#the salesman x y/n

[catchastarorten]

—Pause the game.

Pairing: the salesman/recruiter x wife!fem!reader

Summary: your husband had some ‘work’ to take care of with the two people that had been trailing after him all day, but when your call came in, and when he found out that you felt sick, you became much more important than whatever he had going on.

Warnings: mainly fluff, mentions of Woo-seok and Jeong-rae following snd spying on him, some parts of the Russian roulette game, he’s soft for you, he misses you, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.4k

The day had been long, even by his standards. A hundred lottery scratchers, a hundred loaves of bread, the park, the homeless. He had been up to a little ‘social experiment’. Even then, he caught onto the two men who had been trailing behind him since the subway station.

He wasn’t stupid. Someone was after him, and these two lackeys were clearly here to track him down. His best guess? Seong Gi-hun.

Woo-seok and Jeong-rae had been following him like shadows—clumsy ones, attempting to blend in with the surroundings every time he stopped, as if they expected him to turn around and strike at any moment. And eventually, he did.

He had let them tail him, then to his surprise, they made the first move down an alleyway to avoid losing him. By the time they realized they had made a mistake, it was too late. He had taken them down quickly, efficiently, the way he always handled these things. No emotions, no hesitation.

Jeong-rae had gone down first, crumpled to the ground. Woo-seok tried to fight back with the poor attempt of using a small knife, but a sharp blow of the suitcase to his head had knocked him out.

Now, they were sitting across from each other, bound to chairs, tied up with ropes, their mouths gagged, their muffled groans filling the dimly lit room. They couldn’t scream, couldn’t beg—just incoherent muffled noises as they squirmed like trapped animals.

He slowly circled the two men, then stopped to place a hand on each of their shoulders, eyes filled with amusement at their looks of terror.

“We're going to play a game now... Rock, Paper, Scissors, Minus One. I trust you know the rules.” his gaze flickered from Jeong-rae to Woo-seok, a smile forming on his lips.

“You form a shape with each hand, then take one away. The game is decided by the remaining hands. Of course, there’s a penalty for the loser.” he picked up the nearby revolver and inspected it, then pressed the barrel to his temple. “Russian Roulette.”

Their muffled protests grew louder, their bodies twisting against the ropes in a futile attempt to escape. The two men were shaking, their breaths heavy as he leaned closer, his finger on the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

His smirk widened as he backed away slowly.

“Alright. Now, let’s play. On my count.”

But then, as he was getting ready to spin the cylinder of the revolver, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

His brows furrowed, the interruption pulling him out of the carefully constructed moment. He pulled the phone out, and the sight of your name on the screen made him pause.

He froze for a moment, staring at the screen as his heart softened. It wasn’t like you to call him in the middle of the day. You knew he was busy—always busy. The ‘work’ he pretended to do required him to keep odd hours, to vanish without explanation, and you never questioned it. You trusted him. And he loved you for that trust, even if he didn’t deserve it.

His thumb hovering over the answer button before taking a deep breath and sliding his mask of indifference back into place. But when he answered, his voice betrayed him. It was warm, gentle—a tone he reserved only for you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft, the edge it had carried a moment ago completely gone. He shot the two men a warning look, his eyes narrowing as if daring them to make a sound.

Turning away from them, his tone dropped into something almost tender. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your voice came through the line, quiet and tinged with vulnerability. “I… I didn’t mean to bother you. I just… I’m not feeling well.”

He could hear the catch in your throat, the faint rasp. “Are you sick?” he asked, straightening.

There was a pause on your end, then a soft sniffle that nearly broke his heart. “Yeah. Just a cold, I think. My head hurts, and I’m all stuffed up.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a slow, steadying breath as guilt twisted in his chest. You sounded miserable, and he hated that he wasn’t there to take care of you. Hated that he was here, in this cold room, when he should’ve been home with you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I know you’re busy. I just… I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly, his voice gentle but firm. “You can call me anytime, okay? I mean it. Anytime.”

There was a pause, and then he heard another sniffle on the other end. It made his chest clench. “Where are you?” you asked. “Are you coming home soon?”

He glanced down at Woo-seok and Jeong-rae, their wide, panicked eyes watching him like trapped prey. The revolver gleamed on the table beside him, a stark reminder of the life he led when he wasn’t with you.

For the first time all day, he felt a pang of guilt—not for them, but for you. For the life he kept hidden from you. You had no idea what he did, the darkness he waded through every day. And he wanted to keep it that way. You were his light, his one connection to something pure and good in a world full of shadows.

“Soon,” he promised, his voice softening even further. “I’ll be home soon."

You didn’t reply right away, but he could picture you nodding, your lips pressed into that small, tired smile you always gave him when you were sick. He could see you in his mind—wrapped in a blanket, your hair messy, your cheeks flushed from the fever.

“There’s soup in the fridge,” he added gently. “I made it this morning. Heat some up, okay? And the heating pad’s in the bottom drawer. You’ll feel better if you use it.”

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice tired.

“I love you,” he said, the word coming out more vulnerable than he intended.

“I love you too,” you replied, and he could hear the faint smile in your voice despite the cold.

His chest tightened at the sound of those words. He glanced away from the two men on the floor, his jaw clenching as he fought the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to rise. “Now go rest, my love. I’ll be home soon.” his voice was thick with sincerity.

When the call ended, the room was silent. He stared down at the phone in his hand, his mind still on you.

For a moment, he let himself imagine walking through the door of your shared apartment, dropping his keys on the counter, and finding you curled up on the couch. He’d press a kiss to your forehead, make sure you were warm, and hold you until you fell asleep. That was all he wanted.

But instead, he was stuck here.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his attention to Woo-seok and Jeong-rae. His expression hardened once more. “Well,” he said. “Where were we?”

He reached for the revolver, spinning the cylinder with a practiced flick of his wrist. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and final.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “Loser gets to test their luck with this. Simple, right?”

He crouched down in front of them, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring their terror.

They shook their heads frantically, their breathing heavy, protests muffled by the gag. He sighed, standing up and running a hand through his hair. “You know,” he said, his voice almost casual. “I’d love to stay and play, but I’ve got someone waiting for me at home. So let’s not drag this out.”

Their muffled protests grew louder, but he didn’t care. This was his world. His game.

And when it was over, he’d go home to you. To the warmth of your love, the softness of your touch.

You didn’t know what he was. What he did. And he intended to keep it that way.

Because as long as you were safe, as long as you loved him, he could pretend—for just a little while—that he was someone worth loving.

[vrystalius]

Baby fever.

Gong Yoo has forbidden himself to fantasise about a peaceful family life. He does not deserve one, neither does he deserve you as as his partner.

Pairing: Recruiter/Gong Yoo x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

Summary: You’re noticing how your husband has been acting a little distant lately but he keeps acting like nothing is wrong. You decide to confront him.

Words: 1.1k

Genre: angsty fluff

Warning: Pregnancy description, spoilers for his backstory

(Here are some HCs on him and other Squid game men as dads and how they act during your pregnancy if you’re interested!!)

He mainly married you to keep up his appearances to the public. That’s what he believed your marriage to be in the beginning anyway, but falling for you hit him like a truck Gong Yoo missed to spot while crossing the street. Now he can barely step outside the door without thinking about you, your safety, your cute face, your lips and whatever else there is to possibly think about a person.

Imagining you pregnant was a rather frequent fantasy he had. Not in a perverse way that could make one wonder about how sane he exactly is, but rather about how adorable you’d look when you waddle around the apartment, how it would feel to hold you from behind and lift your heavy belly for you, the sight of new stretch marks decorating your body more and more, listening to you baby’s heartbeat.

Even the unpleasant aspects of a pregnancy seem appealing to him for some reason. Holding your hair during a wave of morning sickness and emptying your stomach’s contents into the toilet, preparing a warm bath for your swollen feet, odd cravings where he can only pray for his child’s health while you inhale your exotic plate with a smile.

While future players of the game slam their dakji square against the one on the floor, Gong Yoo stood there with his arms behind his back, literally drowning in a baby fever. Only the sound of the square hitting the other and failing to flip over unpleasantly ripped him out of the trance, reminding him of his occupation that would make it much harder to have a simple, oblivious and lovely family life.

You noticed how much somber your husband has gotten lately. Sure, he was still affectionate as ever and never failed to bring flowers, chocolate or whatever else you desired, but you could see how something was clearly bothering him. Asking what is bothering him will only result in him using his charming recruiter persona to deflect your worries right back at you, bastard.

One evening, while your legs were draped over his thighs after making yourselves comfortable on the couch, empty take out boxes on the coffee table in front of you. You were the only one paying attention to the TV broadcast though.

Your husband’s fingers slowly traced invisible patters on your thigh while his eyes glossed over nothing.

“You’re so quiet lately. Did something happen at work?” Gong Yoo’s eyes slowly shifted to look at you, his hand coming to a stop on your thigh right above your knee. He leaned his head back against the couch cushion. “I’m just thinking a lot about you lately. You’re quite distracting, you know that?”

Again, he’s deflection your worry and question to turn it right back at you. Unamused, you slid your legs off his lap and lifted yourself from your comfortably lying position. You were clearly unamused and he could tell. A small sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes for a moment. “No, nothing happened at work. I’m really thinking about you a lot lately.”

“Then exactly are you thinking about then?” You noticed his eyes trying to shift away from you, anywhere else than to look into your eyes. Your hand gently took his into yours, your fingers interlocking with his. You watched him glance down at your two rings, the rings that symbolise marriage and partnership. He emitted a deeper sigh. “I’m thinking about our future together, I suppose.”

You cocked your head in confusion. “Kids. I’m thinking about kids.” Gong Yoo elaborated. “Our kids to be exact.” His grip on your hand got a little tighter as if you’re about to pull away. Instead, you pulled his hand towards yourself. “So… what do you think?” You mumbled, briefly running your fingers through his hair.

Your husband shrugged, his lips turning into a small frown. “I want them, don’t get me wrong, I just— I don’t know. I’m not sure if I…” He took a deep breath before continuing. “If you want them with me, if I would be a good father… My own father wasn’t the greatest and what if I’m going to be just like him, you know?”

Silence fell between you two, the TV serving as l white noise in the background. An endearing smile broke out on your face as you ran your knuckles over his surprisingly sweaty cheek. Opening up to you takes a toll put of him apparently. His eyes closed shut as you briefly admired his lashes fluttered against his skin. His whole face softened.

“So, firstly, I do want children with you and only you. Remember that.” The cold metal of your ring made Gong Yoo shiver under your touch. Your hand cupped his cheek as he slowly opened his eyes again. “Secondly, you’ll be a good father, someone yours never was.”

Your husband scoffed slightly as a larger smile began to break out on his face. It was a little funny to him how you answered him so honestly and kindly, not even knowing the full story between him and his father and how it ended.

Your words did warm his heart. The fantasy of a perfect life with you didn’t seem so taboo anymore, so distant and unreachable. It felt like it was just a moment away.

Gong Yoo leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on your lips, his lips felt soft and gentle. His warm breath fanned your face as his hand slipped out of yours to cup your cheek and angle your face for his tongue to briefly slip between your lips. Pulling away, his forehead rested against yours as his eyes stared into yours.

“Do you mean that? Are you really sure?” You couldn’t help but chuckle a little at how nervous he really was. “I am as sure as I was when I married you, dear.”

Your husband leaned back in for another kiss, this one was much more brief, teasing almost. “Well would you… like to start trying? For a child I mean.”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

As I am posting this I am around 2-3 hours away from arriving at the ski resort. Half of this was written while I was a little nauseous so apologies for any inconsistencies or mistakes as I was in and out of it. The other half was written while I listened to a mix of J-Pop, K-Pop, Hamilton musical, Rap, Odetari. My music taste is quite unique :,) Anyways, I’ll be posting again soon or tonight! It’s going to be either about Thanos or In-ho!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, DRINK and SLEEP enough!!

Take care or yourselves <3

[voxslays]

JUST LIKE CANDY — SQUID GAMES MEN

Summary: The squid games men with a sweet, kind, and slightly naive reader, who is just a total sweetheart throughout the games. Warnings: American!Reader mentioned in the salesman’s part.

HWANG IN-HO

❀ How did such a sweet, caring being such as yourself end up in a place like this? That was In-ho’s first thought when you ran up to him, inviting to sit with your group, which conveniently had Gi-hun already in it. You could be useful. You were so young. Your trusting and naive nature was going to get you hurt. He knew what the people in these games would do for money, so from that day forward he vowed to protect you.

❀ He cheered you on in six legged race, making sure his guards knew not to kill you just in case your team didn’t make it to the end for some reason. And in mingle, he made sure you were no more than an arms length from him at all times. He’s gotta keep you safe, doesn’t he? And in the end—during the rebellion—he refuses to let you join. In-ho can’t risk losing another person he cares about. It would destroy him. So he begs you to stay put, and you do.

❀ When he finally makes it back to his quarters and becomes the frontman again, he makes sure you’re safe. For the next three games, he wastes no time telling the guards that they should give you hints and clues on the next games. Once this is all over, you two can be together, as you should’ve been all along.

THE SALESMAN (GONG YOO)

❀ When the salesman sees you—a foreigner, likely American—sitting on a wooden bench in the park he liked to walk in during his ‘work’ hours, he couldn’t help but think of what an impeccable target you would be. A perfect contestant for the games. So, Gong-Yoo approached you, expecting the normal untrusting response. Maybe you’d be confused, speaking in English or poor Korean.

❀ But the recruiter was shocked when you waved at him politely, letting him sit beside you. Yet, the most shocking of all, your Korean was amazing for a foreigner. He didn’t even have time to offer you a card to the games before he was engaged in a polite conversation with you. Gong-Yoo didn’t even want to recruit you for the games anymore. Despite being a sadist, subjecting you to such pain and torment seemed wrong for him to do.

❀ Gong-Yoo finds you every day on the same bench, waiting for him. You two quickly become friends, and then something more. The Salesman finds himself excited for your company. So when he asks you to get dinner with him, he couldn’t be more pleased when you happily accept his offer. Another win for him.

HWANG JUN-HO

❀ When Jun-ho discovers an American officer has been transferred to his department, he finds himself slightly intrigued. When he finally meets you, he’s shocked. When he thought of an American, you were the farthest thing from it. You were a complete angel. Not like how the other detectives had described Americans as patriotic and cocky. No, you were different, and Jun-ho feels himself drawn to you.

❀ Jun-ho suggests you work on the case together. I mean, you’re new to the country, aren’t you? You might need some help navigating Seoul! What if you get lost? Jun-ho should be there to guide you for your first time. That, and he might have…maybe…wanted to get to know you better. The two of you find yourselves meeting up quite frequently. At the park, the local library, the station. Anywhere, really.

❀ When the two of you finally ‘crack the case,’ as you say back in the states, Jun-ho cant help but fawn over you like a teenage boy. The way your excitement shows through your gleaming eyes, or how you immediately go to give him a high five. Yeah, he knows you’re the one for him.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

hii! could i have the salesman from squid game smut but like no violence or stuff, like shes his wife and just sort of domestic 😆 feel free to ignore❤️

mornings

A/N: ADORE RHIS.

WARNINGS: probably very ooc, but WHO CARES. fluffy mornings w/ him (:

As your eyes fluttered open, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the kitchen and into the room. You heard the chirps of birds coming from the outside, the window wide open.

You sat up, stretching with a sigh, then standing up, small smile on your face as you walked into the living room to be greeted by the sight of your husband, making two cups for the both of you.

He turned around when he heard the pitter-patter of feet on the floorboards behind him, his own smile gracing his face when he saw you.

“Goodmorning.” He spoke, you going up to him, wrapping your arms around his body. A light chuckle escaped his mouth, him embracing you as well.

“Morning.” You murmured against his shoulder. You both stayed comfortably like that for a moment, before you pulled away, furrowing an eyebrow at the coffee cups next to him.

He picked one cup up, handing it to you, and he grabbed the other.

“Alright, what’s going on?” You asked suddenly, him shrugging and pursing his lips. You took the cup from his hand, putting it to your lips.

“What do you mean?” He asked,

“I always wake up before you. You never make coffee.”

“Guess I just...” he paused to take a sip, “felt like it this morning. A guy can’t love his wife so much he makes her coffee, now?”

“Never said that.” You laughed, making your way over to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting down, him sitting opposite of you.

He stared at you, watching you drink it with a smile on his face. You didn’t notice his staring until you looked back up, a nervous laugh escaping you.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful.” He commented, your cheeks heating up at the compliment. Despite you hearing it for years from him, it felt the same as it always did, and always managed to cause butterflies in your stomach.

“You are.” You replied, him laughing now.

“Oh? Am I?” He asked, eyebrows raised at your comment, amused smile remaining on his face.

“Mhm.” You hummed, raising the cup to your lips once again, him doing the same with an amused shake of his head.

[fear-is-truth]

𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝! 𝓢𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐍 . . . headcanons

݁˖ 𐙚 a/n. ۫ i need to be his housewife..

husband!salesman, who keeps his true profession hidden from you, presenting himself as a hardworking, white-collar office worker. he always has a perfectly rehearsed story about late nights at work or business trips, and you’ve never had a reason to doubt him.

husband!salesman, who can effortlessly shift between his calculating persona and the role of a loving, normal husband, a skill honed from years of manipulating people. he uses this charm to seamlessly blend into domestic life, convincing everyone—neighbors, friends, even you—that he’s just a hardworking, devoted family man.

husband!salesman, who has a soft spot for your cooking and always compliments it, even if it’s a simple dish. he jokingly says he only survives long workdays because he knows he’ll come home to your food. sometimes, you catch him sneaking bites straight from the pot.

husband!salesman, who never misses family meals, even when “work” keeps him late. he’ll call ahead to let you know, then heat up leftovers when he gets home, sitting at the table with you to chat about your day while you keep him company.

husband!salesman, who makes an effort to surprise you with small, thoughtful gestures. whether it’s bringing home your favourite street food after work or surprising you with flowers from the local market.

husband!salesman, who has a way of spoiling you without making it feel like a show. he’s well-off because of his job, so when he hands you a generous allowance or a piece of jewellery, it’s done so naturally—he loves providing for you, and you never have to ask.

husband!salesman, who is a total girl dad, absolutely smitten with your two daughters. he dotes on them endlessly, and has a special knack for making them laugh with exaggerated reactions and silly voices, despite his usually reserved nature.

husband!salesman, who always remembers anniversaries, white day, and other special occasions. he arranges for a babysitter to watch the kids, then takes you out to an upscale restaurant, where the two of you enjoy a quiet candlelit dinner.

husband!salesman, who is a fair parent. he makes sure both girls get equal attention and never plays favourites. if one gets a new toy, the other gets one too. he often comes home from “work” with two of everything—candy, stickers, or toys—earning excited squeals and hugs as a welcome home.

husband!salesman, who is the epitome of patience and understanding when it comes to parenting. when the girls argue or misbehave, he sits them down and calmly explains why their behaviour was wrong, ensuring they understand.

husband!salesman, who insists on walking you and the girls to school or daycare when his schedule allows. he carries their bags, holds their hands, and always kneels down to give them a final hug and kiss goodbye, reminding them to be good for you.

husband!salesman, who takes the time to read bedtime stories to your daughters. unbeknownst to you, the folktales he chooses often have a slightly dark twist—cautionary tales about greed, betrayal, or the consequences of foolishness.

husband!salesman, who often initiates moments of closeness, even in a busy household—a soft kiss on the back of your neck while you’re cooking, or tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you fold laundry, he finds has his ways to remind you that you’re still his priority.

husband!salesman, who unwinds once the girls are tucked in, he joins you on the couch with a cup of tea or a glass of soju in hand, listening intently as you recount your day.

husband!salesman, who enjoys settling beside you in bed as you start a k-drama, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. you lean into his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath as his fingers trace circles on your back.

husband!salesman, who holds you close at night, arm draped around your waist as he sleeps. even in his unconscious state, he finds comfort in your presence, his grip tightening ever so slightly when you stir.

husband!salesman, who expects a level of perfection and discipline in his household, partly because of his “work ethic” and partly because he believes it reflects the success he’s worked so hard for. he never raises his voice, but a single look is enough to make the girls behave—or anyone else for that matter.

husband!salesman, who does his best to keep his darker side hidden from you, but you sometimes notice the faraway look in his eyes. when you ask if he’s okay, he always smiles warmly and reassures you with a kiss.

husband!salesman, who told you early in your relationship that his father died from an illness when he was younger. it was a carefully crafted lie to keep his darker past buried.

husband!salesman, who ensures your daughters are well-educated and polite, reflecting his high standards. he helps them with homework, encouraging them to excel.

husband!salesman, who has already set up college funds for your daughters, starting them as soon as they were born.

husband!salesman, who treasures family outings. he takes you and the girls to the han river for picnics, amusement parks, and trips to traditional markets.

husband!salesman, who takes home security very seriously, investing in the best systems available. the house is equipped with top-of-the-line cameras, motion sensors, and alarms, all linked to his phone so he can monitor everything, even when he’s not at home. your family’s safety is his priority, no matter the cost.

husband!salesman, who has zero guilt about his double life, especially when he sees your innocent trust or his daughters’ pure adoration. he tells himself it’s all for them, justifying the blood on his hands with the happiness of his family.

husband!salesman, who is ruthless in his profession but draws a strict line between that part of his life and his family. he sees his success—and the life he’s built with you and the girls—as something he’s earned. the people who had to die for it? trash, utterly useless in this world. he never loses sleep over them.

[pixiexdusts-world]

The man behind the mask

The salesman x reader

He came home late again. His tie was askew, his shirt wrinkled, and his eyes carried that faraway look I’d grown used to but could never understand. I’d set the table hours ago, hoping for a quiet dinner together, but by the time he walked through the door, the food had gone cold.

“You’re late,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, though my chest felt heavy. “Busy day?”

He gave me the same smile he always did, that half-smile that felt like a shield. “You know how it is. Work never ends.”

I didn’t know how it was, though. He never talked about his job. All I knew was that he traveled often, wore impeccable suits, and occasionally came home with bruised knuckles. When I’d asked once, he’d brushed it off—“Just an accident.” I didn’t press. Some part of me didn’t want to know.

We ate in silence, the only sound the clink of chopsticks against our bowls. I watched him, trying to read his face. He looked tired, but it was more than that. There was something else there—something darker.

“You’ve been distant,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “Is everything okay?”

He paused mid-bite, then set his chopsticks down. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie. I could feel it. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” I said softly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “I just need to know you’re safe.”

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a crack in the mask he wore. “I promise,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll keep us safe.”

That night, I woke to the sound of him moving around the apartment. The faint rustle of bags being packed, the creak of the front door. I got up, my heart pounding, and found him in the living room, slipping on his shoes.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice trembling.

He turned to me, and for the first time, he looked scared. Not the calm, confident man I knew, but someone who seemed on the verge of unraveling.

“We have to leave,” he said, his voice urgent. “I can’t explain, but it’s not safe here anymore.”

My stomach dropped. “What do you mean? What’s happening?”

He stepped closer, cupping my face in his hands. “Trust me,” he said. “Just this once, don’t ask questions. Please.”

I wanted to argue, to demand answers, but the desperation in his eyes stopped me. I nodded.

We left in the middle of the night, the city lights fading behind us as he drove. I didn’t know where we were going, or what we were running from, but I stayed quiet. For now, I’d trust him.

But as I watched him grip the steering wheel, his knuckles white, I realized something: whatever he was running from wasn’t just about him. It was about me, too. And I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be ready to learn the truth.

A/n: should I write a part 2??

[gnohomotho]

May I play with you? 「✦Pt.1✦」

Pairing: The Recruiter // The Salesman x fem!reader Summary: Responding to my prompts, just a little start to something I hope you'll enjoy. Warnings: General Salesman warnings, though no NSFW yet. Fowl language. Implied very bad things™. Word count: 2.4k A/N: Truly trying this out, if you like it, I'll gladly dive straight into the angst/smut/fluff but I do like to flesh out my stories and characters. (ᵕ—ᴗ—) He is a very novel character for me to write, so I'm trying. ฅ^._.^ฅ Link to next Masterlist! If you like my writing, I appreciate every like // reblog // follow // message // request! <3

Isn’t it funny how one can keep running into the same people?

The subway. Each and every day. You learned to scan your surroundings, wherever you were.

Just a little proclivity you adopted along the way.

Head, face, count, danger, normal.

You avoided sitting down but today, you were tired. Your grants didn’t work out. Your family needed money. You wouldn’t care, you tried not to, but your little sister meant everything to you.

Moving away so far was never something you wanted. And their ways of getting back at you, or even trying to find you (by accident, of course) never let you rest.

Head count. All normal. A few errant people on their way to work. A group of girls obviously on their way to school, laughing together. A group of older men. A well-dressed lady in her late 40s.

Gosh, you were tired. You sat down and ran a hand through your hair which fell past your face with utter indifference. Knees together, straightening your skirt, you notice your shoes are on their last legs.

“Damn it.”

You forgot the head count as the minutes went by.

Damn it!

There go the obsessive-compulsive allegations, you can almost hear them sauntering down on you. No. Your shoes get quite literally outshined by a pair of incredibly posh black spades too close for comfort.

“Excuse me, miss, I’m sorry to bother you.”

Oh no…not this again.

You lift your head and gaze to firmly tell whoever is there to kindly leave you alone. Yet your eyes meet a beaming pair themselves, accompanied by a quietly radiant smile like that of a very glad reptile.

The man was a tad leaned forward, very unassuming, with hair too perfect for the subway – come to think of it, his entire attire and demeanour did not belong here one bit.

You say nothing. Perhaps he was just apologising for sitting so close when there are, as you scanned, enough free benches elsewhere.

“I couldn’t help but notice you sitting all alone while most of the carriages already went by.”

How did you not notice him? How did he know?!

Your alarm bells are swinging off their hinges and you blink, averting his gaze immediately. You still see him smiling that unassuming, almost innocent smile from the corner of your eye – truly reminding you of a snake who has zoned in on a particularly slow mouse.

“I’m…waiting for someone. My…friend. Should be here any minute!” You smile with your eyes firmly closed.

That was stupid.

“Boyfriend. Yes. That.” My 6-foot-5 boyfriend whose hobbies include kickboxing, day-drinking, LARP wrestling and very long swords. Who certainly exists.

“Oh?” His voice is full of curious intrigue now, your plan backfiring spectacularly. You try not to look at the line of his perfectly ironed trousers revealing the very elegant ankles too close to your shoes.

“In that case, I shouldn’t keep a lady waiting.” He gets up just as fast, playfully patting his knees as he does – why does this feel so…odd? Like you’re getting played? – “I wouldn’t wish to be rude.” He begins to walk away, and you notice his full height, the briefcase, the persona itself leaving you safe once more. An exhale escapes your lips. Enough slimy businessmen for one day.

“Oh, but miss…” He turns around, that charming, far too kind smile hitting you right between the eyes.

“…when he does show, do tell him how lucky he is to exist.”

❥❥❥

DAMN. IT.

You tried your best to focus that day. You really did. But in the back of your mind. There he was. That tall, weird, creepy, incredibly handsome mother---

“Hey, it’s ok, Y/N. Just a weirdo at a subway station. As if that’s never happened to you before.” You smile into the phone hearing your sister’s voice.

“Did you use the fake boyfriend?” She asks pointedly.

“Yes. And it didn’t really work.” You don’t wish to worry her.

“Ok, next time try the fake Instagram, fake number, and just use one of the people who didn’t like your research! Boom!” You could hear her smiling into the phone and you smiled too, warmth growing in your chest.

“You’re such a darling, you know that? I miss you…”

“I miss you too, big sis, I really do. Mom and dad can’t shut up about you.”

You massage your temples. Of course they can’t. The disappointment of the family needs to be taken into account at least thrice a day.

Her voice grows quieter. “Pretty sure they didn’t send someone this time; I’ve been keeping track.”

She read your mind, and it doesn’t calm you down. But you truly do not wish to worry her.

“It’s ok, lovely, really. Have you got everything you need?”

“Of course!”

The talk winds down into logistics and her school day, you patiently nod and laugh and wish her a sincere goodbye as you check the phone for her to hang up first.

As if by clockwork you notice your shoes are no longer alone. A pair of shining black spades rest beside them, too close for comfort.

You breathe out an exasperated breath which shakes at it last few steps.

“Can I help you?” You look up, summoning the bitchiest of bitch faces and stare into a jovially smiling pair of eyes that have sized you up three times over.

“Oh? What a lovely offer from such a lovely lady.” The words seemed to roll off his tongue as if he had practiced each and every one of them.

Nonchalant yet polite. Polite yet intrusive. Intrusive yet unassuming. Unassuming yet so very…volatile underneath.

Creepy, affluent, and pedantic? Wonderful. Just wonderful. Your sister was right, the weirdos really do tend to zone in on you.

“I thought I would keep you company since your boyfriend doesn’t seem too punctual.” His lips curl into a momentary frown, playing with you.

Even his voice is exaggerated in its faux sympathy.

“Such a rude man, letting you wait all evening. All morning. And all evening once more.” He cranes his neck to one side to be closer to your gaze, arms resting on his slightly outspread knees and hands closed into each other. You feel ice run through your back all the way down your spine.

“Do you have nothing better to do than patronise random women on the subway?”

His eyebrows lift in a combination of admiration and intrigue, hair still perfectly in place underlining those dark eyes staring right through you yet revealing nothing. The man is a walking one-way mirror, you think.

“Oh, definitely.” He looks up, shifts his gaze to the other side, as if mimicking thinking very hard upon his answer, but rests back in your eyes with a small knowing smile playing in the corner of his lips.

“I’m a busy man; I prefer to watch a specific woman on the subway. And would never wish to patronise her.”

You’re too tired for this.

“Oh? Who is she? Is she in the room with us?”

“Oh…” His entertained smile grows, fully lifting to his one cheek as he leans in even closer.

You don’t pull away for fear of letting him know you do feel fear. He leans in so close you can hear him whispering, as if trying not to be heard. He really is weird. And not in a very charming way.

Moreso in a “I wonder where the rest of the body is scattered” kind of way.

“She’s very specific,” he continues, “I hear she waits here in the morning, for a 7:00 carriage, sometimes, she lets that one leave and boards the 7:10 instead. She then, probably, based on a rumour, comes back at 20:00 but doesn’t take the immediate train – it’s been said she can be seen walking until 21:57, marking the very last train. And…”

He lets his head fall even further to the side getting very close to your line of sight, hands still clasped together, smile growing to the entirety of his mouth, “I’m rather sure she’s been seen missing that one a few times, too.”

What. In the ever-loving. Fuck.

“She rarely sits down, so it was quite hard to get all this information – classified sources, I’m sure you understand.” He straightens, but his eyes are piercing you even if you aren’t looking.

“And this particular woman seems very fond of her younger sister, [sister’s name], who loves her very much. So, so, so sweet.”

'Patronising' is a very weak word for the tone and facial expression his slightly closed, smiling eyes conveyed. His words felt like cyanide ice-cream must taste.

“What exactly is your endgame, before I call the police.” Your voice is level, your eyes missing his, your hands…shivering. You feel utterly exposed and the ice on your back has ossified into a glacier.

“I don’t think I have just one specific game in mind, miss Y/N.”

He looks fondly into the crowd boarding the current train.

“I just enjoy her company.”

❥❥❥

It became a bit of a game in the following weeks.

You changed stations, he was there, pretending to be a stranger in the crowd.

A subtle smile above the heads of all other onlookers.

You changed times, it took him a few minutes, but he was there.

Sitting on a bench in that knee-outstretched leisurely yet elegant pose, nonchalant smile finding your eyes.

You changed your favourite coffee spot; he was a few people behind in line.

Catching the corner of your eye and giving a small glimmer of a narrowed look, smile never missing.

In the end, you thought a very silly thought:

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

❥❥❥

Your shoes were once more joined by a pair of perfectly shined spades, resting too close for comfort.

“Would you like to play a game with me, miss Y/N?”

Your eyebrows lift at him, you’ve grown quite accustomed to his presence over the weeks. Though this was a change in routine.

“A game? Why?”

“I think it could be quite…beneficial to the both of us.” He smiles that charming smile and leans in closer. “I missed our little meetings, to be quite honest…the lady seemed to prefer the company of someone else over me in the last few days.”

Were those puppy eyes? An upside-down frown? Maybe your silly thought was sillier than you thought. There was something very dark in those eyes hiding behind the playfully innocent expression.

And you were spending time with your colleague, mostly working, but you cherished the presence of someone you didn’t feel would stab you in the eye the moment you looked at him the wrong way. And yes, he was clingy, and no, you didn’t feel that way about him, but at least he was transparent about it.

“Late nights spent around another man, you can imagine how lonely the station could get as she enjoyed his company.” The end of the sentence seemed to lose its usual jovial tone and made way for something far more genuine – and very worrisome to you.

“Or should I say, as he enjoyed hers?”

Was this man, with his ostentatiously perfect slick black hair, cheerful yet foreboding smile, truly accusing you of what you think he was, after everything he put you through?

“So, I think a game could cheer the atmosphere up a bit,” he purred, back to the ever-sweet persona, “and give us both an opportunity to have some fun.”

You are not particularly amused, but find it warily harmless so far. You shift away a bit, straightening your back, pulling your knees together.

“What happens to the winner?”

“Aaah, a woman after my own heart,” he exhales into a grin, steadying himself, though you can see it’s already all a game to him. It has been all along.

He unnoticeably shifts towards you, closing your newly gained distance and laying a hand between the two of you. Just close enough to not touch you. Too close for comfort.

He then leans into you, so close you can smell his perfectly chosen cologne. You feel his breath on your ear as he whispers:

“The winner gets to the location of a certain young man first.”

❥❥❥

You never really played Ddakji before. And it showed.

“Oh, miss Y/N, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Please stop enjoying this so much, I’m trying to concentrate.”

As he hands you the envelope once more, he uses the lack of distance between you to brush your hand and lean into you, once more clouding your mind with his cologne and presence far too close for comfort.

“I am enjoying this, but I’m afraid time is growing short for your little acquaintance. And I would delight in playing with you a little more.”

He pulls away from you as if he said nothing at all, smiling still.

Yet his free hand lingers close, taking its time to brush the hair from your shoulders and place it around your neck.

You pull away with the speed of a startled bird.

“Do excuse me, just making sure the view isn’t obstructed,” his lips purse into the tone as if he were doing you a favour; he points his head towards the envelopes, yet ends up looking at you as the sentence concludes:

“I prefer my games fair.”    

❥❥❥

You have no idea how, but you managed the best of three. The man doesn’t look displeased nor too amused, merely smiles and hands you a piece of paper.

Coordinates.

Holding his briefcase in both hands, once more looking more like a suave salesman, he merely leans towards you, eyes firmly holding your gaze. His face is almost plastic in its unbothered expression, but once more, something very dark seems to lurk just below the surface. He speaks as if having your very best interests at heart.

“I suggest you hurry.”

[n0vation]

Won't you just make love to me? Salesman x Saleswoman!Reader

ㄨSUMMARY:Two dogs monster soulmates recruiters become friends accidentaly and decide to have fun watching their favorite shows!

ㄨ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗PAIRING: Salesman x fem!reader / Smut / Dark Content

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TAGS/WARNINGS: Sadomasochistic!reader, gun mention, kidnapping(not reader this time), cigarette burns, Dom!Salesman x sub!reader, piv, choking, dubcon?

Prepared with love and care from Nova after this poll<3.

══✿═══✿════╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞════✿════✿══

Saleswoman!reader who understands something is wrong when flashing her cute and professional smile at this person in the train, resulting in him waving the same golden card as her.

Saleswoman!reader who notices this too good man in train station. If he was that good financially, he wouldn't be sitting on that bench.

"Excuse me, Sir. Would you like to play a game with me? " She asked, crossing her legs to look more professional in that office outfit. He smiles back.

"I don't like this tone. Yet your face doesn't speak to me." He answered, thinking it's a previous winner who came back for revenge.

"Sir, just one game?" Is he drunk? Then it will just be easier for you.

"I'm not a scammer. If you win, you get this." Flashing the money, it always gets them to play.

Salesman can't help but feel confused. Was that an error? There is never an error.

"I'm sorry but that's my zone." He flashed his money too, annoyed. Is she stupid? You compare the message you both received with the same zone assigned for two different number.

Recruiter 01... Recruiter 04...

"Maybe it wasn't an error. Do you really think they would make such an error?" You think out, loud making him roll his eyes. Doubting your superiors? Unimaginable.

The notification on both of your phones cut your discussion short. An address, a number and both of your IDs. So it wasn't an error. You can't help but show off.

"Told you." You said while walking with him outside of the station. He just stares at you, hating how he would have said the same.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Bursts of laughter came from the backseat of the taxi. Who could believe it? The dogs recruiters have a lot in common! You both worked as a circle before being promoted to triangle and from that, recruiter! Even your favorite party games are the same!

"Bet she has the same kinks too" He thoughts. No, Salesman that's too intrusive to ask; he scolded himself.

"Bet he has the same kinks too." You thought. Come on, control yourself!

The taxi stops, the doors parting to reveal a nighttime Seoul. You follow the other recruiter, letting his back frame be the only visual as he leads the way to the outgoing part of the city.

The GPS stops in front of an abandoned building. Suspicious, you both enter looking around, but nothing to be seen except a few spiders.

"You're sure-" He cuts you by shushing you loudly. You hear it now. Faint beat from underground. He grins, having a point; now it's a draw between both of you.

"Illegal party?" You ask as he nods. He points toward a back door slightly opened, letting the noises peek through. Flashing lights and loud rave music greet you after going down to the basement. Painfully for your ankles in such heels. He shows you the picture he just received on his phone. The target.

"I've seen this guy before, trust me. " He states before grabbing your upper arm and leading you through the crowd, reaching the most hidden place. His hand pulling you roughly to make you struggle between all the people.

You enter an enlightened room, watching multiple people play poker. The target, him, is currently getting handled and ruined by his friend . As soon as he notices you, he comes for you and gives each of you a letter, signing you to not open and hurry you out of the room.

While you make your way out of the rave, someone grab you by your tie and pulls you apart. You look around for Salesman and notice him being hurried up the stairs too. The smell of strong alcohol assaults your sense of smell. They leave your clothes, starting their mockeries toward both of you. The two ladies with the three man laughing drunkenly at your looks .

Both of you glance toward each other , thinking the same things: "No witnesses." . You distract the men for a few seconds with the ddakji trick before Salesman sends them to sleep a bit. You handle the ladies before they start being too noisy.

Taxi, building, basement, alcohol, music and finally it's all set up! You look at your new friends who agreed to play with you and Salesman. How sweet!

You glance at the chained victims waking up , greeted by the sight of the recruiter and you drinking peacefully, before you both flash them with the same large smile.

Your new bestie get up before you could, handing you to stay sat while he "puts the show on!". You can't help but feel flaterred at his manner.

"Ladies and gentlemans, you will be playing red hand to win liberty back! The rules are simple, you have to slap your opponent's hand before them but if you go for it and they pulls away you have lost. The first one to arrive to 10 fails is eliminated." He states as he drags out a man and a woman from their still sleeping friend group to put them against each other .He puts them in a way you could safely watch from your seat, not having to worry about your safety since the chain on their leg was not long enough to reach you.

He sits next to you, playing with the gun. If it wasn't for that your show wouldn't start. He lowers his head, starting his bet over the winner. You look at him, admiring his features. It just made your mind wonder over his face at hearing him spat such gruesome overcome for the terrorized victim. Yet he was so attractive it unlocked something in you.

The first round start, the game starts to raise in violence because none of you decide to interrupt at any overflow. You watch him appreciating the game in front of him, especially how the man started to get physical because he was losing to the lady.

7...8...9...10!

"We have a winner!" He said getting up, grabbing two things on the table.

"My dear friend will decide your fate, Sir." He tells out loud before bending toward you, showing you two weapons : axe or gun. You chuckled as you point the gun, not wanting him to take too long before coming back to sit next to you. You watch him from behind, shooting the man and setting the painted in red winner in front of her next opponent. So graciously and hot. You felt like a hole was dug in your stomach and filled with burning love at the sight of the recruiter wiping away blood from his hand.

"Round two" He raises a cup of alcohol to your enjoyment, flashing his smirk again.This time you were too distracted to even pay attention to the outcome of the match. The piano, the screams, him, maybe it was more than enjoyement you were feeling. Spreading all over your body to gather in your stomach. Maybe not stomach now, you would have located somewhere else. He leans toward your side to talk to you and that enjoyment just twist into arousing.

You cross your legs, avoiding his gaze and watching your movie as he turns his head to look straight into your face. You stay stern, poker face, trying to supress any signs of what was physically happening to you.

"No way...You too..." He mumbled his smile growing as he crosses his legs in the same attempt as you. He then suddenly gets up grabbing your arms, dragging you outside of the luxurious room. You chuckled letting him. As soon as he reaches another rich room, he yanks you toward him , kissing you. You answer back at the kiss before breaking up watching him examinate your face and then kiss you again shoving his tongue to entagle with yours. His hands travels up your arm to stops over your shoulder, his fingers sinking deeper like if you wanted to run away. You let your hand finds their way around his neck, pulling him to lay down the soft couch.

You slide over him, feeling the features of his body under the clothes. It was like you expected. You sit over him, grabbing the cigarette over the table and lighting it as he stares at you.

"You wanna smoke?" He asks not understand why right now. You exhale the smoke, blowing into his face as you smirk. You take the cigarette between your fingers leaning to his face. He flinches at your hand holding the hot material resting too close to his cheek.

"Why so sudden? I like my show long and slow." You graze the hot end between your finger around his features. After all, you like to take part of the show too.

"Don't go on that path. You won't like it after." He says amused at your attics but definitely not by the burn that is coming for him.

" Noo." You says sliding the cig down his neck. Chin, neck, Adams apple, collar bone..

" Here. You don't mind ,do you?" You asks innocently, taking an inhale as you goes back to threatening to burn him over his sternal.

"I want to have my own show too." You pout, loving his attempts at getting up but your thighs holded him.

"Warned you." He suddenly grabs your hand, sitting up and pushing you down the matters, reversing the position.

"You had your show, I set it up just for you. My turn now." He says snatching the cigs to bring it to his mouth. You swear you could see him watching where you put your lips over the roll and put his there too. But you were busy trying to get over him again. He mimics your game, running the burning stick over your cheek and down between your chest, pulling your clothes down to your shoulders. He flicks you a smile before sinking it over your skin. Between your boobs. You squirmed , smelling the mixed scent of tabasco and burning flesh as he pressed harder, mainting you down. He lights up another one, pressing another circle next to the first.

"O, O." He puts his two finger in front of them, in a piece sign before mumbling something you couldn't hear. Did he just said "Yoo"?

"Won't you just make love to me?"You asks not sure of what his show consist of. He doesn't look very sane anyway. He leans over your chest, letting his lips graze over your burned skin. That's when your moral came back: you're gonna hook up with a co-worker.

You try to sit up straight but you get pinned back, hand over your throat. His kisses, a hand squeezing your neck just how it should and the other sliding less and less clothes off of both of you...

And then everything found its right place: both of his hands around your throat, your legs around his waist and his cock inside you. Your fingers claw over his thick forearm, attempting to loose up his grip over your neck as he pounds in you. You watch his face blur from the lack of oxygen combined with the sweet release building inside of you. He grins, smokes escaping his lips as he enjoyed your face leaning to pinkish tone to red.

He presses his finger deeper feeling your hands shaking as you came, feeling high. He lets go of your neck while you take deep breaths . He snickers as he slides a firm hand under your back lifting you up to manhandle your hips. You squints as the smoke coming from him burn your eyes. He looked so hot gripping on your hips to slam you back circled by heavy smoke. It was clear that you needed pur oxygen now. He slams you on last time before lifting you way from his member letting his hot cum shoots on your stomach.

His hands find there way around you , holding you close to him as he admires your face. That is now his favourite show for sure.

FUCK I MEAN WORSE***

[lilmarshie]

Dating the Salesman Yandere! HC’s

- The Salesman is obsessively attentive to your every need

- He thinks about you all the time and finds ways to be near you even if you’re supposed to be apart

- The Salesman is extremely possessive

- He is also jealous of anyone that gets too close to you

- He sees you as his and his alone

- The Salesman uses his charm and cunning to manipulate those around you

- Ensuring that you are loyal to him and not reliant on anyone else

- The Salesman subtly influences your decisions to keep you close

- His protective instincts are aggressive and overwhelming

- He constantly worries about your health and safety to an extreme

- The Salesman goes to great lengths to keep you out of harms way

- His devotion to you is unwavering

- The Salesman is willing to do anything for you believing that it’s for the good of your relationship

- He keeps a close watch on you through hidden surveillance cameras and spies keeping an eye on you

- The Salesman is good at emotional manipulation, using guilt, fear, and affection to manipulate you

- This makes you feel like you only need him to be safe

- The Salesman frequently makes grand gestures to profess his love and loyalty to you

- These acts are overwhelming and intense leaving you flattered and feeling trapped by his affection

- While he genuinely believes he is protecting and loving you, his actions can be harmful and suffocating.

- His love is a double-edged sword, filled with both passion and peril.

[aikonaishaa]

Since Gong Yoo's gaining popularity again can we please please please get more coffee prince fics of him I NEED my man CHOI HAN-KYULLL

[thequeenofneverland1]

The Salesman////Temptation's Game

Anonymous requests: can you write a dark story of the Salesman thank you

Warnings: Mature Themes, Sexual Content, Violence, Dark Romance, Mental Health, perhaps some No-Consensual, Criminal Activity

You and Jun-ho have been best friends since childhood, always sticking by each other through thick and thin. From the days of running around the neighborhood as kids to navigating the challenges of adulthood, your bond has remained unshakable. You were there for him during the happiest moments, like when he passed his police exams, and during the hardest times, especially when his brother, In-ho, suddenly disappeared without a trace.

Ever since In-ho’s disappearance, you’ve watched Jun-ho tirelessly search for answers, never giving up hope that he would one day find his brother. You were there to listen to his frustrations, to help him sift through clues, and to remind him that he wasn’t alone in his quest for the truth. No matter how much time passed, you stood by his side, offering your unwavering support as he searched for the one person who had always been his role model.

But as Jun-ho’s investigation led him down a dangerous path, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the truth he was chasing might be more devastating than either of you could imagine.

It’s late evening, and you’re leaning against the cold metal wall of the train station, lost in thought while watching the city lights flicker in the distance. The air is thick with the hum of commuters rushing by, but you remain unfazed a picture of cool confidence in your leather jacket, one boot propped against the wall, the other firmly planted on the ground. The faint scent of rain lingers, mixing with the electric buzz of neon lights.

Suddenly, a man in an impeccably tailored suit steps into your line of sight, his charming smile practically gleaming. He’s holding a briefcase, eyes twinkling with mischief as he approaches. “Excuse me,” he says, his voice silky and charismatic. “Would you be interested in playing a game?” Without hesitation, he flashes a set of those infamous red and blue Ddakji tiles, the slap echoing through the station as if to entice you into his twisted game.

You arch an eyebrow, lips curving into a sly, dangerous smile. Slowly, you reach into your jacket, pulling out your detective badge with a practiced flick of your wrist, letting it glint under the harsh station lights. “Detective Y/n,” you announce coolly, voice dripping with authority and just a hint of amusement. “So here’s the deal you can turn your handsome self around and walk away, or I might just have to shoot you and ruin that nice suit.”

His smirk doesn’t waver, if anything, it deepens. He chuckles, eyeing you like you’re an interesting puzzle he wants to solve. “Now, now, detective. No need for violence. I was simply offering an opportunity.”

You narrow your eyes, tucking your badge back into your pocket but keeping your guard up. “Yeah? Well, I don’t play games with shady men in overpriced suits. So unless you want to be dragged down to the station for questioning, I suggest you get lost.”

For a moment, he just studies you, as if debating whether to push his luck. Then, with a small chuckle, he raises his hands in surrender. “Fair enough, detective. Another time, perhaps.”

A few days pass, The city was alive with neon lights and the distant hum of traffic as you strolled down the bustling streets, your senses always sharp, always aware. The scent of rain lingered in the air, the pavement still damp from an earlier downpour, reflecting the glow of passing headlights. It had been a long night, and all you wanted was to get back to your apartment, pour yourself a stiff drink, and not think about anything for a few hours.

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

You rounded a corner, and just as you did, you collided with something no, someone. Strong, solid, and annoyingly familiar.

A smooth chuckle rumbled in the chest in front of you, and as you looked up, there he was Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome from the train station. That same damn smirk curled on his lips, the kind that spelled trouble in a language you didn’t have the patience to translate.

“Detective,” he drawled, his voice like silk and sin. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

You exhaled sharply, already done with whatever game he thought he was playing. Stepping back, you crossed your arms and fixed him with a hard stare. “I’m not interested in getting into a game that gets people killed.”

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, his dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable amusement, maybe, or something far more dangerous. “That’s a shame,” he mused, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit. “Because you look like someone who plays to win.”

Before you could respond, your phone vibrated in your pocket, the name Jun-ho flashing across the screen. Instinctively, you reached for it, ready to answer because if your best friend was calling this late, it wasn’t for something trivial.

But just as you pulled it out, a warm hand moved faster than you expected.

In one swift motion, the salesman plucked the phone from your grasp, his fingers brushing against yours in a fleeting touch that sent a sharp jolt up your arm. With a lazy, almost arrogant smirk, he glanced at the screen then, before you could protest, he hit the side button and silenced the call.

Your jaw clenched. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head slightly, stepping just close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne rich, expensive, intoxicating. He held your gaze, his expression unreadable, before slipping your phone back into the pocket of your leather jacket with slow, deliberate ease.

“Something tells me your little friend can wait,” he murmured, voice low, knowing.

Your fingers itched to reach for your gun not to use it, necessarily, but just enough to remind him that you weren’t someone to be played with. Instead, you took a step forward, closing the space between you until there was barely a breath between your bodies.

“You do that again,” you said, voice cold as steel, “and I won’t just shoot your handsome ass. “I’ll make sure no one ever finds the body.”

His smirk deepened, and for a moment, it almost looked like he enjoyed the threat. “Now that,” he murmured, his voice like a whisper against your skin, “is a game I’d love to see you play.”

Your phone buzzed again, vibrating against your chest. This time, you didn’t hesitate you snatched it from your pocket, stepping away from him as you hit answer.

“Jun-ho,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

“You okay?” Jun-ho’s voice came through the line, concern laced in every syllable.

Your eyes flicked back to the salesman, who was still watching you like he had all the time in the world. You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself before responding.

“Yeah,” you muttered, eyes locked onto the man who had just inserted himself into your night. “I’m fine.”

Even if you weren’t entirely sure that was true.

The tension between you and the suited stranger was like a live wire sparking, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. His smirk hadn’t faded since the moment he first laid eyes on you, and the way he moved, slow and deliberate, told you one thing: he liked playing with fire. Too bad for him you were the fire.

Before you could react, his hands were on you, swift and confident. He grabbed your wrist and spun you, pressing you against the cold brick wall of the alley, caging you in with his body. His breath was warm against your skin, his scent intoxicating, and the way his dark eyes flickered with amusement only fueled the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

But he made one mistake he underestimated you.

With a sharp twist, you broke free from his hold, using his own momentum against him. In a blink, you flipped the situation, shoving him against the wall instead. His back hit the rough brick with a dull thud, and before he could react, you grabbed his tie, yanking him down until your lips were a breath away from his.

“Let’s play a game,” you murmured, voice like silk, your grip on his tie tightening just enough to remind him who was in control.

His smirk only deepened, and you could feel it against your lips. His hands rested at his sides, as if he wasn’t fazed by the sudden shift in power. If anything, he looked amused. Intrigued. Like he was enjoying every second of this.

“I’d love to,” he murmured, his voice a low hum of anticipation. “But don’t you think your boyfriend is going to get jealous?”

Your grip on his tie didn’t loosen, but the corner of your lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, sweetheart,” you purred, tugging him even closer, your noses practically brushing, “who said I play by anyone’s rules?”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, his hands finally moving one brushing lightly against your waist, his touch deliberate, teasing. His other hand traced the edge of your jaw, his fingers barely grazing your skin, but the heat of his touch sent a slow, deliberate shiver down your spine.

“You really are something else, detective,” he mused, voice like sin, like he was savoring every second of this twisted little game between you.

You smirked, your fingers still curled around his tie as you slowly, deliberately loosened it just enough to remind him that this was your game. Your rules.

“And you,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly, letting your lips hover just close enough to make him ache for more, “have no idea what you just signed up for.”

His breath hitched ever so slightly, but his confidence never wavered. “Then by all means,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against yours, “show me.”

Danger. Lust. Power. It crackled in the air between you, an unspoken challenge neither of you was willing to back down from.

And something told you this was only the beginning.

Your grip on his tie remained firm, your smirk never faltering as you let the silence stretch between you, the air thick with tension. You could feel his breath against your lips, the heat radiating off him like an unspoken challenge. He was waiting waiting for you to make a move, to push this dangerous game further.

But you weren’t about to make it easy for him.

With a slow, deliberate tug, you loosened his tie just enough to slip your fingers beneath the silk, dragging it against his throat in a way that made his jaw tense. Your eyes flickered up to his, dark with amusement and something else something raw, something untamed.

You leaned in just a fraction closer, your lips a whisper away from his, the teasing warmth of your breath making his fingers twitch where they hovered near your waist. His patience was slipping you could feel it in the way his chest rose and fell just a little too quickly, in the way his hands flexed like he was resisting the urge to grab you.

And then, just when he thought you might close the space between you when he thought you might finally give in you smirked.

“See you later, man in the suit,” you murmured, your voice smooth as velvet, dripping with amusement.

Then, just as quickly as you had ensnared him, you released your hold on his tie, stepping back with a slow, deliberate grace that left him standing there, jaw clenched, frustration evident in the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides.

He let out a low, frustrated groan, tilting his head back against the wall for a brief second before fixing you with a look that was equal parts exasperated and hungry.

“You’re going to be the death of me, detective,” he muttered, voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name but you liked it.

You shot him a wink over your shoulder as you turned to walk away, your hips swaying just enough to make sure he knew you were still in control of this game.

“Try to keep up,” you called over your shoulder, your voice playful, taunting.

And as you disappeared into the neon-lit streets, you could still feel his eyes on you, still hear the way he exhaled sharply, like he was already plotting his next move.

He wasn’t done with you.

And you weren’t done with him either.

The night was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city beyond your window. You had finally kicked off your boots, poured yourself a glass of whiskey, and let the weight of the night settle over you. But before you could even take a sip, a sharp, deliberate knock echoed through your apartment.

Your eyes narrowed. It was late too late for visitors.

Setting your glass down, you moved toward the door, your hand instinctively brushing against the gun holstered at your hip. With a slow, measured breath, you cracked the door open, ready for a fight.

But instead of a threat, you found him.

The man in the suit.

Standing there, infuriatingly calm, that same cocky smirk playing on his lips. And in his hands? A bouquet of your favorite flowers, wrapped in dark ribbon, looking completely out of place in the hands of a man who radiated danger.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over your chest, your expression unreadable.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice edged with suspicion. Then, your eyes flicked to the flowers, your smirk returning. “And how the hell do you know where I live?”

He chuckled, low and smooth, his dark eyes gleaming with something wicked as he stepped closer, just enough to test your boundaries.

“To find someone like you?” He tilted his head, his voice rich with amusement. “It’s easy.”

Your fingers twitched, resisting the urge to reach for the gun at your side not because you were afraid, but because he was playing a game only you were supposed to control. And the fact that he had managed to track you down? That meant he was better at this than you had given him credit for.

Slowly, you stepped forward, closing the space between you, your lips curving into something sharp. “You don’t seem like the type to send flowers,” you mused, plucking one from the bouquet, twirling it between your fingers. “What’s the catch?”

He exhaled a soft laugh, the kind that sent shivers down your spine. “No catch,” he said, handing you the bouquet like it was an offering. “Just a gesture.”

You took it, but your eyes never left his. “You don’t strike me as the generous type.”

He leaned in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin. “And you don’t strike me as the type to be easily impressed,” he murmured.

You smirked, stepping even closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. “I’m not.”

He exhaled a slow, knowing breath, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wanted to touch you but was waiting waiting for you to make the next move.

For a moment, the silence between you crackled, thick and heavy with something dangerous.

Then, you tilted your head, lips just a breath away from his. “If you’re trying to play me,” you whispered, voice smooth as silk, “you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot better than flowers.”

His smirk deepened, his voice dropping to something darker, something almost hungry.

“Oh, detective,” he murmured, “who said I was playing?”

You tilted your head, the faintest smirk curling on your lips as you twirled the flower between your fingers. The tension between you was razor-sharp, a game neither of you had officially agreed to play, yet here you were locked in a battle of wits, temptation, and something far more dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

You took a slow step forward, closing the distance until the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint floral scent of the bouquet he had brought. His posture was relaxed, casual even, but you weren’t fooled. He was watching you carefully, every muscle coiled like he was ready for whatever move you made next.

“So,” you drawled, voice laced with amusement, “are you here to warn me about your little game?” You arched a brow, tilting your chin up slightly. “Or is this some kind of last-ditch effort to charm your way out of trouble?”

His smirk deepened, those dark, knowing eyes flickering over you like he was memorizing every inch, every detail. He took his time before responding, letting the silence stretch between you like a slow-burning fuse. Then, with a deliberate slowness that sent a pulse of something dangerous through you, he leaned in just enough that his breath ghosted against your cheek.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet, rich and intoxicating. “You and me. Dinner. Your favorite restaurant.”

Your smirk didn’t falter, but your pulse quickened. He knew where you lived. Now, he knew your favorite place to eat. This wasn’t just a game to him he had done his research.

You let out a soft chuckle, tilting your head slightly so that your lips were a breath away from his. “Bold of you to assume I’d say yes.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, the warmth of it sending a slow shiver down your spine. “That’s only if your boyfriend lets you.”

That cocky smirk of his was still in place, but there was something more behind it something teasing, something deliberate. He wanted to see how you’d react, how far he could push before you snapped.

A slow smile curved your lips as you reached up, your fingers grazing the silk of his tie once more, toying with it just enough to remind him that you were still in control. Then, in one sharp tug, you pulled him closer so close that your lips almost touched, just barely out of reach, teasing him with the proximity.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you purred, your voice dripping with dangerous amusement. “If I had a boyfriend, trust me he’d know better than to get in my way.”

His eyes darkened, and for the first time, you saw it the flicker of something uncontrolled beneath that smooth, confident exterior. Lust? Amusement? Obsession? Maybe a little of all three.

His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach for you, to break the thin line between control and chaos.

You let the moment stretch just a little longer, let him want it, let him ache for it.

Then, just as quickly as you had pulled him in, you let go of his tie, stepping back with an infuriatingly slow smirk. “Pick me up at eight.”

Then, without another word, you turned on your heel, walking away and leaving him standing in your doorway frustrated, intrigued, and, if you had to guess, already planning his next move.

Just as you turned to walk away, a firm hand caught your wrist, halting you mid-step. His grip wasn’t forceful, just enough to make you pause, to make your pulse spike for a fraction of a second before you turned your head back to face him.

His dark eyes burned with something dangerous—something hungry. And before you could throw out a snarky remark, he stepped closer, closing the distance so effortlessly that you barely had time to react.

You felt the heat of him first, the teasing brush of his breath against your skin. Then, in one slow, deliberate motion, he dipped his head down his lips ghosting just beside the corner of yours, so close you could almost taste him.

The contact was fleeting, barely there, but it sent a slow, intoxicating heat spiraling through you. He wasn’t just playing with fire he was tempting it.

His lips lingered just near your jawline, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement and something wicked, “dinner will end with one of us in handcuffs.”

He pulled back just enough so that your eyes met, his smirk widening as his fingers lazily trailed down your wrist before finally releasing you.

“Hopefully,” he added, tilting his head slightly, “it’s you.”

Your breath hitched, just for a split second. Not because you were caught off guard, but because he was good better than you had expected. He knew exactly how to press, how to push, how to unravel just enough to leave you wanting more.

But two could play this game.

Your smirk returned, slow and deliberate as you leaned in, closing that infinitesimal gap between you until your lips barely grazed his ear.

“If you think you can get me in cuffs,” you purred, voice smooth as silk, “you’re going to have to earn it.”

His breath stuttered for half a second a tiny, barely noticeable reaction, but you caught it. You felt it.

And you loved it.

You pulled back, watching as his smirk faltered just slightly, his jaw clenching like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless.

Good. Let him burn.

“Eight o’clock,” you reminded him, your voice light and teasing, as if you weren’t still feeling the ghost of his lips near yours. “Don’t be late.”

Then, before he could retaliate, you stepped back into your apartment and shut the door with a soft, deliberate click leaving him standing there, jaw tight, frustration evident in the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

And as you leaned against the door, heart pounding just a little too fast, a slow smile curled on your lips.

Because for the first time in a long time, you had met someone who might just be dangerous enough to keep up with you.

The dim lighting of the restaurant cast flickering shadows over the table, the candlelight barely disguising the undeniable tension sitting between you and the man in the suit. He was as effortlessly composed as ever, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable something dangerous. He hadn’t touched his drink yet, instead watching you like a predator assessing its prey, amused, patient, waiting.

Your phone buzzed against the table, Jun-ho’s name flashing across the screen. For a moment, you considered answering, but something about the way the man in front of you was watching made you hesitate. He didn’t need to say a word you already knew what he was thinking.

With a slow smirk, you flipped the phone over, letting the call go to voicemail.

His smirk deepened. “Ignoring the outside world already? I’m flattered.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other, letting your gaze drag over him with deliberate slowness. “How does it feel?” you asked, voice smooth as silk. “To be nothing more than a servant in a game that gets people killed?”

His expression didn’t falter. If anything, the corner of his mouth lifted, as if he had been waiting for you to ask.

“It pays well,” he said easily, tilting his head. “And it’s entertaining. Though I have to say—” He leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Not nearly as entertaining as you.”

You scoffed, swirling your drink in your glass. “That supposed to make me blush?”

“Not quite,” he mused. “But you’re awfully quick to judge, detective. You sit across from me, ask me questions like you’re building a case yet you haven’t done a damn thing about it.” His eyes flickered with something dark, something taunting. “No gun pulled. No arrest made.” He tilted his head, his smirk turning downright sinful. “Unless, of course, you want to put me in handcuffs. Or—” He leaned in just a fraction closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Would you prefer to be handcuffed yourself? That’s your thing, isn’t it, little girl?”

Heat curled low in your stomach at the way he said it like a challenge, like a dare, like he was waiting for you to crack.

Your grip tightened around your glass, but you didn’t let him see the way his words affected you. Instead, you smirked, tilting your head slightly, letting your lips part just enough to make his gaze flicker downward for just a second.

“You talk a big game,” you murmured, placing your glass down and leaning in, close enough that your lips nearly brushed his. “But if you really think you could handle me in cuffs—” your fingers trailed along the table, inching toward his wrist, “then you really don’t know who you’re playing with.”

His breath hitched subtle, but there. And then, in an instant, he caught your wrist before you could reach him, his grip firm, controlled. He smirked, his thumb brushing dangerously slow against the inside of your wrist, right over your pulse.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dark, teasing, intoxicating. “I think I know exactly who I’m playing with.”

And just like that, the game had only just begun.

The air between you was thick with tension, the kind that teetered on the edge of something dangerous, something forbidden. You should’ve pulled away the moment his fingers brushed against your knee, creeping up with slow, deliberate purpose. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let him.

His touch was light at first teasing, testing before he gripped your thigh just hard enough to make your breath hitch. The table between you felt nonexistent as he leaned in, his smirk curling against the flickering candlelight.

“Detective,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something dark, something almost possessive. His fingers trailed higher, gripping the bare skin of your thigh beneath the slit of your dress. “Why don’t you leave that boring little job of yours and join me?”

You arched a brow, but you didn’t move away. His grip on you tightened, his thumb tracing slow, burning circles against your inner thigh.

“Join you?” you echoed, amusement laced in your voice.

He hummed, his lips dangerously close to yours now, his breath fanning against your skin. “Be mine,” he whispered. “My wife. My partner in crime.” His lips barely grazed your jaw as he spoke, sending a slow, intoxicating shiver down your spine. “Just imagine it you and me, working together, ruling the game from the inside out. A power couple that no one could ever touch.”

His voice was hypnotic, laced with a promise of something bigger, something darker. And for a brief second, you let yourself imagine it what it would be like to stand beside him, to burn the world down together.

But then, just as quickly, you snapped back to reality.

You let out a low chuckle, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze, your lips still only inches from his. “And what makes you think I’d do that?” you murmured, voice taunting, your fingers now trailing up his wrist, nails grazing against his skin ever so slightly.

His smirk deepened, eyes dark and unwavering. “Because I want you,” he said, his voice low, predatory. “And you want me just as much.”

Before you could respond, he moved fast, deliberate.

One hand shot to the back of your neck, the other gripping your thigh as he pulled you into him with a rough, claiming kiss.

It was nothing soft, nothing gentle. It was raw, hungry like he had been waiting for this moment since the second he laid eyes on you. His lips crushed against yours, demanding, full of fire, and you met him with just as much force, your fingers tangling into his suit, pulling him closer.

He groaned into your mouth, deep and primal, as if he had finally gotten what he wanted. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head just the way he liked, deepening the kiss as his teeth scraped against your bottom lip.

The heat between you was unbearable now, intoxicating and reckless. He tasted like whiskey and sin, like a man who was used to getting exactly what he wanted and right now, what he wanted was you.

You should’ve stopped him. You should’ve pushed him away, told him this was a mistake.

But instead, you let him consume you.

And in that moment, as your breath mixed with his, as his hands explored your body with a dangerous kind of reverence, you knew one thing for certain.

You weren’t playing the game anymore.

You were in it.

The kiss left you both breathless, the taste of sin lingering between your lips as he finally pulled back, his forehead nearly brushing yours. His grip on your thigh remained firm, possessive, his fingers idly tracing slow, burning circles into your skin like he was claiming you like he had already decided you were his.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, but your smirk never faltered. You met his gaze, eyes locked in a silent battle of control, of dominance.

And then, he spoke low, dark, his voice dripping with something wicked.

“Your place,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips, “or mine?” He tilted his head slightly, studying you, watching for the slightest reaction. His smirk deepened. “Or perhaps…” He trailed his fingers just a little higher up your thigh, pressing into the soft skin in a way that made your breath hitch. “…you’d rather have me take you right here, in the bathroom of this fancy little restaurant.”

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass, your nails grazing the surface just enough to remind yourself that you were still in control still playing this game.

But damn him. He was good.

Too good.

He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he watched you, the way he leaned in closer, his lips just a breath away from yours as he whispered, “I could have you against the sink, your dress hiked up, my hands on your body while you try to stay quiet.” His thumb brushed against your inner thigh again, barely skimming the edge of where you really wanted to feel him.

A sharp breath left your lips before you could stop it.

His smirk widened, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. “You like the idea, don’t you?”

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see the way your pulse quickened at his words. Instead, you smirked, tilting your head as you reached for his tie, wrapping the silk fabric around your fingers and giving it a slow, deliberate tug.

“You talk too much,” you murmured, your lips hovering over his. “All these pretty little words but tell me, can you back them up?”

His eyes darkened, his grip on you tightening as if he was this close to losing his control. And god, you wanted him to lose it. You wanted to see what happened when this man, so composed, so dangerous, finally unraveled.

His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against your skin like he was debating whether to throw you over his shoulder and take you somewhere right now.

Then, in one sharp motion, he pulled you even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Pick one, detective. Or I’ll pick for you.”

His voice was a promise. A threat.

And fuck, you liked it.

You didn’t hesitate. With a wicked smirk, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie, yanking him down so fast that he barely had time to react. The sudden shift made his breath hitch, his lips parting slightly as his body tensed beneath your grasp.

Your other hand trailed up his chest, slow and deliberate, until your palm rested flat against his racing heartbeat. His smirk had faltered, just barely, his dark eyes locked onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey only this time, he wasn’t sure who the real hunter was.

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his jaw as you whispered, voice dripping with sin, “Why don’t you not pick for me, sweetie?” Your tone was low, sultry, taunting. Every word was deliberate, designed to test him, to push him closer to the edge.

His hands, which had been gripping your thighs with restrained control, twitched at your words. You could feel the shift in him, the dangerous flicker in his eyes, the way his breath deepened like he was holding himself back from something dark, something reckless.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice now lower, rougher. His hands slid up, gripping your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you of the power he could have over you if you let him. “You’re playing with fire, detective.”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening as your nails dragged down his chest, slow, teasing. “And yet, you’re the one burning for me.”

His jaw clenched, his control slipping further by the second. The tension between you was suffocating, thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, twisting it just enough to make your breath hitch not in pain, but in anticipation. His lips were at your ear in an instant, his voice dark, dangerous, intoxicating.

“You’re mistaken,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “I don’t burn for anyone. But you—” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his smirk returning, sharp and predatory. “You’re tempting me, sweetheart. And I don’t think you’re ready for what happens when I stop holding back.”

The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to break first. Instead, you smirked again, tilting your chin up defiantly.

“Then stop holding back,” you taunted, your voice nothing but a breath between you.

For a second, neither of you moved. The entire world around you faded into nothing but the dark, heavy air between you, the silent battle of control hanging by a fragile thread.

Then, just as he was about to make his move, the waiter’s voice interrupted polite, oblivious.

“Would you like to see the dessert menu?”

The tension shattered like glass.

You let out a low chuckle, stepping back just slightly, releasing his tie with a slow, taunting drag of your fingers.

He exhaled sharply, amusement flickering in his darkened gaze as he ran a hand through his hair, regaining just a sliver of his composure.

“Check, please,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours.

The night was far from over.

The game was only just beginning.

The moment the bill was paid, he stood, adjusting his suit with an effortless confidence that only made him more dangerous. He extended his hand toward you, his smirk barely concealed, his dark eyes gleaming with something raw, something unspoken.

“Come,” he murmured, voice low and commanding.

You didn’t hesitate.

You slid your fingers into his, allowing him to lead you through the restaurant with the kind of quiet authority that made people instinctively step aside. No one questioned it, no one even looked twice the two of you walked like you owned the place.

And in a way, you did.

The second you stepped into the private restroom, he wasted no time. The door clicked shut, and before you could fully process it, the sharp sound of the lock twisting into place echoed through the small, dimly lit space.

A slow, dangerous smirk curled at your lips.

“You locked the door,” you murmured, feigning surprise as you leaned back against the marble counter. “Afraid someone might catch us?”

He turned to you slowly, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, exposing his forearms in a way that sent heat curling low in your stomach. His movements were deliberate, calculated like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

He stalked toward you, his footsteps unhurried, filled with purpose. “No,” he said smoothly, placing his hands on either side of the counter, effectively caging you in. His body pressed just close enough for you to feel his heat, for you to be aware of every breath he took. “I locked it because I don’t like interruptions.”

You tilted your chin up defiantly, refusing to be the first to break. “Is that so?”

His eyes darkened. “Mm.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Or maybe…I just don’t trust myself to be gentle with you.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could respond, he moved.

One hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other tangling into your hair as he tilted your head back. His lips hovered over yours, teasing, taunting, his breath fanning over your parted lips.

“You want this,” he murmured, his voice rough, dark. “Admit it.”

Your smirk widened.

Instead of answering, you grabbed the knot of his tie and yanked him down, capturing his lips in a kiss that was anything but soft.

It was raw, desperate, dangerous.

A growl rumbled deep in his chest as he pressed you harder against the counter, his grip tightening as if he needed to feel every inch of you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before he bit down, not enough to hurt just enough to make you gasp.

He took full advantage, deepening the kiss, devouring you like he had been starving for this. His hands roamed over your body, possessive, unrelenting, like he was memorizing every curve, every sharp inhale you took.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breathing heavy. His forehead rested against yours as his fingers traced down your arm, finding your wrist.

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips as he whispered, “Now, detective…”

He lifted your wrist between you, pulling something out of his pocket.

The soft click of metal against metal sent a shiver through you.

“Who do you think is getting handcuffed tonight?”

Your breath was still uneven, your body still pressed between him and the counter when you heard it the soft, unmistakable click of metal.

Your eyes flickered downward, and there they were. Your handcuffs. The same pair you always kept tucked in your purse, now dangling from his fingers like a prize. Like he had been waiting for this moment all night.

Your smirk didn’t falter, but curiosity flickered in your gaze as you tilted your head slightly. “How did you know I had those?”

His lips curled into a dark, satisfied smirk. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, slowly spinning the cuffs around his finger. “I know everything about you.”

Your heart pounded, but you refused to let him see that he had caught you off guard. Instead, you leaned in, your lips just barely brushing against his, your voice dropping into something dangerously soft.

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “Then tell me do you know what I plan to do with them?”

His smirk widened, his free hand tracing a slow, burning path down your side before settling at your hip. He applied just enough pressure to make you feel owned, yet not enough to trap you not yet.

“I have a few ideas,” he murmured, his voice low, dark, dripping with sinful promises. “But I’d rather you show me.”

His words sent a delicious shiver through you.

Then, before you could react, he grabbed your wrist fast, deliberate. With a practiced flick of his fingers, cold metal snapped shut around one wrist.

Your breath hitched, but your smirk never faded.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You didn’t really think you were the one in control, did you?”

Your pulse spiked, but you let out a soft chuckle, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Funny,” you purred, tugging at the cuffs slightly. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

His eyes darkened. The game had just taken a new turn.

The moment the cold metal clamped around your wrist, you felt it the sharp thrill of danger. The shift in power.

Your smirk didn’t waver, but your pulse betrayed you, thrumming wildly beneath your skin as he tightened his grip, guiding your other wrist toward him with agonizing slowness. Testing you. Taunting you.

“Hands in front?” you teased, cocking a brow as you felt the second cuff brush against your skin. “How considerate.”

His smirk was dark, knowing. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “Who said I was feeling considerate?”

Click.

The second cuff locked into place, the finality of the sound hanging thick in the air between you. Your hands were bound now. Vulnerable. At his mercy.

And yet, the way he was looking at you the slow, deliberate way his fingers dragged up your forearm, tracing the edge of the cuffs told you that he was the one fighting for control. That he was the one dangerously close to unraveling.

You inhaled deeply, stepping closer despite your restrained wrists, pressing against him just enough to feel the warmth of his body. “You seem proud of yourself,” you murmured, tilting your chin up. “Tell me are you going to arrest me now?”

His grip tightened slightly, his fingers brushing over the metal as he leaned in, lips barely grazing your ear.

“No,” he whispered, voice dark and smooth as silk. “I’m going to ruin you.”

A slow shiver trailed down your spine, but you didn’t flinch. You smirked.

“Oh?” Your voice was honeyed, teasing. “And what makes you think I won’t enjoy it?”

His breath hitched just slightly a nearly imperceptible flicker of restraint snapping but then his fingers curled beneath your chin, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You already are,” he murmured, his smirk pressing against yours, lips inches apart.

The tension was unbearable now, suffocating in the best possible way. The air crackled between you, heavy with the weight of something dangerous.

Your wrists strained slightly against the cuffs as you exhaled slowly, deliberately, meeting his gaze with a smirk just as wicked as his.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you whispered.

The challenge was set.

And neither of you were backing down.

The sharp knock at the door barely registered before you moved, instinctively shifting to answer but he was faster.

Before you could take a single step, his hands were on you rough, unyielding. One strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you back against him, while his other hand slid down, lifting your bound wrists just enough to remind you of your helplessness.

You barely had time to process it, to let out anything more than a sharp gasp before he was inside you.

No warning. No hesitation.

Your body tensed, electricity shooting through your veins, a sharp inhale barely muffled as you instinctively bit down on your bottom lip, trying failing to suppress the sudden, overwhelming heat pooling in your core.

Another knock.

Your breath hitched. You clenched your jaw, trying desperately to stay silent, but the feeling of him hot, thick, stretching you wide with a single ruthless thrust made it impossible.

His smirk pressed against the side of your neck, a low, knowing chuckle vibrating against your skin.

“What’s wrong, detective?” he murmured, his voice silk and sin against your ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

You let out a shaky exhale, your fingers curling into tight fists as he stayed still, deep inside you, letting you feel every inch of him.

Another knock louder this time.

“Hello?” A muffled voice called from the other side. “Is everything alright in there?”

His grip on your waist tightened. “Go ahead,” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear, mocking you. “Answer them.”

Your eyes snapped open, a rush of defiance surging through you. He wanted to play? Fine. You’d play.

Forcing your voice to remain steady, you parted your lips, prepared to respond but that bastard chose that exact moment to move.

A slow, deep thrust.

Your knees nearly buckled, the sensation sending a violent tremor through your body. You barely caught the whimper that threatened to escape, clamping your teeth down on your bottom lip hard enough to sting.

A deep, satisfied hum rumbled against your throat. His fingers traced up the line of your neck, lingering just beneath your jaw, pressing just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Come on,” he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. Another slow, deliberate thrust. “Be a good girl and answer them.”

You hated him. You wanted him. You wanted to wreck him just as much as he was wrecking you.

Swallowing the moan threatening to spill, you forced out a single, strained response.

“F—Fine,” you managed, your voice breathless. “I’m fine.”

Silence. Then footsteps fading away.

The second you were alone again, his lips curled into a dark, triumphant smirk.

“Good girl.”

And then he snapped.

His pace turned ruthless, pounding into you so hard that your cuffed wrists nearly slammed against the counter. A sharp gasp finally broke free, your breath ragged, your body trembling against his as he took you apart, piece by piece.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough now, no longer in control. You had ruined him. And he was going to make sure you felt every second of it.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?” His teeth grazed your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers slid down, gripping your thigh, lifting you higher, opening you more for him. “Letting them knock knowing you were stuffed full of me—”.

You clenched around him, and a low, broken growl tore from his throat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groaned, his pace turning brutal. “You’re so fucked.”

And he was right.

Because in that moment, locked in that bathroom, restrained and at his mercy you had never felt more alive.

His thrusts slowed just enough for you to catch your breath but only barely. The deep, punishing drag of him inside you was enough to make your eyes flutter shut, your body trembling under the intensity of it all.

Then, he smirked.

His lips ghosted over your ear, his breath hot and laced with something dangerous. “Tell me, detective,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. Another slow, deliberate thrust. “Where do you want it?”

Your breath hitched, your wrists straining against the cuffs, but you didn’t answer.

His fingers slid down your stomach, teasing the sensitive skin there as he pressed in deeper, harder, making sure you felt every inch of him.

“Inside?” he continued, his tone playful yet dripping with raw possession. “Or all over you?” His free hand gripped your waist roughly, his hold unrelenting. “But honestly…” He snapped his hips forward sharply, making you gasp.

“I’d rather put it inside,” he growled, voice dropping into something darker. His fingers traced your lower abdomen, slow, taunting. “So I can put my child right here.”

Your heart stopped.

He wasn’t joking.

His smirk widened at your silence, his fingers tightening their grip. “Imagine that, sweetheart,” he purred. “No more chasing criminals in that boring little job of yours.” Another sharp thrust. “No more lonely nights pretending you don’t need me.” Deeper. “No more fighting against what you already know is inevitable.”

His hand slid up, wrapping lightly around your throat not enough to cut off your air, just enough to make your pulse pound beneath his fingertips.

“You’d belong to me,” he whispered, his voice pure sin. “You’d be the mother of my child. My wife. My partner in crime.”

His lips hovered over yours, his eyes hungry, filled with something twisted and possessive.

“And you’d love every second of it.”

You knew you should have pushed him away. You knew you should have fought harder, told him he was insane, that you would never belong to anyone.

But at this point…

You no longer cared.

Your body was already his. Your mind was already tangled in his dangerous, intoxicating world.

And as your lips finally met his in a desperate, bruising kiss, you realized the truth.

You were already falling.

And there was no escape.

His smirk deepened as he stilled inside you, keeping you right on the edge, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. Teasing. Testing. Owning.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone dripping with satisfaction. His fingers trailed lazily down your body, over your stomach, a silent promise of what he was about to do. What he was going to take. “It seems you’ve already made your choice.”

He rolled his hips just slightly, enough to make you shudder, enough to make your cuffed wrists tremble against the cold counter. But then he stopped.

You let out a shaky breath, your body aching, desperate for more. But that bastard just chuckled, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his hungry, knowing gaze.

“But,” he continued smoothly, cruelly, brushing his lips over yours without actually kissing you. “I want to hear it.”

His fingers dug into your thigh, spreading you open even wider, reminding you exactly who was in control.

“I want to hear those beautiful lips beg for it.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You knew what he was doing. This was a game. A power play. A test of how far you’d let yourself fall for him.

And you hated that you were losing.

You bit your lip, refusing to give in, refusing to surrender.

He let out a low, amused hum. “Still pretending to be strong?” His grip on your throat tightened, his other hand sliding between your bodies, fingers taunting and knowing, touching you exactly where he knew you needed him most.

Your back arched, a soft, choked sound escaping before you could stop it.

His smirk widened.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purred, his voice dropping to something dangerous, velvety, addictive. “You’re already mine. Just say it.”

You shook your head, stubborn even as your body betrayed you, even as your walls clenched around him involuntarily.

His jaw clenched, his patience snapping.

“Say it,” he growled, thrusting hard and deep, ripping the control straight from your hands.

A gasp tore from your lips, your vision blurring for a moment as pleasure crashed through you.

“Say it,” he ordered again, relentless, pounding into you with a force that left no room for escape.

Your pride was shattering, your body burning, your breath coming in ragged, desperate pants.

And then he slowed again, torturously deep, deliberate, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make your head spin.

He leaned in, his lips barely touching yours, his voice pure darkness.

“Beg for it, detective.”

Your restraint finally snapped.

“…Please.”

It was barely a whisper, barely audible but it was enough.

His smirk was pure sin.

“Good girl.”

And then he cum inside you.

The air was thick with heat, sweat, and something far more dangerous something final.

Your body was still trembling, wrecked from what he had done to you, from how thoroughly he had claimed you. Your wrists were sore from the cuffs, your breath uneven, but you had never felt more alive.

And neither had he.

He pulled you against him, possessive, unyielding, his lips crashing onto yours in a bruising, devastating kiss. It wasn’t just passion it was a statement. A warning. A promise.

You were his now.

His fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand still gripping your waist, as if daring you to pull away as if he knew you wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

When he finally broke the kiss, his lips hovered inches from yours, his breath still heavy, his dark eyes locked onto yours with pure obsession.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow,” he murmured, voice silk and steel. His fingers trailed down your arm, slow, taunting, until they reached your wrists still bound, still at his mercy.

“To resign from your job.”

Your stomach twisted, but you said nothing.

“And to say your goodbyes,” he continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. No room for escape.

His lips brushed over your jaw, your neck, your pulse point, where he could feel the way your heart pounded for him.

“After that,” he whispered, his voice a sinful caress against your skin, a command you already knew you would follow. “Call me.”

His hand slid lower, fingers ghosting over your still trembling stomach, his touch suddenly gentle, reverent.

“I’ll pick you up,” he said smoothly. “We’ll go ring shopping.”

Your breath hitched.

Your heart stopped.

And then he kissed your stomach.

Soft. Slow. Intentional.

His lips lingered against your skin as he smirked, fully satisfied, completely in control.

“See you in nine months, my child.”

A shiver raced down your spine, your fingers curling into fists, your mind spinning with everything that had just happened.

Everything you had just agreed to.

You had spent your entire life chasing criminals.

And now?

You were about to marry one.

The next morning, sunlight barely seeped through the curtains, casting a dim glow across the room. Your body ached in ways you hadn’t expected, a reminder of the night before, of what you had done, of the choice that had been made for you. Or maybe, deep down, the choice you had made for yourself. Every part of you still felt him his hands, his mouth, his voice wrapping around you like a curse you could never shake.

You turned onto your side, staring at the ceiling, the weight of reality sinking in. Today was the day. The day you walked away from everything you had spent your life building. The badge, the cases, the thrill of chasing criminals justice had been your entire world. And now, you were about to give it all up for a man who didn’t just live in the shadows but thrived in them.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. His timing was always perfect, always knowing exactly when to pull you back into his grasp before you had the chance to second-guess yourself.

Get up, sweetheart. You have goodbyes to make. Don’t keep me waiting.

You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the sheets. He was giving you the illusion of a choice, as if this wasn’t inevitable, as if you hadn’t already surrendered to him the moment you let him touch you. The moment you let him own you.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you moved on autopilot. The shower did nothing to wash away the phantom feeling of his lips, his hands. Even as you dressed, every touch of fabric against your skin felt foreign, like you weren’t supposed to be here, like you were already his and had no business pretending otherwise.

Walking into the station felt heavier than you had anticipated. Every glance from your colleagues, every distant hum of conversations you had once been a part of, felt like a life that no longer belonged to you. Jun-ho was waiting by your desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He had always been able to read you, and today was no exception.

“What’s going on with you?” His voice was low, suspicious. “You disappear last night, don’t answer your phone, and now you show up looking like you’re about to drop a bomb on me.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. This was it. The moment you severed ties with the only person who had ever truly had your back.

“I’m leaving,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “I’m resigning.”

Jun-ho’s face barely shifted, but the slight tension in his jaw gave him away. “Like hell you are.”

You exhaled slowly. “It’s not up for debate.”

His eyes darkened. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Jun-ho let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re throwing away everything. For what? Some criminal who got into your head?”

You flinched, just slightly, but he caught it. His expression hardened.

“This isn’t you,” he muttered. “You don’t just run.”

Your chest tightened, but there was no stopping this. It was already done.

“I’m not running,” you said quietly. “I’m choosing.”

Jun-ho stared at you, waiting for some sign that you were lying, that this was some elaborate joke, but when he found nothing, his shoulders sagged.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Maybe. But it was a mistake you were willing to make.

Without another word, you set the resignation letter on your desk, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to leave.

The moment you stepped outside, the familiar black car was already waiting at the curb. The tinted window rolled down, and there he was, smirking like he had already won.

And maybe, he had.

You slid into the passenger seat without hesitation. The door shut, sealing your fate.

His fingers traced over your thigh as he pulled you in for a slow, deliberate kiss.

“Good girl.”

The car pulled away from the station, from your old life, from everything you had ever known.

There was no turning back now.

As the car moved through the city streets, the weight of everything you had just done settled deep in your chest. There was no going back now. The station, Jun-ho, the badge that once defined you it was all behind you, fading into a past that no longer belonged to you.

Beside you, he was relaxed, one hand lazily gripping the wheel while the other rested on your thigh, fingers tracing slow, taunting circles against the fabric of your pants. His touch was possessive, claiming, like he already knew he had won. And maybe, he had.

You glanced at him, taking in the sharp angles of his jaw, the smirk that played on his lips like he was enjoying every second of this. Like he had planned this all along, knowing you would fold, knowing you would choose him.

He must have felt your stare because he turned his head slightly, dark eyes locking onto yours.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice smooth, laced with amusement.

You exhaled, turning your gaze back to the road ahead. “This is happening fast.”

He chuckled, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly. “Fast? Oh, darling, I’ve been waiting for this for far too long.”

You swallowed, unsure if that made you uneasy or… something else entirely.

He leaned in just a fraction, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, “And now that I have you, I don’t plan on wasting any time.”

You shivered, a mix of anticipation and something dangerously close to excitement curling low in your stomach.

The car slowed, pulling up to an upscale jewelry store, the kind you had only seen in passing but never had any reason to enter. Until now.

He parked, turned off the engine, and turned to you with that same smirk that always seemed to set your nerves on fire. “Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Ring shopping.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the words. This was real. He was really doing this.

When you didn’t move right away, he reached over, unbuckling your seatbelt for you, his fingers grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.

“Unless,” he mused, tilting his head as he studied you. “You’d rather skip the formalities and just let me claim you right here and now?”

Your pulse spiked, heat rushing through you as you met his gaze.

He grinned, sensing your reaction, his hand sliding up your thigh. “I wouldn’t mind putting my ring on your finger while you’re screaming my name, sweetheart.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to keep your composure, but the look in his eyes told you he was enjoying watching you squirm.

“Let’s just get the damn ring,” you muttered, shoving open the car door before he could push you any further.

His laugh was low and knowing as he followed you inside.

The store was pristine, the lighting bright, making every diamond in the glass cases sparkle. A well-dressed associate approached immediately, offering a polite smile.

“How can I assist you today?”

He placed a firm hand on your lower back, pulling you slightly closer to his side. “We’re looking for an engagement ring.”

The words sent a jolt through you, but you didn’t react. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

The associate’s eyes flickered between the two of you before nodding. “Of course. Do you have a specific style in mind?”

He looked at you expectantly, but when you didn’t answer, he smirked. “Something bold,” he said smoothly, eyes never leaving yours. “Something that makes it clear she belongs to me.”

Your heart pounded, the weight of his words pressing down on you.

The associate nodded and led you toward a display case filled with intricate, shimmering rings. Your fingers hovered over a few, but before you could decide, he reached down and plucked one from the velvet display.

A large, deep sapphire encased in black gold, surrounded by smaller diamonds.

“This one,” he said, slipping it onto your finger himself, his touch lingering. “It suits you.”

You stared at the ring, at the way it fit so perfectly, as if it had been meant for you all along.

His lips brushed against your temple, his voice a whisper only for you.

“Now everyone will know,” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours. “That you’re mine.”

The weight of the ring on your finger felt heavier than it should, like a silent declaration that you had crossed a line you could never return from. The deep sapphire gleamed under the store’s bright lights, a contrast to the darkness that surrounded the man standing beside you. His fingers remained curled around yours, possessive, firm, as if daring you to try and pull away.

But you didn’t.

The sales associate, unaware of the suffocating tension between you two, smiled politely. “A stunning choice. Would you like it engraved?”

He turned to you, his smirk never fading. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “What would it even say?”

His eyes darkened, his thumb stroking slow circles on your wrist. “Property of—” he paused, tilting his head, enjoying the way your breath hitched. “Or maybe something sweeter, like forever mine.”

Your stomach twisted, your pulse thrumming in your ears. He was marking you, branding you in ways that went far beyond a simple ring. This wasn’t just about marriage. This was about ownership.

The sales associate, oblivious to the undertone of the conversation, simply nodded. “We can have the engraving ready by the end of the day.”

He didn’t take his eyes off you as he answered. “Perfect.”

After finalizing the details, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black card, tossing it onto the counter without so much as a glance at the price.

The sales associate’s eyes widened slightly but remained professional. “We’ll have everything ready for you soon. Congratulations to you both.”

The moment you stepped out of the store, he didn’t give you a chance to breathe.

He spun you around, pressing you against the cool glass of the storefront, his body flush against yours, trapping you. His hands rested firmly on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you that he was in control.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear. “Second thoughts?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “No.”

He chuckled, low and knowing, his fingers trailing down your hip. “Good.”

Tilting your chin up, he studied your face, his smirk deepening as his thumb grazed over your bottom lip. “Because there’s still one more thing we need to do before the night’s over.”

Your heart pounded. “What?”

His lips curved into something darker, something dangerous.

“Pick a wedding dress.”

The thought of a wedding dress should have been overwhelming, but at this point, it barely fazed you. Everything was happening too fast, too seamlessly, like he had planned every step, knowing you’d fall right into place.

He guided you back to the car, his hand never leaving your waist. The air outside was crisp, but the heat of his touch burned through your clothes, a constant reminder of who was leading this dance.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you barely had time to exhale before he leaned in, one hand gripping the side of your seat, his lips a breath away from yours.

“You look good with that ring,” he murmured, his fingers grazing over the sapphire, twisting it slightly as if testing how it felt on your hand. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”

You swallowed, your pulse betraying you. “Feels like I don’t have much of a choice.”

He smirked, amused, but his eyes held something deeper something unforgiving.

“You always have a choice, sweetheart,” he said, voice low, dripping with dark amusement. “But let’s be honest you already made it the moment you let me touch you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down your arm, featherlight, teasing.

“And now,” he continued, lips brushing against your jaw, “you’re going to finish what you started.”

The drive to the boutique was silent, thick with tension. You tried to ignore the way his hand rested on your thigh, fingers idly tracing patterns against the fabric, keeping you on edge.

When the car finally came to a stop in front of an exclusive, high-end bridal shop, you hesitated.

“Something wrong?” he asked, watching you with that same infuriating smirk.

You turned to him, exhaling sharply. “You really don’t waste time, do you?”

His fingers curled around your chin, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him.

“When I want something, I take it,” he said smoothly. “And right now, I want to see you in white.”

Without another word, you stepped out of the car, walking ahead before he could see just how much his words had affected you.

The boutique was exactly what you expected luxurious, pristine, the kind of place meant for women who spent months planning their dream weddings. The assistant barely batted an eye as the two of you walked in, though you could tell she recognized who he was.

His reputation preceded him.

“Can I help you?” she asked, maintaining professionalism despite the underlying nervousness in her eyes.

“She needs a dress,” he said simply, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. “Something that fits her perfectly.”

The assistant nodded quickly, motioning toward the fitting rooms. “Of course. Right this way.”

You didn’t resist as she guided you toward the racks of pristine white gowns, her voice a distant hum as she talked about fabrics and designs.

He leaned against the wall, watching you with that dark amusement, arms crossed over his chest as the woman handed you a gown. “Try this one.”

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before snatching it from her grasp and disappearing into the fitting room.

The dress was pure temptation. The fabric clung to every curve, the slit running dangerously high up your thigh, the neckline low enough to make your breath hitch.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, at the way the sapphire ring on your finger gleamed against the white fabric, a twisted contrast of purity and possession.

A knock on the door.

“Open up.” His voice was low, filled with something dangerous.

You hesitated, but the moment you unlocked the door, he was there, stepping inside before you could push him away, shutting it behind him.

His gaze swept over you, slow, deliberate, possessive.

His fingers traced the slit of the dress, his touch featherlight but filled with intent. “You look…” His voice was husky, dark eyes drinking you in. “Like something I want to ruin all over again.”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond, he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“Do you know what happens after you put on a wedding dress, sweetheart?” His lips hovered just over yours, his breath warm, teasing. “You walk down the aisle.”

His fingers slid lower, grazing the soft fabric at your hip.

“And after that?” His smirk deepened, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You become my wife.”

Your pulse pounded, your body betraying you as his touch sent a shiver down your spine.

A slow smirk curled your lips as you reached for his tie, your fingers twisting in the fabric before yanking him down until his forehead nearly touched yours. His breath fanned against your lips, his eyes dark with intrigue, with hunger.

His smirk faltered for just a second as he processed your words, but then it came back sharper, darker. His grip on your waist tightened, possessive, unyielding.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice laced with something far more sinister than amusement.

You tilted your head slightly, your lips ghosting over his without actually touching. “And you love that about me.”

His chuckle was low and dark, reverberating through your chest as his hands slid up your arms, framing your face. “You want me to take you in church?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief and twisted admiration.

You tugged on his tie, forcing him even closer, until your lips brushed his ear. “I want you to ruin me where people beg for salvation.”

His breath hitched, but it wasn’t hesitation it was something else. Something dangerous. Something unholy.

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, his fingers pressing bruises into your hips. “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your grip still tight on his tie, your smirk mirroring his own. “I know exactly what I want,” you whispered. “Will you keep your promise?”

For the first time, his smirk completely vanished.

Not because he was uncertain. Not because he was shocked.

But because he realized he had never wanted anything more.

His hands trailed down to the fabric of your wedding dress, his fingers curling into the silk as he leaned in, his lips brushing over yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Then let’s make this official,” he murmured. “And after we say ‘I do’…”

He gripped your jaw, tilting your head back, his lips grazing your throat in a promise of pure sin.

“I’m going to defile my bride on the very altar they pray at.”

The drive to the church was suffocating, thick with tension that neither of you bothered to break. His hand never left your thigh, fingers tracing slow, taunting circles against the fabric of your dress, a silent reminder that this was happening. There was no backing out. No second thoughts. No one coming to save you.

Not that you wanted to be saved.

You stole a glance at him as the car glided through the dimly lit streets. He looked calm. Too calm. Like a man who had already won, who had orchestrated every second of this moment down to the very breath you were taking. His jaw was relaxed, his grip on the wheel effortless, but his eyes they were darker than usual. Possessive. Unforgiving.

The church loomed ahead, an eerie sight against the night sky, its towering silhouette casting shadows across the cobblestone path. The grand wooden doors stood slightly ajar, the dim glow of candlelight flickering from within.

And inside?

They were waiting.

A small group of men, some you recognized, some you didn’t each one uncomfortable, tense, afraid. A priest stood at the altar, his hands clasped together, knuckles white as he avoided looking at either of you. He knew why he was here. And he knew what would happen if he refused.

You could hear their hushed whispers as you stepped inside, the soft shuffle of feet, the barely concealed fear woven into the heavy silence.

One of the men, an older one with trembling hands, took a step forward, eyes darting between you and the man at your side. “Is this… really necessary?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, deliberate chuckle left his lips as he pulled you in close, his fingers splaying over your hip possessively. “Are you questioning my fiancée’s wishes?” he mused, tilting his head.

The older man swallowed thickly, eyes flickering to you for a brief second before lowering his gaze. “Of course not.”

“Good.” His smirk widened, but there was nothing kind about it.

The priest hesitated for only a moment before clearing his throat, forcing himself to focus on the ceremony, though you could see the faint sheen of sweat forming at his temples.

“Shall we… begin?” he asked.

You felt his fingers tighten around yours, and when you turned to face him, you saw it the gleam in his eyes, the way he was watching you like he was already claiming you.

He brought your hand up to his lips, brushing a slow kiss over your knuckles before murmuring low enough for only you to hear:

“Say ‘I do,’ sweetheart.” His smirk deepened, his voice dripping with dark promise. “And then… I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

The words left your lips before you could even process them, a whispered “I do” that sealed your fate in more ways than one.

A shiver ran down your spine as he repeated the same vow, his voice slow, deliberate, wrapping around you like a velvet noose.

The priest’s hands trembled as he pronounced you husband and wife, but the moment the words left his lips, everything else faded.

The church, the flickering candles, the terrified men who bore witness to your unholy union it all disappeared the second he pulled you against him, claiming you with a kiss that was anything but holy.

It was raw, hungry, his fingers digging into your waist, pressing you so close that you could feel the erratic pounding of his heart against yours. His lips were rough, demanding, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before he pulled away just enough to whisper against your mouth.

“Now you’re mine.”

His hand found your throat, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look at him, to see the danger swirling in his darkened gaze.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” he murmured, his thumb stroking along your pulse point, feeling how wildly it raced beneath his touch. “I told you I’d take you here. In front of them. At the altar.”

Your breath hitched as he dragged his lips along your jaw, trailing down to your throat, where he pressed an open-mouthed kiss, slow and dangerous.

“They’re still watching,” you whispered, your voice unsteady but thrilled by the weight of his promise.

His chuckle sent a tremor through you, his grip on your waist tightening. “Let them.”

His hands ghosted over the fabric of your dress, fingertips teasing where the silk met your skin. “This dress won’t make it through the night,” he murmured, his voice thick with possession. “Not when I’m about to ruin you.”

He spun you around, pressing you against the altar, his body caging you in. His fingers found the delicate buttons running down the back of your gown, undoing them agonizingly slow, making sure you felt every second of him unwrapping his bride.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Time to fulfill our vows.”

The church was silent, save for the flickering of candlelight and the sounds of your own desire. The grand altar, meant for prayers, had become something else entirely a place of devotion, but not to any god. No, the only thing you worshipped now was him.

Your leg was thrown over his shoulder, your back arching against the cool stone as he held you there, possessive, unyielding. There was no hesitation in his touch, no doubt in your mind this was exactly what you had wanted. What you had demanded.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips as you felt his grip tighten, his breath warm against your skin. You loved the way he touched you, the way he looked at you like you were something sacred and ruined all at once.

He dragged his lips over your thigh, slow and deliberate, teasing you just enough to make you squirm before lifting his gaze to yours.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dripping with mockery and possession. “Does this thrill you?”

You let out a low chuckle, fingers curling into his hair, yanking him closer. “More than you know.”

His smirk widened. He loved this about you your hunger, your fearlessness, the way you never pretended to be anything less than what you were.

“That your husband is taking you here,” he continued, voice rich with amusement. “Where people come to kneel before their god. Where they beg for salvation. Where they come to be cleansed.”

You exhaled shakily, arching into his touch, relishing the pure blasphemy of it all.

“But you,” he whispered, his fingers digging into your skin, branding you. “You don’t want to be cleansed, do you?”

You smirked, your nails scraping against his scalp as you pulled his head back, forcing his dark, hungry gaze to meet yours.

“Why would I?” you taunted, voice silk and sin. “When I love being dirty?”

His eyes darkened, a growl rumbling low in his throat. You had him exactly where you wanted him.

But before he could claim you the way you both wanted, hurried footsteps echoed through the grand hall.

The priest.

His face was pale, his hands trembling as he took in the sight before him the sacred turned sacrilegious.

“This is the house of God!” the priest’s voice shook with both rage and terror. “You can’t this is sin! This is a grievous offense!”

For a brief second, you expected him to stop.

But he only smirked.

And so did you.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even spare the priest a second glance as he tightened his grip on you, pressing you against the altar.

Slowly, mockingly, he turned his head, locking eyes with the old man who looked moments away from fainting.

“Then leave,” he said simply, voice smooth and unbothered. “Unless you wish to bear witness to our union in more ways than one.”

The priest stumbled back, horrified, speechless, powerless.

You turned your head just enough to catch his wide-eyed stare, your smirk never faltering.

“Or stay,” you added, voice sultry, teasing, cruel. “But in that case, you might want to start praying harder.”

A strangled noise escaped the priest, his face going ghostly white before he turned and fled without another word.

And the second he was gone, you felt his lips crash against yours, a deep, possessive kiss that left no room for doubt.

“You,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with hunger and promise, “are the most dangerous and beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

You smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his ear.

“And you love it.”

His answering growl was all the confirmation you needed before he claimed you fully at the very altar meant for salvation.

But neither of you were interested in being saved.

The heat of the moment still lingered in the air, thick and intoxicating, as he remained buried deep inside you. The sacred stillness of the church had been defiled beyond redemption, but neither of you cared. This was your altar now.

His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your throat as he pressed his lips against your ear. His voice was smooth, low, dangerous.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, his tone slow, deliberate, “you’re coming with me. You’re going to help me find those desperate, pathetic souls, the ones drowning in debt, willing to do anything for money.” His free hand trailed down your bare stomach, making you shiver. “And you’re going to stand by my side as we play God with their lives.”

You shivered, but not from fear. From the power in his words.

His hand slid down your throat, resting just above your pulse as he felt the way your heart pounded.

“But…” his voice dropped, turning even more possessive, more threatening. “If I see you so much as smiling at another man, if you so much as play with the idea of testing me…”

You smirked, the defiance in your eyes shining as you purred, “What if I do? What are you gonna do about it?”

The response was instant.

He bit down on your neck hard. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin as his fingers dug into your hips, keeping you trapped against him. Your gasp only seemed to fuel his fire.

His tongue flicked over the fresh mark, soothing it, before he smirked against your skin.

“First,” he murmured, his voice thick with dark delight, “they’ll watch as I take you, as I remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His fingers traced a slow path down your spine before gripping you roughly.

“And then, when they’re on their knees, begging for their lives, I’ll let them think they have a chance.” His smirk widened. “But in the end, I’ll kill them anyway.”

Your breath hitched, and your nails dug into his back, a thrill running through you at his ruthless, unwavering dominance.

His lips brushed against your ear one last time before he whispered, “So go ahead, sweetheart. Flirt with them. Make me jealous. I dare you.”

And from the way his dark, hungry gaze burned into yours, you knew he meant every word.

[catchastarorten]

—100 loaves of bread.

Pairing: the salesman/recruiter x bakeryowner!fem!reader

Summary: it started with a few visits from him buying 100 loaves of bread each time from your little bakery, but overtime the two of you started to get familiar, little did you know about his ‘work’ and how he should’ve given the card to you but didn't...

Content: fluff, aggressive stomping on bread, him having a soft spot for you, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care about you (it doesn’t work lol), a bit of reader's backstory, self-conflict and a bit of change of heart from him, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.1k

You were wiping down the counter when the familiar chime of the bell above the door jingled. It was late in the afternoon, and the bakery was quiet, except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the faint scent of freshly baked bread and sugar lingering in the air. You glanced up, already knowing who it was. He was here again—the man with the sharp suit and the briefcase who bought bread in quantities that always left you baffled.

“Afternoon,” you said, watching as he walked in with the same calm, measured way as always. He almost looked too friendly for someone who carried himself so formally.

“Afternoon,” he replied, stepping up to the counter and resting his briefcase at his feet. “I’ll need the usual. A hundred loaves.”

A hundred loaves of bread. It was such a ridiculous request, and yet, he never failed to make it.

You’d asked him once, early on, what on earth he did with all that bread. Selling it somewhere else for a profit? Feeding a small army? Storing up for an apocalypse? He had only smiled at you then, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and said, “Something like that.”

It had been weeks since his first visit, and by now, the routine was familiar. You’d load loaf after loaf into paper bags while he stood patiently, sometimes asking about your day, sometimes quietly observing the modest little bakery. Today, though, you felt compelled to ask again.

“Are you sure you want all of it?” you asked, sliding the first bag across the counter. “That’s… a lot of bread.”

He smiled faintly, reaching for the bag and setting it beside him. “You ask me that every time.”

“Well, it’s not everyday someone comes in and buys out half my stock,” you said, tilting your head. “It makes me curious.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed like he might answer—really answer. But then he only shrugged slightly, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “Let’s just say it goes to good use.”

You frowned, unsatisfied but unwilling to press further. He always paid in cash, crisp bills that he counted out with precision. You noticed, as you often did, that he never left without dropping a generous tip into the glass jar by the register. He offered you a warm look as he slipped a few bills into the tip jar again.

“Keep up the good work,” he said. “Your bread’s the best in the city.”

You weren’t sure whether to be flattered or suspicious. He seemed genuine, but there was something about him—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Still, it wasn’t your place to pry. You handed him the last of the bags, and he left with the same polite nod as always.

The next time he came in, it wasn’t for a hundred loaves of bread.

You were behind the counter again, rearranging a tray of pastries, when you heard the door chime. Glancing up, you saw him standing there, his briefcase nowhere in sight.

“Not the usual today?” you asked, half-teasing.

He smiled slightly, stepping up to the counter. “Not today. I was thinking I’d try something different.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

He scanned the display case, his eyes lingering on a slice of strawberry shortcake near the center. “That,” he said, pointing.

You wrapped up the slice for him, and when you handed it over, he didn’t leave right away. Instead, he took a seat at one of the small tables by the window—a seat no one ever seemed to take—and unwrapped the cake with a kind of deliberate care. You watched, unable to help yourself, as he took a bite.

“It’s good,” he mumbled, almost to himself. “Really good.”

A flicker of amusement crossed your face as you watched him eat. He wasn’t as neat as you’d expected—a bit of whipped cream ended up on the corner of his mouth, and he licked it away absentmindedly, his gaze drifting to the shelves of decorative knick-knacks you’d lined the walls with.

“I never really noticed these before,” he said, gesturing toward a small ceramic cat perched on one of the shelves. “Did you make them?”

You shook your head. “No, those were my parents’. They used to run this place before me. They had a thing for collecting stuff like that.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s nice. Feels… homey.”

You didn’t know why, but his words left you oddly self-conscious. The bakery had always been your parents’ dream, not yours, and while you’d taken it over out of necessity, you’d never thought much about how it felt to anyone else. But hearing him say it was homey made you feel a faint sense of pride.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

He stayed longer than usual that day, finishing his cake and ordering a coffee to go with it.

You found yourself talking to him more than you normally would with a customer. He asked about the bakery, about your favorite thing to bake, about whether you’d ever considered expanding. You didn’t ask about him—not directly—but you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man he was.

By the time he left, it was dark outside, and the bakery was empty except for you. As you locked up for the night, you found yourself thinking about his smile, the way it lingered even after he was gone.

One day, as he was paying for a loaf of sourdough, he looked at you, his head tilting slightly. “Do you ever think about getting out of here?” he asked.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… this place is great, but don’t you ever wonder what else is out there?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought about it—leaving, starting fresh somewhere new—but the bakery was all you’d ever known. It was safe, familiar. And after your parents passed, it felt like the only thing that tethered you to them.

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “But I don’t know. This place… it’s home.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, there was a silence between you. Then he smiled again, that warm, almost disarming smile, and slid an extra bill across the counter. “For the tip jar,” he said.

You watched as he walked out the door, his briefcase in hand, and wondered—for the hundredth time—what kind of life he led.

...

The bell above the bakery door chimed familiarly.

He stepped inside, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket, his polished demeanor there as always. But inside, his stomach churned. He had made a decision today—a decision that, for once, made him feel something like guilt.

He scanned the shop. You were at the counter, hands dusted with flour as you arranged freshly baked rolls on a tray. The soft glow of the afternoon light spilling through the window caught on your hair, and the faintest smile tugged at your lips when you saw him. That smile… It was a problem.

“Afternoon,” you said, just as you always did. Your voice was warm, even though he could see the slight tiredness beneath it. That smile didn’t reach your eyes as much these days, but you still tried, didn’t you?

He nodded, keeping his face neutral. “Afternoon.”

You weren’t supposed to matter to him. That was the rule. He had a job to do, a system to uphold, and people like you—drowning in debt—were just part of the equation. It shouldn't have mattered how good-hearted you were, how hardworking you were.

You weren’t special... at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

He first started coming to your bakery for convenience, but as time passed, the lines started to blur. The bread looked good, better than most places in this part of the city, and you didn’t ask too many questions.

The loaves weren’t for eating, of course. They were for a little ‘social experiment’.

“Bread or lottery?” That’s what he’d ask them—the desperate, homeless souls he scouted in the park. It was always the same. He’d hold out a loaf in one hand, a lottery scratcher in the other. The bread could fill their stomachs. But the lottery ticket? That promised a chance. A gamble. A way out.

They always chose the ticket. Every time.

He knew what came next. The moment they realized it wasn’t a winning ticket after all. They’d just stared at him, some cursed out loud, some were just disappointed, their hopes bleeding out onto the pavement.

And the bread? He destroyed it. Stomped it into the ground until it was unrecognizable, crumbs scattering across the concrete.

It was dramatic, yes, but it served its purpose. It showed them the choice that they had made, the food that they had thrown away and destroyed, not him. It was necessary. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But the bread came from you.

That detail had started to bother him more and more. You put your heart into every loaf, every pastry, every crumb that came out of your oven. He saw it in the way you worked, the way you carefully packed the loaves into paper bags for him, the way you smiled when he left a tip. He had started tipping more, as if that would excuse him of the guilt of what he was doing with your work—it didn’t.

He had been keeping tabs on you. He knew about your debts, the ones you and your brother had racked up trying to keep the bakery afloat after your parents passed. He knew how hard you worked to stay above water, how you barely made enough to cover the bills some months.

You were exactly the kind of person he was supposed to recruit.

He told himself that’s why he started coming more often. He needed to assess you, to figure out the right moment to offer you the card. But the truth was, he liked being in the bakery. He liked the smell of fresh bread and sugar, the hum of the old refrigerator, the quiet way you moved behind the counter. He liked your voice when you asked him how his day was going, even though he never answered honestly.

And he hated himself for liking any of it.

The card was in his pocket today. He had been carrying it around for a while now, waiting for the right moment.

Today, he had decided, would be the day. After all, you deserved it, right? The games were brutal, yes, but they were also fair. A chance for people like you to escape the crushing weight of debt.

That’s what he told himself as he walked into the bakery. But when you looked up at him, your flour-dusted hands resting on the counter, and said, “So, what are you getting today?”—he froze.

He could feel the card in his pocket, its edges pressing against his fingers. All he had to do was pull it out, slide it across the counter, and say the words. But he couldn’t do it. Not to you.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “I’ll take another slice of that cake,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt.

You looked over to the display. “The strawberry one?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his finger gently tapping the display glass that caged all the pastries. “It’s… good.”

You smiled faintly, wrapping up the slice and handing it to him. “Anything else?”

He hesitated, the card burning a hole in his pocket. But then your eyes met his, and something in them—something warm, something real—made his resolve crumble.

“No,” he said softly. “That’s all.”

As he ate the cake at the small table by the window again, he told himself that letting you go was the right thing to do. You didn’t belong in the games. You didn’t belong in his world. And yet, he felt something close to longing as he watched you work behind the counter, your movements quick and precise, your expression focused.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he felt human.

When he left the bakery that day, he slipped a few extra bills into the tip jar. He told himself it was just another gesture, another way to balance the scales. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to make up for what he did—what he was.

And yet, he didn’t offer you the card. He didn’t bring it the next time he visited, or the time after that. He told himself he’d do it eventually, that it was inevitable. But the truth was, he didn’t have the heart to drag you into the darkness he inhabited every day.

You weren’t like him. And he wanted—no, needed—to keep it that way.

[vrystalius]

I know i just requested with weird nicknames for squid game characters.

But I want to see their reaction to your wallpaper being them or being another person. Literally obsessed with what you write its so cute. Take my heart ❤️

Squid Game men’s reaction for putting them as your phone’s wallpaper.

They randomly check your phone one day and find a picture of themselves staring back. How will they react? What kind of wallpaper do they have?

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu x gn!reader

Summary: You putting them as your phone wallpaper, them putting you as their phone wallpaper

Genre: Fluff, maybe a little angst in Nam-gyu’s part (mention of drug use)

Words: 800 per character

Note: I wrote this during my medicine and head concussion induced haze, forgive me for any inconsistencies or mistakes 😭🙏 Also, the middle pictures are a suggestion as what said wallpaper could be.

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // Salesman

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

Mostly surprise and confusion spread swirled in his mind the first time he stared back at himself in the form of your phone wallpaper. He never thought you’d screenshot this picture let alone use it as your wallpaper because c’mon— let’s be honest, you could’ve chosen any other picture of him and yet you decided on this.

It’s weird. Gong Yoo feels a little watched as he tries to find the food delivery app on your phone while having his own eyes stare back at him.

Although he had grown more and more fond of it every time he opened your phone anew. He sees how you grin a little when turning on your screen, how you sometimes giggle when you stare at it for too long. Sometimes you show it off to him and complain about he barely ever wears any skincare masks anymore.

“So you can have a new wallpaper? I don’t think so. My skin is fine for now, thank you darling.”

To be really honest, he finds it incredibly endearing that you chose him as your wallpaper, especially a picture like this. He thinks of himself as a sophisticated, charming, handsome salesman that lures desperate people into a death game and messes with homeless people in his free time, but you seemingly just see him as your soulmate, the love of your life, your husband.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Two months into the relationship and after a couple of dates, Gong Yoo already set you as his phone wallpaper. It was nice to have a reminder looking back at him to text you, check in on you, give you a call or even come by for dinner. A reminder that he has a special someone to care and love for.

He switches his wallpaper up every few weeks or months, wanting to keep it updated to your appearance. His chosen pictures are mostly intimate ones, snaps he takes while you are being unaware of how cute, attractive or adorable you look.

Pictures like when you are asleep on the couch in his arms after watching a movie, you after waking up and sleepily brushing your teeth in the mirror, you showing your back to him while waiting for the microwave to finish heating up the cheap convenience food, maybe even you stuffing your face with ice cream after a long day.

Whatever picture he may choose (much to your dismay), it always makes him smile to himself no matter the situation. Even if another homeless person asks him for spare change or those two random mobsters tried to jump him in an alleyway and now he was forced to “get rid of them”, a quick glance on his phone and seeing a cute picture of you immediately forces a smile to break out on his face.

The sight of their kidnapper smiling at his phone so lovingly while they were tied up and playing rock-paper-scissors for their lives probably made the two men shit their pants more than feeling the barrel of a revolver being pressed against the side of their head.

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

— Choosing him as your wallpaper. —

At first, Thanos reeeaaaallly disliked the picture you chose as your wallpaper. It was just a random reaction picture he send you one day about something he doesn’t even remember, and you went ahead and chose this as your phone wallpaper? Seriously?! Can’t you choose something more handsome, flattering?

He even offered to pose properly for you so you have a better pic to use, but after Thanos obviously started mewing and tried his absolute best to look as attractive as possible (which he already is but shhh), your boyfriend got extremely offended when you started laughing at his posing.

Your boyfriend gave up after a few attempts of secretly changing your wallpaper and seeing you pout every time he did, changing it right back to the one before.

If you really like it that much, fine. Just don’t let anyone see that you have that as your phone wallpaper, or else his rapper persona will never be able to recover from being exposed like that.

You don’t even understand why he is being so dramatic about your wallpaper anyway.

“I look hella ugly there, c’mon baby! Work with me here!! Here, lemme pose for you real quick so you can change that thing.”

Although it does flashbang you in the middle of the night when you turn on your phone, the brightness of the picture vaporising your eyes in an instant. It’s not the most pleasant thing to look at first thing in the morning but you still think he looks kinda cute in the pic.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

He was careful to choose the prettiest picture of you he can find and the proceed to show it off to everyone he meets. Thanos even showed you off to Nam-gyu multiple times, forgetting that he already showed his friend the same picture four times now. Nam-gyu is already totally looking forward to next week when Thanos shows you off again.

Your boyfriend grins like a child whenever he glances at his phone for too long, falling in love with your picture all over again.

He changes his wallpaper every week so he always has something cute to look at after performing at another underground club or while doing whatever, sometimes getting distracted from searching for a certain app and instead ending up scrolling through either your social media account or his photo library to search for more pics of you.

Whenever you catch Thanos grin at his phone again, your first instinct is to glance over his shoulder to check what exactly he is looking at, but he immediately closes his phone when you do. At first you thought he might be looking at some random girl’s profile or whatever, but when you open it up and find yourself staring back, you’re kind of surprised to be honest.

Although, he always denies that he really cares about his wallpaper. Your boyfriend is totally choosing it at random and totally does not match his lock screen with his homescreen and mostly chooses pictures of you two together, you kissing his cheek or him holding you. Not at all!

Nam-gyu // Player 124

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

You choose a rather cute picture as your wallpaper. You took it during one of your first dates where you dragged him to a festival that was being held near your home, dragging Nam-gyu there against his will. Back then he had shorter hair, wore his glasses more frequently. Back then he was a little shy believe it or not, at least when it came to romance.

He used more before he met you, being around alcohol and drugs at all times due to his occupation. It kind of came with his job and the circle of friends he was around, so before meeting you, there was barely any day he wasn’t high or having a hangover from some random drug.

Nam-gyu never noticed you had this picture as your phone wallpaper until he accidentally grabbed your phone, thinking it was his. Seeing this picture in particular gave him a brief jumpscare.

You took this picture after he managed to scrap out the star shape out of the sugar cookie he bought from a random stand during the festival. His hair was shorter back then and he wore his glasses more frequently, the mask a reminder of how times were 5 years ago. He struggled staying clean during that time and always felt like shit wich is why he didn’t want to go to the festival in the first place.

He didn’t even know you took this picture of him despite him fully looking at the camera. A small smile spread on his face at the thought of you really choosing a picture like this as your phone wallpaper.

Quickly putting your phone down, Nam-gyu quickly played off his reaction as he hard you come into the room.

“I’m smiling about nothing, shaddup. Go back to wherever you came from.”

With a dismissive hand wave, he tried to shoo you away. His attempts were futile as you instead pull him into a clingy hug, instead demanding cuddles instead. Who was he to deny your wish?

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Nam-gyu likes taking 0.5x zoom pictures of you from above and choosing them as his phone wallpaper, pushing you away as you try to protest and stop him from putting them as his wallpaper because seriously, he can literally choose any other pic!

You can hear quiet, evil “hehe”s from the corner of the room whenever you two are together and he turns on his phone, briefly turning it around so you can see what he was giggling so stupidly at, only for him to giggle harder at the sight of your unamused face.

Even if he mainly chooses those pictures as his phone wallpaper to annoy you, he likes having a stupid picture of you always available to him.

Some shitty guy searching for a fight at the club? Quick glance at your face at a 0.5x zoom makes him crack a smile right after. Thanos called him Nam-su, Gyu-nam or literally anything else but his name again? Turning his phone on lightens his mood immediately.

Sure, a flattering or cute picture of you would have the same effect on him, but this is much funnier in his opinion.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

HAPPY LATE VALETINES DAYYYYYYY!!!! Since tumblr limits your tags to 30 tags per post I always have trouble tagging all of the Squid Game men, so I decided to split this one prompt into two posts. If this gets enough attention / love, I’ll post a part 2 with Dae-ho, Gi-hun and In-ho! Also, thank you for requesting, I needed a break from writing my smut draft 😭

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[voxslays]

BELLY BULGE — SQUID GAMES MEN

GONG-YOO (THE SALESMAN)

✮ How many rounds has it been tonight? Your clouded mind can’t even recall. The only thing you can think of is the way Gong Yoo’s hips slam into yours.

✮ The salesman’s perfect hair is unusually messy tonight, soaked with sweat. You cant help but cry into the pillow as he places his hand on your stomach, feeling himself pump in and out of you.

✮ The enigmatic recruiter says nothing as he rams you into the softness of your shared bed. Just a little bit longer, you convince yourself, pleasure clouding your thoughts. Although, you know damn well he could keep going for hours.

✮ “I’m not done with you yet, sweetheart.”

THANOS (CHOI SU-BONG)

✮ “Such a pretty flower.” Thanos grunts as he roughly pumps his length in and out of your gummy walls. You couldn’t help but moan at the roughness in his voice.

✮ “Just a bit longer, Señorita.” Is what he had convinced you over forty five minutes ago. You weren’t sure how many more orgasms you could take from him tonight.

✮ Hearing your desperation, Thanos places his hand on your lower stomach and presses in, feeling himself. He groans at the sensation, deciding to pick up more speed. By the time Thanos is done with you, your thoughts are only filled with images of him.

✮ “A little longer, pretty flower.”

KANG DAE-HO

✮ It had only been two rounds. You were keeping count. Yet, you were surprised you could remember anything at all with the way Dae-ho’s slow and deep thrusts pierced your hole.

✮ His hands were roaming all over your body, telling you how beautiful you were—until he suddenly just stopped, his hand placed on your bulged tummy.

✮ Dae-ho slowly pumps out, just realizing what that bulge was, surprising both you and himself. He groans. “Let’s go for a couple more, okay baby?” He says sweetly, grabbing your hips gently. His hand was still placed on your tummy, and it would stay there.

✮ “You feel so good, baby.”

[gh0stsp1d3r]

hiii! i was wondering if you could do the salesman / gong yoo but make him a professor at a prestigious university, and his student is struggling. but there’s plenty of tension between them, so he invites her over hehe. i’d love to see your take!

key words: older man/younger woman, praise kink, some bdsm, hair pulling, dom! gong yoo, sub! reader, sexual tension, body worship, creampie (maybe), aftercare

professor

MDNI | MDNI | MDNI | MDNI | MDNI | MDNI | MDNI | MDNI

A /N: ADORE THIS. Sorry it took a while ):

WARNINGS: age gap, p in v, professor x student (ALL OF ARE AGE), Sir kink, praise kink, professor kink, bondage (tying up hands w/ rope), unprotected sex, creampies

MASTERLIST

Every day, like clockwork, you sat in the same exact front seat, directly in front of him. You batted your eyelashes at him innocently, biting on the tip of your pencil and creasing your eyebrows in that adorable way when you were confused.

You’ve always been one of his favorite students. You were smart, you were kind, respectful, but fuck, you were hot, too. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Not when you stared at him at like that. Not when you looked so perfect to ruin.

And when you came up to him after class, pleading for help and tutoring from him, well, he felt like it was all falling into his lap.

“Miss Y/N.” He spoke when you stood in front of his desk, small smile making its way onto his face. He ran a hand through his hair, subtly looking you up and down before leaning back in his chair. “What can I do for you?”

“Sir,” you nodded your head, giving him a polite smile as well. “I was wondering if you would help me with something… I’m not sure I quite understood what we were talking about today,” you spoke, pausing and looking at him.

“Go on.” He nodded, interest piquing by the second.

“Well, I was thinking, could you perhaps better explain the subject to me after school, or something like that? It would be very beneficial, I think, to hear it from you rather than a student.”

“You’re asking for tutoring?” He asked you with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, and he thought for a moment. What better opportunity would he have?

“Alright. Sure.” He agreed, and you found yourself smirking to yourself as he began to write down his address on a piece of paper, before handing it to you. His next class of students began to fill in, and you took that as a cue to leave.

“Thank you very much, professor!” You spoke as you left, giving him a wave. He gave you a smile and small wave back, turning to his new class, clearing his throat. He couldn’t contain the smile on his face as he began to teach his next class.

Later, you pulled up to the address on the note. Your nerves were jumping every step you took closer to his house.

He could have invited you into his office, he could have invited you anywhere on campus, but, no. He invited you to his house. He knew what you wanted, and you knew what he wanted.

You bundled your hand up into a fist, raising it and rapping at the door quietly. It wasn’t long before he opened it, peeking out before opening it fully, inviting you in with a warm smile, cup of coffee in hand.

“Miss y/n.”

You gave him a smile back, taking off your shoes as you entered. He sat in his sofa, motioning for you to follow and do the same. You sat next to him, sitting up straight with your hands in your lap.

“So,” he leaned down to the table in front of him, putting his cup down and flipping the pages of a textbook. “Where would you like to start?” He asked you, turning to you.

You began to ramble on, about some subjects you could start with, about subjects you didn’t understand completely.

He listened, nodding as he flipped to the proper pages, and opened it to what you were talking about.

“You wanna go ahead and read that for me, sweetheart?”

The nickname caused your cheeks to warm up and your eyes to widen slightly. You blinked rapidly, before stammering out.

“U-uhm, yeah, yeah- sure.” You nodded dumbly, and he couldn’t help the small smirk that made its way onto his face.

“Just read the page.” He told you, you nodding and moving, grabbing the pages and reading them in your head before he let out a ��tsk.’

You paused, looking at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Out loud.”

You stared at him for a moment, before turning around, squirming where you sat when you felt the denim of his jeans rub against your bare thighs. The couch was small, so you thought nothing of it, at least, not until he slowly moved his hand to your leg, placing it on your knee as you spoke out loud.

You began to stutter through the words, feeling your cheeks heating up. It felt as if though every single touch you felt from him was electric.

“Uhm- this leads to the- to the…” you trailed off, breath hitching when you felt his hand trail further up, testing the waters until they reached the underneath of your skirt.

He looked back at you, watching your reaction as his hand paused at your panties, a small smile on his face.

Fuck it.

You leaned in closer to the man, book now completely forgotten as his lips were against yours. Everything that told you this was wrong, screaming at you that this wasn’t allowed, was completely erased from your brain.

You put your hands across his chest, his hands going to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Your tongues danced together, the soft moans falling from his mouth sounding heavenly to you.

You both parted for a moment, catching your breath, both of you staring at each other.

He wordlessly stood up, and you followed him to his bedroom. The door was barely shut behind you before he threw you down onto the bed, you letting out a soft giggle when he crawled on top of you. He leaned down again, his lips hovering against yours as he murmured softly to you.

“You have no clue how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He told you, soft pants falling from his mouth.

You stared up at him, wide eyed, with a look that made him want to destroy you.

He was the one to take your shorts off, a small grin forming on his face at the sight of your cute lace pink panties. You could feel the heat going to your cheeks, embarrassment flooding you.

“These are cute.” He mumbled, tinge of amusement in his voice.

“Stop!” You whined out, him letting out a chuckle. He could see the way you subtly clenched your thighs, trying to get some sort of friction.

“So impatient, hmm?” He teased.

“Please, professor.” You spoke with a pout on your face.

His eyes widened now, swallowing thickly at the name. He darted his tongue out, licking his lips and another grin appearing on his face. He liked that.

He lowered himself down so that he was face to face with your glistening pussy, smile on his face as he ran his fingers through your folds.

His thick finger found your hole, looking up at you before pushing two of them in, causing you to throw your head back against the pillow, which caused him to grin to himself as he pushed his fingers further into your walls.

He curled them up, grin remaining on his face as he scissored them, and thrusted them in and out of you, feeling you clench down on his digits.

His thumb moved to press on your clit, pressing down on the delicate button, causing you to let out a whine. He swirled his thumb in a circle, all while still thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

“Professor-“

“Mhm…cum for me, sweetheart.” He told you, knowing what you were going to say before you could. He coaxed the first orgasm out of you, still circling his thumb on your clit as you rid out your high, your legs spasming as you came around his fingers.

He slowly removed his hands from your walls, smile on his face as he looked up at you, sticking his fingers in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits, sucking off the wetness that came from you.

You watched in awe, jaw slightly dropping at the sight in front of you.

He cracked a smile at your reaction, moving up to give you one more quick kiss on your lips before moving back.

He moved to unbutton and take off his pants, you watching him curiously. Fuck, he was built, you thought as your eyes shamelessly scanned his abs.

He now was only in his boxers, before eventually, he threw both of those off as well, discarding them in the room while you took your shirt off as well, arching your back to reach for the back of your bra and unclipping it.

While you were doing that, he moved to the side of his bed and began to rummage through his drawer, pulling out a bundle of rope.

“Sir-“ you began, but were cut off when he grabbed your wrists, putting them to the headboard, and began tying them together to his headboard expertly. He was quick and precise, tightening it around you. You looked up at him, confused, but he just smiled down at you.

He wasted no more time to slap the tip of his cock onto your folds, a gasp escaping your mouth as he began to slowly inch his length into your hole.

You wanted to touch him, to wrap your arms around his neck, but you couldn’t. He stared down at you, watching you struggle against the restraints with an amused expression on his face. He was enjoying this.

“Fuck, such a good girl.” He rasped out, his voice making your head spin.

The voices in your head, the ones that told you that this was wrong, suddenly disappeared as soon as you felt him bottom out into your cunt. His hand went to the headboard, holding it for stability as he dragged his cock out of you, before harshly thrusting back in.

Your mouth opened to form an ‘o’ shape as he snapped his hips against yours, a moan falling from your lips.

The groans that came from him and the cries coming from you reverberated in the room. With every snap of his hips, you grew needier. His hand that wasn’t on the headboard moved to your pussy, and began to rub on your clit, rubbing circles fastly.

“C’mon, cum for me, sweetheart. I know you can do it.”

That was all you needed, you letting out a louder cry as you came around his cock, this triggering his own orgasm. He let out a raspy groan, mumbling “shit,” to himself as he painted your walls.

He watched as his seed mixed with yours and it fell down to your legs, an idea popping into his head as he pulled out for a moment, before stuffing his cock back into your entrance, pushing the leaky cum back into you, smearing it all over your pussy with a proud smile on his face.

“What?” He asked as if he was innocent when you let out another whine at the feeling. He pulled out once more, looking down at you.

Your body was completely spent, your wrists aching and your clit puffy from the stimulation. He may have been older, but fuck, he knew what he was doing.

He looked back at the restraints on your wrist, moving over towards them, undoing them easily. You let out a sigh of relief, going to massage your wrists.

“You alright?” He asked you, posture straightening as he stood up, beginning to put his boxers on.

“Mhm.” You spoke with a dazed look in your eyes, and a soft smile on your face.

He let out a chuckle, and looked around for a moment, deciding whether or not he should even be doing this. He decided that he’d already crossed that line, and that at this point, it didn’t matter:

“I’m gonna go run a bath for you.” He told you, before leaving you in the room, you hearing the faucet in the bathroom run.

Your mind was racing with thoughts. You just fucked your professor. Your very hot professor who you’ve had a crush on for months. Holy shit. Was this even real? He just came in you. Maybe you should-

Your thoughts were interrupted when he picked you up bridal style up off of the bed, his touch surprisingly gentle as a contrast to his movements before.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lowered you down into the tub, the warm water underneath causing your body to calm down. You nestled deeper into the water, glancing at him.

He sat at the side of the tub, a bottle of body wash in his hands, and he looked at you, tilting his head slightly, silently asking if it was okay.

This was different. It felt so much more intimate. But you didn’t mind.

You gave him a small nod, and he stood up, moving to wash your shoulders, massaging them gently. before moving down to the rest of your body. His caresses were gentle and soft, as if you would break like glass if he did it any harder.

None of it was sexual, none of it had any lustful intentions. You found yourself smiling at him again, him giving you a soft smile back.

You had a thing for your teacher, and sure, maybe it was wrong, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

[starryschemer]

Shattered Odds - (Chapter Eleven)

Pairings: Salesman x reader

Summary: Gi-hun finds himself in a high-stakes game with not only his life but the life of someone he cares deeply about. You. Can Gi-hun outsmart the salesman? Or will the odds catch up with him?

Warnings: Dubious consent (Dubcon), emotional manipulation/abuse, strong language, power dynamics, references to past trauma, verbal threats, possessive behaviour, graphic violence, blood and gore, dark themes

Taglist: @aesthetic-winchesters @therandomofpink @cowuies @alzeralz

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Chapter Eleven: Trigger Point Word Count: 3,577

The rain fell unrelentingly, pattering down in soft, steady patterns on the pavement. The air was humid and hot, broken by the sound—the echo of your footsteps in the silence, the low vibrating flow of the flickering neon sign. You entered the building, going up the stairs as quietly as possible. The heavy thud of your heart ripped through the hallway. Eventually, you stopped in front of a door.

Room 209.

The brass number seemed to taunt you, reminding you of everything that had happened in this room and everything you were trying to forget. The flashback washed over you, again and again.

The tension between the Salesman, Gi-hun, and you. His shaking hand when he hit the trigger. The Salesman, watching with that cruel, amused smile on his lips. You begging to take Gi-hun’s place. 

Your chest tightened. But you shook it off, trying hard to push the memories from your mind. You couldn’t allow it to swallow you now. Not now. Not ever.

Placing your hand on the doorknob, turning it. The door was already unlocked. 

It creaked when you opened it, carefully stepping inside the dimly lit room. The air inside was heavy with the scents of wine, cologne, and blood. Familiar. It made your stomach churn. You noticed that the bathroom light was on, a soft flow was spilling out, and a thin layer of steam escaped from inside the door. 

When the door finally opened. He walked out of the bathroom.

Damp. Barefoot. Just out of the shower, a white towel was draped around low on his hips, clinging to him. He moved with that same confidence, his eyes locking straight onto yours, looking you up and down, wiping down every inch of your discomfort with his dark pleasure. 

He just stood there for a while, not saying anything, staring, assessing you with that cold, calculated gaze.

“Well. Took you long enough,” He said smugly, finally filling the silence of the room.

Your throat got tight, causing you to swallow hard, you were trying hard not to react. “Put some clothes on,” You snapped, your voice had a sharpness in it that was still lingering, a bit of concern. 

He smirked, unfazed, unbothered by this. He slowly took a step forward toward you. “And lose that look on your face? I live for your reactions.”

You ground your jaw. “I don’t care about….,” You wave your hand around. “Whatever this is.”

He leaned in, just a little. His breath was hot against your ear. “That is too bad, Y/N. Because you’re already too deep in it.”

He walked past you, his damp skin brushing against yours lightly. You immediately attempted to look away, but your gaze was drawn to the wall mirror nearby. And there the Salesman was, seen in the glass, unashamed, playing with his hair. Your eyes slowly looked him up and down, lightly biting your lip. When you gazed up, you noticed him watching you through the mirror. 

Your breath snagged, and you tried to look away, but couldn’t. His smirk widened and widened into his satisfied grin. His eyebrow raised slightly.

The mirror betrayed you. It caught everything, the way your eyes lingered for too long, the way you bit your lip. It made you look vulnerable, like prey, and he knew it.

“You know you can look,” He said softly, in a teasing manner. “I really don’t mind.”

Your eyes showed pure rage. “You are fucking disgusting,” You muttered, filled with anger.

He laughed low in his throat. “Yet…you’re still standing there, watching me, aren’t you?” His voice was heavy with mockery. 

You scoffed. Shaking your head.

And then, like he was taunting you, the towel slipped, then fell to the ground. No warning. Just a causal malfunction that left him completely bare in front of you. Your eyes flew to his through the mirror in shock. He just stood there smiling, making no effort to cover himself, slowly tilting his head.

You quickly looked away, your voice hot with outrage. “WHAT IS ACTUAL FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

His laughter echoed through the room. Amused. Low. Dark. “I think clothes are overrated,” He said, his tone far too casual. “Plus, you look adorable when you are flustered.”

You had fisted your hands on your sides, your body trembling with rage.

“You did that on bloody purpose. You wanted that towel to drop, and don’t you dare even pretend it was some mistake, some accident.”

He arched an eyebrow, mock-innocent. “Now, Y/N, why on earth would I do that?”

“BECAUSE YOU THRIVE OFF OF THIS. OFF THE POWER. YOU WOULDN’T EVEN EXIST UNLESS PEOPLE ARE SQUIRMING UNDER YOUR CONTROL.”

He blinked. “Not people,” He corrected. “You. There’s a massive difference in the way you squirm.”

You gasped at the sheer audacity of those words. “You’re gross.”

“And yet…you’re still here.”

“Not because of you. I’m here because you threatened to kill people I care about.”

That shut him up for a moment. 

“Maybe,” He hummed. “But you are still reacting. Still mine to rile up.”

That word. “Mine”. Burned into your lungs. 

“I’d rather die than ever belong to a sadistic prick like you.”

“Oh, a sadistic prick you say, don’t tempt me, Y/N.” The mockery in this voice was clear as day, but it was layered with something heavier. Something darker.

You snatched the closest pair of boxers from off the nearby chair and chucked them at him, with a quick movement. They fell at his feet with a soft thud. 

“Put those on.”

His gaze slid down to the boxers and then back to your back. You were still not facing him. “Hmmmm…” He said, as though thinking about what to say next. “It seems that I have misplaced my boxers. Can you help me find them love?”

The use of “love” jolted you with anger. How fucking dare he? How dare he toy with you like this? In this manner, no less.

“THEY ARE RIGHT THERE!” You yelled, sharply pointing behind you at his feet. “PUT THEM ON!”

He didn’t move a muscle. Just remained exposed, you could feel their eyes roaming over you like you were the one exposed. Your body shivered. 

“I SAID…PUT THEM ON!” 

“It is laughable seeing you try to be in control. You aren’t that good at it.”

A beat passed. Then another.

You didn’t hear the rustle of the fabric at first, just the sharp, deafening silence. You could only feel his eyes on your back again.

At last, you heard him bending down, slow, lazy, teasing, as if he had ages of time to spare. You glanced at the mirror again, seeing the muscles of his back playing like a piano with each measured stretch. Quickly, you turned your gaze as he threw on the boxers; the motion was fluid, way too practiced. 

And then you heard the floorboards creaking as he stepped closer.

You immediately tensed, but you didn’t move, you didn’t look behind you. Your spine is locked straight. Your eyes burning with defiance. His hand reached out, slowly grazing your arm. Just a gentle touch, as light as a feather, just enough to make your nerves spike like live wires. You jerked to the side, a breath caught in your throat, and you turned to face him. 

The Salesman’s face was close to yours now, only inches apart, brushing your skin with the heat of his breath. And that annoying smirk never left his lips. 

“Better?” He whispered, voice low, smooth, and mocking, as if this was another one of his games. You glanced down and saw the boxers sitting low on his hips, hugging in all the wrong places, or perhaps all the right ones. 

His finger touched your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. Your jaw clenched. Your heart was pounding fast, but not in some way you wanted to admit. You stayed still, standing your ground, eyes aflame with fury. For a moment, you didn’t answer. Simply stared into his eyes, really staring at him. The way that asshole kept invading your space. The way he was inhaling power with every twist and turn he took. How he looked at you, waiting for you to react so he could mold it, twist it in some way. 

Then came the words. They were as cold as ice.

“You are a fucking creep. You know that?” Saying in pure disgust. The pain of what happened in this room was still too raw for you to forget. 

His grin didn’t fade. If anything, it expanded, turning more dark, more horror-like. Like you talking back to him is just what he wanted.

“Just to you,” He said, almost gently, almost as if he was giving you some kind of compliment. “And you keep coming back for it, darling.”

You absolutely hated the way he said it to you. Like he knew you. Like he had everything figured out.

He turned, deliberate and slow, walking over to the small cabinet next to the television. From it, he took a bottle of red wine. It was already uncorked. Pouring the red liquid into two glasses with elegance, as if they were in a fancy restaurant or a penthouse lounge rather than a dimly lit room. 

He sat down on the bed, patting the mattress next to him.

“Come, Y/N. Let’s make a toast,” He said, voice bright with a hint of a teasing manner. 

You didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t blink.

“I didn’t come here to flirt with you. Say what you need to say. Say why the hell you wanted me to come here.”

He leaned back against the headboard, one leg over the other like he had all the time in the world. One hand was still wrapped around the stem of his wine glass. Your wine glass is lying on the bedside table.

“Fine,” He said finally, his tone fell lower. Darker. Way more dangerous. “So straight to the point then.”

The salesman took a sip of the red wine, humming to himself. 

“I already told you, my dear, I am going to make you mine. I’m going to shape you in a way that all that darkness will come out of you. Every last bit of it. You will thank me for it someday, Y/N, they always do.”

“They?” You repeated, cautiously. “So you were what? Obsessed with others, as well? Making them yours?”

He laughed quietly, swirling the wine around in his glass. The red liquid reflected the spark in his eyes.

“No, Y/N,” The Salesman said slowly. “They were just objects. Playthings.”

“Playthings? Is that what you do? Collect people to snap like your toys?”

“I played with them. Bent them. Broke them. And when they stopped being fun-” he shrugged. “I simply moved on with my life.”

You stared, the room suddenly feeling icy cold.

“Where are they now?” A part of you didn’t want the answer.

He glanced at you.

“Dead.”

Silence.

“Please say you’re joking.”

He took another sip of wine without taking his eyes off you.

“Oh, don’t act so shocked,” He said lightly. “They were far too boring.”

You watch him, the words circling in your head. Dead. Boring.

Like they meant nothing. Like they were disposable.

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe, but I am someone who sees potential and then brings it out….but none of them were like you.”

You took a little step back, feeling uneasy. You had squeezed your hands into fists, causing your nails to dig into your palms.

“So what happens,” you whisper. “When I’m no longer entertaining to you?”

“You won’t. Because you were born for this life. For me. You just need to see it.”

You hated him. Every stupid, sadistic piece of him. How his voice laced itself around your thoughts like a noose.

Your lips parted, wanting to speak. However, he cut you off before the protest could leave your tongue.

“You know, I saw you kissing him by the way,” His voice slipped into something darker, laced with mockery. “Gi-hun. Cute.”

You froze. 

“....How did you-?”

“Second safehouse. Bed. Midnight. Ring a bell?”

Your blood ran cold. He sipped the wine, then placed it down on the bedside table. “So tell me….” He tilted his head. “Who’s the better kisser?”

You were caught between disbelief and outrage.

But then you said it. Voice calm, but not gentle.

“Gi-hun.”

The Salesman stilled. The word landed like a slap across his face. The smirk didn’t disappear, it just dimmed. Softened at the corners. You saw something flashing behind his eyes, something that resembled hurt. But it vanished in a split second.

He stood.

“I’m afraid that was the wrong answer,” he spat out.

And then he moved fast.

He took hold of you, one sharp yank, then kissed you hard. Possessive. Brutal. As if he were trying to scrub any memory of Gi-hun’s mouth from your lips. You were pressed against a wall with a thud, his lips kissing harder, his hand pressing down on your jaw like a vice so you couldn’t escape it.

Your body stiffened, resisting, but then, if only for a moment, a heartbeat, you felt something else. Something that made you forget yourself, something that caught your breath, if only for a moment. Your pulse was racing. You hated it. You hated how he could still do this to you. 

The kiss broke.

But he didn’t step back. No. He leaned in so his lips were near your ear. “There. How about now?”

You were frozen. Not entirely by fear.

His thumb lightly brushed the edge of your bottom lip, taunting. Intimate in the worst way.

“You’re not frozen because you hate it,” He said softly. “You’re frozen because you’ve felt it.”

No, no, no. This was wrong. You couldn’t catch feelings for him.

Your hand, still curled to the side, crept towards your pocket, slow and discreet, fingers grazing your phone.

“Ah-ah.”

His voice sliced through your focus. He was already moving, too fast. He reached out, grabbing your wrist tightly before you had time to grab the phone.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

“Seriously?” He said, almost sounding disappointed. “I kiss you, and you decide to grab your phone? Who were you going to text, your little boyfriend?”

“Let go of me.” Attempting to pull back from his grip.

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt you, just enough that you knew who was in control.

“No can do.” His hand goes into your pocket, pulling out the phone. It made you feel small. Violated. Exposed. 

He presented it in front of your view, rotating it in the palm of his hand, humming to himself. “I don’t need you giving those trash any ideas. Especially not Gi-hun.”

“GIVE IT BACK!” Your voice, slightly breaking this time.

“Not until you admit it. What you truly want. Who you belong to.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your mouth fell with each breaking breath.

“I don’t belong to you.”

The statement sliced through both of you like a knife, every word hitting harder and harder. You noticed his body frozen, stiff, unmoving, but his eyes were. His eyes were ablaze. Burning. 

For a beat, he was still. Didn’t say a word. The only sound in the room was the slight hum of the overhead lights, the slight sound of the rain pouring down outside. 

His expression had hardened from his usual amused and smug self to one of something more dark. Sinister. Untamed.

“What. Did. You. Say?” His voice whispered, low in a growl, sending the hairs on the back of your neck to stand.

“I said,” You repeated, tilting your chin higher, glaring into his eyes. “I don’t fucking belong to you.”

That was all it took.

He spun around and stormed to the bed, yanking a pillow, withdrawing the gun from under it, doing so with a smooth motion. His face remained as calculating and cold as ever. He waved it around, twirled it, and flipped it, as if it were anything but a weapon. 

“Sit," he said, pointing the gun at the chair across the room. “Sit down. Now.”

You didn’t move. Your pulse was pounding in your chest, your brain was screaming at you to move, to do something, but your body strained in defiance.

“I said. SIT,” He repeated, the anger in his voice rising. 

His fingers remained curled around the trigger, but he was in no hurry. He loved this, loved the power he had over you. The control of it. You still didn’t sit. Your legs felt like stone, but would not show even a hint of weakness. 

“SIT. OR I’ll MAKE YOU!”

“Not. A. Chance.”

The gun never wavered. Neither of your stance. The air was thick with tension, each breath was heavy with the words they had not yet spoken. Your body shook, but you tried desperately to hold your ground, locking eyes with him. 

The Salesman did not move either, his gun was now pointed at you. He wasn’t flinching, wasn’t budging. But you were not going to give up, either. Ignoring the burning in your belly, you took a step toward him, closing the distance. 

“Pull the trigger. I doubt you’ll do it. After all you said you wanted me as yours,” Your voice was laced with defiance.

The words hung, a challenge, a dare, in the air between them. For a moment he didn’t react, didn’t even move, his eyes were still boring into yours with that weird calm. The tension crackled like electricity, each testing the other’s resolve. 

Without a second thought, the Salesman pulled the trigger.

You heard the gunshot ring out and felt your body snap with the force of the bullet. The burning sensation of the pain was now coursing through you, but there was no time to process it. Your blood welled from your stomach, causing you to drop to the floor, falling to your knees, your fingers clawed at the wound, trying uselessly, desperately, to hold yourself together. To stop the bleeding. 

You were gasping for air, pressing your back against the wall behind you, but even through the fog of pain, your eyes were glued to his. The Salesman leaned in closer, kneeling down beside you, his presence was chilling and uneasy. That same contorted smile crept on his lips as he felt his eyes rake over your fallen form. Clearly enjoying this.

“See, Y/N?” He said, his voice was dripping with amusement. “That wasn’t too hard, now was it?”

The words slapped you across the face, and though they hurt, you somehow were able to speak, your voice was hoarse, but full of rage. “Fuck you.”

He paused, narrowed his eyes, they became more predatory, more darker. “Oh, you want me to fuck you? Well, you should have said that before I shot you.” His tone was mocking you.

Immediately your gaze looked down to the blood pooling on the floor. He reached out, his finger brushing some of your face out of your face. The touch was cold, nearly clinical, as though he was admiring what he did to you. To see how you were reacting to this. He left his fingers a moment too long against your skin as he slowly stood up, relishing in how you looked in pain. 

You heard a loud scraping sound, forcing you to look up, he got a chair and pulled it across the room, the sound of the legs were breaking the silence. He set it down opposite you and sat down in a relaxed posture, like he was just waiting for you to break. Ready for the next round of his so called games. He settled his hands on his knees, and tilted his head a bit.

“You’re not broken yet, but you will be,” He murmured, in a predatory low growl. “And when you are, you’ll thank me for that.”

With that, he relaxed into the chair more comfortably, keeping eye contact on you, his smile widening just a little more. You could hardly hold your own head up, the room was starting to spin.

“Is this what you wanted?” You spat out. “To break me? To make me beg?”

“No, I don’t need you to beg. Not yet at least. But you will. Oh, you will,” His voice lowered. “And when you finally do, you will realise just how much you belong to me.”

He shifted in the chair, creaking it forward. “But right now?” He continued, walking slowly over to you. “Right now, you’re mine in every sense but the obvious one.”

He casually took a hold of your chin, and made your face look into his. “And trust me, darling,” He hissed, his voice was filled with malice. “I’m going to make you remember that. Even if it means hurting you.”

Everything around you whirled, your vision was blurring again as the bloodloss worsened, making you feel light headed. 

“Stay here I’ll be back." 

He walks out the door and shuts it behind him, leaving you alone, surrounded by the cold, the pain and the echos of what he said.

A/N: If you would like to be tagged in the next chapters feel free to leave a comment, you can also suggest things you would love to see in the series.

Credit for divider: omi-resources