never once loosening. He led you in front of the uncanny image of you that he created. “I know how it looks,” Sunghoon says, his voice hushed. “But there’s no pain, no sorrow, nothing.”

It didn’t try to reach out to you like it did earlier and all the dolls that once surrounded it were gone. It didn’t hum that out-of-tune, terrifying version of the melody Sunghoon hummed when he worked either. It just hung limply from its silk restraints. “It just is,” Sunghoon continued. “And when it’s fully done, and completely polished, it’ll be flawless.” He delicately took your chin and guided your head to the side so you looked at him. Your body finally stopped fighting against itself and you relaxed in his grasp. “Like you are.”

Sunghoon leaned forward, hesitantly pausing to look at you again before bringing his lips to meet yours. He pulled you into him, his body wrapping around yours, and you timidly invited him in.

His lips felt so good against yours, and you knew that once you parted for air you’ll miss the feeling of them forever until he kissed you again. It felt right—it felt like home. The home where the two of you were always together and he held you like he was holding you now—like he was afraid that if he let go he would lose you. That if he didn’t hold you like a delicate porcelain cup you would chip and crack and shatter. And you would.

When Sunghoon’s lips moved against yours like they did in this moment, everything fell into place. All your worries slid off your back and for a brief minute, it was just the two of you in the whole wide world. Nothing existed but him, and his body enveloped in yours, and his touch that made you burn. And the flames danced so beautifully for him, didn’t they?

Just when you were about to pull away to quell the heaviness in your lungs, you felt a sudden sharp pain in your neck. You hissed, breaking away from Sunghoon’s lips just barely. Sunghoon chased your lips, holding the back of your head and pulling you closer against his body as he kissed you harder.

You whimpered against his lips, your nails digging into his arms as you tried to free yourself from his vice-like grip. It was no use, Sunghoon was never going to let you go. You felt your body grow heavy in his arms and he had to hold you up. Your vision began to spot black and fray around the edges, and your ears rang terribly. Just before you passed out completely, and over the ringing of your ears, you heard Sunghoon’s muffled voice as he kissed your neck where the pain stemmed.

“I love you. I love you so much that it hurts, I truly do.”

You fade in and out of consciousness as time passes around you. Sometimes you see blurred glimpses of Sunghoon, sometimes it's just an array of colors until you black out again.

You aren’t sure how long it’s been when your eyes finally do open and you remain conscious for good. Blinking away the blurriness in your vision, you examine how you're laying on the couch in your living room. Your entire body aches and it feels stiff. Your head is pounding and you almost close your eyes again to ease the pain you feel. You notice how you’re in different clothes and there’s a blanket over top of you. Too late do you notice the figure in your peripheral, and your eyes shift to look at them.

Sunghoon hovers over you, his expression a chaotic mix of hopeful, relief, and worry as he stares down at you. He’s wearing different clothes too, and his hair is a complete mess, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his glasses almost slide completely off his face. “Are you here, my love?” Sunghoon asks quietly. His voice sounds slightly hoarse.

You give him a confused look, pushing the blanket off of you and crying out from the pain you feel as you try and sit up. Sunghoon rushes to your aid, tossing the blanket to the side without a single thought, and helps ease you to your feet. Your gaze drops to your legs as he helps you stand and you notice how weird they look—shiny. There’s slight indented lines at your knees, too. You look at your arms and they’re the same.

You look doll-like.

Once you’re steadily on your feet, Sunghoon moves a step back to take you all in. You notice how done up you are and when you carefully raise a stiff and sore arm to your hair you feel how it’s styled. Your gaze lands on Sunghoon’s face, his eyes meeting yours.

His eyes are shining—completely full of love and pride. You’ve only seen him look like this when he first came to you with one of the dolls he made that looked the most like you, and when the two of you are in bed and his fingers are gently caressing your skin as he admires you. But, it was even more intense than in those scenarios. Confusion clouds you and you wait for Sunghoon to say something, and he does. One singular word.

“Perfect.”

[ kipo’s note . . . ] would it be wrong to say how i absolutely #needthat #desperately… like hehe yes i’ll be your perfect doll for you forever and ever and ever (๑´ω`๑)

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (´ε｀ʃƪ)♡

🏷️﹙ 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍? 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @hyukascampfire @xylatox @ghstzzn @izzyy-stuff @sunoosgfv @jihyokat @whosserina @jellymochii @innocygnet @sumsumtingz @riribelle @yeoningz @minaateez @beombunni @jiryunn @lvrs-street2mmorrow @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @fancypeacepersona @deobitifull @tinycatharsis @strawberryshoujosundae

© jjunbug - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier²,

summary. sam's been in love with you for far too long for it to still be a secret!

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1051

notes. @hauntedrose555 @mostlymarvelgirl @daryls-luvrr ya'll encouraged this nonsense. don't come after me for writing this 😳

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1

Dean isn't looking for trouble. Really. And he doesn't mean to snoop. He just wants the damn book. It’s gotta be somewhere in the bunker.

The three of you had been going through lore all week for this case, and Dean swears he saw Sam with it last. So, when he finds himself in front of Sam’s half-open bedroom door, he doesn’t think twice before stepping inside.

His eyes skim over the desk first, scanning through the mess of papers and thick books. No luck. Huffing, he crouches to check the floor. Nothing. Then he spots it, half-buried under a stack of old notes—faded leather binding, gold lettering along the spine.

Bingo.

But as Dean grabs the book, his fingers brush against something else. A journal. Sam’s journal.

He doesn’t mean to look. He shouldn’t. He knows that. But the damn thing is open, and his name—your name—catches his eye.

Dean tells himself it’s just for a second. Just one glance. But the words jump out at him like a punch to the gut.

"She would be so much happier with me."

His stomach drops.

“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath, flipping back a page, then another. It’s all there. The lingering looks. The inside jokes. The little moments that Sam thinks mean something more. Pages filled with words Dean doesn’t want to read, because they confirm what his gut has been telling him for a while now.

Sam’s in love with you.

A sharp exhale sounds from the doorway.

“The hell are you doing?”

Dean looks up to find Sam standing there, shoulders tense, expression instantly guarded as he sees his journal in Dean’s hands.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean drawls, flipping the book shut. His jaw clenches. “Maybe just finding out my brother’s been in love with my girlfriend behind my back.”

Sam’s face darkens. “Give me that.”

Dean tosses the journal onto the desk, standing up. “I don’t need to read more, Sammy. That one sentence told me everything.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ. How long?”

Sam’s lips press into a thin line. “Dean—”

“How. Long.”

Sam’s nostrils flare as he exhales. “It doesn’t matter.”

Dean scoffs, stepping closer. “Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? You don’t think it matters that my own brother’s been sneaking around behind my back, watching my girl like—”

“I haven’t done anything,” Sam cuts in, his voice sharp. “You’re acting like I betrayed you, but I haven’t.”

Dean lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, so I should be grateful? You’ve just been sitting on this, what, for months? Years? Jesus, Sam.”

Sam’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You had no right to read my journal.”

Dean lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Oh, that’s rich. That’s what you’re focusing on? I invaded your privacy? I had all rights!” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “You know what, maybe if you weren’t writing about how my girlfriend should be with you, I wouldn’t have had to find out this way.”

“You shouldn’t have found out at all,” Sam snaps, voice low, dangerous.

Dean freezes.

And then it clicks.

“You weren’t gonna say a damn thing, were you?” Dean’s voice drops, something cold settling in his chest. “You were just gonna sit on this forever. Hope one day she woke up and realized she was in the wrong bed?”

Sam doesn’t answer.

That’s all the confirmation Dean needs.

Something ugly twists in his chest. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t hear the footsteps in the hall. Doesn’t realize you’re there until—

“What’s going on?”

Both of them snap their heads toward you.

You stand frozen in the doorway, brows furrowed in confusion. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.

Dean glances at Sam, expecting him to fold, to back off now that you’re here. But Sam doesn’t. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes—

His eyes are already on you.

Something inside Dean cracks.

“Dean?” you try again, stepping forward slightly. “What’s happening?”

Dean lets out a slow breath, eyes flicking between you and his brother. He should lie. Brush it off. Keep the peace.

But he can’t.

“Ask Sam,” he says flatly. “Seems like he’s got a lot on his mind.”

Your brows pull together in confusion, gaze shifting to Sam. He hesitates, but then Dean sees it—the moment he decides to just go for it.

“I love you,” Sam blurts out.

The silence is deafening.

Your lips part slightly, eyes going wide. “What?”

Dean stares at Sam like he’s lost his mind. “Jesus Christ, dude.”

“I love you,” Sam says again, firmer this time, gaze locked on you. “I have for a long time.”

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a sharp breath. “Son of a bitch.”

You’re still frozen, staring at Sam like he’s just shattered the ground beneath you. “Sam, I—”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Sam continues, his voice raw, desperate. “But Dean found out, and now—” He swallows hard. “Now I can’t just keep pretending.”

Dean steps forward, his voice low and heated. “You can’t?” His lips curl in something that isn’t quite a smirk. “Let me get this straight, Sammy. You’ve been in love with my girl—my girl—for who knows how long, and now that you got caught, you think you get to lay it all out there? What, you think she’s just gonna drop everything and run into your arms?”

Sam’s expression hardens. “That’s not—”

“Because she’s with me,” Dean bites out. “She chose me.”

Sam’s breathing is heavy, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at Dean. He only looks at you.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She did.”

And then he walks out.

You’re left standing there, stunned into silence.

Dean’s chest rises and falls, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He glances at you, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Are you—” He exhales sharply. “Are you in love with him?”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

Dean swallows hard. “Jesus,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, lets out a bitter chuckle, and then turns to leave.

And just like that, you’re alone.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler

[firelxdykatara]

The thing that always hits me about season 5 is like... Buffy is just so fucking tired.

It comes on gradually, and of course season 6 is widely known for Buffy's depression arc, but the seeds are well and truly planted in the season before it because I think season 5 is when it truly starts to hit her that... she was never supposed to live this long.

Because throughout history, Slayers have been incredibly short-lived. They make it to adulthood if they're very lucky, and at the age of 23 Buffy is officially the longest-lived Slayer in history. At 20, she had already well surpassed the average, and she's really starting to feel it. It's no coincidence that this is the season when she starts giving up on the life of the normal girl she'd been so doggedly clinging to, refusing to give up just because she's the Slayer, since season 1. She drops out of college, her mom dies, Riley leaves (and she didn't even love him but he was something normal and good and she couldn't help but cling to him even when she knew she shouldn't and no thanks to Xander's terrible fucking advice but ANYWAY), she has nothing but being the Slayer and taking care of her sister--who isn't truly her sister but finding that out doesn't matter because she is in all the ways that count.

And she's tired. Because she's just one girl, one woman, with the weight of the world on her shoulders--and every other Slayer in history was eventually crushed by it, killed by the very darkness they were destined to fight (and die fighting), most of them never even making it this far. So she's standing there, hearing Dawn tell her that she has to let her go, to let her sacrifice herself to save the world because it's what she was created for, it's the only way- and she remembers.

Death is your gift.

And on the face of it, yeah, her death is the gift she gives to her sister to ensure she lives, and to her friends and the world to ensure they are not consumed. But also? Death is her gift. And it's not just realization dawning on her face in the rising sun--it's relief.

Because finally, finally, she can just let go.

She doesn't have to fight anymore. She doesn't have to suffer, or lose anyone else, or lose more pieces of herself. She can just stop. She can just rest.

Because the universe calls for one single champion, one teenage girl in all the world to fight all the powers of darkness and evil. And at the end of it all, the world offers her nothing in return except this--true and final peace. Death is her gift, and she rushes to meet it and she thinks finally, finally, she can just stop fighting. Stop everything. The world will be ok without her, there's always someone else to take up the mantle. She doesn't have to be the one everyone else is counting on. And she's so exhausted and so ready.

And then she wakes up in her own coffin. And all that suffering she thought she'd finally been allowed to escape crashes down on her a hundred fold, and of course she would stagger under its weight. But I think deep down some part of her blamed herself even for that. Because she'd been so ready to give up, stop fighting, end her own torment and then... her friends needed her back so badly that they ripped her from the only sliver of true peace she'd known since her Calling, and how could she say they were wrong for it when she feels so very wrong to her core for being so ready to let go in the first place?

Idk where I'm going with this, just feeling a lot of emotions about Buffy Fucking Summers today I guess.

[incorrectfatui]

Don't have any quotes for you right now, but some more headcanons! I thought you guys wouldn't care about those, but you seemed to enjoy the last few so oh well, here goes

today: How do they press Pantalone for more money?

Starting off with Pierro: he doesn't really have to. He asks and Pantalone is too scared to say no. Actually sometimes he doesn't ask. He just takes it. Capitano: Asks rarely enough (because he "trusts Pantalones judgement & financial plan"), that Pantalone just gives it to him, on the rare occasion that he needs it. Only ever asks if he actually really needs the money, because he'd feel bad otherwise. Dottore: Bro tries everything. Threats, bribery, begging- it has stopped working, because he does it so often that Pantalone becomes numb to it. Has now taken to threatening the newer Harbingers for money, instead of Pantalone directly. It works with Childe, less so with Arlecchino. Columbina: watches Pantalone sleep until he gives in. Usually only takes one night. Actually he'd probably just give it to her if she asked, but she skips that step and goes immediately to the next one. Arlecchino: gives detailed reports as to why she needs more money, and usually manages to convince him. Some of her requests are straight up denied though, because Pantalone will not pay more magic show equipment, no matter how much she argues that it's for a mission. Tried petitioning the Court of Fontaine to pay her child support from the state, but no one voted in favour. Crucabena: got a lot of money to pay for all the children, and just never told Pantalone that a bunch of them died/got given to Dottore. She eventually just had a shit ton of money left over. If she *does* ask for more money, she waits until after Dottore has asked for an absurd amount, and immediately follows it up with much less money. Pantalone usually gives it to her, because he's already been exhausted by Dottore. Pulcinella: actually, despite what you may think, he (after Dottore) is the one who asks for the most money, to plan events in the city and such. Usually he threatens higher taxes for the rich, if Pantalone doesnt give him money, so he rarely refuses.

Scaramouche: he doesn't. For one, he thinks it's beneath him to ask a human for money, and for another, he doesn't really need it. If he sees something he wants, he can just steal it, he's already a criminal. Doesn't pay for food, so he saves a lot of money that way, too. Even if he DID need money, he'd just sell some trinkets he took with him from the Abyss. Sandrone: sends a giant robot to do the negotiating for her. Not because she wants to intimidate Pantalone, just because she doesn't want to leave her room. Whether it works is a 50/50, but if it doesn't, she'll just rob someone instead. After Crucabena/Signora/Capitano died, she raided their bank accounts, so now she has a lot of private savings. La Signora: Also sees it beneath her to ask Pantalone for money, but thankfully for her, he owes her massive amounts of favours, so she usually just has to insinuate that she wants to cash one of those in. Pantalone: is Pantalone Childe: Hasn't really gotten the memo that Pantalone wants something in exchange, so he usually gets rejected. However, he grew up poor, so the salary he has now is more than enough for him. ...if he didn't spend half of it on Zhongli. Was able to pass that off as costs for the mission at first, but Signora told on him. Now he owes Pantalone money.

[menagerofmischief]

nsfw alphabet -> nr6

masterlist

nsfw alphabet (a-z) / 18+

nico rosberg x fem!reader

an: this one was a requested a while ago, I never pass up a chance to write for my favorite diva.

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Nico is someone who values intimacy a lot and he takes aftercare absolutely seriously, he's doing the full experience every time. Bringing you water, snacks, drawing you a bath or taking a shower together and ending up wrapped in blankets with your favorite show playing.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

His favorite body part of yours are absolutely your thighs, no matter the size he adores them. Will be touching, gripping or stroking at any opportunity, even during public dinners.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Like I said, he values intimacy a lot so he absolutely goes feral for coming in you. It's the best for him, no need to pull out and it makes him feel even closer to you so it's his go to. If you ask him to cum on any part of your body, boobs, face, ass, back, you name it he'll do it but if you leave it up to him, it's going inside.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

He knows you'd never let him live it down so he doesn't mention it but he has a very secret very special sex playlist of Britney Spears songs which he'd love to play while fucking you.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

He has enough experience to know what he's doing and is down for learning about every little thing that feels good for you. Hasn't been around plenty but he's a good learner.

F= Favorite position

He mostly prefers positions where he can look at your face because he loves the look on your face when you're close to orgasm. Also likes doggy in front of a mirror.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

He can go either way depending on the mood. Sometimes it's all very lighthearted and you're both giggling other times it's full on deep in the moment and passionate.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

For himself, he keeps it neatly trimmed because he finds that's what works best for him - for you, he's fine with whatever you're the most comfortable with.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Most of the time he's really romantic and into it, gazing into your eyes and everything. But he can absolutely go filthy and rough if he's has a bad day or something (Lewis) annoyed him much.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Does it occasionally, especially if he's really pent up but doesn't like doing it alone. If he's away and you couldn't come he's video call you so you can both get off together.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

He likes mirror sex, and is a fan of foreplay. Otherwise he isn't really specific about his kinks and is open to trying pretty much anything at least once.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

He prefers the bedroom but as long as it's a closed space with walls and not too public, he's down to go.

M= Motivation (what gets them going)

He doesn't need a lot to be able to go really, and anything you do that's even remotely suggestive had him ready and needy.

N= No (something they won't do)

Anything that actually hurts you in a definite no. Some roughness is okay to a certain extent but when it feels more like pain and less like pleasure it's an absolute no go for him.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Lives for giving you head, and has worked hard to perfect his technique, finding all your sensitive spots and trying to see how fast he can make you fall apart. Really does it for his own enjoyment, seeing as he gets completely lost in it. Would be happy to drown in your pussy.

P= Pace (do they prefer it slow or fast)

Somewhere in the middle. He's not exactly going slow but neither is he going that fast. Will listen to what you tell him you want in the moment, increasing the rhythm of his thrusts as soon as you moan out a "Nico, please faster, baby please!"

Q= Quickie (do they prefer quickies or taking their time)

He prefers to take his time and make you fall apart multiple times, first on his fingers and tongue and then on his cock. But he can absolutely go for quickies as long as it's somewhere private.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

He's down for experiment and trying new things with you. He's happy to try anything you bring up, and if you like it great, if you don't at least you tried.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go)

It depends on how exhausting the day was but he can usually go multiple rounds with little to no breaks in between.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

He's okay with toys, it wasn't something he thought about it at first but after you tried it once he discovered his love for them and all the ways he can use them on you.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Mostly he does it unintentionally at first, but once he notices there's a glint in his eyes and a smirk on his lips, will tease you for as long as possible.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

He moans and grunts, sometimes if you're teasing him he'll whine. Overall he makes really pretty sounds. Also very good at dirty talk but his voice will sometimes crack as a moan slips past.

W= Wild card (random headcannon of any sort)

During the big Brocedes fall out era he has fucked you rough, purposefully trying to make you be loud, all against the wall separating his driver's room from Lewis's.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in those pants)

He's a bit above average for length and around average girth, also has a pretty pink tip, always sensitive and leaking.

Y= Yearning (sex drive)

He's not fully sex crazed but is quiet needy. Ideally 3-4 times a week.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Nico will wait for you to fall asleep first, holding you close, his hands stroking your skin, the movement slowing down and coming to a stop once he can no longer fight off sleep, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

[differenteagletragedy]

In which Soap's significant other/spouse dies unexpectedly :(

“Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

It was a question Johnny had been asked countless times over the years: in hushed, anxious tones by his mother in visits home, when she still held onto hopes that her son would pick a safer life, and in slurred, almost voyeuristic voices from girls he’d pick up in bars.

And the answer was always no. An easy, thoughtless no, because he wasn’t, not really.

Now, as he stands in front of the mirror of the bedroom you used to share until you were taken from him, he realizes why.

The hard part isn’t in dying. If something were to happen to him on the field, it would likely be quick — a gunshot, an explosion, with no time to think about what it would mean to no longer exist. And even if his last moments were drawn out, there would be an ending to it in sight. A clear cap on whatever suffering there would be.

No, the hard part wasn’t in the idea of leaving this world. It was in being left.

Johnny takes a breath, tugging up the pants of his dress uniform -- the only nice clothes he had, and the ones he'd wear to bury you.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, and the weight of that knowledge threated to drag him down, so hard and heavy that he wasn't sure he'd be able to carry it. After he fell in love with you, really let himself fall and feel it, it broke his heart to know that someday he might die on you. Thoughts of your sweet, beautiful face, crumped and lined with tears when someone told you he'd never be coming home would flicker in his mind during missions sometimes, always unwelcome. They haunted him.

It never even crossed his mind that he'd be the one on the other side.

He shrugs on his jacket, lines still crisp from when he'd hung it up in the back of the closet after moving in with you, and quickly does up the buttons and tugs it into place. He looks at his reflection, but it's all wrong. Who gives a fuck about medals and ribbons and how nicely the seams are pressed when he's never going to hear your laugh again?

But it's not just that, the awkward formality of it all -- his eyes come up to his hair, too. He's always liked the mohawk (obviously he has, or he wouldn't have kept it this long), but seeing it now feels almost shameful in a way that doesn't necessarily make sense but still burns.

He's in the bathroom, decked out his dress blues with clumps of dark hair lining the sink, when Simon comes in.

Johnny barely remembers this -- some plans made at some point in the last week for Simon to come help him with everything. Did he give him a key, has he been locking the door? Ever since he got the news, things have been happening in waves of clarity and a strange foggy dissonance, so he can't be sure what's real, or if it matters.

The deep, familiar tone of Simon's voice as he says his name though ... that feels real. The feeling of his fingers brushing against his chest as he unbuttons his jacket and carefully dusts it off, countless tiny hairs falling to the floor, that's crystal clear.

Johnny's own voice sounds further away, a rush of words coming out that barely registers in his mind. "Feels like a fucking joke," he tells Simon, but what he's talking about, he's not exactly sure.

Simon tells him a number of things, rattling them off in clipped, calm sentences, enough to start to push through the fog, and he doesn't fight it when he takes the clippers from his hand and spins him around, saying something about cleaning him up.

"Just get through the day," his lieutenant tells him over the buzzing. It almost sounds like an order, and Johnny, ever the good soldier, gives an affirmative hum, like it's possible.

When Simon finishes with the clippers, he grabs Johnny's jacket again, holding it out for him to put back on, and when he does, he rebuttons it for him. He systematically goes over the insignia, strong, steady hands making sure everything is in order, and Johnny could almost weep at the small relief of not having to worry about one more thing.

But more than that, Simon's hands feel like an anchor, like a tangible weight holding him to now. There's warmth radiating from his body, and it's not like yours -- he doesn't think he'll ever be able to find a warmth like yours again -- but it's there. It's something, and after days of wallowing in your empty home, smelling your pillow and cradling your clothes and letting himself cry in a way that he hasn't since he was a child, it's a hell of a lot better than nothing.

"You ready?"

Simon's words are phrased like a question, but Johnny picks up on the tone -- another order. It's time.

And he's not ready, not even close. His stomach turns at the thought of seeing your lifeless body laid out in a casket in clothes he picked, and everything in him is screaming, telling him to run, far and fast and hard, from all of this.

But, as always, he's been hardwired to obey his superiors. So instead, he nods.

The funeral is unbearable, but somehow, Johnny bears it. And later, when the grief has settled into an old achy wound instead of bared nerves burning, he'll know that it was because of Simon. Because of his presence beside him, an occasional hand on his shoulder, calloused and sure, that kept him tethered to him when all he wanted to do was float away.

[totallyanopossum]

Monsters secretary part 2

Mister Draven Oxid and his secretary

Link to master post

Part 2 below, light smut warning

No editing or grammar checks have been done

She gets the job, it's not much different than any other secretary job.

Blah blah we can skip this part right, yeah let's jump to the good stuff.

The building owner lost the building and the tanets got kicked out unexpectedly, she panicked packing up all her stuff and getting it in a Uhaul. but now it's 6:30 she hasn't slept and her alarm to get up for work rings and her crying that had just slowed, goes full on again. She's a sweaty crying mess, she can't go to work like this. She's gotta call in.

When he sees her call pop up at this hour he gets a bad feeling something must be very off.

Draven- “ hello miss Corvin”

Y/N-“ hello mister Oxid”

He can tell from her voice something is wrong, she's been crying.

D- “ miss what's the matter?”

Y/N-“I can't make it in today”

She wanted to stop there but the concern in his voice drove her to say more.

Y/N-“I was evicted last night and all my stuff is in a uhaul, I haven't gotten any sleep and really need a relaxing shower but nether a motel shower or bed would help, I just need some time off while I figure things out”

D- “ where are you?”

Y/N-“what?”

D- “ send me your location I'll take care of things”

Y/N-“ oh mister Oxid no that's not needed I just…”

D- “ please let me”

So she texts him her address and he tells her he's sending over some of his men and he'll see her soon.

She's not fully sure what they mean but can't deny or refuse his help, she needs it.

25 minutes later there's a knock on her window, she rolls it down and sees an overly tall, bold colored eye man in a shape suit, this must be from mister Oxid.

?- “ Mister Oxid sent us”

Y/N-“ oh okay”

?- “ Mister Oxid has set up that I will drive your Uhaul and in the Caddy over there Jerry will drive you”

She's still not told where she's going but she's so tired and done, whatever happens it's okay she'll go with it. She grabs her bag and hops out of the truck and goes to the caddy He pointed too.

A man comes out and opens the door for her, how nice. She gets in and settles into the comfy seat. Jerry gets back in and drives off while the other guy follows them.

At a red light Jerry turns and hand her a paper bag, she takes it confused

J- “ breakfast, he said you liked English muffin egg and bacon sandwiches”

An odd feeling floods her knowing that mister Oxid remembered what she eats, even taking in the details of what's in her sandwich. She realizes this feeling is the butterflies that come with a crush, but she doesn't have a crush on Mister Oxid, right?

She eats her sandwich, ignoring where she's being driven. Only when they pull into an underground parking lot does she realize her surroundings.

Y/N-“ so umm where are we?”

J- “ Mister Oxid has a penthouse here”

She really hates the thought of meeting him while being so disheveled and just hopes he's not there. She follows Jerry up, he swipes a card and presses the penthouse floor button. In steady opening to a hall it opens right up into a grand big penthouse. She's never been someplace so grand, she's awestruck.

Jerry gives her a tour of the place.

J- “ you can shower or nap, just request whatever you need we'll be here”

Jerry and the other settle onto the couch and turn on the TV. She's been left to her own devices and really wants to wash up so she heads back to the luxurious bathroom with the waterfall shower and bathtub the size of a hot tub.

She washes off quickly on the shower then relaxes in the tub just floating around as the jets swirl the water. She's so tired but this is too good and relaxing to pass up. The hot water, bath salts, and scented oils wash away all the stress of the last 24 hours.

Once wrapped in an overly large towel she realizes she doesn't have clothes, she tries checking the wardrobe and only finds extremely large clothes, like everything else here it wasn't made for a being her size.

J- “ do you need something”

Y/N-“ yeah could you fetch me some clothes from my stuff?”

?- “ Yes, what box?”

Y/N-“ blue tub with dinosaur duct tape on it”

?- “ on it”

The guy who's name she doesn't know heads off to get her box, while she awkwardly standing in a towel with Jerry. Jerry doesn't stare or seem to notice or maybe he's just being polite, she still can't help but feel embarrassed.

The guy comes back carrying the tub, he must have sensed her nerves because he took the tub to her bedroom to give her privacy, she's very glad for this. There was no way to bend down and dig around wearing a towel, her breasts are already a bit too exposed like this.

She's so tired, that awkward encounter only tiring her out more, leaving her exhausted. She finds underwear and a shirt and doesn't bother to look for pants or shorts, she's too tired for that.

Once dressed she climbs into the big bed and quickly falls asleep tucked under the plush soft covers.

Draven arrives, his guys rise at his entrance greeting him.

D- “status report”

?- “ we got her and her stuff here with no resistance, she's bathed and now is asleep”

D- “ no resistance?”

J- “ after the sandwich she seemed very relaxed didn't ask anything till we arrived”

D- “ good, you guys can go”

J,?- “ yes boss”

He goes to check on her, he heads towards the guest rooms but gets confused by the lack of her scent in that direction. He follows his nose, it leads him to his bedroom, he peaks in and sees her laying in his bed, looking so tiny, dwarfed in his bed. He steps into the room more and realizes she's only wearing a shirt, no bottoms. He knows he shouldn't look but her creamy white skin looks so soft and supple. The way she's laying and the position of the blanket has exposed her lower back, round ass, and a peak of her thick thighs.

He feels his heart rate pick up and his pants start to strain painfully,he feels guilty it's wrong for him to see her like this. He leaves and goes to his office to distract himself with work and sends emails to his other staff informing them he won't be in today. Eventually once he's calmed down and finished his emails he settles in on the couch.

He smells her scent getting closer and looks up just as she peaks around the corner. She looks so meek, small and almost worried or perhaps embarrassed. But this must be an odd thing for her, such a vulnerable state with her boss.

Seeing that she is frozen at the corner he gets up and meets her halfway.

D- “ how are you doing Miss?”

Y/N-“ much better now sir, umm what time is it ?”

D- “ 10:30”

She's not sure what to do in this situation, it's not that he's a monster or that he towers over her, he's her boss, bosses shouldn't see their employees like this, having just woken up, tear reddened eyes, and only wearing a not long enough t-shirt without a bra.

Y/N-“ thank you Mister Oxid,I… I'm not good at handling stress well and you really saved me on this”

He's nervous about offering physical comfort but tries anyway and very carefully pets her shoulders and back, his large hand big enough to grab her fully in one hand. He takes care to use very light touch, he's worried about harming her, she's so small.

At work they have touched and bumped into each other a few times, but never like this. It was always his claw touching her hands as she placed down his coffee cup. It's cute when she delivers his coffee she uses both hands focused as she carries it.

She had bumped into him before while carrying files and wasn't looking up as she rounded the corner, this incident only happened once, he felt so bad how she fell after walking into him, as if he were a wall.

But now this feels different, tentative, fragile; he just hopes she accepts his move. She doesn't flinch, jump, or step away so he considers that good.

D- “ oh please call me Draven, and it's no problem really your welcome here”

She starts to tear up, she's not used to such comfort and care, even if he's only given her just a little dash of it. Sure his hand is large enough to grab her fully, she's not scared or worried about that, she can feel how gentle he's being, how much care he's taking with her. She can hear the genuine concern in his voice and she's learned to gauge his facial expressions and knows this look he's giving her is genuine and one rarely seen. She'd only seen it before when he called his niece for her birthday, or when he comforted a client who was suing for wrongful death of their husband.

Y/N-“ th…thank you Draven”

Her crying and distress triggers a deep rooted instinct to care for her. An instinct so strong he just acts without thinking through his actions. He scoops her up, seating her in the crook of his arm, he takes them to the couch and keeps her seated on him as he sits. He lightly rocks her back and forth trying to sooth her.

After a few minutes he realizes what he's done and curses himself. She's such a shy, nervous type this move is way too bold for her, he must have scared her. How does he explain this?

He looks to gauge her expression and feels a pang of dred, she looks tense and flush. Oh no he's made this so much worse.

Whoa whoa what's happening? He picked me up. Oh this is high, I don't like heights. Thank fuck I put on undwear, my ass is on his arm. I'm sitting on his arm, I know he's big but this is impressive, oh there's just something about a big strong man who can manhandle and lift me around. Oh no I can't be feeling this way about my boss, fuck fuck fuck. But this feels so good. No, I must stay still, mustn't wiggle my ass on him, even though I bet there's so many places I'd like to grind on him. Fuck, have I lost my mind, what's with this super horny feeling all of a sudden?

D- “ oh Y/N my apologies, my instincts took over, are you alright”

When she looks up at him, her pupils blown wide. He's very concerned thinking he's done irreparable harm, then he scents her and understands her flushed, blow pupils look. he tries to keep his gaze up but cant help but do a onceover of her body, giving him more clues to her feelings, her hardened nipples poking against her shirt, her legs crossed together tightly. Then he curses himself again when he catches his own scent, it's part of his instincts, he releases a scent to relax and ‘comfort’ the distressed.

Oh how do I explain that I just released a horny chemical that's affecting her.

Y/N-“ umm Draven…”

D- “ it's alright, what your feeling is okay”

Y/N-“ but… what… how… my head..”

Oh no ive caused her distress and turned her on, desperately by her scent.

D- “ shh, shhh, i'll explain. Unlike humans I have instincts that can kick in and your crying and distress triggered that. Which is why I picked you up and I unintentionally released a scent that is responsible for your feelings and heat”

Y/N-“ Oh”

D- “ I'm sorry, it wasn't intention ”

Y/N-“ no, no it's okay, just… embarrassing”

D- “ you don't have to be embarrassed Y/N”

Y/N-“ so will the… effects go away?”

D- “ I'm afraid it's very strong and will take a while to pass, but there is umm”

Y/N-“ what?”

D- “ there is a way to make it pass swiffer… by orgasming”

She's lost her words, looks down and fidgets with the hem of her shirt. This is too much, her body is on fire, core clenched, pussy wet, nipples hard, mind whirling with filthy thoughts. And sitting on him is not helping at all. A horny hormone would be fun if it wasn't her boss, a guy she can't go all pathetic, drolling, and begging for dick with.

This is a difficult situation to navigate, on one hand he knows there are certain boundaries here and on the other he wants her to stop trying to hold back so much and he wants to not hold back with her.

She moves a tiny bit and his heart skips a beat when he feels a wetness against his arm.

Oh my. Is that? It must be. If she's already so wet just from the scent she must be in agony, so needy but holding back so strongly, what strong will power she has. If only she'd let loose with me. I can feel the plushness of her ass pressing against me and I want to feel all of her body, to feel inside her. Fuck.

Sorry for the cliff hanger.

Working on next chapter now, hopefully the nsfw art in the next chapter will make up for the cliff hanger.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Tainted

Steddie || wc: 6k || rating: E || cws: DEAD DOVE DNE, steve harrington whump, Vampire!Eddie, post break up second chance, sexually explicit, blood (like a lot of blood), chronic pain and illness, recreational and prescription drug use/abuse, heavy angst, EVENTUAL HAPPY ENDING THE COMFORT IS COMING!! || ao3

Steve pulls the needle from his arm, long since used to the sensation. He expertly applies a cotton ball and bandage over the puncture wound he'll remove as soon as Robin leaves.

She's giving him that look again. The one she always gives him when he's draining. Her lip is swollen from biting, and she won't meet his eyes as he wraps the tubing up and seals the heavy, red medical bag.

He knows she won't say anything. She's done arguing with him about it, mostly because she knows he's done caring what she has to say. So he heads to the garage, where the lone, tall, white freezer stands with a sharpie taped to the side and a log sheet hanging next to it. 

It's only logged a few months back to January. The rest of the monthly sheets are meticulously filed away in his office, going back nine years now. 

Robin's good at bookkeeping, took it upon herself so he could drain at home without having to go into The Lab. She's even better at scheduling his monthly check-ups at the clinic, coordinating his medications, and all-around keeping him upright and arguably functional.

All Steve has to do is bleed, log, and ship.

He doesn't even have to pay for shipping. Eddie takes care of all of those little details– well, Paige does.

Which is nice, since apparently shipping bodily fluids like blood requires a shit ton of caveats for a civilian. But it was pretty easy to heap the exorbitant costs his way, since Eddie's got enough rockstar money and guilt to spare.

Not that Steve blames him. How was Eddie supposed to know that every time he sunk his fangs into Steve's neck, it boiled his blood with a cocktail of toxins? There's no way they could've predicted that their first feeding would doom them both. A love ruined before it even started.

It wasn't a problem for Steve. He tries not to dwell after so many years, but when the nights are long and the pain thrums in his limbs, Steve thinks they could've made it work.

Everyone told him it was the venom, like Eddie was pumping some kind of stupid fucking love poison into his veins, that Steve didn't have real control over his emotions. Eddie was bad for Steve, and everyone agreed– even Eddie.

Steve didn’t, but that didn’t seem to matter in the end. He fell in line, like he always did. Still does.

Steve grabs a styrofoam box from the stack and fills it with dry ice Robin bought at the grocery earlier today. He adds the fresh bag to the "new" shelf, and puts the two bags on top of the "old" shelf into the box, sealing it shut with packing tape and sticking a prepaid shipping label on the top.

According to Robin, it's all monitored by the government and Owens’ team. Steve’s not sure the man's very involved in the whole Hawkins used to be actual hell bullshit anymore, since there's not much left. Beyond his and El's– and presumably Eddie's– annual appointments, there's not much left for him to do.

The world fell apart. Monsters decimated the town. They won, eventually. So Owens and the government fucks off like everything’s back to normal. Except El murdered a man she had once considered a brother, and then unraveled with grief. Max lived, but refused to use her wheelchair, refused to admit she’s blind, refused to get out of bed. And Eddie...

Eddie was the one good thing to happen in the aftermath– once they purged him of Kas. Steve thought he saved Eddie when he captured Kas stalking around in the woods at night. He locked him in the basement, tossing down raw meat and boxes of live rats until Kas became little flashes of Eddie.

Until Steve could figure out what he really needed to become Eddie again. What's a little blood when he's risked so much more in such worse circumstances?

Apparently a lot. Because it fucking ruined his life.

“Wait–” Eddie interrupted Owens’ speech about unknown variables and additional testing– “you’re telling me that his weird bruises and the aches and the awful fucking migraines are because I poisoned him?”

Owens sighed, looking between the floor, Steve tucked into the hospital bed, and Eddie perched next to him, like he could come up with a better answer other than a simple ‘yes’. He couldn’t.

Eddie tried and failed not to cry as Owens explained how the venom in Eddie’s bite wasn’t an aphrodisiac, like they had childishly chalked it up to be. It permanently altered Steve’s kidneys, fucking up some shit in his bones to make him produce too much blood. “Most likely evolved as a permanent, reliable source of feeding–” Owens rambled, until Eddie vomited right onto the floor.

On the plus side, it turned out it was a condition pretty similar to one that already exists, which meant other than his annual appointment with the lab, Steve could do his normal check-ups at the hospital. “You’ll have to take a rigorous schedule of medications, along with at least one blood draw a week– unless Mr. Munson is around to, ah… assist.”

The blood disorder, according to Owens’ results, was a lost cause after the first bite. The bone-deep pain, however, “could’ve been mitigated had Mr. Munson not continued his feedings,” with an unsaid ‘like I suggested’ hanging off the end of his accusation. 

When they’d first brought Eddie in to be checked out, they’d been warned about continuing to feed, something about unknown prognosis, and possible long-term side effects. Steve had fought Eddie hard, and eventually convinced him that it didn’t matter. As long as it meant they kept feeding.

“How could something that feels so right be bad for us, Eds?” Steve whispered into the quiet dark of their room, Eddie curled up naked next to him. He didn’t respond.

Steve should’ve known it was the beginning of the end. Almost two beautiful years together, until the guilt ate Eddie alive. He saved Steve by leaving him and ran as far away as he could.

They haven’t spoken since.

Steve sets the box down on the coffee table only for Robin to scoop it up, with boots on and keys in hand. "It's only two bags this time," Steve says, "Owens took–"

“– the rest for testing. Yes, they already know." He knows she's not irritated, but the pity in her eyes grates on his nerves even though she’s still not looking at him. He knows it's there. The smell of pity is as ripe as the metallic tang in the air.

He walks her to the door. She spins back around to face him, lips pursed with a finger in the air. "I forgot to mention," she lightly taps him on the nose, and she giggles when he shakes her off like an annoyed dog, "I put the new bottle of serum Paige sent yesterday in the fridge for you. I saw you were low and figured it'd save time on thawing a new one."

She turns back towards the foyer, on her way out the door when Steve calls out "The fresh one? What about the one from last week, won't that expire?"

His concern is waved off with a shrug and not even a glance over her shoulder. "Christmas is only three days away, you deserve the good stuff." Steve's thin laugh barely has time to sour when she shouts, "I'll be back with Vickie in a few hours for dinner," as she closes the door behind her. 

Steve considers holding off on his next dose until Robin and Vickie leave for the night. Instead, he heads into the kitchen, pulling the small, brown, glass vial out to warm in his hand. Steve hasn't dosed venom– serum, as Robin calls it, like a name means all the difference– cold since the first time, and he'll never do it again.

The chronic pain of withdrawal from Eddie's toxin isn't nearly as bad as the permanent blood disorder because of it, but it's not easy. On the best days, it's an annoying ache in his limbs. The worst days leave him immobile in bed, burning from the inside out.

Steve misses the heavy blossom of euphoria coursing through him with each bite, almost two bottles worth of doses equal to one feeding. He misses the sudden relief of tension, leaving his body molten, unfiltered lust filling out his cock so fast he almost passes out.

Except nine years ago today, Eddie curled up next to him in the back of Steve's new pick up. The sky was dark but clear, the air frigid with a light snowfall. Hot little puffs of weed smoke poured from between their lips. It was one moment of a thousand between them where the electricity was so palpable it left him buzzing. The only difference, however, was that Eddie finally closed the distance with a kiss. 

His lips felt like coming home. The slide of his soft, warm tongue against Steve's was a claim of not just hunger or desire. It was love, companionship. Life. 

They lasted five minutes before they fed and fucked. But then later Eddie crawled into his bed, moved all his stuff in the next day, and never left.

Until he did, of course.

Steve calls Robin to tell her he's tired. She must know he's lying, but Steve argues and she caves, agreeing to see him tomorrow instead. Robin knows what today means to him. Normally, he’d be thankful for how much she cares, how much she worries about him. It’s still nice to finally spend today, of all days, alone.

Steve props the small bottle, now warmed to room temp, on the coffee table in front of him as he settles into the couch. He did as much as he could to change out everything in his apartment when Eddie left. Not that it was contaminated, just tainted– like everything they once shared is now. 

The couch is Steve's favorite by far. Nothing fancy, only a simple blue sofa with fluffy armrest for him to lay his head on. He sleeps better here than his own bed most nights. It's a love seat, but he's always slept curled up anyway.

There are two little drawers in the old, wooden coffee table—the one on the right holds just enough storage for remotes and other small trinkets. Steve opens the one on the left. He sets a black box next to the large rubber tie next to the syringe next to the unwrapped needle next to the little brown vial.

But Robin's right. It's almost Christmas. It's his ex-anniversary. He's doing so well at the firm that his dad clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a glass of his personal whiskey. And he hates all of it.

Steve doses half the vial. It's not lethal, not even dangerous. The venom can't do more damage than it already has. It only layers more and more blankets of relief over him until he’s lulled back into the euphoria-filled lust he's craved for years.

The buzz hits him instantly. Steve knows what's coming, so he strips off his clothes and moves to the floor. His skin glistens with sweat before he pulls his last sock off, tossing it on the couch. Desperate heat rolls through his chest, settles in his gut. 

Steve’s cock twitches, untouched, as he fumbles to open the black box. A pathetic whine escapes him looking at the set of homemade toys inside, nothing like the basic dildo and cockrings upstairs in his nightstand.

You always were a sad little slut for me, sweetheart.

He moans in the quiet of his living room. Fingers trembling, he sets the box down and pulls out his first indulgence. An oversized dildo, almost an exact replica. Pale, matching skin-tone at the balls and base, fading up into a dark black at the swollen tip. It even includes the silver, metal ball pierced just under the head.

A gift. Steve tries not to cry just looking at it.

One of the first things Eddie spent his big-time rockstar money, having his giant fucking monster dick molded just for Steve. It was one of the last gifts he ever gave him. Except the weekly shipments of venom, which Steve doesn't count. 

It's a toy he rarely uses but fails to forget about. 

He mounts it on the side of the coffee table before he preps himself. It taunts him, mocking his desperation as he hastily shoves two fingers into where he’s hollow. The angle’s all wrong, lube spilling over his wrist, dripping down his forearm and onto the carpet beneath him. 

He should get comfortable, lay down on his back instead of staying on all fours, but Steve’s skin is too tight for his bones. He’s shaking, sweating with lust and he just needs some fucking relief. Just needs something for once in his fucking life to feel good again, to go right again, after everything went so fucking wrong.

A tear slips free as he lines up and spears himself on a toy that isn’t Eddie, but feels so painfully close. Rocking himself back until he feels the balls pressed against him, he rides the toy hard enough to jostle the table with each thrust. 

It’s not the easiest position. He should’ve pushed the table up against the couch next to him, or laid a soft blanket on the floor to protect his now burning hands and knees from the carpet. Steve knows he should slow down. He's not relaxed enough, hasn’t prepped well enough if the pain means anything. 

It doesn't. Pain means nothing when drops of Eddie course through his veins.

You're so tight, baby. Feel so fucking good on my cock. Look at you Stevie, crying, you're so desperate for me.

Steve swipes the back of his hand across his damp cheeks. It leaves a streak of lube he hadn't seen through his blurred vision, but he doesn't care. Better than tears, anyway.

Frustrated, Steve rummages the box again and pulls out a similarly colored fleshlight. Fingers shaking, he barely manages to keep hold of the bottle as he coats the inside with an excessive amount of lube. He closes his eyes, slows his fingers into a firm roll.

Fuck Stevie, love your fingers deep inside me.

Steve tries to remind himself this isn't real. It's all plastic and silicone and a ghost of a voice in his head.

The sentiment is lost as he slips the swollen, red tip of his cock inside. He curls forward, bracing his weight on his head and shoulder. Steve screams as the dildo finally punches his prostate. Lightning sparks down his spine, sending him into a frenzy.

It's everything he denies himself because no one feels like this. How can anyone ever wonder why Steve's relationships always fail when this pathetic display is better than any fuck he can find? Because there is no moving on from Eddie, not really.

So Steve revels in Eddie's name on his tongue and the metal ball driving into his prostate and the wet, slick sound of fucking into what he pretends is Eddie's tight little hole until he's sobbing. He's close. Tension coils deep in his gut. Snot drips from Steve’s nose as his sobs echo in an empty home, but it's no use. It’s not enough. He needs more, knows exactly what he needs, and he hates himself for it.

Relief still sits in the box. A small metal contraption Steve managed to create all on his own, lost in the worst of his depression. It looks back at him with the same disappointment it does every year.

Two old mouth guards he wore for football, wired together at the back and molded just big enough for Steve to slip his fingers into the teeth-shaped grooves. He rubs the pads of his fingers over the smooth, metal nail heads, sharp tips pierced through the other side. 

He keeps trying to remind himself it's not real. They're not his fangs. There's no swipe of a tongue across his skin or lips suckling at his neck. It's not Eddie. But he can pretend it is, just for tonight. 

Writhing with anticipation, he pours a bit of the venom in the bottom of the box. Steve opens the fanged-jaws wide and coats the two nails fused into the top and the two on the bottom. He jostles the box as he fucks Edd– the dildo– faster, drops of venom splashing the carpet. Tension coils low in his gut and it takes all of Steve’s willpower to wait. Wait until the nails are completely covered, dripping fat, clear drops into the box. 

Tongue lolling out of his mouth, Steve holds the fangs above him, head tipped back as the venom drips down into his mouth. Another sob morphs into a guttural moan and he knows he’s out of time.

It’s been almost a decade but Steve still knows where his favorite place to feed was, so he lines up the bite. Except just the tips of the nails against his skin sends Steve careening over the edge.

The empty house is filled with Steve's screams as he comes . With his last remaining brain cells and a firm grip, he closes the metal contraption into his throat, plunging the nails inside.

Mine to bite, to drink, to love. Only mine, forever.

"Fuck, Eddie, yes. Only yours. Fuck–"

The injected venom rips out another orgasm, almost painful in its intensity. Come spills out of the warm, hollow toy that isn't Eddie and onto the floor, adding to the mess of lube that drips from his throbbing hole as he pulls out the other toy that also isn't Eddie. 

Exhausted, Steve has just enough of mind to grab the blanket draped across the couch behind him before he passes out.

~~~

Part 2 coming soon! ao3

Header graphic kudos!

[messrsrarchives]

Can you address representation in fics and bad vs good representation. I understand that taking say a black or trans character and making them the villain is bad representation. Or portraying those characters negatively would also be bad representation.

But i keep seeing things about femme Sirius being bad representation and I don't understand it. How is it bad, when some men present that way? Along those same lines, portraying Evan or Pandora as POC is done consistently but doesn't seem to be criticized at all, however I see people say all the time to not just make James "latino" unless you have a good reason to do it.

I'd really appreciate a yap on representation and how to do it well vs how it's done poorly.

i have a draft about this !! i'll add screenshots of it below the cut, but i'll yap first <3 BUT the screenshots are v important for the "representation in fandom" so pls, read those too 🙂↕️

(first of all ! i am white. discussions of representations of pocs are not mine to lead and i recommend reaching out to other people for this ! not a discussion for me to Lead. i'll yap a bit! but you need to be listening to the voices that matter here and that's not mine)

inherently,,, those first two examples aren't BAD rep, it depends what you're doing, yk? if you were to turn around and change voldemort's race you'd be asked why and that would be (imo) poor rep. but say,,, you're exploring a canon divergent dorcas? say you want to explore the fact she was taken down by voldemort personally - that's a lotttt of power she has, how quickly could that go wrong? maybe her break up with marlene puts the war into perspective for her and she gets blinded by how powerful she is, she thinks she can make a genuine change etc etc, ends up doing bad things. would we consider that bad rep? i wouldn't personally??? so like. taking a villain character and changing their race with no lore? issue. taking a black character (canon or accepted fanon) and exploring how different their character could be? depends how you've done it and why and what your motivations are etc etc -> it's all individual! and again, not my discussion to lead, this is from listening to those affected 🙂↕️

in terms of the trans rep, again, it depends why. if you were to now make voldie trans with no backstory and kept everything else the same? yeah, i'd raise my brow at you. buttt say you take a villain character and give backstory to them being trans, you haven't just thrown it in for no reason and there's actual lore behind it? then idk. i wouldn't consider it bad rep if done well. because a trans person that happens to be bad is not bad trans rep unless the Reason they're trans is because they're bad,,, if that makes sense? a trans person can be a villain! but have you made them the villain purely because they're trans? why? what's the story? etc etc

it's all individual (see screenshots below)

FEMME SIRIUS DONT GET ME STARTEDDDDD. its not bad 😭😭 "it reinforces heterosexuality" no. it's a feminine man existing. or a transfem existing. actually, it's a FICTIONAL CHARACTER 😭😭 and ofc there's instances where it does reinforce heterosexuality and they make sirius petite and weak and blah bla- IT'S FICTIONAL 😖😖😖 they aren't a real couple 😖😖😖 and that is SOMEtimes !!! stop demonising the existence of it as a whole omgomgomg. femme sirius is just transphobic most of the time. and i don't throw those kinda words around lightly but,,, "he's meant to be MANLY" alright well now i feel like fucking shit because you're arguing about what makes a Real Man in MY comment section. "making him shorter is forced heterosexualit-" i am a 5'6 trans man 😖😖😖😖 like you can prefer certain characterisations!! ofc!! but the stuff you say about fictional queer characters does infact affect the queer prople you're saying it to 😭 -> fem sirius post

ahem. anyway. no, femme sirius is not inherently bad.

moving onto the other point ! one of my friends has spoken about this over on tt so i recommend checking that video out and talking to pocs because i am infact a white person so this isn't a conversation for me to lead. it's about latino james representation and how it's a culture, not a race, yet the culture is never included etc etc!! i'm sending you there, very informative video, go listen to the voices that matter here-> video here

AND THENNNNN representation as a whole, i present my drafted yap that i never posted that i'll hide here instead:

[brionysea]

if stranger things 5 comes out and they're like 'omg! the upside down has been a product of someone's dark and twisted mind this whole time! it's... WILL!' I'll immediately lose interest

[tenwhiteandalusians]

and then no one said anything about the fact that if i watched ONE MORE episode tenax pulls a "i'm not angry i'm just disappointed i'm hurt" about scorpus signing with the white faction.

[slamrink]

klay 0 points but he looked sexygorgeous doing it + lockdown defense + mavs WIN and dubs clinch so im leaving here with something 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

💔💔💔😢😢😢

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[fmhobeus]

fwb!suguru who knew he wanted to fuck when he first laid eyes on you. then wanted to take you out to endless dinners to chat his ears off when he first spoke to you.

fwb!suguru who grew to like you without fucking you, almost forgot it was what he wanted you for – a life together or a night together?

fwb!suguru whose dick got painfully hard when you taunted him, rolled your eyes at him or outwitted him. he lived for your sassiness.

fwb!suguru who happened to fuck you on a random night unexpectedly and it changed the trajectory of his life.

fwb!suguru who stayed after every dick appointment. cuddled with you on the bed, watched movies or your favourite TV show, ordered take out and held you in his arms till you both inevitably fell asleep.

fwb!suguru who couldve sworn he wasn't in love with you. he would still fuck other people (and then come back to you, poor baby was thinking of you the whole time)

fwb!suguru whose grown accustomed to your presence. he calls you when he isn't feeling okay, you call him when something bothers you. he's grown used to you telling him all about work, how you got your nails done, how you saw a cute cat near your apartment. trivial details, which coming from anyone else he would hang up, but he looks forward to them with you.

fwb!suguru who eventually stops fucking other people and is just your man, without you knowing.

fwb!suguru who is determined to mark you up in placed people will notice. your neck, your thighs, your collarbones.

fwb!suguru who believes in giving you his all. all of his long girthy dick that pumps you full it should be criminal, his long slim fingers that have made you orgasm so often and hit that deep spot with unbeat ease, his long tounge... oh god his tounge. he thinks maybe even his long life ahead is yours too, all yours. his little kids too maybe? he doesn't like to think too much about that.

fwb!suguru who has to have your pussy checked with his tounge daily. he has to lap up your insides no matter any circumstances. his voice purrs across your body when he talks you through your orgasm.

"mhmm yeah cum all over my face beautiful, I know you want to"

fwb!suguru who gets sick at the thought of you sitting so pretty for another man when you tell him you're going on a date. suguru who looks so disturbed at the thought of another man even looking at his pretty girl who isn't really his.

fwb!suguru who takes you to corporate events just so he can call you his girlfriend, even if it's just pretend. when you question him it's always "easier explanation than a friend i fuck on the regular, isn't it?"

fwb!suguru who knows how you like your coffee in the morning. he knows what you like for breakfast, your comfort food, your hobbies, your favourite movies, your least favourite movies, your icks, your past. he knows you like he knows himself. he thinks of you when he passes your favourite cafe, he texts you when he sees something in the colour you like.

fwb!suguru who is sure he hasn't felt this way before, who is so vulnerable with you that it scares the shit out of him.

fwb!suguru who is afraid, angered at everything about you. he's angry at how you lull him into a sense of security, how you hold him, how sweet your voice sounds when you call him by his name, how you take care of him, how you listen to him. he hates how your pussy clenches his dick for dear life, milking it dry and how you never let a drop of his cum go to waste, licking it up like a little slut. he's fearful too. about losing you. about where loving you the way he does leads. loving you? wait. he loves you? fuck. fuck. fuck. this hasn't been according to plan at all.

[mminghaos]

best friend seungcheol whom you have a crush on, but never told him. he doesn't know it either and y'all just bicker all the time as bsf, one day all of it changes when you finally say you found a match on some dating app. he realises it and bam! hot and heavy shit go down.

bitter crush , choi seungcheol x f!reader

SYPNOSIS: your bestfriend doesn’t know you’ve had a crush on him for years, but when you mention matching with someone on a dating app, everything changes.

WARNINGS: smut, fingering, kissing, teasing, mingyu as the failed date lmfao

requests are open, do send some in!!

you’ve been friends with seungcheol since high school, watching each other grow up — first jobs, first kisses, and everything in between, sticking together through the highs and lows. your friendship is built on bickering and teasing each other like it’s second nature. but now, the bickering feels different.

“i matched with someone on that app i told you about,” you say, placing your coffee down on the wooden table of the café you and seungcheol are sitting at.

you’d decided to give a dating app a shot, hoping it would help you take your mind off seungcheol. maybe meeting someone new will help you move on, or at least distract you from the constant thoughts about him. but so far, it’s just more of the same — swiping, chatting, but none of its ever seemed to match the energy you share with him. you might as well move on, since seungcheol has is own hookups and girlfriends, and none of them will ever be you. its frustrating, the way this burning crush for him is always shimmering beneath the surface, gnawing at you. this is going to be the death of you — that’s what you always tell yourself.

“so you’re telling me you’re out here swiping on strangers?” he responds, his voice laced with something you can’t quite place. “what happened to the whole ‘not needing anyone’ thing?”

“it changed.”

“really? that’s weird.” he says, his eyes never leaving you. “thought you were too busy to deal with anyone new.”

you roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. “yeah, well, apparently im not as busy as i thought.”

you’ve never been the type to casually date or get involved with someone just for the sake of it. but lately, things feel different. seungcheol’s always been there — constant, reliable, and annoyingly perfect in his own way — and it’s hard to ignore how your thoughts always circle back to him, no matter how many times you try to push them away. you’ve never said it out loud, never let him in on the truth of how much he’s been occupying your mind, and the idea of dating someone else? it almost feels like a joke. you’re not really here for some random guy who doesn’t know you like he does. but the more you try to distract yourself, the more you realize how little it helps. no matter how many matches you get, no conversation ever seems to compare to the effortless back and forth you share with seungcheol. it’s like you’re chasing something that doesn’t quite exist, and each swipe only makes you feel more frustrated. but you can’t exactly admit that, not to him, not to anyone. so you keep trying, hoping maybe this time will be different, even though you know deep down it won’t be.

“so, who’s this guy?”

you shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. “kim mingyu. he’s nice. we’ve met a few times before, actually — works at that bar down the street.”

seungcheol leans back in his chair, his arms crossed as he watched you. he clears his throat. “just don’t pick some random guy who doesn’t get you, alright?”

“what, are you jealous or something?”

“no.”

the date with mingyu went well. you two got along really great — there was no shortage of conversation, and the chemistry was comfortable. you both enjoyed the meal and found common ground in ways that made the evening feel lighthearted and easy. it was nice, actually, to just relax and enjoy someone’s company without any pressure.

even if the date was good, you and mingyu both agreed that you should just be friends, neither of you feeling the sparks you were hoping for.

you walk into your apartment, slipping off your shoes and placing your keys under the mat. its quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. you head towards the living room, where seungcheol is sprawled on your couch, sorting through the groceries he offered to pick up for you earlier this week.

“you’re back early,” he says, glancing up with a smirk. “thought you were gonna be out all night with your… date.”

you roll your eyes, not really in the mood to talk about it. “it was fine,” you reply, shrugging as you drop your purse on the counter. “nothing special.”

seungcheol raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “really?”

you let out a breath, trying to sound casual. “yeah, well, turns out i’m not as interested as i thought.”

he tilts his head, looking at you like he’s trying to figure you out. “what do you mean?”

you hesitate, leaning against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping against the countertop. “we got along, i guess. but we just decided to be friends.”

“huh.” seungcheol shrugs, clearly unconcerned, though there’s something in the way he watches you that makes you pause. “so you’re saying you don’t feel any connection with him at all?”

you shift, rubbing the back of your neck. “it’s just… not there. but whatever. i’m fine.”

“you sure?” seungcheol presses, his voice dropping an octave, and you can’t help but notice how close he’s sitting now. “because i’m sure someone else would love the chance to—”

“ugh, please.” you cut him off, trying to brush it off. “i don’t need some random guy to be interested.”

he smirks, clearly not buying it. “really? sounds like you do.”

you bite your lip, trying to hold onto your patience, but it’s slipping through your fingers. you know he’s teasing, and usually, you’d laugh it off, but tonight feels different. there’s a tension in the air that you can’t ignore, something that’s been building for years. frustration bubbles up inside you, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“cheol, i like you, okay?” you blurt out, your voice trembling slightly, surprised by how easily it all comes rushing out.

he pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processes your words. there’s a moment of silence, and you feel like you’re about to suffocate under the weight of it. his gaze flickers to your face, then down to your hands, then back to your eyes, as if trying to figure out what’s really going on.

“wait,” he says slowly, his tone less playful and more cautious now. “you’re not drunk, are you? had drinks or something when you were out?”

you quickly shake your head, trying to steady your breath. “no, i’m not drunk. i just—” but the words feel clumsy on your tongue, and suddenly, you’re unsure of how to take them back.

“i shouldn’t have said that,” you mutter, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. “this was stupid, i’m sorry. i don’t even know why i—”

you start rambling, trying to downplay the confession that’s just slipped out. each word feels like it’s digging you deeper, and you just want to take it all back. “i mean, i don’t even know what i was thinking—this is—god, i’m so—”

but before you can finish, seungcheol pushes himself off the couch and walks towards you, stopping just a few inches away. his eyes still lock on yours. the silence stretches, and you feel your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. you want to say something, to apologize again, but all the words are caught in your chest.

“stop,” he says softly, his voice low, but there’s an intensity in it that you can’t ignore.

you open your mouth, wanting to explain, to take back the awkward confession, but the words jumble in your mind. “it’s just… i didn’t want to make it weird, and now i’ve probably ruined everything—”

seungcheol doesn’t say anything, just watches you with an unreadable look in his eyes, waiting for you to stop rambling. you go on anyway, trying to explain yourself, even though you can feel yourself getting more flustered with each passing second.

before you can continue, he steps forward, his hand gently cupping your face, cutting off your words. you freeze, eyes wide, but before you can process anything, his lips crash onto yours, effectively silencing you.

the kiss is deep and urgent, like he’s been holding back too. your brain barely registers what’s happening as your hands instinctively move to his chest, but the tension that had been building between you both for so long snaps. everything goes quiet in your mind, and for the first time tonight, all the chaos and nerves fall away, replaced by the heat of his kiss.

the kiss lingers for a moment, intense and raw, as if neither of you wants to pull away. your breath mingles with his, the world around you blurring until there’s only the feeling of him so close, so real. your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds you just a bit tighter, as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

when he finally pulls back, you’re left breathless, your forehead resting against his as you both try to catch your breath. his hands are still on you, one gently holding your face, the other resting on your hip, grounding you.

“you really don’t make things easy, do you?” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse, the teasing edge back in his tone, but it’s softer now, more affectionate.

you don’t trust yourself to speak right away. all the words that had been stuck in your chest before are now lost, replaced by the overwhelming feeling of him so close, his touch still lingering on your skin. instead, you look up at him, meeting his eyes, trying to make sense of everything, but before you can say anything, he smiles slightly, a genuine, soft expression.

“i didn’t realise how much i liked you until you told me about that guy,” he admits, brushing his thumb over your cheek gently. “i was too stupid to notice.”

you dont get to reply because his hand moves down your back, pulling you closer, your chest pressed against his. the room feels warmer now, charged with something you can't ignore. your hands find their way to his chest, pushing lightly at first, unsure if you should pull away or let it happen. but he doesn't give you that chance.

his lips return to yours, but this time, there's more urgency in it, his kiss deepening as his tongue brushes against yours. you let out a soft sigh, the tension that's been building between you two for what feels like forever finally snapping. he groans, his hand moving to your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss further. the heat between you both grows, and you can feel every inch of him pressing against you, making your pulse quicken.

seungcheol's voice is low, almost a whisper as he takes a step back, hands resting on your waist, grounding you both. "do you want to keep going?" he asks.

you nod, your heart racing, but your mind is clear. “yes.”

he doesn't say anything more, just nods and gently takes your hand, leading you through the apartment. when you get to your room, he lays you down on the bed gently, his hands never leaving you.

seungcheol hovers over you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation, any sign that you’re unsure. you can feel his body close to yours, the warmth radiating off him. “are you sure?”

“yes, cheol.” you let out a light laugh, pulling him closer. “im sure.”

his lips trail down your jaw, each kiss softer than the last before he moves to your neck, his teeth grazing slightly over the skin. you let out a soft sigh once he pulls back after reaching where your shirt starts. before he can say anything, you’re reaching for the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric over your head.

seungcheol takes a moment, his gaze lingering on you before meeting your eyes again.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says, unclasping your bra and slipping it off. “god.”

his hands find their way to your pants as he trails kisses down your chest, each one growing more desperate as his lips move lower. the warmth of his breath against your skin sends a shiver through you, and you can feel your heart race with every gentle press of his lips.

eventually, he pulls your pants off, discarding them somewhere on the floor behind him. “please.” you breathe out

“hmm?” he responds, his fingers slipping just under the band of your panties. “what do you want, baby?”

“need you inside me, please.”

he glances down at you, lips twitching up into a smirk. “patience.”

“no, no, no— cheol, please—” you whimper out.

“don’t worry, you’ll get what you want.” he cuts you off, pressing a light kiss to your collarbone.

when he finally stops teasing you and pulls your panties down, tossing them god knows where, you’re already a mess underneath him. every nerve in your body is on edge, anticipation building as he slides two fingers through your folds. “fuck, you’re soaking wet for me, baby.” a low groan escapes his lips, his restraint wavering as he fights to hold himself back.

he slowly pushes one finger into your pussy, giving you a moment to relax before he adds another and starts to curl them into all the right places.

“cheol!” your head falls back against the pillow, hand going to grab his wrist for some sort of stability.

“yeah, you like that?”

you’re already so close — just from the way his fingers move inside you, hitting every spot that sends sparks shooting througu your body.

you nod over and over again, hips rising to match the rhythm of his movements. “don’t stop— fuck— please, im so close.” 

your breath hitches, and you clutch at his arm, desperate for grounding as the sensations overwhelm you. every stroke of his fingers feels like its pulling you closer to the brink, and the tension in your body winds tighter with each passing second. “please—” the word slips out as a whisper, barely audible. your legs start to shake, the pleasure coursing through you almost too much to bear.

before you can even warn seungcheol, you’re coming undone all over his fingers, hips bucking up at the same time.

“god, thats so hot.” he mutters, but you’re too out of it to know if its to you or himself.

"you alright?" seungcheol asks softly, his hand resting on your hip as he looks down at you with concern. his touch is gentle, almost hesitant, as if he's checking for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your breath still ragged, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "yeah, i'm good. just... didn't expect that." your voice is breathy, the lingering effects of the moment still making your body tingle.

seungcheol smirks, clearly pleased with the reaction. "you sure you're not too overwhelmed?" he teases, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair out of your face.

you laugh softly, the sound shaky but genuine. "im fine" you reply, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye. "was that your way of saying you like me too?"

“it was.” he smirks, eyes locking onto yours. “think you can go for one more round?”

he really is going to be the death of you.