#there's a desperation there—he keeps going back trying to get his hands on whatever he can trying to get Rishi out of there

[fangel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the TV remote. You scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You adore it, the way he makes you feel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dollhouse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look doll-like.

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

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

“Perfect.”

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

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

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

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

[peachesofteal]

Nori is such a menace she would deadass call Simon dad on purpose

Nori isn’t in bed when you wake up, and that’s a problem. 

You’ve been lucky, you guess, that Simon has been letting her sleep in your room. He even lets you lock it at night… if you’re “good”.

Small victories, or whatever. 

He’s figured out how to keep you here. How to threaten you effectively, complaints to child services, getting you fired from your job, getting you evicted, dumping your car in a river- 

Faking your death, and Nori’s. Letting you run only to bring you back again and again. 

“But I’d never hurt you, love. You or Nori, promise. Jus’ gotta trust me.” 

You’re biding your time. Waiting for the right moment, the opportune time to strike. He’s already told you he’ll have to leave for work, that he won’t be here for weeks or even months at a time, but he knows you’ll stay put. 

You’re not sure how he’s so confident, but you’re sure it’ll be his downfall. 

The saving grace in it all is that Simon doesn’t hurt Nori, or you. He’s not gentle with you so much, but with Nori, it’s different. It’s like watching a giant hold a delicate daisy in their massive hand, trying desperately not to crush it. 

It’s kind of… no. 

It’s kind of nothing. 

You rush out of the bedroom to find her sitting on the kitchen counter, little legs swinging and giggling, low cadence of Simon’s voice humming from the fridge to where she hovers over a big mixing bowl. 

“Mommy!” She smiles, arms up for a hug, but you stay on the outskirts, staring at the two of them. It’s bizarre how they look together. Nori is big for her age, was big when she was born, still in the ninety percentile, and next to him… she practically looks like she’s his. “Daddy said I could have pancakes.” Your mouth drop opens, so wide you know you’re catching flies. Simon only smirks. 

“Eleanor… baby, Simon isn’t… he’s not your dad.” Her little brow furrows, matching the pout in her bottom lip.

“But he said.” 

“He’s not your dad!” You snap, and the silence after is deafening. It lasts only a second before she bursts into tears, and Simon scowls at you. 

“Right, that’s enough.” He pulls her from the counter, holding her shoulders until she’s steady on her feet. “Go to your room and play, alright? Mum and I need to have a quick chat.” She looks from him, to you, nervously, reaching her hand out for yours. You squeeze it. 

“It’s okay, go ahead.” She nods, and waddles off, leaving you alone. With him. 

It’s quick this time. Face in the pillow, bent over his knees. He doesn’t pull your leggings down either, just wails on your ass, grunts every time he makes contact, squeezing and cooing as you sniffle. 

“If you’d listen, we wouldn’t have to do this honey.” 

“I’m not listening to you! You… you kidnapped us!” You’re trying to keep quiet for Nori’s sake, but it’s hard. Everything is hard. It’s unfair. He sighs.

“You’re in your own home, honey. How have I kidnapped you?” 

“Not kidnapped.” He hauls you upward, holding the back of your neck, wiping at your wet cheeks. “You’re holding us hostage. Just… leave! Let us go. Please.” It’s been weeks of this, and you won’t give up. The pleading. The begging. The tears don’t stop, and he pulls you into his chest. 

“I know, it’s hard isn’t it? I know.” He rubs your back, lips on your temple. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

“Stop,” you croak, shaking your head. The comforting, the coddling, the affection makes it all worse. The way he kisses you, holds you. How he pulls you down on his cock and fills you up, wrists pinned tight at your back, your tits bouncing as he thrusts. 

You don’t want it. 

You beg him to stop. 

And he only holds you tighter as you come, eyes rolled back in your head, thighs shaking. 

It fills you with shame. Confusion. 

“I’m not going to stop, okay honey? We need to get this out of your system before the next one comes.” He caresses your stomach, and nausea builds in your throat. 

He’s been fucking you without a condom for weeks. Weeks. 

Your last birth control pack ran out six days ago. 

The time is ticking away. A bomb waiting to detonate, and there’s nothing you can do but sit in his lap- 

And cry. 

Later, he offers ice cream. A walk down the street to the parlor in search of Nori’s favorite flavor. A walk where you will pass people who will perceive you as a happy family, when all you want to do is grab one of them and beg for help. 

Nori is so excited for ice cream,  so happy. 

You can’t say no. 

“We’ll find you some strawberry baby girl. That sound good?” The two of you are putting on hats and jackets as he observes, thick fingers zipping your coat to your chin. “Can’t have you catching a chill.” 

“Right.” Nori beams as he does the same, tapping her nose before hoisting her up over his shoulder. 

“Ready?” 

She smiles at you mischievously, arms wrapped around his neck. “Ready, daddy.” 

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ LET ME TREAT YOU ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 박종성 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: jay was a giver, he always has been. so when your darling boyfriend decided to treat you with his new pay check, you were as grateful as always, but you soon decide that there were more important things than a new pair of jeans

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!jay x non-idol!reader, est. relationship

warnings: attempts at humour, the smallest hint of angst, potential to feel guilt bcs jay is too good for this world

[archive]

“I might try this one on too.”

Jay smiled, gesturing for you to let him hold the jeans.

His first pay check had just arrived and your boyfriend had surprised you with a trip to the mall and a nice lunch.

You felt like you’d already splurged enough on the delicious affogato at the cafe but Jay had insisted that you both treat yourselves to some new clothes. And you desperately wanted a new pair of jeans.

“Jay, I swear, it’s impossible to find one that fits exactly the way I want.” You had about four different styles of denim pants hung over one arm as you sifted through the hangers for more options.

Jay was designated with the task to keep track of which jeans seemed closest to your desired style.

You had your back turned to him but you could still hear your boyfriend sigh a little, leaning against the wall as you continued your hunt.

“Love,” he called out, “how about you start trying some of these and see if we can eliminate some options.”

You waved a hand as a gesture for him to wait a second. “I just need one more!”

Jay scoffed a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Mhm.”

more under cut !!

After staying silent for a few moments, Jay cleared his throat. “If these jeans fit anything like the ones you’re wearing right now, then I guess it’ll be worth it.”

You gasped, flicking your head to the side, “Park Jongseong!”

Heart racing at the sound of his laughter, you turned away hastily to grab the last pair of jeans in your size before rushing off to the trials rooms.

“Goddamn, slow down.” Jay followed behind you, his long strides helping him catch up in no time.

A smirk creeped onto your face and you shook your head involuntarily at the way Jay pulled you closer by your waist, walking in tandem as you reached the last stall.

“Here.” He handed you the pile you considered ‘Pile 1’ aka the jeans that you were hoping and praying would fit you because they looked perfect. He proceeded to take ‘Pile 2’ off your hands. “Gimme those, and I’ll be right here if you need me.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks baby,” you whispered, before sliding the curtain shut.

Out of the four jeans you’d brought into the trail room, three fit you quite nicely, but one in particular, was perfect. So much so that you couldn’t help but poke your head out (followed by a quick laugh at Jay’s startled expression) before asking him to come inside.

“So, what do you think?”

Jay dropped the jeans he was holding onto the trail room seat, his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated between you and your reflection in the mirror.

You turned a couple times to glance at yourself, extremely satisfied with the way they fit.

“You look great,” Jay smiled, his eyes closing slightly into half mooned crescents. “You definitely need to get these.”

You brushed your hair back, sighing from the relief of finally finding a new pair of jeans and not having to wear the same two pieces you had for years. “How much is it?” You asked aloud, turning back to let Jay check the tag.

You watched his face as the sound of cardboard brushing against his fingertips filled the small room. His expression was pretty unmoving, a simple jut of his lower lip followed by a nod.

“It’s good, totally fits the budget.”

You frowned, “Okay… What is it, though?”

“Uh…”

You twisted around to check the tag yourself before feeling your jaw drop. “What?”

Jay stepped forward, his hands enveloping yours, making you let go of the price tag as he turned you back around to face your guys’ reflection. “Don’t worry about it.”

You blinked at his nonchalance, “Jay, it’s not within our budget, it is our budget.”

“You know I can afford it,” he reasoned.

“That’s not the point!”

“Love-”

You look away from the mirror, facing your boyfriend and resting your hands against his chest. “Jay, this is your first proper pay check, this isn’t an internship anymore, you deserve this money.”

“I know that.” Jay leaned a little closer, “But I want to spend it on you.”

You pursed your lips. On the one hand, you really wanted these jeans, but agreeing to spend that much money on them — regardless of the fact that quality denim is an investment — it wasn’t fair to Jay and therefore, went against everything that you stood for.

“I’m not doing it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I don’t need these. I want them, but I can — no, I will find a more affordable price.”

Jay opened his mouth to interject, only to be silence by your soft palm against his lips.

Your voice was just a whisper, “I don’t want you to convince me. You already give me so much, Jay. We can buy me some nice jeans another time, just enjoy the money you earned for yourself, please.”

Jay’s eyes darted back and forth between yours, you could feel the gentle smile of his lips against your palm before you removed it.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you closer and kissing you tenderly. “I’m not exactly happy with this,” his words came out muffled between your kisses, “But just know that I will be spoiling you soon.”

“How about you let me pick out some clothes for you and we’ll call it even?” You slid your arms around his neck.

Jay smirked. “That’s not even in any way.”

“You’ll get a hot new outfit.”

“Tempting.” He leaned forward, nudging your noses together.

a.n: second instalment of the ‘kiss me don’t say no’ drabble series !! trust cute bf jay to want to treat you when he should be the one getting special treatment :(

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf

2025 © yourislandgirl

[oh-no-its-bird]

Very rare nsfw Bird au !! Pls do not interact if ur a minor or I'll fucking kill myself, and then no one will get anymore Naruto content because I'll be dead

So, you know that one type of fic that's like "Tobirama sleeps Madara in an attempt to calm him the fuck down / give him something to focus on / tie him to the village so he will be less likely to leave or self destruct" ?

Ok so THAT. but now throw Hikaku in there to help. They are teaming up to try and tie Madara down before he doom spirals

Ok so. Hikaku and Tobirama talk about how they're worried about Madara's looming self implosion / mental state

Tobirama is like "don't worry, I'll take care of this."

And Hikaku is kinda press x to doubt but also kinda "alright, good luck"

Only for a couple days later Madara to seem to calm down / have become dramatically more smug and peaceful.

So, yk, Hikaku is like "woah, Senju-sama what did you do? Whatever it was, keep it up, this is wonderful I haven't seen him so level in months."

And Tobirama is like "Hmm. Yes. Letting him have his way with me certainly did seem to help calm him, didn't it?"

And Hikaku is like record scratch car crash noises "letting him WHAT."

So Tobirama explains that yeah, he let Madara fuck him. A lot. Also he would NOT shut up during it, which Tobirama also just kind of let happen which also seemed to help...? Double time therapy, I guess

And Hikaku is like. Head in his hands. If it works it works...? He guesses...? Oh my god he wish he didn't know this tho

BUT THEN.

Tobirama is gone for a week on a mission, and Madara is looking pretty bad. Like, sharp decline, he is in a bad way. And Hikaku, panicking, is like "oh fuck what would Tobirama do" and then ends up throwing himself at Madara out of desperation

It works !! Surprisingly well !! There were a couple hiccups at first maybe, but Madara and Tobirama were never exclusive or anything (and Madara might have partially agreed out of spite for Tobirama)

Madara calms down, Hikaku is left with his head spinning and very "fuckkkkk ok, too late to back out now. It worked, we are commiting"

Tobirama comes back and is pleased, less work for him. Good job Hikaku, he knew u were a real one

Now, this is purely tactical for Tobirama (at that point) it's a strategic fuck to calm Madara down, with a bonus of usually being good for him.

So he is pleasantly surprised Hikaku backed him up. He would have thought Hikaku might try and find someone else to throw at Madara, the fact he would sacrifice himself only further proves his loyalty to the village in his eyes

Hikaku one of the real ones fr, Tobirama's trust and respect in him is on the rise

Hikaku still has his head in his hands as he digests the fact this is his life now

Meanehile: In Madara's little world, rhe senju bastard AND his hot most loyal man in the world are throwing themselves at him. He is convinced he's winning.

And like, he is, to be fair. But only because of the mental illness

Madara is sitting around creating convoluted soap opera plot lines for the three of them in his head.

Like, he's imagining Hikaku and Tobirama office cat fighting over him, one of them getting jealous over the other, competing for his attention and affection. Two of Konoha's most powerful, well respected, high ranking shinobi... and they are fighting over Madara... he's so back..

Meanwhile Tobirama and Hikaku are telling eachother ab their recent Madara interactions and going "oh good, that should keep him calm for a few days" and nodding at eachother like "we are in this mess together, my brother in arms"

So, Madara ends up noticing the vibes in that corner and then he possibly ends up getting jealous of them spending too much time alone together (they are strategizing on what to do with/to him next) and gets even more pouty and mad even after they fuck, because "I bet this bitch was thinking about Tobirama/Hikaku the whole time >:(

(Meanwhile, Madara was the one thinking about the other the whole time. Mostly in the context of them joining them)

He finally snaps and rejects one of Tobirama's advances while saying something stupid shit like "why don't u just go sleep with HIKAKU, since I know thats where you REALLY wanna be. You think I haven't noticed you sneaking around with him, huh? Huh? Whore."

And Tobirama is like "are we seriously doing this now? Is this seriously what we are doing? Ok."

And Tobirama and Hikaku now have to strategize to come on to Madara TOGETHER or smthn, or at minimum put on some sort of production to feed into his sudden insecurities so they can guide him out of them

Madara meanwhile remains suspiciously fixated on the idea of them sleeping together (without him!!!! How dare they!!!!)

All of that is to say:

Tobirama and Hikaku end up sleeping together for Madara and having to put on a big show of it just to make Madara feel like he still has the power here.

Tobirama is largely indifferent to this turn of events, Hikaku remains "oh my god how is this my fucking life" but also "well. It's for the greater good, I guess. Not like it's a horrible fate for me."

So anyways: Hikaku and Tobirama alliance to try and calm Madara the fuck down via fucking and letting him fuck them. Pass it on.

[sparklyskies0]

crawling back to you, c.s

( in which ) Despite the love chris has for you, he’s perfectly fine with not taking action and making you his to end both of your suffering.

disclaimers: mutual pining, smut (unprotected p in v), kissing, miscommunication, slow burn, NOT EDITED! :)) 2,256 words

You swear you can feel him before you even see him. It's like your body recognizes his presence before your brain does─before your eyes lock onto his across the room.

Chris is leaning against the wall, head tipped back, the silver chain around his neck catching the dim glow of the LED lights. His hoodie is slipping off his shoulder slightly. He looks good─too good.

And you hate it, it's killing you.

You hate the way your stomach clenches when he exhales a slow drag from the joint between his fingers. Hate the way he only half-smiles when his eyes land on you, like he's been waiting, like he already knew you'd show up.

You shouldn't be here.

But you are.

And he's looking at you like that.

The party is loud, voices blending with bass-heavy music, but it all feels muted, like the world has shrunk to the space between you and him. You take a sip from your drink, something cold and sharp that does nothing to steady your nerves, and when you look up again, he's already moving.

Chris doesn't touch you when he stops beside you, but he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him.

"You came," he murmurs, voice low, just for you.

You dont know what to say to that, so you shrug.

"so did you."

Chris huffs out something that might've been a laugh if it didn't sound so bitter.

"I always do."

It's the truth, and its sit heavy in your chest. Chris is always there─always lingering just outside of reach, close enough to make you feel like you could have him if you really wanted, but far enough that you know better than to try.

You don't ask why he never says anything. You don't ask why he lets you have him in every way except the one that matters. You already know the answer.

Because he's too scared of what happens if he actually asks the question neither of you are brave enough to say out loud.

Do i wanna know?

"wanna get out of here?" he asks instead.

And you do. You always do

His apartment is quiet when you get there, the only sound is the low hum of the city outside. You shouldn't be here either. But here you are, following him inside, watching as he shrugs off his hoodie, runs a hand through his hair like he's trying to shake off whatever this is.

Like he doesn't know it never goes away.

But you want this, you want him and you've made that abundantly clear. He has too, in his own way. But yet again, you don't ask questions of why you can get close but never close enough.

You swallow hard, your throat dry despite the drinks, despite the haze of everything unspoken between you.

Chris watches you, jaw tight, fingers twitching at his side. Like he wants to touch you. Like he wants to do something about it.

But he wont.

You step closer, heart hammering, and press your palms to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. His breath catches, but he doesn't move, doesn't push you away.

"You gonna keep pretending this isnt real?' you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris swallows hard, his hands ghosting over your hips, like hes debating whether to grab you, whether to pull you in or let you go.

"You already know the answer," he murmurs.

His lips are so close, a breath away, and when he finally, finally presses his mouth to yours, it's not sweet, not gentle─its desperate. Like he's been holding back for too long. Like he's giving in just this once, even though you both know it won't fix anything.

His hand slips under your shirt, fingertips burning against your skin, you arch into him, gasping when he nips at your bottom lip. Its messy, its reckless, its everything you both pretend you don't want.

But you do.

You always do.

And it's never enough.

Chris kisses you like he's trying to memorize the way you taste. Like if he kisses you hard enough, long enough, he'll finally stop wanting you the way he does.

(It won't work. it never does.)

His hands slip beneath your shirt, fingers skating over your ribs, warm and familiar. He knows your body like a map, but only in stolen moments like this─only when the weight of not having you becomes unbearable.

You press closer, chest to chest, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, but chris is the one who slows it down. One hand curls around your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like hes savoring you, like he knows this will end the same way it always does.

A sigh. A goodbye.

A space between you that neither of you have the guts to close.

"Chris," you breathe, and its not a question, not an accusation─its a plea. One he hears loud and clear.

His forehead drops to yours, chest rising and falling against yours in sync, and you think for a second─just one─that maybe this time, he'll say something. Maybe this time, he won't just let you leave.

But then he exhales, slow and shaky. His fingers brush over your sides before pulling away completely, and just like that, its over.

You blink at him, still caught in haze of it all, lips still tingling from his, body still buzzing with heat and he just looks at you.

Like hes sorry. Like he hates himself for this.

But also like he's okay with it.

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head as you step back, arms crossing over your chest in a weak attempt to shield yourself from the cold rush of reality.

" this is getting old, chris."

He flinches like the words sting, but he doesnt argue. He never does.

Instead, he just nods, dragging a hand down his face before looking at you with something that might be regret.

Might be love.

"I know."

And the worst part?

So do you.

You should leave. You should walk out of his apartment and out of his cycle, let the door shut behind you and pretend like you don't know exactly how this will go.

But you don't.

Instead, you stand there, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something, anything─but Chris just stares at you, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you and doesn't trust himself not to.

His eyes never leave you. He looks at you like you're the only thing keeping him standing, like if he doesn't do something right now, he's going to lose his mind.

And maybe that's why you do it.

Why you grab the front of his hoodie, fisting the fabric and yanking him toward you. Why you crash your mouth against his like you need to feel him now, before he disappears again.

Chris stumbles back slightly but recovers fast, his hands landing on your waist, gripping like he's scared you'll pull away. Like he's still trying to figure out if he's allowed to have you.

You part your lips, exhaling against his mouth, and that's all it takes─Chris breaks.

A low groan rumbles from his chest as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak. His fingers tighten on your hips, pulling you flush against him, and─fuck─he's hard, pressed up against your stomach like he's been waiting for this longer than he'd ever admit.

You don't even realize you're backing up until your shoulders hit the wall, and Chris is on you, caging you in, his hands everywhere─your waist, your back, your face. He kisses you like he's starving, like he's been dying of thirst and you're the only thing that can save him.

His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and you whimper, tilting your head back. That sound─it does something to him.

Chris's breath is ragged as he dips his head, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking just hard enough to make your stomach flip. His hands slip beneath your shirt, fingertips dragging up your sides, warm and rough, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Fuck," he mutters against your skin. "You don't─" he exhales sharply, shaking his head. "You don't get it."

You tilt your head, gasping when his tongue swipes over the mark he just made. "Get what?"

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown.

"How bad i want you."

Something in your chest tightens─because you do get it. You've always gotten it.

And you're tired of pretending like you don't want him just as bad.

Your hands slip under his hoodie, dragging up his stomach, nails scratching lightly against his skin, and Chris shudders, his breath hitching.

"Then show me," you whisper.

Something snaps.

Chris surges forward, kissing you so hard your head knocks against the wall, but you don't care. His hands are on you, desperate and unrelenting, as he tugs your shirt up, over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. His hoodie follows, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

Your fingers trail down his stomach, grazing the waistband of his jeans, and Chris exhales a sharp fuck, his head dropping to your shoulder.

"Don't tease," he rasps. "Not tonight."

You nod, slipping your hand past the waistband, palming him through his boxers. He groans, hips jerking into your touch, and the sound alone sends heat pooling between your legs.

Chris suddenly grips your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and you yelp, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you toward the nearest surface─his bedroom.

The second your back hits the mattress, he's on you again, kissing down your body, his hands rough and greedy as they tug at your jeans, dragging them down. You help, kicking them off and then its just him and you, bare skin against bare skin, all warmth and need and desperation.

Chris pauses for a second, hovering over you, his chest heaving. His eyes search yours, something unspoken lingering between you.

You nod, reaching up to cup his jaw, "im yours, Chris."

And thats all he needs.

He kisses you slow this time─deep, consuming, like he wants to take his time memorizing the way you feel beneath him. His hands roam, learning every inch of you, before he finally gives you what you both need.

And when he pushes into you, stretching you open, filling you completely─

you let out a strong moan. A gasp.

Your back arching off of the bed. Chris grips your hips, he bottoms out inside of you , groaning softly.

"Fuckk.."

He thrusts into you like hes trying to carve himself into your bones. Like if he presses hard enough, you'll never be able to forget the way he feels.

His forehead drops against yours, breaths tangled, his lips brushing yours with every sharp thrust. Your nails dig into his back, dragging down the smooth skin, desperate to ground yourself because its too much─but at the same time, not enough. "oh my godd─chris.."

"Fuck," chris mutters, voice ragged. "You feel─" He groans, finger gripping your waist so tight you know you'll feel it tomorrow. "You feel so fucking good."

Your body arches again into him, heat coiling low in your stomach. "chris─"

"i got you, baby." the words slip out, quiet and unintentional, and chris freezes for half a second─like he wasnt supposed to say that.

But you dont let him pull away.

Your hands cup his jaw, forcing him to look at you, and the moment your eyes lock, something shifts.

Its not just about the desperation anymore. Not just about the frustration, the push and pull, the months─years─of unspoken tension.

its about this.

Chris and you.

Together, for the first time without hesitation, without pretending like this isn't exactly where you both belong.

His pace slows, hips rolling against yours with an intensity that has your breath catching in your throat. Its deep, slow, devastating─and suddenly, you feel the weight of it, the way he's holding you like you might disappear, the way he presses his lips to your temples like he's scared to say what he's thinking.

You pull him closer, wrapping your legs around him tighter.

"Chris.." you breathe, titing your chin up to kiss him. He groans into your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening as he picks up the pace again, thrusts growing rougher, more desperate.

He's losing himself inside of you. The slick feel of your tight pussy clenching around him and pulling him in.

"i know," he whispers against your lips, voice wrecked. "I know, baby."

Your stomach tightens, pleasure twisting dangerously low,, and you can feel it building, seconds away from─

Chris's fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, and─

Everything shatters.

Your head tips back, his name falling from your lips in a broken, needy whimper, and chris follows right after, his stuttering, his grip on you bruising as he cums with a low, drawn─out groan.

You both stay still, neither of you moving. Chris stays pressed against you, his forehead buried in your shoulder, breath still ragged. Your fingers find his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and you feel him shudder.

And when he finally lifts his head, looking at you like you hung the fucking stars.

Your'e not sure if you want to say anything,

Not sure if you wanna know what happens next.

ᥫ᭡ Authors Note

this is so long lmfao

chris saying what he said abt being

in love def inspired this so 👅🤘🏾

xoxo paris

[pursued-by-the-squid]

vii. stage fright

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 12.5k

ao3 | masterlist

“You should eat.”

Rolling over onto your side reveals Gi-hun, standing over your bed with a frown. “I’m not hungry,” you mumble before returning to your original position.

“You need to keep up your strength.” The mattress dips down by your feet and the bed creaks softly as it adjusts to Gi-hun’s weight. He seems to start a sentence a few times, his inhalations quiet yet sudden, but whatever it is he wants to say seems impossible to speak aloud. In the end, he relinquishes himself to an awkward pat on your foot.

How many times have the two of you been here? Each of you lost to your own grievances, trying so hard to push through the fog and failing every time. How many times has he texted you a reminder to get to bed early, to be careful when you go out the next morning, to eat something filling before class? How many times have you tried to do the same in return?

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you tell him, even as you’re moving to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “The thought of eating anything makes me feel sick.”

Gi-hun nods once in comprehension, his eyes suddenly softer as he watches you. “I understand,” he murmurs. You try not to think about how much it makes your heart flutter knowing that he cares.

It’s that very understanding, you think, that leads you both to the meal line. Neither of you wants to eat, but neither of you wants the other to go hungry. Eating will keep his mind sharp, it’ll make him faster and stronger, and it will do the same for you of course, it’s just that you can’t stop thinking about all those people… All that blood…

Try not to think about it, you tell yourself, but it’s so much easier to say than it is to do. Everywhere you look is a reminder of just how dire your circumstances are. The ominous piggy bank hanging overhead, the player count, the blood still on Gi-hun’s face, each of them a ghost intent on haunting you. How can you possibly–?

“[___]?”

One moment you’re lost to the horror of it all, and the next you find yourself blinking up at the face of the last person you would have ever expected. “Young-il-nim?”

Your first thought is that you’re imagining things, so traumatized by the first game that you’ve fully lost it, but then – oh, then he’s smiling and he laughs, and it’s him, it’s really him.

“Oh my God,” you cry, throwing your arms around him in a desperate embrace. “What are, what are you doing here? How did you-? Why did you-? Shit, are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Young-il chuckles to himself as your trembling hands go scrambling over his shoulders and chest to check for injuries. “I’m alright,” he assures you, as if he hasn’t a care in the world. But then his expressions shifts and he ducks his head to try and catch your eyes. “But what are you doing here? You don’t belong in a place like this.”

A brief image of the masked man invading your home comes to mind before you banish it. You shake your head. “It’s a long story,” you sigh, “and difficult to explain. I…” Words are lost to you. You have so many thoughts buzzing inside your brain that it’s difficult to think clearly, to conjure up the shapes and sounds you need to explain yourself.

“It alright,” he says after a moment. You catch him glancing to the side, meeting Gi-hun’s eyes over your shoulder, before looking back to you. “Eat first. I’ll find you after and we can talk then.”

He nods his head respectfully to both of you before walking off, food in hand and the numbers ‘001’ sewn to the back of his jacket. Something twists painfully in your gut, probably the knife he’s just lodged between your ribs.

“Who was that?” Is it your imagination or does Gi-hun’s voice sound deeper than before?

“A friend.” But now the words are sour on your tongue. Because Young-il was the one to break the tie. Young-il was the one to trap you here for another game. Young-il was the one who stood up against everything Gi-hun has been fighting against, and your face is awash with shame because of it.

“Young-il-nim.”

From his spot on the steps, he’s forced to tip his head back to meet your eyes and for a moment, you almost forget the reason you’ve sought him out. His hair is different, you suddenly realize. It swoops over his temples, soft and boyish, and it changes his face just so. All those harsh edges you’ve grown accustomed to are rounded out, less garish despite the fluorescent lighting and the terrible circumstances. And still, the blue patch on his chest marks him as a traitor. It may as well be soaked in your own blood and Gi-hun’s for what it’s worth.

He smiles and gestures to the empty space on his left with his elbow. “Come and sit.”

How can he be like this? How can he sit there and look at you with such blatant fondness, how can he still have an appetite after the things you’ve both just witnessed?

Your voice comes out much harder than usual once you finally find it. “What are you doing?”

Confusion flickers in his eyes. “Eating?”

“No. Here. What are you doing here? Why did you vote to stay?”

Young-il glances down at the X on your jacket, nodding, and the light-hearted tint to his smile finally fades. “I’m sorry.”

Your legs kick into gear before your mouth does, bringing you to the step just below his. You can’t quite bring yourself to sit beside him, to allow yourself that familiarity or closeness when his betrayal still sits heavy in your stomach, but this is not a public conversation either. You’re not here to embarrass him.

“You’re angry.”

“Can you blame me? People died, I almost–”

“I know,” he sighs as he hangs his head. “I know.”

“So why?”

Young-il’s expression turns distant, serious. “It’s complicated.”

Yeah, there seems to be a lot of that around here. But there’s something more, something he’s not telling you. He’s usually decent enough at keeping his more intense feelings close to his chest, but for once you find that you can see the intricacies of his heart quite easily. Regret and uncertainty are the most obvious to you, yet there are others lingering in the creases of his eyes and his mouth, things you don’t know how to put into words but that strike you as profound all the same.

“Your business, is it… Did something happen?”

A shadow passes over him, then, that flicker of something cold and distant that you’ve seen only once or twice before. He nods thoughtfully. “You could say that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His mouth curls into a frown. You might almost consider it a gesture of concern. “And make you worry needlessly? There’s nothing you could’ve done even if I had.” He looks over your shoulder again, surveying the room, his throat bobbing near your eye level. “I could ask the same of you, but I’d wager I already know the answer.”

You huff, irritated and frustrated and a million other things, turning so he’s behind you as you open your dinner. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t come here for the money.”

The toe of his shoe nudges into your back, drawing your attention. “You let that recruiter talk you into it?” Young-il tsks. “What have I told you about talking to strangers?”

He’s only teasing, of course. You know that. But even as a joke, the words hit too close to home. You’ve never told him about your encounter with the ddakji recruiter. You’ve never told him about how you met Gi-hun. You’ve never told him that since coming to Korea, every problem you’ve faced has arisen in part because you were stupid enough to engage with a stranger. Before now, you never had any intention of telling him any of it.

You eye the dinner tin in your hands. It smells good enough, but you still feel a bit queasy. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to keep it down or not.

“It wasn’t the recruiter that got me here.” It’s easier to tell him when you can’t see his face, for some reason, when you’re pretending that it doesn’t rip you apart just to admit the truth. Poking your utensil at the rubbery looking egg in your tin, you let out a sigh. “Someone took me.”

The muscles in his calf go tight against your back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was kidnapped. One of them.” You nod in the direction of the dinner line. “The men with the masks.”

His voice is softer when he replies. “You didn’t call the number like the rest of us?”

“No. I promised Gi-hun that I wouldn’t, but I guess… I guess it didn’t matter, in the end.”

Glancing down at your food is a challenge, actually eating it is even harder. It tastes like sawdust in your mouth and the instant it hits the back of your throat, you gag, very nearly spitting everything out on the floor. You don’t, thankfully, but it takes a long swig of water to ensure that the food stays down.

“Why would the soldiers want to kidnap you?” he asks once several long minutes have passed. You can hear the low clinking of his dinner tin behind you as he presses the lid shut.

Your first instinct is to claim ignorance, and it wouldn’t even be a lie if you did. You have no connection to these games, no desire to play, and no reason to stay. Gi-hun provides you with everything you need. But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Gi-hun is the sole connection you have – you shredded the ddakji woman’s business card ages ago, the night you swore to never play the game again, and you shredded the last one too.

Your attention narrows in on a single grain of rice, as if it holds all the answers you seek. “I can’t help thinking it’s because of who I know,” you admit, reluctantly.

You glance up and over your shoulder in time to see Young-il fixing his eyes on something across the room – Gi-hun. “Player 456?”

You nod quietly in agreement.

“Isn’t he the one who’s played before?”

Another nod.

“So, he’s a friend of yours, then.”

The distant recollection of a night long since passed floats across your mind’s eye. That night seems so long ago now. Sure, it’s been a couple years, but it feels like even longer now that you’re here, as if the businesswoman and the ddakji are memories of another life.

“He warned me about this place, told me he didn’t want me dragged into all of this. That’s why I called you, you know – that one time, a few months back? I thought someone from this place had killed him and you were the only person I could think of to go to when I thought he was gone. And then last night, before the soldier, he came to say goodbye and I thought…”

You’d thought a lot of things. But you hadn’t thought of something like this ever happening.

“I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m stuck here now.”

It isn’t something that you mean to imply, but there’s an unspoken ‘no thanks to you’ that haunts the space between you. It’s not entirely his fault. Young-il has his own problems that he has to work through, that much is clear, and he has no way of knowing all the chaos going on in your personal life. If you have blame to place, it can��t rest solely on his shoulders, but that doesn’t make the reality of his vote any less painful or disappointing.

The stairs behind you groan as Young-il stands, the long shadow cast by the overhead lights falling lengthwise across your body. “You know,” he begins, steadily easing himself to the ground level on step at a time, “if your friend has played before, maybe we stand a better chance at winning the next round.”

Huh. That hadn’t even occurred to you. You were so busy being scared out of your mind that you hadn’t stopped to think there might actually be some hope. It’s slight, of course, and mostly obscured in your mind by the splatters of blood and lifeless bodies you saw on the field today, but the hope is there nonetheless. If you can survive the next round, then…

“Do you think there’ll be another vote?”

“Yes,” he nods, “after each game.”

Your shoulders suddenly feel a little lighter. “Then we could make it long enough to get out of here, vote a second time and go home.”

Young-il purses his lips in consideration. “Maybe.”

Before he can elaborate any further, a shout echoes across the room. It starts somewhere over his shoulder, near the middle or front of the room where a group of three younger men have gathered. You and Young-il both turn toward the sound just in time to see one of the men fall to the ground while the other two loom over him, slamming their feet into his body over and over again, and every time he tries to stand, they smack him down. They’re hitting him hard. The man on the ground isn’t fully screaming, but he’s clearly in pain.

You’re on your feet before you even realize it. There’s nothing you feel you can do, not without risking one of the attackers turning their vengeance onto you, but it flips your stomach to see someone being beat so mercilessly. You cast a quick glance around the room – none of the other players nor any of the soldiers stationed near the doors look inclined to intervene.

“God, they’re gonna kill him,” you mutter, more in disbelief than anything else. Isn’t someone going to stop them?

Someone, apparently, means Young-il. When he first moves, you think he’s trying to get a closer look. Because of course he’s intrigued by the violence, you think with a slight roll of your eyes. God forbid he, or anyone else here, do something actually useful, but he surprises you. Instead of observing, he acts.

“Boys, what are you doing in the middle of dinner?” His voice cuts through the cursing and the flurry of fists and feet against skin. One of the men left standing, the one with the purple hair, glowers at him as he approaches. “No fights during mealtime. There are elders present. Mind your manners. And two against one? Aren't you embarrassed?”

You’ve… never heard him speak like that before. With you, he’s often quite easygoing, soft when he needs to be and rarely ever stern unless he’s concerned about something. But with these men, he does speak sternly. His body moves with the ease of a man who has no doubts about his own strength or perception.

The man with the purple hair – Thanos, you think you’d heard – curls his mouth into a sneer. “You're lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too?” As he advances on Young-il, you’re immediately taken aback by the amount of disrespect – he’s gesturing rudely, swaggering into Young-il’s personal space, quirking his eyebrows as if to suggest that there’s nothing about Young-il that he takes seriously. “Dude, stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn kids.”

You’re so stunned, you almost forget to breathe.

Young-il is equally surprised. Even from far behind him, you can see the way his body stills. “What did you say to me?” You can’t see his face, but honestly, you don’t need to. You can hear it all in his voice, can read it in the line of his shoulders.

“I said save the lecture for your own damn kid–”

The speed with which his arm shoots out is startling. You don’t even see it, really. One moment, Thanos is yapping his face off, and the next, Young-il has his fingers digging into the tendons of his throat. He twists his arm just so and the other man bends unnaturally at the waist to accommodate him. Then the other player – 124 – surges forward with a swear and you feel your heart leap into your throat, terrified your friend has just gotten himself into a fight that he cannot possibly win, but then Young-il kicks him in the shin and 124 goes sprawling on his back.

When you’d asked yourself if someone would do something to stop those two, this isn’t what you’d had in mind. Young-il isn’t ancient or decrepit by any means and he clearly thinks he can handle himself, but these men are younger than he is. What if he gets–?

His fist smacks right into Thanos’ chest, doubling him over as Young-il takes the opportunity to loom over him instead. This will be it, you think, a surprisingly swift punch to the sternum and it’ll all be over. He’s already proven himself, already made a fool of both these players.

Thanos raises a hand quietly, begging for him to stop. Only he doesn’t. Your feet are already carrying you to the floor, your dinner abandoned as you watch Young-il grab his hand, twist, and use the momentum to slam the other man into the ground. For a moment, they’re both frozen like that, Young-il lowered onto one knee with his fist raised while the other chokes and squirms helplessly beneath him.

You’re no longer worried about the poor player that had started this whole fight, you’re worried about the man who had attacked him. He’s choking and Young-il won’t let go. You can see his entire body shaking, his face flushing as his mouth twitches, his fist rising higher. He’s gonna kill him instead.

“Young-il!”

There’s no way he can’t hear you, but you’re terrified that he’ll ignore you anyway. He wouldn’t kill this guy, would he? He doesn’t seem the type. But the grip he has on Thanos’ throat is too strong, too intentional, and you’re just about to rush in and pry him off the man when he finally lets up. The other player takes a deep gasp, hands clawing at his neck as he recovers the breath Young-il had squeezed out of him, and then the entire room is bursting with applause. For the life of you, you cannot fathom why.

How long have you known him now, a couple years? Never, not once, in all that time has he ever said or done a single thing to make you look at him as anything other than what he is – your friend, a lover of coffee and fine art, a dedicated businessman with a tragic past and a penchant for terrible jokes. He was and always has been Oh Young-il, nothing less and nothing more. But as he clambers to his feet, his head bowed bashfully as he accepts the praise offered to him, you find yourself wondering if there isn’t just a bit more to him than he’s let on.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re also a bit… flushed. Seeing him react so effortlessly, witnessing the strength you never knew he had – it’s stirred up a bit of warmth in the pit of your stomach. You don’t really want to consider what that says about you.

He returns to you some moments later with his eyes averted. There’s something lingering on his tongue, perhaps an explanation, but he seems hesitant to give it and you’re equally hesitant to ask for it. Still, you’d be a fool to overlook how deeply Thanos’ words had affected him.

“Are you alright?”

Young-il nods as he passes, taking your attention with him. “I’m not hurt,” he assures you. He’s moved to pick up your dinner tray, as well as his own, stacking them on top of each other in his hands.

You reach for your water bottle before trailing after him, following his path to the front of the room where the trash cans are. “That’s not what I mean.” He’d told you to lecture your own kids, you think, and you snapped. He became someone else entirely, someone you don’t recognize, and that worries you. It also eerily reminds you of someone.

If he intends to respond, he shows no sign of it. He makes light work of your trays, emptying them of any leftover food before handing them and the utensils over to the nearest guard, a Circle Mask manning what remains of the dinner station.

“Young-il-nim.” You try to catch his eye when he turns to you once more, but he’s remarkably evasive, which only serves to further unsettle you. “Are you going to ignore me, or…?”

And that, at last, is enough to grab his attention. His shoulders drop with the weight of his sigh. “What do you mean, [___]?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d actually think he was upset with you.

“I mean, you…” There’s a flash of fists in the back of your mind, of Thanos choking. “I’ve just never seen you do that before.”

He lifts an eyebrow, then, as his expressions shifts from irritation to derision. “Does it bother you?” he asks.

Is that what he thinks? That you’re bothered? “No. But I didn’t think you were going to stop and that worried me.” It’s more honest than you had intended to be and you feel stripped bare because of it, like Young-il can see right through you because of your vulnerability.

You wish you knew what he was thinking. While you’re at it, you wish understood your own thoughts just as much as you wish you could fathom his. This – beating a younger man to a pulp simply because you’d expressed concern over an unfair fight – feels like something you should’ve known about, though you can’t help feeling like that’s a pretty ridiculous expectation to have. When would it have been relevant to reveal his secret self-defense moves? And why? Is it even fair of you to feel wary of him when it was your instigation that had prompted him to act in the first place?

Something dark flickers in the very depths of his eyes, something you don’t understand, but it’s gone before you can linger on it. His attention settles just past your shoulder, in the direction you’d seen Gi-hun and Jung-bae go to pick at their meals, and then he looks to you once more. Whatever darkness you thought you’d seen is long gone.

“Why don’t you introduce me to your friend?”

Gi-hun and Jung-bae have settled in the far corner. You’d noticed earlier that some of the other players had gathered around them at one point, likely asking any number of questions now that they knew a previous winner had returned. They’ve even made a new friend, from what you can tell – a very expressive younger man with long hair, number 388 – though Gi-hun seems less enthused about the younger man’s presence than his friend does.

You have no reason to hesitate when it comes to introductions. Gi-hun is your friend as much as Young-il is, yet you still feel the pull of uncertainty in your gut at the idea. They’ve been separate for as long as you’ve known them. Young-il is more of a school friend than anything; the coffee dates (not that they’re dates because they’re not), your initial meeting, all of it had happened on campus. Gi-hun is your strangely wealthy friend who keeps to himself and lets you fire weapons in the depths of his abandoned motel. One of them is clearly more normal than the other. And only one of them has kissed you thus far, so there’s also that.

You try not to think about it. Every step you take brings you closer to Gi-hun, who has not pulled his eyes from you for more than a second, not since Young-il suggested the introduction. Every step brings both halves of your life closer and closer together, and you feel a bit nauseous because of it.

It’ll be fine. You don’t even have anything to worry about. It’s not like Young-il’s betrayed everything that Gi-hun stands for with a single vote. It’s not like Gi-hun still hasn’t addressed the fact that he kissed you last night and he’s about to meet the only other person in the world that you could possibly consider kissing after him. Not that you would.

Ah, shit. Here goes nothing.

If it’s shame that begs you not to lift your eyes in Gi-hun’s presence, then that’s something you’ll be keeping to yourself. “Young-il-nim, this is Jung-bae-nim and–”

“You said you've played these games before, sir.”

Your mouth is still hanging open, Gi-hun’s name still caught between your lips as Young-il quite literally talks over you. He’s never talked over you before, not ever. And neither does he stop. He waits only for Gi-hun’s acknowledgement – a hesitant inclination of his head – before finally continuing, and he doesn’t even spare you a second glance when he does.

“I pressed the O button because of you. Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think maybe I could play just one more game.”

And you’re not offended in the least by his startling new rudeness. Not at all. Certainly not enough to snap your jaw shut with an audible click.

Jung-bae’s eyes suddenly alight with excitement. “Some of the other players said that!” He turns eagerly to his new friend with a grin, then nudges his elbow into Gi-hun’s ribs. “You see?”

Gi-hun is not amused and for once, you feel comforted by that. You don’t shrink when his gaze lingers on you, you return it confidently, if only because you’re less irritated with him than you are with Young-il. He braces his forearms atop his knees, his arms stretching out as he looks back and forth between you.

“If you had pressed the X,” he finally says, “everyone here would've made it out alive.”

Young-il hums lightly in response. “That's right. I was the last to press the O button,” and it’s remarkable, really, how unashamed he is to admit it. “But there were 182 more people who wanted to stay.”

“And there were also 182 people who wanted to leave. [___] included.”

Three sets of eyes settle upon you. Oh. You don’t like that. You don’t want to be brought into this discussion and you certainly don’t want Young-il to be looking at you like that, like he’s only just noticed you exist. You don’t like that everything you thought you knew has suddenly been flipped on its head, without rhyme or reason, and you don’t like that you’re left trying to fit the pieces back together entirely blind.

Gi-hun raises a brow. “You are friends, aren’t you?”

“We are.” He smiles and for the briefest moment, you feel like you’re watching a stranger rather than your coffee companion of two years. “But you’re a previous winner, Gi-hun-ssi. Why would you allow a friend to come here if it’s so dangerous?”

You don’t think much of him using Gi-hun’s name – why should you? But for Gi-hun, it seems to startle him. His eyes sharpen as they flicker across Young-il’s face, studying, searching, and then, “How did you know my name?”

You blink, pausing to look between the pair as you suddenly realize that you’re not sure you’ve ever explicitly used Gi-hun’s name before, not with him.

Young-il, to his credit, takes the inquiry in his stride. His smile falters for a moment as he tries to explain himself. “Oh, I… I heard [___] using it earlier, in line for dinner, and I thought I might try it.”

Did you? You can’t remember, though you aren’t sure that it really matters. You’ve loudly proclaimed Gi-hun’s name a handful of times since your reunion earlier today, so even if you hadn’t said it in line, it’s likely that Young-il noticed and made the connection himself. He’s always been perceptive like that.

Young-il leans in, his voice lowered and his face softened with an unspoken apology. “Does it bother you?” Just like he’d asked you only minutes prior.

A chill starts at the base of your spine. The air is thick with tension, both men gravitating toward one another as if there’s some grand competition going on that you’re entirely unaware of. You don’t like that either.

But before the tension can rise any higher, Jung-bae jumps in and attempts to diffuse the situation. His hands go fluttering about in the empty space between them, using some clever turn of phrase to smoothe out all the surface level ripples that have already transformed into waves rocking against your boat. A truce is formed, superficial at best, but it clears the air enough for you to breathe and for that, you’re grateful.

He keeps thinking about tomorrow. He keeps thinking about the sugary sweetness of dalgona on his tongue and the possibility of a pistol lodged against the base of his skull.

Gi-hun closes his eyes and takes a breath. It doesn’t change anything. The light from the pig lingers behind his eyelids as much as the thought of watching you bleed out and die does. The cool chill of a late night still clings to his bones, even among so many bodies. Or perhaps it’s Gi-hun who is cold. Perhaps he’s already dead and this is merely a delusion brought on by a half-sane mind in its final throes.

That would certainly be easier than the truth, wouldn’t it?

The stairs that lead to his bed creak beneath the weight of a foot, then another, and Gi-hun opens his eyes to see you standing close enough to touch. From this angle, the light doesn’t catch your face; you’re simply haloed, some bright and shining thing that he’s dragged with him into the pit of damnation.

“Hello.”

He hates that you sound so timid. You sound like the fragile student he once met in a snowy alley, not the passionate and bright-eyed person he knows you to be. But then, he supposes that it’s hard for you to find that spark he’s grown so accustomed to when you’re trying desperately to claw yourself out of a grave that is constantly demanding to swallow you whole. Unfortunately, he knows the feeling.

“Hello,” he replies. It feels forbidden to smile when he’s blockaded by memories and ghosts, but for you, Gi-hun finds that he can do all kinds of things. Even attempt a smile.

“Can I sit with you?”

Eyes darting first to the timer behind your head and then to the small stretch of open mattress by his feet, he nods haltingly, drawing his legs in so they’re folded atop on another. “Of course.”

There are no butterflies fluttering in his stomach when you sit on his bed. There’s no distant tremor in his hands or the drifting of his mind to far off places, imagining the sort of things he’d allowed himself only two nights ago. This isn’t the Pink Motel. He doesn’t know why he expects to feel the same stirrings in his gut that he usually does when he shares his space with you.

Then he remembers kissing you and he ducks his head in shame.

You take the far end of the mattress as expected, but it rather feels like you’ve placed yourself on the far end of a canyon. “I don’t want to talk,” you tell him, voice soft and uncertain. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just… don’t want to be alone right now.” Your feet dangle listlessly over the edge of the bedframe. “I can’t sleep.”

Gi-hun recalls feeling the same way on his first night. So much of this is painfully familiar. He almost wonders if Sang-woo’s spirit is watching him now, studying him from somewhere among the beds or lurking in the Squid Game field. He keeps expecting to see him every time he turns a corner. What would he think of the man that he’s become? The mattress squeaks when you adjust your posture and Gi-hun suddenly finds it hard to breathe. What would Sang-woo think of you?

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, so why does he care?

“I’m sorry.” Your apology draws him blinking from the recesses of his mind. “For everything. I know this isn’t what you wanted.”

Of course it isn’t, but why on Earth are you apologizing? “It isn’t your fault,” he starts.

“Maybe. But I still feel bad.”

Following the path of your attention leads him to a bed several paces away, closer to the main floor than his own bed. Your friend Young-il is settling in for the night, one of his legs drawn atop the mattress with the other hanging off as he contemplates something far beyond Gi-hun’s reach. And for the first time in months, probably since the night he followed your friend out of the university parking lot and all the way to his hotel, Gi-hun feels angry.

It’s a different kind of anger than the one he’d directed at you just today. That was an anger born of fear and helplessness and the realization that he’d put you in danger, born of his own guilt and his own affection for you. This? This is not that.

He’s not entirely sure what it is, but he knows that he feels it whenever you look at Young-il or Young-il looks at you. You have nothing to feel guilty for. You haven’t done anything wrong. It isn’t your fault that Young-il voted O and it isn’t your fault that you’re here, and he hates that you feel otherwise.

“You aren’t the one who should be apologizing.”

There’s more he could say, more that weighs on him, but he isn’t sure how to express it. He isn’t even sure if he should. What if he loses you tomorrow? And what if he doesn’t? What if the game isn’t dalgona? What if he’s the one who dies and you’re left alone with only Jung-bae and Young-il to protect you? A bitter piece of his heart flares up at the thought and he pretends not to think about what might happen if Young-il were to die instead because that’s not the kind of man he wants to be.

Instead, Gi-hun shifts around on the mattress until he’s mirroring your posture, his legs dangling over the side as he moves the pillow and blankets around. “Stay here tonight,” he says in response to your voiceless question.

Your eyes flash wide for a second. “With you?” And if he thinks that you sound either horrified or intrigued by the prospect, Gi-hun tells himself that it doesn’t matter either way.

“I’m not sleeping.” He’s going to be watching over you for as long as he can manage. It’ll be a good distraction and it will keep you safe, and he needs both right now more than he needs anything else. “It isn’t good for you to sleep alone here. And someone should keep watch.”

What little light is reflected in your eyes shimmers like water in a glass. “Watch for what?”

For the murderous bastards who like to take out their competition while they sleep, what else? But he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t want to scare you and he knows already that detailing the horrific possibilities of the Games right before you go to bed is a recipe for disaster.

“Sleep,” he insists. The bedding is nicely arranged now, as nice as he can make it for you, even though he wishes he could do more. What if you get cold in the middle of the night? What if you overheat in your jacket? Or you get thirsty? He can’t fix any of those problems. He can only give you his protection and pray that it’s enough.

Your protest is already half spoken by the time he’s drawing himself out of bed and prompting you into the space he’s just vacated. It takes some maneuvering and no small amount of whispered requests, far gentler than Gi-hun actually feels under the weight of his memories pressing in against his skull, but finally he manages to convince you to lay down. He tucks himself into the farthest corner of the bed, hoping that your legs have enough room, that you won’t mind him being so close for so long, and he watches the minutes on the display steadily count down.

There are less than ten minutes until lights out when Young-il decides to approach him. “Gi-hun-ssi,” he nods respectfully, his hands already pressing against his thighs as he takes the steps one at a time. His eyes wander over your sleeping figure and Gi-hun has to fight himself not to snap and make a fool out of himself simply because another man happened to look at you.

“Asleep,” he says, if only to fill the empty space with something other than his animosity.

Young-il nods in understanding. “I’ll be quiet, then.” A beat. “Could we talk?”

No. “Sure.”

The narrow space between rows of beds is taken up entirely by Young-il’s body. Perched upon the highest step, it places him at about eye level. Gi-hun’s not entirely sure he likes that. “I think I was out of line before,” Young-il finally sighs. “I'd like to apologize. I'm sorry.”

What he wants to do is tell your friend that he doesn’t care for, nor does he accept, his apology. What he wants to say is that he doesn’t like the way Young-il looks at you, all appraising eyes and quiet confidence, and he doesn’t like how Young-il has stolen almost all of your attention since the moment he appeared. He wants to say it all, but he doesn’t because his mother raised him better than that and Gi-hun has never been one to be purposefully rude except on very rare occasions.

This isn’t the time or place. So, he’s gracious. He bows respectfully to Young-il and allows the apology to settle in the space between them, even if the peace it offers is fraught. “No, I laid all the blame on you.” Even if I was right to do so. “I was out of line.”

And that, he hopes, will be the full extent of it – whatever it is. He’s not interested in having a full conversation with anyone right now, but even if he was, Young-il would be at the bottom of the list. He’s strange in a very off-putting way; quiet, observant, he makes you laugh sometimes, from what he can remember, and he’s able to fight off two younger men and make it look easy. That’s not normal. And then there’s the way that you had followed him during dinner like an alley cat chasing after scraps. You don’t do things like that.

“May I ask you something?”

It takes a minute, but Gi-hun eventually relents, inclining his head just slightly.

“Why did you come back to this place? You said you won and made it out.”

He swallows heavily. “I did.”

“Then why return? You got all the money, didn’t you? Did you spend it all?”

He spent some of it. He wanted so badly to let that money rot in the bank and to never touch a single won, but then Il-nam had happened. Then you had happened. Then so many things kept happening and he thinks that somewhere along the way, he lost sight of what he had set out to do. To remember, to protect.

“That money doesn't belong to me,” he mutters, and it’s like he’s back on the Squid Game field, watching the rain mix with the mud mix with the coppery tang of metal and blood. “It's blood money for the people who died here. The same goes for the money up there.”

“You don't have to think of it that way,” and where he expected to find judgement, he instead finds some gentle, understanding thing tucked behind the corners of Young-il’s words. “It's not like you killed those people and saving that money won't bring them back to life.”

Maybe it’s just the ghosts lingering in his head and his heart. Maybe he’s just a sentimental old fool, but there’s something about the way Young-il says it that reminds him of Sang-woo. He closes his eyes and wishes, probably for the millionth time, that he had been the one to die here three years ago, not Sang-woo. Not Ssangmun-dong’s golden child.

Young-il exhales through his nose, drawing Gi-hun’s attention and prompting him to open his eyes again. Where there had once been a glint of determination, now Gi-hun sees something far more vulnerable. It’s suspiciously disarming. “Not all of us have the luxury of mixing our morals with our money, Gi-hun-ssi. Some of us,” he says, and his voice begins to waver, “are forced to play the hand we’re dealt, blood money or not.”

Curiosity gets the better of him. “And what sort of hand were you dealt?” It isn’t asked unkindly. Gi-hun recognizes regret when he sees it and there’s no need for him to be cruel, but he does want to know.

Silence expands between them, permeating every atom of space until it’s so overwhelming Gi-hun thinks he might collapse beneath its weight.

Finally, Young-il speaks. “My wife.” And Gi-hun suddenly feels like he’s going to vomit. All this time, he’s been seething over a married man who happened to have befriended you. What kind of asshole is he?

“My wife was very sick. Acute cirrhosis, the doctors said, and she needed a liver transplant.” The slight waver in his voice becomes stronger, fluctuating as Young-il finds the strength to continue his explanation. The explanation Gi-hun demanded of him. Now he suddenly wishes he’d never opened his mouth to begin with. “When she was going through the tests, we found out she was pregnant. The doctor suggested a termination, but she wouldn’t listen. Said she'd give birth even if it killed her.”

Gi-hun realizes with a start what Young-il’s clenched jaw and sudden stillness means. He knows because he’s been there before, forced to pour his grief out to whichever person demands a little too forcefully to know what haunts him in the late hours of the night. God, he’s such a prick.

“I couldn’t save them,” he says, and his voice finally gives way. Unshed tears catch in the glow of the money pig and Gi-hun feels like he’s just had his throat torn out. “I need that money to pay off the debts. The hospital bills, the funerals – it costs something, Gi-hun-ssi. Perhaps it is blood money, but it’s still money.”

He can’t imagine. In some ways, he doesn’t have to. Ga-yeong is still alive and he stopped loving his wife a long time ago, but they’re no longer a part of his life. They may as well be dead to him – he knows he’s dead in their eyes anyway. Just another corpse slipping through the cracks of a broken world.

I’m so sorry. He doesn’t have to like Young-il to say it and mean it, but even still, the words stick in his throat. Just moments ago, he had imagined this man dead on his back, unable to touch you or taint you. He’d let his personal feelings get in the way of what really mattered. Young-il could pull a knife on him this very moment and it still wouldn’t justify anything that Gi-hun’s thinking or feeling about him, and he needs to remember that. He needs to remember what he’s here for.

He glances over at you, watching your face as you snore lightly. It’s a poor imitation of a similar situation that feels so far away now, it can only be a dream. The motel. His bed. You, safe and secure. His. That had never been the plan. But then again, he’d never had a plan when it came to you. For all the good it did you both.

He shouldn’t have kissed you. He wanted to, but he shouldn’t have done it in the first place. It should have stayed a secret desire known only to the depths of his shattered soul and the bullet he still deserves to bite. All it’s done is complicate matters. It’s made him twitchy and on-edge, made him grind his teeth down to the bone and search for enemies where there are none. It’s made him turn on a man who could very easily have been a friend if he weren’t so busy being blinded by his own desires.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he’s relieved that the words finally come.

Young-il merely shakes his head. He’s probably heard the same turn of phrase too many times to count by now. “It’s forgiven.”

The timer overhead flashes a one minute reminder and just like that, the spell is broken. Reality comes crashing down upon shoulders. There’s an awkward exchange of glances and half-hearted smiles, murmured farewells, and then Gi-hun is left with his legs dangling off the side of his own bed and the sound of your steady breaths.

The lights click out.

Slowly, so as not to wake you, he leans his weight back against the bedframe and positions himself so he’s facing the wide-open stretch of floor in the center of the room. The X and O carved there are the only lights that still remain, casting his surroundings in faint shades of blue and red, so faint that he can hardly make anything out.

He sighs. It’s going to be a very long night.

In-ho watches the soldiers as they work. It’s strange to be here once more, to be a part of the Games after so long. When he had made the decision to enter, it had mostly been on a whim, an impulsive choice driven from the frantic desire to control, to break, to bend you, Gi-hun, and the Games to his will. He hadn’t stopped to consider all the additional benefits he might reap from this harvest.

Already, a ridge has formed between you and Gi-hun. Something changed in him last night, In-ho had seen the shift, though he still doesn’t know what to make of it. Gi-hun had allowed you to sleep in his bed – and how common a recurrence is that, exactly? – but has hardly spoken a word to you since. Every time you try to meet his eyes, he smiles faintly, nods, and withdraws into himself, and the pain of that dismissal is written all over your face.

That hadn’t been entirely intentional. It is beneficial, no matter how confounding, and he plans to utilize it as best he can because Thanos rattled him last night. That bratty remark about his children had sent him over the edge and it had only been the sound of your voice that was clear enough to cut through the maelstrom of his fury, to bring him back to himself. That had rattled him too and, much like the gallery, In-ho had handled it poorly. He was too short with you, too fixated on a philosophical spar at Gi-hun’s expense, and had unintentionally pushed you away as a result.

He needs to fix that. Curious how the opportunity presents itself almost immediately.

The arena is presented, the instructions are given, and the timer is set. Gi-hun is entirely unprepared.

“Aren't we playing the dalgona game?” demands another player – number 100, who In-ho is sure he saw lurking about and asking questions of Gi-hun over dinner yesterday. But what truly catches his attention is the mention of dalgona.

It takes everything he has within himself not to laugh. Had Gi-hun really expected all the games to be the same as before? While In-ho hadn’t anticipated that Gi-hun would be so keen to rejoin the Games, he and every other Front Man in the world prides himself on his ingenuity. It’s a part of the job description. VIPs aren’t interested in the same old tricks each year. It would be foolish – no, truly stupid – to assume that the Front Man would not alter the Games to discredit or disadvantage Gi-hun in his mission for vengeance.

“No,” Gi-hun finally says as he hangs his head, “it doesn't look like it.”

“What's the game then?”

Yes, Gi-hun, tell us what game should come next. Show us all how carefully thought through your plans are.

Dark eyes trembling with uncertainty flicker aimlessly across the stretch of dirt beneath their feet. “I'm not sure.”

So when Player 100 turns on Gi-hun and demands, “What? You said you’d done this before! Was that all bullshit?”, In-ho is not surprised. Players turning on one another is an inevitability that Gi-hun should have accounted for.

Still, his obvious discomfort and shame is another victory mark on the scoreboard In-ho hides at the back of his mind.

“I'm sorry,” he says, pleading for compassion from a man who has clearly never said a kind word to anyone in his life.

“Sorry won't cut it!”

Gi-hun is trembling now, his entire body flinching with every cruel word flung his way. He folds in on himself like a child folds under the weight of a parent’s belt, and In-ho watches. Will he not stand up for himself? Is he content enough in his self-loathing to take abuse from a man who would kill him in an instant if the opportunity arose?

“You talked like you knew everything! All these people believed your bullshit! What are you going to do, huh? Will you take responsibility?”

He thinks to insert himself into the fight, to diffuse the tension and endear himself further to Gi-hun and his cause, and perhaps even regain your trust in the process by defending the man you so clearly love. But for once in his life (or rather, for the second time), In-ho is too late.

“Excuse me, sir.” There is no feigned politeness in your voice, no deference to your elders in your words or tone. If anything, the tacked on ‘sir’ sounds more like a slap in the face than a term of respect. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”

Player 100 blinks back his shock, tripping all over the practiced insults he is so eager to distribute. His face goes red and his mouth falls open, gaping like a fish, until he finally manages to compose himself a few moments later. “This has nothing to do with you.” He closes in on you then, and In-ho sees it before you do, all the rage that’s beginning to boil over, the quivering fists and bared teeth, and he feels the shock of it in his stomach.

“Then it has nothing to do with you either,” you retort, and you go so far as to take a step closer to the man. Are you insane? “You don’t get to talk to him like that.”

It isn’t instinct that drives him to press his chest into your back. It isn’t instinct that pushes him to glare a pseudo-bullet hole into 100’s head. It is simply the movement of a chess piece across the board. “That's enough,” he utters, and the word is final.

And he expects to be rewarded for it. It was a calculated move, intentional and deliberate down to the weight of his body against yours and the timbre of his voice. That’s why he feels so unmoored when, rather than turning to thank him, you immediately rush to Gi-hun’s side. That’s why he’s left blinking at the empty space you’ve left behind and wondering what crucial part of his plan he’d missed. There is no other reason for the taste of bile in his throat or the slamming of his heart against his ribcage. None.

He takes no pleasure in your rejection, either. That’s what he chooses to believe. When Gi-hun accepts your comfort for a few treasured moments only to then pull away when he’s had his fill, to not allow you to dote on him, your reaction is so immediate and so blatant that the entire group can see it. Jung-bae and Dae-ho at least have the courtesy to look away and offer you a second of privacy; In-ho does not.

You chose this and he wants you to know that he knows. He does not look away when your eyes land on him. He does not soften his gaze. Rather, he tilts his head as if to say, I stood up for you. What has Gi-hun done?

The next ten minutes are unbearably awkward. The five of you already constitute a team, so no need to search for any further additions. Dae-ho officially introduces himself, only to immediately stick his foot in his mouth by inquiring exactly how everyone knows each other. Your eyes land on In-ho, then slide over to Gi-hun, and none of them answers. If he were watching this from the observation deck, it might almost be humorous, but he’s not and it isn’t. In truth, it’s painful.

Jung-bae is in the middle of a remarkably boring re-enactment of the time he and Gi-hun had gone out for soju as teens when another player approaches. In-ho has never been so relieved by a distraction in all his life.

“Excuse me,” she says sweetly, “can I join you?”

Jung-bae already seems displeased by having his story interrupted, but he softens his frustration for the girl’s sake. “Sorry, we’ve already got five people.”

“Please.” She takes a step closer, pushing herself slightly into the loose arc the five of them have formed, and takes a turn looking at each person. There’s something about her that gives In-ho pause, something he can’t put his finger on. “Help me. I’m pregnant.”

The girl rests her hand on her stomach, just over the little swell of life below her ribcage, and for a moment In-ho is very far away. He sees the hospital bed, the IVs and faded scars of needle pricks along Min-jung’s arm, he sees her sallow face, and he feels the same blinding needing to protect, defend, defy. To save. It passes quickly enough, but leaves him off-centered and irritable. Vulnerable.

He casts his eyes to Gi-hun first, curious to see just how the mighty hero of the Games plans to handle the situation. He flounders, of course, and In-ho isn’t surprised. Jung-bae is the one to break the news, apologetic and kind, but with the weight of the world on his shoulders because they all know they’ve created a decent team. They all know what it means to turn her away. That’s why it surprises him when yours is the voice that rises in response.

“I can… I can find another team.”

He and Gi-hun both share the same exclamation. “What?”

Your face practically folds in on itself with the force of your emotions. You don’t hide your compassion very well, but neither do you hide your fear – you’re uneasy about leaving the security your team offers you, however false it may be, but you’re equally uneasy about putting a pregnant woman at risk. And while he would never admit it aloud, In-ho finds himself sympathetic to your predicament.

Gi-hun’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, his frustration written into every crease and dimple in his skin. “It’s safest for you to be with us,” he asserts, reluctantly.

“But Gi-hun-a, she’s pregnant!” As if Jung-bae hadn’t already elected to turn the girl away.

He looks to Gi-hun once more, studying, noting every twitching tendon and flicker of regret that cuts across his face. What will you choose, Seong Gi-hun? Which horse is most likely to win the race?

“It’s alright,” says the girl with her soft doe eyes and pregnant belly. In-ho does not see his wife in her. He doesn’t. “I’m sure I can find another group.”

“No!” you exclaim, scrambling forward to take her hand in both of yours. Then your voice drops, it softens and shakes with the certainty of your sacrifice. “No, you should stay with them. They’ll keep you safe.”

You guide her to stand in the perfectly sized space between himself and Gi-hun, your brows now furrowed as you seem to be searching inside yourself for something. Then your chin tilts up and your gaze lands on Gi-hun. Several seconds tick by as you survey his face, so raw and exposed in a way In-ho isn’t sure he’s ever seen on you before.

The cold slice of bitterness cuts across his lungs at the sight. What can Gi-hun do to save you beyond sacrificing someone from his own carefully constructed team? You should be looking at him like that. He is the only one here with the power to save your life, the only one who might possibly be swayed by your fear and desperation.

“Gi-hun-a.”

And something deep within In-ho’s stomach twists in delight. He knows better than to raise his expectations after the countless hundreds he has seen fight and die in this very room, but logic cannot always outweigh intrigue, not for him.

Jung-bae leans forward, casting his old friend a smile. Sweat is already beading along his hairline. “Let them both stay, Gi-hun-a. I’ll go find another team.”

That something in his stomach lifts higher until it’s crackling like a firework behind his ribcage. Another gamble. The stakes are higher, but so is the reward. The question is whether or not Gi-hun still feels inclined to betting on horses the way he once did. In-ho already knows the answer, but it’s Gi-hun’s self-realization he wants to see, the inward understanding and acceptance that In-ho found for himself years ago. Which of your pawns will you sacrifice first, and which of them will come back when the clock runs out? Who deserves to live, Gi-hun? And who deserves to die?

It is Jung-bae who makes the decision in the end, and the loss of Gi-hun’s conflict is admittedly disappointing, but the Game hasn’t started yet. There is still victory to be found and In-ho will find it. The Front Man always does.

Ddakji. Biseokchigi. Gonggi. Spinning top. Jegi.

You’ve never played a single one. There are games that are similar enough in your home country, but the rules or the materials are slightly different. Different enough that you don’t have nearly as much confidence in your ability to successfully play any of these games as you wish you did.

Ddakji is a blatant no. Even though you’d managed well enough against that businesswoman all that time ago, it still feels wrong to play. You promised Gi-hun you never would again and that suits you just fine. The pregnant girl, Jun-hee, takes it, much to your relief.

Gonggi goes to the boisterous gentleman, Dae-ho. He says he grew up playing it with his sisters and seems confident in his skills, which is more experience than the rest of you have put together.

“That leaves biseokchigi, spinning top, and jegi.” Gi-hun looks to you. “Which do you think you’d be better at?”

You try very hard not to look as deeply panicked as you feel. “Which one’s the easiest?” It’s not a question that inspires very much confidence, you know that, but in truth you’re not sure you’d be very good at any of them.

Young-il and Gi-hun share a rather pointed look, which doesn’t help your confidence in the slightest. Defeat already feels imminent. You should’ve picked another team, at least that way your friends would be more likely to survive. Jun-hee and her baby, too.

“Don’t say that,” Young-il chides when you find yourself admitting as much. He rests a gentle hand upon your shoulder. “We’re a team, [___]. We’ll work together.”

“That’s right,” Gi-hun nods. “Why don’t you watch the first round and see how they’re played? You can decide which one is best for you.”

And it would have been such a brilliant idea if the first team to go hadn’t been brutally slaughtered. And the second team too. How are you meant to have any faith in yourself when the Korean-born players ahead of you keep getting themselves shot because they can’t throw a damn rock? You haven’t even had a chance to see jegi played yet because no one has made it that far.

“Don’t panic.” But no amount of kind and quiet compassion from Gi-hun, or even Young-il, is enough to calm your nerves. “[___]. [___], look at me. Look.”

You hesitantly lift your eyes to meet his. For a moment, all you can see are the bodies dropping to the floor behind him, the blood, you can hear the screaming and the gunfire. But then he reaches for your hands and holds them tightly.

“Think back to when you were a child. What kinds of games did you play? What were you good at?”

You try very hard to do as he asks. At the very least, it’s a distraction from the death that looms all around you. Searching your memories doesn’t offer as much hope as you would’ve liked – nights spent playing board games or reading, or the few activities you were decent at when you would go to recess. There’s not much that transfers over. Until, quite suddenly, you remember something.

“I used to skip rocks,” you tell him, a smile finally winning over the despair that’s been clinging to you like a second skin. “At the lake. I was good at it, too. That’s close enough to biseokchigi, isn’t it?” Just by watching the other players, the actions look comparable enough. It takes a certain amount of precision to make a rock skip smoothly over the water, as it takes a certain amount of precision to hit a target.

Gi-hun nods amicably. “Good. That’s good.” He squeezes your hands one last time before finally releasing them and you miss his touch immediately. He keeps you grounded whenever he’s near. “Young-il-ssi. Which one are you better at – jegi or spinning top?”

“I’ll take whichever you pick for me, Gi-hun-ssi.” There’s a softness to his voice, something that you wouldn’t have expected to hear in the midst of all this bloodshed. But Young-il continues to surprise you, as he has since you met him.

Gi-hun seems as surprised by Young-il’s deferment as you are, though he doesn’t speak on it. You can see him trying to work it out in his head before finally giving up. “Then… I’ll take jegi.”

The decisions are made just in time for the next round of teams to start playing. You can’t make out the team on the opposite end of the room, but you recognize one of the players on your side – Hyun-ju. She’s teamed up with several others you haven’t spoken to yet, but the mother player and her son are with her. That’s good. They all seem to have a good head on their shoulders and while you aren’t happy that Hyun-ju voted O, you don’t want her to die either. You end up rooting for her louder than any of the others on her team.

It's a close call. The woman playing spinning top makes several mistakes when it’s her turn and it very nearly costs the entire team their lives. There are several stretches of awful, agonizing seconds where you forget to breathe. So many people have already died today. You don’t want Hyun-ju to die, you don’t want her team to die. You want to believe there’s even the slightest glimmer of hope for the rest of you.

They make it to jegi. Everyone turns around. There are only seconds left on the clock. You can’t look. You can’t bear to watch their bodies get riddled with bullets. Everyone around you is shouting and jumping, and then the clock runs out and there’s no gunfire, no bullets, no blood sprayed across the rainbow track.

You open your eyes to see one of the soldiers unlocking the restraints on Hyun-ju’s ankle. And then you feel Dae-ho jerking you by the shoulder and spinning you around so he can hug you. They’re alive. Jun-hee looks up at you with the truest smile you’ve seen on her yet. You don’t realize until your eyes start to sting that you’re crying.

They’re alive. There’s hope!

Things don’t seem so bleak after that. More players die, yes, but more players survive too. You have to keep your chin up so you don’t fall back into your despair. Despair won’t keep you alive. You and Dae-ho huddle together at one point so he can practice his gonggi skills. Jun-hee sits quietly beside you both with a hand on her stomach, content to watch you both. You try to strike up a casual conversation with them, something to draw your minds away from the dwindling player numbers, but your heart isn’t really in it. Neither is theirs. You’re all too preoccupied to care that much.

When he takes a moment to think on it, In-ho is genuinely surprised to realize that he’s enjoying himself. When another team wins, the celebration is contagious. More than once has he found himself grasping at Gi-hun’s shoulder, his mouth cracked open to laugh and shout, his heart pounding with the joy of community and the relief of hope.

Hope.

He sees it on your face as clear as day. As often as he has found himself cheering and clinging to Gi-hun, he has felt you do the same to him. Both of them, in fact. Your smile has seared itself into his brain, your hands have clutched at his jacket and Gi-hun’s shoulder, and In-ho has found himself truly lost to the rush of it all.

The Games hadn’t been like this when he had been the victor. There was no camaraderie in the arenas he’d spilled blood in. Hope was a fleeting thing for him even then. He’s amazed at just how much can change in the span of a few years, aided by the illusion of friendship.

Jung-bae’s voice calls across the courtyard, then, drawing the entire team’s attention. “Hey!” He lifts his arm high in the air as one of the soldiers latches his ankle in place. “We'll see you again at the finish line!”

In-ho very highly doubts that.

“Yes!” cries Dae-ho, a bit too loudly for his tastes. It makes his ear ring. “We'll see each other again!”

“Gi-hun-a!”

In-ho can feel Gi-hun’s body go tense against his, his shoulders suddenly rigid as he smiles bittersweetly at his friend. In-ho already knows what he’s thinking; likely, it’s the very thought he’d had when faced with the possibility of being separated from you – that he can’t control the outcome of the game if you’re out of his reach.

For the sake of the game, though, he pretends to care. “I believe in our team,” he says as Dae-ho loops one arm in his and Gi-hun does the same with the other. He smiles. “Both our teams. Plus, we have the previous winner with us.”

Suddenly, you lean forward and gesture frantically to get his and Gi-hun’s attention. “Let’s not rush ourselves, okay? If we try walking too fast, we’ll trip and fall and that’ll waste time. Yeah?”

In-ho finds himself nodding. He finds that his smile is a touch more genuine. “Good plan,” he nods, and Gi-hun is quick to agree.

One of the soldiers raises their pistol in the air. In-ho’s heart gets caught somewhere between his stomach and his shoes.

Bang!

Ddakji comes first. The girl gets it on her first try and he’s elated. He swallows up the rush of adrenaline that her success brings and goes blindly chasing for more, his vision tunneling around  the stone you’re meant to throw.

“Take your time.” He doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t plan or rehearse it, it just comes out of him as naturally as anything else might.

Dae-ho nods eagerly beside you. He’s wringing his hands as he tilts out of your way, pressing his shoulder against In-ho’s. (Strangely, he finds he doesn’t mind it.) “Yes! Deep breaths, [___]! You’ve got this!”

But you’re already waving your free hand in his direction. “Ah, quiet, quiet! Let me think!”

The arena falls quiet save for the thundering of In-ho’s pulse and the steady, measured pace of your exhalations. You lower yourself into a partial crouch, feet wide, elbow out, and your lips parted. One second ticks by. Then another. Your shoulders rise and fall with another deep breath and then–

The intercom blazes to life. “Fail.”

Shit.

“It’s okay, it’s okay! We still have time!” Gi-hun exclaims. He’s pointing wildly at the clock and In-ho is grateful for it because it reminds him of where he is, who he is. Not even a full minute has passed yet. Everything’s going to be fine.

It takes about fifteen seconds to retrieve the stone and march back to the starting point. One minute gone, four minutes to go. He might be a bit nervous, but he isn’t truly worried. A lot can happen in four minutes. And besides, he gets a rare chance to study you now. Watching you calculate your next move, cataloging the distance between yourself and the target stone, hefting the weight of the other rock in your hand as you think – it’s exhilarating.

You’re about to throw again when his eyes drop and he practically lurches forward, almost pulling everyone off balance so he can swing his arm out in front of you. “[___], your feet!”

You were standing directly on the line. It would have disqualified your throw and wasted even more time. Self-preservation. Survival instinct. That’s all it is. So why does he get such a buzz from wondering what might have happened if he hadn’t said anything at all? How your face might have contorted when you suddenly realized you’d doomed your entire team?

He loses the opportunity to know for sure when both stones go tumbling top over bottom and the soldier for this station raises their arms overhead. “Pass.” Even so, he cheers just as emphatically as everyone else.

They march steadily on. The entire team drops into a crouch. You and the pregnant girl lean into one another and In-ho does the same on Dae-ho’s other side. His knee knocks against Gi-hun’s and rather than pull away, he embraces it. Camaraderie. Fellowship. Hope. It’s as thrilling to embrace them once more as it is to level a semiautomatic at a traitor’s head and squeeze the trigger.

Dae-ho rubs his hands together. His fingers are deft, his body light, and in seconds – seconds – he’s flawlessly performed each round of gonggi and elevated them to the next part of the challenge. In-ho cheers for that too, and it’s the truest thrill he’s felt in years.

Spirits are high as they round the track. He can hear you and Gi-hun chanting in time, can hear Dae-ho’s excitable mutterings. He can even feel himself smiling again. Apart from your initial slip-up, things are going perfectly and there’s still almost three minutes left on the clock. It’s just such a shame that the VIPs crave a bit of excitement, isn’t it?

The twine is slick with blood and sweat when he picks it up. The top itself is slightly dented along the edge and its lower point dulled after too many landings, but it’s still useable. He had ensured as much himself just last night, but the others don’t know that. As far as any of them know, Young-il could be horrific at spinning top. Young-il could be the one to get them all killed.

He transfers the top into his non-dominant hand and with a flick of his wrist, the top goes sprawling onto its side.

Gi-hun squeezes his arm amicably. “It’s alright. We still have time, Young-il-ssi. Everyone! One, two, one, two, one–”

He restrings the top, stopping only to spare the timer a glance. Nearing the two minute mark, which means he has enough time for one more delay, maybe two if he’s fast enough. He pushes Gi-hun out of the way – rather nicely, actually, all things considered – and positions himself accordingly. He doesn’t even mean to toss it backwards like that.

“Shit, I’m sorry–”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Gi-hun mutters, even though it’s not, even though his voice is wracked with tremors.

He smiles when he hears your voice, how you’re trying to offer him a bit of encouragement but it falls flat because you don’t think he can do it. Because you’re afraid. Because you believe more in Gi-hun than you do in him.

That’s alright, he thinks. Assuming he doesn’t get you killed in the next two minutes – and he knows he won’t because he’s planned for that too – he’ll be able to teach you a decent lesson in patience and faith.

A minute thirty. He has time enough.

In-ho blinks dejectedly at the top in his hands. His heart is caught in his throat. Even when he screams, even when he slaps himself so hard that it makes his ears ring, it sits there like a lump of food that refuses to go down. And he chases that feeling too, allows the dread to settle in his stomach and run cold through his veins.

“You goddamn idiot! You fucking idiot! What’s wrong with you, huh?”

Voices are clamoring over one another. Hands are scrambling and bodies are leaning away. The timer ticks down another few seconds and In-ho fights the urge to smile because there you are. Eyes wider than ever before, your mouth and brows puckered with concern as you reach across Dae-ho’s body and try to soothe him. Gi-hun beats you to it, of course, but he gets what he wants in the end.

“Pass.”

He’s never found jegi nearly as interesting before as he does now. He doesn’t know where to look. He wants to capture it all, every fleeting micro expression and frantic breath, every tense muscle and colorful swing of the jegi. The last non-adrenalined, partially composed piece of his brain that still functions notes the idea of rewatching the game footage once he returns to his apartment. And then he’s not really thinking of anything logical or composed at all because he’s shooting his foot out to save the day, to save his own life (he doesn’t need to), your life (he doesn’t need to), to save Gi-hun, Dae-ho, and the pregnant girl’s lives (he doesn’t need to, but he does it anyway).

“Pass.”

The finish line comes into sight, a pink band that breaks across his chest. How strange to think that such an insignificant thing can make the difference between life and death. How strange to find himself crying out in the embrace of a friend and finally, finally, feeling alive.

And then he sees that flash of pink in the distance. Guns raised, legs stanced. He meets Park Jung-bae’s eyes for a fleeting moment before the gunfire starts, and then the only thing he can hear is Gi-hun’s throat ripped raw from the force of his own grief.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: The Fight

The night was supposed to be quiet, simple—just the two of you and some takeout on the couch. But it had escalated so fast, neither of you saw it coming. What started as a casual disagreement had turned into a full-blown fight, voices raised, words thrown like daggers, all of it spiraling out of control.

“You don’t get it, Marshall!” you shouted, your hands trembling with frustration. “You never listen! I’m always the one making compromises while you just do whatever the hell you want!”

Marshall was pacing, his face flushed with anger, his jaw clenched tight. “Oh, so now I’m the bad guy? You think I don’t try? You think I don’t care about you, about us? You’ve been distant for weeks, and every time I try to talk to you, you shut me out!”

You threw your hands up, the last bit of patience you had evaporating. “I’m trying! But you—You’re always too busy! It’s like I don’t even matter anymore! Maybe I don’t matter to you at all!”

His eyes narrowed, hurt flashing across his face. The words stung more than he wanted to admit, but he refused to let it show. “You matter to me more than anything. But you keep pushing me away! What do you want from me, huh?”

“I want you to hear me,” you yelled back. “I want you to care about what I need too, not just what you need!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Both of you were breathing hard, emotions running high. For a long moment, it felt like the world was holding its breath.

You could see it in his eyes—the hurt, the confusion. But even then, something inside you snapped. You couldn’t stay in this suffocating atmosphere anymore. Without saying a word, you turned and grabbed your jacket from the chair, making a beeline for the door.

Marshall watched in shock as you stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind you. For a brief second, he stood frozen, unsure of what just happened. Then, his heart dropped.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, the panic beginning to set in. He quickly ran to the door, throwing it open to find you standing at the foot of the driveway, your back to him, your posture stiff.

“Wait!” He called out, his voice desperate. “Where the hell are you going? We need to talk about this!”

But you didn’t stop. You just kept walking, your footsteps echoing in the cold night air.

“Stop, damn it!” Marshall’s voice cracked, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t letting you leave. Not like this. Not after everything. You weren’t going to walk out of his life when it felt like his whole world was crumbling apart.

He moved faster, his long strides closing the distance between you in seconds. As you reached for the car door, he grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his frustration and fear mixing with something else—something he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered, his voice strained. His grip softened just enough to let you know he wasn’t trying to control you—he was just scared. “Please... we can work this out. I need you.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your anger was still there, but underneath it, you felt that familiar pull of love, the connection you shared with him.

“I can’t keep doing this, Marshall,” you said, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep feeling like I’m invisible to you.”

“You’re not invisible,” he pleaded, his hand reaching for yours. “I see you. I see everything you do. I know I mess up. I know I don’t always get it right, but I’m not giving up on us. You’re my everything.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you didn’t move.

Marshall took a deep breath, looking down at your trembling form. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. Not when things had already been tough enough.

Before you could even react, he stepped forward, his hands gently but firmly wrapping around your waist. “I’m not letting you walk away from me.”

“What are you—” you gasped, but Marshall didn’t give you a chance to finish your sentence.

In one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet dangling in the air, and he started walking back toward the house.

“Put me down!” you protested, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but he tightened his hold, not allowing you to break free.

“Not until you listen,” he said, his tone soft but insistent, his voice thick with emotion. He wasn’t going to let you go, not when you were both this close to fixing things.

He carried you back inside the house, shutting the door behind him with a force that echoed through the quiet night. He didn’t put you down until you were back in the living room, sitting on the couch. He kneeled in front of you, his hands resting on your knees, his eyes desperate.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “I’m not perfect. Hell, I fuck up a lot. But I need you here. I need you in my life, and I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. Just don’t leave me, please.”

You looked at him, the fire in your chest starting to die down. His words, his raw honesty, hit you harder than you expected. And for the first time that night, you didn’t feel so angry anymore. Instead, you just felt… exhausted.

“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just... I don’t know how to make things better.”

Marshall’s gaze softened as he stood up, sitting next to you and pulling you close, his arm around your shoulders. “We’ll figure it out together,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “I promise, we’ll work through it. I’m not letting you go.”

You leaned your head against his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace sink in, the tears you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back finally falling. But in that moment, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t alone. And neither was he.

[sweetiemiller]

MARRIED AT FIRST SIGHT. kind of.

Joel Miller!AU x Reader.

hi again! so im doing it! ive read over it a million times and if there’s any mistakes please do forgive me. but here’s the full chapter of the start of my spiteful fic lmao.

kidding. im actually really excited to try something different and being embraced by a lot of you has been so great. so thank you everyone who sent a nice word or even just liked the post!

this will probably NSFW at some point. im still deciding when and how it’ll happen in the story but it’s going to be a lot of fun. the POV’s will jump around from chapter to chapter.

thanks to @highinmiamiii sending me the fic i was looking for! thank you! like i said before this fic is heavily inspired by https://www.tumblr.com/tokkiwrites/771944052123959296/game-show-hostjoel-miller-x-contestant-f

and the enjoyment of au!writing. it’s so freeing and let’s us explore characters in different ways. everyone please go read this story, it’s so good and they deserve every single bit of support.

ill stop yappin now and just post it!!

warnings— swearing. referring to killing Tommy Miller (will happen a lot), little bit of fluff for now. future warnings to come!

enjoy—

Chapter 1.

Joel’s POV—

Tommy Miller is a dead man. Joel thinks as he promises to whoever and whatever is above and below that he will personally kill him with his bare hands.

Those same bare hands that are clasped together so tight behind his back as he stands at the top of the aisle. His eyes were boring into Tommy’s who is currently standing up from his seat in the front row with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Yeah. He’s going to kill him.

The lights and the cameras are starting to make the skin on his neck prickle. The people behind the camera’s making him feel tense as his eyes flicker around the room.

He can feel jaw ticking and clenching as his eyes keep looking around the room and catching a few of the eyes of seeing the unknown bride to be’s family are staring at him too. Looking… well, friendly enough. For now anyway.

He can see their eyes scanning him.

Up and down, up and down.

From his slightly greying hair that is just sprinkling through his thick coarse hair. Right down to the black patent dress shoes on his feet that a woman named Jane from production had brought him along with this black three piece suit.

He thinks he looks good. But—

He doesn’t really care and if he was asked to give an honest answer right at this second he’d say exactly that. However, for the first time in a long time he willing to admit that he doesn’t look that rough around the edges.

Which is good, because in about 30 seconds his new wife is about to walk down the aisle.

Not legally of course. But for the sake of the show, he’s contracted to act like it is.

26 seconds.

Why Tommy thought that signing him onto goddamn Married At First Sight he’ll never understand. But the promise of a new Harley-Davidson Sportster Iron 883 and 60% of whatever income from the promotion the construction company will get from being on the show is more than enough to go along with it.

For now anyway.

14 seconds.

He just hopes whoever you are, you’re not one of those absolutely insane people who go on reality television just to cause drama. Because he will walk, cameras and contracts be damned.

He’ll buy his own Harley.

If he’s lucky he’ll get matched with someone who wants to promote their business as well and maybe they can come to some sort of agreement about this whole thing.

9 seconds.

Because who actually goes on a television show to look for love? Who genuinely believes that anyone could even fall in love under these conditions. Cameras. TV therapists. A group full of people who are desperate for their 10 minutes of fame.

It’s just not realistic.

5 seconds.

Joel snaps out his thoughts as he spots Tommy giving him a look. A look that Joel knows means, ‘Dude’, his eyes flicker back and forward before Joel realises what he’s saying. You’re coming down the aisle—

1 second.

Joel hears the doors cracking open and the music starting as soon as his eyes meet the huge white double doors at the end of the room. His hands clenching again as he keeps his focus on the door that’s opening and revealing who he is going to be stuck with for as long as he can handle in this absolutely ridiculous situation his brother has landed him in.

He see’s you walking through the doors. And he genuinely feels his breath get caught in his throat as he see’s your face for the first time.

Your eyes almost immediately meet his as you walk into the wedding hall with who he presumes is your mother. An older woman who’s eyes don’t even attempt to look at him, focused on you.

You look nervous. Terrified even.

Which, to his annoyance, makes him feel something in his chest as he watches you slowly making your way down to him.

He has to admit to himself. You’re genuinely beautiful.

And with that thought, all of a sudden he feels himself starting to panic. He realises wasn’t really expecting to find you attractive. He was fully preparing himself to be putting on his best face and foot forward during this process. His mind focused on that moment he has his first ride of his new Harley-Davidson the entire time.

But now, he’s going to have to focus on that damn bike to stop himself from doing anything goddamn stupid.

The closer you get to the bottom of the aisle, the harder he’s having to hold back a glare that is itching to aim straight for Tommy. But he doesn’t. Because he knows his pain in the ass little brother is going to have an even bigger shit-eating grin on his face now that he’s seen you.

It’s not until you’re kissing your assumed mother on the cheek and whispering something to her that he finally see’s you up close for the first time. His eyes feeling like they’re bouncing around his head as he takes you in.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph— he’s fucked.

The hair. The eyes. The nose. The goddamn lips. The white dress.

It’s not at all what he was picturing. He was fully imagining you and expecting you to go all out and look like princess cake topper. The show is paying for everything after all.

But no, you’re dressed in a long flowing silk dress. With little cap sleeves and the front of your dress making your tits look round and soft—

He has to stop.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything. But you’re already beating him to it with the sweetest voice he’s ever heard.

“I like your suit,” you say, the words falling from your lips like they were dragged out of you. Which admittedly— is very cute.

He lets a short puff of air escape his nose as he doesn’t quite laugh but, almost an amused look crosses his face as he looks down at you.

“I like your dress,” he says back, quietly but loud enough for you to hear. Or that least he hopes you do. Because he does like your dress, he likes it a lot actually, which surprises him.

He’s not a man to even care about dresses. Or anything stupid like that. A woman is a woman, he doesn’t care what they’re dressed in. But this dress on you? He’s struggling. Badly.

He watches you blush a little as you look down at your dress, running a hand over the front of it. The silk moving under your finger tips, almost hypnotising him for a moment before your soft laugh breaks him out his trance.

“Thanks. They gave my mom free reign in the dress shop,” you say with a soft, nearly genuine smile as you jut your thumb over your shoulder towards the woman who was walking you down the aisle now sitting in the front row behind you.

Ah, so he was right.

Joel smiles a little as he nods his head at your mom, being respectful for as long as he can handle this experiment.

Oh God he’s going to have to actually interact with your family.

He looks back at you, watching as your other hand is clutching your bouquet of sunflowers so tightly he’s actually a bit worried the stems might snap in half right here.

“She has good taste,” he says as his eyes travel back up to your face. He feels something twist in his chest again as he sees how nervous you look, and before he can open his mouth to give you just a little reassurance.

Knowing that the cameras and lights are probably making you just as nervous as him, someone clears their throat. Making you jump a little as his head turns almost too quickly to the sound tensing up a little until he see’s it’s just the very real officiant for this very real wedding.

God, what is he doing?

He hears her asking the both of you if you’re ready to begin and he just nods. He looks down at you and taking the chance to grab your free hand just right there. Temping him already.

He smiles a little bit as he sees the warmth spread on your cheeks and your almost wide-eyed facial expressions looking up at him.

Beautiful. He can’t help but let the thought sit at the front of his brain for a moment.

“You ready?,” he whispers to you, his own eyes going a little wide too from how fast his heart rate is going as he tightens his grip slightly as he watches you nod and breath out a soft, yeah.

He nods back as he turns back to the wedding officiant, taking a deep breath as he tries to focus on what the woman is starting to say, her very real speech.

Oh sweet Jesus, he needs to read the vows that Tommy wrote him.

This is going to be a nightmare.

[guanhengs]

[theinfinitedivides]

Rishi bestest boi 🥺😔

[fmhobeus]

so, nerdy loser college boy choso *sighs* *opens legs*

a/n: just so you know, this man is gonna make you do all the hard work for a piece of that loser boy dick 😮‍💨 so... um so at some point around 2000 words in i realised this is way more than a hc post :3 eat it up if you will!

nerdy!choso who borderline has no friends except his gaming buddies who doesnt meet irl like ever. he doesnt like going to classes, especially this one. he doesnt need it but it's a requirement for all first years. and boy is glad it is when he sees you come in.

nerdy!choso who only listens to discussions when you're talking. suddenly he needs to put down his headphones and nod at every word you're saying. his eyes follow every gesture of your hand, every sway of your ass, every single time you fix your hair.

nerdy!choso who is starting to get a bit enamored with you, your style, your way of speaking. he loses track of time gawking at you in class from the last benches as you prettily do all the work in the class. he hates how beautifully your hair falls on your face, how nicely your clothes fit you despite being pretty modest for college. he hates how he can see the silhouette of your tits when you turn to the side. but he's too much of a gentleman to keep looking.

nerdy!choso who ends a game early when he remembers you, lying and saying that he had promised someone to meet them somewhere. the place is his bathroom and the person was you. god, you really shouldn't wear those tight jeans to class y'know? how will he continue to be a gentleman if you do?

nerdy!choso who despises groupwork but prays to dear god this class has some reason to pair you two together. he's getting so desperate to talk to you knowing damn well he too pussy to do it on his own. and the lord answers his prayers, the teacher assigns groups of three for a presentation. it's you, him and some slacking trust fund baby.

nerdy!choso who is about to combust and have a full blown panic attack when he sees you approach him after class with that smile on your face that would make the angels swoon. you're going on about distributing the work equally and what not while he is trying his fucking hardest to not accidently make eye contact with you and piss his pants : (

nerdy!choso who now has your name, your number and your email and he feels like the happiest man on earth. his hands are literally shaking as he responds to your request to call. he's overthinking every word he types.

choso: yeah i can do wednesday. choso: i'll be okay with whatever day you want.

nerdy!choso who hops on video call and short circuits with a view of you in an oversized band tee and a brief view of your room. why did you have to be this pretty? why did you have to video call him when you couldve done the work on text? why did you have to put your hair up like that? why oh why did you have you say "choso? hey, you there?" so seductively to bring him back to the present?

nerdy!choso who gets like no work done in a 30 minute call which felt like three hours. he knew he would hardly be paying attention so decided to record the call with your consent, saying he'd need the notes you were typing out on screen only to play it back and stroke his dick to you for what might've have been the twentieth time this week. his strokes only getting faster as you say his name in that voice he imagines sounds way better moaning and screaming it instead.

nerdy!choso who, after the presentation, is on greeting terms with you when he sees you studying in the library. he sits as far away from you as he can while still being able to see you. occupying the coziest corner of the library to stare at you study right when you come up to him.

"can i join you, choso? i'm all alone and your space seems comfy" you say with a smile, "of course, i dont mean to disturb you, is saw you were on your own too, so..."

uh oh, uh oh, uh oh. god no. please no. please dont say yes. please dont be staring at her like some dumb idiot (too late) please.

"uh... yeah sure why not?" he awkwardly says as he makes room for you to keep your things. he was such an idiot for thinking he could say no to your pretty face in the first place.

nerdy!choso who is absolutely drunk on your scent. it feels way better than any alcohol he's ever had. he feels like an animal in heat when he smells your sugary perfume mixed with the styrofoam-y air conditioned smell of the library. you're gonna kill him, yknow? how is he supposed to respond to this? what is one to do when their stupid college crush sits next to them? he gives you a half smile before furiously typing away on reddit, the only place with answers for losers like him.

nerdy!choso whose hands. oh his hands. (can be i a big whore for a second?) his long hands that feel like they're the size of your face. his kempt, beautiful and trimmed nails. his lengthy fingers that seem to yearn for something more to foddle with than just the keyboard or controller. he typed as such an insane pace it made your pussy ache. he was going so fast, jesus. those hands were meant to do more than just ask "how to talk to girls" on reddit.

nerdy!choso who (on the advice of reddit) asks if you would want him to order something for you. you tell you had a frappuccino not too long ago and that it was quite sweet and filling. and he hates himself for thinking that he could give you something much sweeter and filling than that like a horny fourteen year old.

nerdy!choso who is now determined to not come off as a creep so he does his work with the focus of four adderalls. he is typing as fast as his heartbeat, not realising he got two classes worth of work done in just an hour. he looks over at you, blissfully unaware of the absolute war in his mind.

nerdy!choso who feels as though if he doesn't muster up the courage to ask you out right then and there, he'll probably be the biggest loser on the planet. (as if he wasn't already)

nerdy! pathetic! choso who stutters a million times and barely gets the job done then too. his eyes are scanning your entire being (trying his best to not gawk at your tits) for any sign of discomfort.

"so- uhh so ummm... wo-would you, like, uh... like to do this again? sometime?... i got a.. a lot of work done today, so.."

oh heavens, the sheer nervousness in his tone makes you want to pull his pants down and show him how to really get work done.

you agree with a smile, even suggesting a better, more ambient (more romantic) cafe to study in. choso's heart is about to burst and flood the fucking library with his blood the way it is beating at an alarming rate.

"umm yeah uh 5 sounds... awesome... i hope it isn't a-a bother to you?" "no way, choso. i loved today," you offer him a smile as you gather your things, "i really like your hair, by the way" "i like your hair too, y-y-you smell very nice", he gulps.

fuck. why did he say that? what? you smell nice? who says that? is he like ten? you can't help but giggle at the sheer embarassment on his face.

he feels as though he's gonna melt into a puddle and turn to stone and throw up all at the same time.

nerdy!choso who is the most stupidly hot guy you've ever met, you think as you go giggling back to your dorm. mental note: pick a skimpy outfit for 5pm ;)

[citrus-writing]

surrender to me

Thinking about how utterly humiliating it'd be to be forced to ride your yandere-

Tw: non-con, dub-con, extreme feelings of guilt and shame, reader is an active participant in their own assault 

--------------------------------------- 

It's bad enough when he pins you down to whatever surface is nearby, taking whatever he wants from you, forcing you to take whatever he gives you. It's bad enough that you're helpless to his advances, that he can so easily overpower you, use you like his own personal toy. It's bad enough that he fucks you so good, hitting that spot that has you nearly screaming, keeping up the relentless pace until your legs shake, and making sure you always cum at least once, though he always always tries for more.

It's worse when he pulls you on top of him. At least when you're underneath him you can say it's not your fault, that you have no hand in what happens to you.

But now, as you straddle his waist, his cock buried deep inside you, he tells you to "ride me, come on, just the way you like it" you feel shame wash over you. He's your kidnapper, he took everything from you, and now he wants you to be an active participant in your torment. Everything in your rebels against the idea, tells you to fight it, to hold onto your pride at any and all costs. But it's not like you have a choice, you know what disobeying him means- you've faced too many punishments to risk another.

Shame eats at you as you begin to move, hesitant and humiliated, but unwilling to disobey. You rock your hips, trying not to shutter with every drag of his length along your walls. You're so wet for him and you know he can tell. You close your eyes, you don't want to see the way he's looking at you, can't bare to see the adoration in his eyes when you fuck yourself on his cock and he can't help but whisper that you're "such a good girl for me".

You hate that it feels good, that even your leisurely pace is making you bite back moans and fight the urge to ride him harder, to make yourself cum, and to feel him cum too. He grabs your hips, guiding you to pick up the pace a little, and you curse that he knows exactly what you like. He knows just how to guide your movements to make you tremble and whimper as he fucks you, he knows exactly what will have you moaning and gushing around him. He knows exactly how to make you his perfect little whore.

It's too much- the absolute misery of the situation is more than you can bear. You're riding your kidnapper, moaning and crying out for him, feeling your orgasm creep up on you too fast. It’s humiliating in a way that nothing else can compare to, nothing he’s ever done to you has been quite so potently horrid. 

You can't tell if he's still forcing your hips into the rhythm or if you've given into it, can't really tell if he's thrusting up into you or if your just bouncing on his cock that hard- but you're so close, and he feels so good inside you, and you want to cum so bad. You should be fighting this, but you’re not. You’re rocking your hips against his and whining his name and begging for more. 

"Gonna cum?" He asks, voice a little bit teasing but mostly breathless at the way you move above him and the way you feel around him. He tells you all the time that he loves you, that you belong to him, that he’d do anything to keep you all to himself. In moments like this, it’s easy to believe that. You nod, desperate for release. "Go on, then,” he encourages, moving his hips against yours to meet you halfway as you move. 

You do- with a desperate cry of his name you feel your orgasm wash over you, crashing down on you and you can think of nothing else but his length filling you up, hitting so deep inside you and stretching you out so wide. It's so dirty; knowing you threw away all your morality and pride for this- you let yourself be used by man you should hate just so you could get off, you practically begged him for it. 

Because no matter how your mind tries to convince itself this isn't what you want, your body knows this is exactly what you want. 

---------------------------

[lost-romantique]

Imagine being Stolas...

You're chilling on your living room couch drinking your favorite brand of alcohol, waiting for the commercial to finish so you can watch your favorite rom-com.

All of a sudden, the channel switches to a live broadcast of your ex-situationship that you still can't get over, despite how much of an ass he was last time you saw him.

"Oh my Lucifer! What are they doing!?"

You rush in anyway to stop whatever the fuck is going on because OBVIOUSLY you can't just sit there and do nothing!?

You don't think, you're an autopilot, but you have one thought on your mind. You need to save him! You love him! It doesn't matter how much he hurt you, he also saved you in so many ways, and you still love him! FOR FUCKS SAKES! YOU WOULD DIE FOR THIS MAN!

And all of a sudden, you’re on a suicide mission...

You will take the fall for whatever his charges may be because you love him, and it's better to die than live in a world without him in it.

You go in that courtroom knowing that you are going to die that day. You expect it.

Of course, you have some reservations doing this, some regrets...

The man you're sacrificing yourself for will probably never return your feelings, but what can you do?

You love him so much, and can't imagine a world without him.

If one of you has to go, it's better you than him.

You're bound by chains and the moment of your impending death approaches...

The moment he's freed, he rushes right to you, clutching at you, desperately begging you not to do what you're about to do.

He fights his captors tooth and nail, having to be dragged out in chains, and he doesn't stop screaming your name.

You feel a flood of emotions, happiness, sadness, love, anger, desperation, longing... so you give him one last look.

It's here, you're impending death and as you approach the device that's about to seal your fate, you're at peace with your decision...

Only...

You didn't die... You can't die...

You're royalty after all...

Your life holds actual worth...

Instead, they strip you out of house and home. Taking away everything of value as you're banished from the life you've led till now.

The only thing you could think about as you're stripped of everything is your daughter.

They drag you out of court, and throw you to the gallows and the first person you see is the man that you did all this for...

And the first thing he does is grab your hand and offer you a place to stay...

People are throwing things at you, makes sense, you did this to yourself after all... but he keeps you close, wrapping his arm around your waist as he leads you back to his place.

He takes you by the hand, and for the first time ever you see his tiny dingy one-bedroom apartment that's a lot smaller than you thought it would be.

As you look at the unfamiliar surroundings of this small home, you're greeted by the sight of the man you did all this for and his daughter, hugging...

And it fucking destroys you, as the gravity of the situation finally dawns...

You have just lost everything for a man you think doesn't give a shit about you.

You were supposed to die...

Why aren't you dead?

Why do you have to live with the consequences of your own actions?

Things are a blur...

Fuzzy...

You can't think properly, but you find yourself in his bathtub as he helps you bathe...

He's being unusually kind and soothing, and doesn't try to make conversation.

He says reassuring words to you, but it doesn't register.

None of this feels real...

As you drearily walk to his couch you feel both exhausted and defeated, he tucks you in and thanks you for saving him.

"Always."

You're angry at him, justifiably so, and you're having the worse day of your fucking life, but you'd save him again and again.

Always...

[kingkaizen]

𝓯𝓸𝓬𝓾𝓼

∘ desc: studying is always best when you're getting your pussy played with <3

∘ ft: nanami

∘ a/n: for all of my loves approaching finals week, hope this helps <3

∘ includes: fingering, pussy slaps, choking, overstimulation

“Focus for me, sweetheart.”

Nanami’s calloused fingertips hovering just slightly over your soaked cunt was the only thing your clouded brain could focus on. Sitting with your back against his chest, legs spread and notebook in hand, he wasn’t referring to you to focus on him. No, he wants you to try your hardest to absorb as much information from that notebook as you could. With your finals coming up, it’s incredibly important to make sure you’re effectively studying in order to get the best grade possible. Nanami thinks that your education is important, and he will do everything he can to make sure that you pass all of your classes.

“You’re always so wet for me.” Nanami mutters to himself, always in awe by how beautiful you look all spread out for him. “Go ahead, read the next paragraph honey.” Your eyes search on the white page for what you read last, finding your place before reading out loud.

“This n-next section illustrates -fuck- the essentials for…” You trail off, brain fogged over at the feeling of him finally making contact with your throbbing clit. He circles around it slowly before applying just the right amount of pleasure, causing you to throw your head back onto his chest. His fingers leave your body just as fast as they got there, making you groan in frustration.

“Kento, I can’t do this anymore. Please just touch me already.” You’re growing increasingly frustrated at this point. Fuck your exam, you just want him inside of you. Nanami has other plans, however, shaking his head no at your request.

“You know I can’t do that, love. This test is more important than whatever this pretty little pussy of yours wants.” Nanami gives your cunt two quick slaps, making you jump in surprise at the sudden contact. “Finish reading this page and I’ll reward you, come on.” You could feel Nanami’s warm breath tickling your ear as his fingers made their way back, teasing you so much that it’s driving you insane. You’re growing more and more desperate by the second, hands shaking in anticipation as you continue reading. The further you get down the page, the more Nanami is willing to give you. 

“...and with that, c-concludes the end of this chapter.” As soon as you get that last sentence out, Nanami plunges two thick fingers into you, curving them ever so slightly to hit that gummy spot that causes you to cry out in delight. You’re gripping his biceps with so much force, trying anything to keep you grounded as he shows you no mercy. He’s putting his forearm to work, tiring his wrist out to push in and out of you as his other hand grips your neck to push your head back against his chest. The eye contact is so intense, hand wrapping around your throat making you clench around his fingers.

“So greedy.” Nanami chuckles, watching the way your eyes flutter closed in your pathetic attempts to keep them open. “Gonna cum all over my fingers? C’mon baby, let it all out for me.” Nanami’s words made your heart pound even harder, legs shaking as that feeling deep in your tummy starts to overwhelm you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, thighs closing around his hand as you gush all over him. He groans at the sight, fingers slowing down inside of you as he works you through your high. He kisses all over the side of your face and neck, each touch of his lips feeling like sparks of electricity over your skin. Sensing that you’re finally coming back down, his fingers make slow movements inside once more. You whimper at the feeling, pleasure coursing through your veins once more. 

“Too much, Kento!” You cry out, hands gripping his wrist in a weak attempt to pry his large hand away from your warmth. He doesn’t move an inch, instead adjusting the hand on his neck to slowly move down over your collarbones, fingers twisting over one of your nipples.

“I’m sure you could take it. You’ve been such a good girl for me, let me give you a treat for all of your hard work.”

© kingkaizen | do not copy, steal, or duplicate!

[monstas1ut]

Why you touchin’ me

military! EREN YEAGER x black!reader

Summary

__ eren just needs his girl to give it to him when he finally comes home. he’s been thinking about that super soaker every night… he always does, so of course he’s not going to let you loose or let you decide how this will go.. just keep them ankles high and he won’t be too mean.

Contains

__ black!reader, female reader, eren is in the military, DIRTY TALK, so much dirty talk, dominance, dom eren, overstimulation, squirting, talk of not pulling out, dumb off dick!reader

__ brown skin can be dark, light, medium color, whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous.

__ a/n , hey y’all lol, something slight because I’m just trying to get back into writing because I’m loosing my touch lmaooo

A simple breather couldn’t refill your lungs as the oxygen continued to be ripped from you. Those words made you lose every brain cell that was ever created in your human body. There was intensity that poured over your golden skin as your blurred eyes could only see the sparkle from his dangling chain.

“Ankles.”

Only a desperate attempt to whine could come from you. Your glossy, darkly lined lips parted only to reveal that you were drooling from the overtaking pleasure. Your hands were around your ankles, much to his liking as your head began spinning.

It was beginning to be embarrassing at how wet you were, how dumb you felt. That sweet, curved dick that slipped in each time with a smothering rhythm made you feel as if your insides were being pushed against. Your sounds, and each word that dripped from your lips, he was listening. He missed it so much that there was no way he was going to lose focus.

“Eren~ baby~… Fuck! M-My pussy so fuckin’ wet..” Those words were drenched in tears as your pussy coated Eren’s cock with warm nectar. And he enjoyed watching it pool around the base of his cock, juicy and wet. It was so gushy that his pretty eyes failed to leave it.

“I fucking see… I got that pussy talkin to me..” Eren talked to you as he pounded that hole open, his rough hands gripping hard on your pretty hips. The depths of your insides were being stretched open all over again, and you could feel it part ways with his cock.

Those army green pants he wore were now damp as they were just below his cock. He obviously couldn’t wait. Once seeing you stand there waiting for him, he had to have you the second he got home. He pulled your pretty dress off and pulled your gorgeous breasts out of your bra to worship you with kisses. But inevitably he found himself so eager to have you, he couldn’t even prepare himself for how fast he pulled his own pants and underwear down.

He just missed that pretty pussy.

It was such a soft brown, yet a bright pink on the inside, like a mystery treat. He knew how it tasted, he knew how it felt, but he still couldn’t get enough of it. He couldn’t get enough of watching your face contort into those pleasurable expressions. He couldn’t get enough of your stupid little babbles when you’d be filled up with his dick. And he surely couldn’t get enough of you soaking him like a damn water park.

With painted toes curling high in the air, you tried to keep the hard grip on your ankles. However with each thrust was a powerful force behind each one, so much that your breasts would plap against each other while falling up and down. The ripples of skin were also enough to know how strong the thrusts were, as if he was back on the battlefield trying to fight for his life. But in this case, it seemed as if Eren was fighting to make you dumb off his cock.

The head of his cock met the hot air each time, slipping right back in with your wetness lubricating the both of you well. There was absolutely no struggle to slip out and slip right back in, not when your body was producing so much lubricant. It was so wet that it felt almost numb, you couldn’t feel anything but the pleasurable pounding near your cervix. It was such a intricate, surreal feeling that there was barely any word to describe it. The only thing you could understand was that you were too close to fucking the bed sheets up,

“Ooo-…Ooh fuck! Fuck!.. No-.. shit-..” there was a sharp feeling in your stomach that felt like small jolts of orgasms. Oh it felt so odd, and it made you so anxious. Your pussy squeezed, and it had a grip on his fair skinned cock and yet he was still pounding through. It was an overwhelming feeling for your body to endure, so much so that your fingers slipped and your ankles fell from your grip.

The second this happened you had no choice but to close your legs, trying to prevent that sweet, intense orgasm you knew was coming. Fate was sealed, and the rumble that came from Eren’s throat was a warning. But for some reason, you weren’t moving fast enough for him.

“Put them fuckin’ legs back up. Grab them damn ankles.. stop playin with me..” Eren’s face was inches from yours, your eyes watering up with pleasured tears once again before grabbing a hold of your ankles. Your glistening pussy was being rammed into over and over again, and you simply couldn’t take it.

“Stop runnin from that nut.” Eren huskily whispered, obviously becoming desperate for his own orgasm. He groaned from the bottom of his stomach, his head thrown back for a second before he moved to look back down at your tightening pussy, that’s before it relaxed and he felt the sudden wetness increase. This caused him to thrust just a tad bit harder because he knew you. He still understood what made you cum, what made you cream, and what made you squirt.

“Fuck yeah… hold em’ open..” Eren almost hissed at how sexy you were, the drips of juices squirting up in the air ever so gently and landing on his cock. It all made him want to cum right there. “Eren! Eren!….Oooh~ shit~… please!” You begged, moaned, and almost felt yourself losing your body as your pussy had a mind of its own. Each time Eren would slide his dick out, you’d squirt your soft juices in the air before he’d slam right back inside you. The gushing noises made you seem like a whore for him.. in more ways than one.

“That’s fucking right.. Squirt on that dick baby.. good fucking girl..” Eren almost spoke through his teeth as his cock was sensitive, he pulled it out and grabbed his dick to run it up and down those pretty brown lips only to watch you squirm and drench the bed underneath you. The wet sounds of you splashing him was music to his ears, so he couldn’t stop.. not until you had nothing left in you.

“Please~! Fuck Eren! Stop that fucking shit…!” Your words were covered in sounds you could not contain, the pleasure was so unbelievable you couldn’t even imagine how your body was doing this. That man’s lower stomach was covered in your squirt, and his cock, which throbbed the second he went back inside.

You gripped your ankles so hard that you might leave bruises, and yet.. you couldn’t care. This man was beating your pussy up even more, overstimulating you as your eyes rolled back slowly. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you eventually stared up at him with blurred vision.

“Run from it again… I swear on me I won’t pull out..”

ⓒ Monstas1ut , Do not copy

[sukunasteeth]

When Sukuna kisses you, it feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest.

You started out perched on his lap, but by now he's reduced you to a boneless, panting heap in his grasp. His arms supporting you are the only things keeping you from melting against him like liquid lust. You're desperate for a moment of solid ground to catch your breath, but Sukuna is adamant on continuously taking it away from you. His calloused hands inching their way up your shirt, brushing softly against your sides, over your rib cage, skimming the underside of your breasts, all in mesmerization at how soft your skin is.

"'Kuna..." You try to capture his attention, which has been taken by his fixation on how sensitive your ears were to the scrape of his teeth.

You're surprised when he answers with a distracted hum, "Yes, my little doe?"

"I -I need a second." You stutter, your heart is thumping wildly in your chest, despite how intoxicated and incapacitated you feel at his mercy. You were starting to forget how to breathe in his close proximity and it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep your head straight with his natural scent acting like a pheromone.

You feel his wicked grin against your neck before you hear it in his voice, "Poor thing. Am I working you too hard? I rarely see you so out of sorts..." 

Sukuna doesn't even try to disguise his amusement at your complete inebriation with his kisses. His tongue presses against the nape of your throat before he follows a line of sweat up to your ear, leaving behind a cold stripe of his saliva against your burning hot skin. He holds you fast when you violently shiver against him, "It's a good look on you."

“Please…” You beg with whatever breath you can conjure for him but it comes out as more of a desperate little whimper. That was Sukuna’s favorite tone of your voice, after all. 

And desperate you were. Sukuna had been devouring you for so long, sucking and nipping and licking at whatever part of your revealed skin interested him. You could feel your legs forgetting how to operate.

You just needed a moment. 

Without his permission, you push away from his chest and manage to get to your feet in front of him. Your legs buckle, but you're able to catch yourself before you fall face first back into him. Sukuna is looking up at you, as kiss drunk as you felt, blinking slowly with a satisfied smile. 

“Give me just one sec-” You’re about to turn away. And then you see it. 

Sukuna had you so entranced with him, had your mind so far away from your body, that you hadn’t even noticed the fact that you had cleanly soaked through your panties on his lap. And there, on that oh-so-comfortable part of his thigh, that had quickly become one of your happy places, was a dark spot on his jeans from your wetness. 

All you could do was stare down at it, mortified. 

Which only has Sukuna following your gaze in momentary curiosity. 

“I-I’M…” You try to catch his attention again with the sound of your voice before his eyes can settle on the new mark, but Sukuna sees it first.

His grin quickly fades and your heart careens into your throat. You feel embarrassment shoot through you like a shot of adrenaline, coloring your already pink face a bright and rosy red. 

The clear solution to the undoubtedly awkward situation is to run, right?

“I’ll be right back-” But you don’t even move an inch before his hand snaps forward and latches onto the front pocket of your (his) hoodie, stopping you in place. 

Your heartbeat thumps in your red-hot ears and you go against every fiber of your being to meet his eyes.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going with my dinner?" The playful lilt of his tone has completely vanished and reveals a deep, dark starvation in its place.

"I work hard for my meals, you know?”