#transmasc reader

[xdeath-after-noonx]

♡︎ Thinking of You ♡︎ | Transmasc Kaeya NSFW

| Minors and Ageless accs DNI | Gender Neutral Reader!

Themes: Fantasizing, Masturbation, Implied Oral.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧

Desired thrummed inside him.

Hot and slow.

Kaeya tried to ignore it. Truly, he did. But the longer he laid there, the more it built—persistent, aching.

He couldn't sleep. Could hardly think.

This wasn’t just lust. It was need. He needed to be touched, to hold and be held. Breath to breath, forehead to forehead.

He needed to feel.

You lay beside him, your head resting just at his shoulder. Each shift in your sleep brushed your chest against him, each quiet murmur warming his skin.

Torture.

Another wave hit.

Flashes of your lips panting against his. Your tongue in his mouth, swirling, coaxing with a low giggle.

Kaeya clenched his thighs together, taking a deep breath, willing the thoughts away.

He couldn’t.

He needed—

Kaeya sat up, as quiet as he could, trying not to wake you. Or anyone. It was sinful, thinking like this with the others no more than a bundle of blankets away.

The cool air hit his skin as he slipped from the covers.

Not quiet enough.

"...Kaeya?" Soft. Slurred with sleep. You shifted, cheeks flushed, hair tousled, hands reaching for a body no longer there.

This was unfair. So explicitly unfair.

"It’s alright," Kaeya hummed, voice low, thick with exhaustion. "I'm just getting some water."

"’S cold..." You blinked up at him, eyes drooped and drowsy.

"I know. I’m sorry." Kaeya huffed a quiet laugh. "I’ll be back soon."

He wanted to reach out. Thread his fingers through your hair. Kiss you slowly back to sleep.

Kaeya tore his gaze away and excused himself.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧

The door clicked shut behind as he leaned against it. The wood was cool, a momentary relief against fevered skin.

This was wrong.

No, it wasn’t.

Archons, He needed this.

Kaeya let his hand wander, fingertips stroking slowly down to where he needed them the most. Hot. Too hot. Swelled, needing.

He unfastened his trousers, breathing growing heavier with anticipation as his fingers slipped under the hem of his underwear. Threading through course hair, teasing the apex of his thighs.

God, He need this. He really need this.

Kaeya sucked a sharp breath of relief, fingertip just brushing over his clit.

Fuck....

He let his fingers sink deeper, nestling against the sensitive nerves with each slow, drawing circle.

Blissful. His head lolled back against the door, eyes fluttered closed, losing himself in the fantasy.

Lazy circles, a light pinch, aching, fuck, he was clenched around nothing.

You came back to mind, clear as ever. On your knees before him. Lips curled in a soft smirk as you stared up, breath warm against his skin.

You’d kiss his thighs. Tease. Giggle. Nip at sensitive skin.

In Kaeya’s imagination, he saw it—the first brush of lips, the first slow, open mouth kiss to his clit.

Kaeya shuddered, hips jolting, movements growing more persistent. Breath ragged. Two fingers circling, another stroking, trembling to tease open his slick folds.

He saw you again. Eyes fluttering close, a deep sigh of satisfaction. Each broad, teasing lick, each painfully slow swirl.

You’d savor him. You’d want him. You’d—

Kaeya’s thighs would clench around your face, fingers twisting in your hair. ‘Mmff, Kaeya... taste... so... good.’

‘...so beautiful.’ ‘You’re allowed to let go.’ 'relax for me.'

A quiet, desperate noise slipped past Kaeya’s lips as his fingers moved, thoughts spiraling deeper.

‘More… please…’

You’d push him further against the door.

Kaeya buried a finger inside. Stroking, curling, knuckle deep, his movements became desperate.

He needed this…He needed to...

Your hands, firm at his hips, squeezing. You’d feast. Devour.

‘Fuck me senseless, please, show a knight what he's really worth.’

Such a gentle gaze, such a strong tongue. You'd bury it inside, lapping, curling against his sweet spot.

And he’d beg. Gods, he’d beg. Trying his best to muffle praise for you with broken breath: 'S..So good, to me, sweetheart - fu..."

Kaeya let his other hand trail down, two fingers circling over the throbbing nub as he curled his fingers deeper inside.

His breath came in ragged pants, skin flushed. Silence hung heavy around him, broken only by the distant quiet of the others sleeping.

Kaeya’s thighs tensed. One hand flew to the door to balance himself.

Fuck.

He bit his lip to suppress a groan.

'[Y/N], please, I need --"

You’d pull back, lips glistening, the kindest sort of smirk painting your mouth.

‘Breathe for me.’

Kaeya would shake his head with a frustrated whine, fingers curling tighter in your hair, pulling you back.

Fuck, close. He was so, so close.

Kaeya’s eyes squeezed tight, fingers moving messy, erratic. He could feel his walls flutter helpless, hot coil building, roiling tighter.

'That's my baby...'

'Cum for me, Kaeya.'

He let go.

A loud gasp. Far too loud.

Kaeya’s hips stuttered. Release soaking down his hand.

His whole body trembled through the aftershocks.

Ringing in his ears. A long-held sigh. Silence settling in again, save for the distant sounds of soft snores.

Eventually, Kaeya withdrew his hand, passing the evidence over his fingertips, warm and slick.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧

After cleaning up, Kaeya padded back into the room. Everyone was still there, just as before. Mona, Venti, and Rosaria tangled together in a nest of blankets and empty bottles.

And there ♡you were.♡

Your arm still draped over where he’d been lying.

Kaeya smiled to himself slipping beneath the covers again. His mind was calm, but inside, he was painfully, painfully aware of what he’d just done.

He felt... vulnerable.

Gods, he wanted to hold you. To see you smile, sleepy and satisfied, murmuring praise to him as you combed through his hair.

He was in ruin.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧

....Teehee. This is my first time writing smut, but I hope you enjoyed!! :')) If you have any other requests feel free to drop me a dm! <3

[servicpop]

nude beach adrien ( deliquent oc ) x ftm reader

ⓘ⠀reader has top surgery , use of cunt & pussy , fingering , public ( on beach )

Tans, seashells, crisp soda and icecream, perfect for a hot sunny day.

It was an idea pitched by one of your friends to hold a class beach day, and as the student president, you agreed and began to plan. The message you sent into the class group chat was bombarded with positive replies the moment you mentioned the word 'beach.' It seemed like alot of your classmates either wanted to escape studying or needed a break to cool off.

A familiar icon popped up underneath your message, Adrien's, but he didn't reply so you just guessed he would skip this event out too.

Stuffed in a car with all your friends, you allocated each friend to bring different things like drinks, food, beach balls and towels. You were in charge of packing the beach umbrellas and foldable chairs.

It was about a 3 hour trip to a beach nearby; one that wouldn't be bombarded with little children and an abundance of people.

When you got there with your friends — a little earlier than the set time — you took the initiative to start helping out with things and putting down your chairs and umbrellas. As you're hauling out the items from the trunk, you could faintly hear the raspy sound of someone calling out.

“Adrien, give me a hand here!” Your head instinctively turns to meet eyes with that stupid deliquent who seems to always show up wherever you are.

He was unusually early, perhaps earlier than you.

Adrien shoots you a toothy smirk before turning back to his buddy, helping the guy lift a cooler filled with sodas and probably beer as well. You shrug him off with a small scoff, rolling your eyes before going back to set up your things

You've successfully put up an umbrella and a deck chair away from the water, letting your body relax on the chair.

You weren't even planning on swimming today but you brought a shirt and some swim shorts just in case you wanted to just dip your feet into the icy water and feel the waves crash against your knees.

Staring out to the shore you watch as your friends run into the water, splashing and kicking sand up st eachother. You would join but, swimming wasn't something you particularly liked, especially the feeling of your wet swimsuit sticking to your skin.

“What are you doing all alone, prez?” His voice comes out smooth and almost tantalizing as a hand slides over your shoulder. You flinch harshly, whipping your head around to see Adrien in his full glory, shirt off, slightly damp hair and crystal clear water droplets gliding down the curves of his muscles.

Before you could say anything, Adrien pulls up another chair and slides it right beside you. The wooden bits of the deck chair clink together and he lowers himself on it with a small sigh of relief.

“The boys are playing like gladiators out there, felt like I was gonna die,” He laughs and you see his chest stutter as he does. He lets his head rest on his hand, elbow jutted out as he turns to face you.

“But really, why aren't you swimming? I'd love to see you shirtless and wet.” You roll your eyes and scoff, shaking your head as you stretch out your legs.

“I just don't feel like it,” You hum nonchalantly which earns a breathless laugh from Adrien. He places a hand on your stomach, inching closer to you. His fingers lightly drum on your stomach, earning that slight hollow sound.

He flicks your shirt up and burrows his hand underneath it, making a slow ascend to your chest, tracing over the raised lines underneath it.

“They're healed enough,” he points out, “Just let me see them.”

Your eyes quickly dart around, making sure that no one is watching. The beach stretches out quite far so the majority of the people were situated towards the middle with you and Adrien being in a more empty area.

You don't fight it, you just look away as he pulls up the shirt to your chin. The cool ocean breeze hits your bare chest, pulling out a view shivers from you. Adrien has seen your scars, multiple times but its always a surprise to see how his eyes soften and how he caresses them so delicately.

“Y'know people won't care if you just swim shirtless, you're a dude it doesn't matter,” He's leaning his head over to kiss your scars in which you push his face away. He laughs and moves his hands back down to rest on your lower stomach.

“You should get out of here before anyone sees you talking with me,” You manage to breathe out, moving your hand to his, attempting to pry them off your exposed skin. Being in such an open area with all your classmates undoubtedly gets you anxious, especially considering how long you've kept your relationship with Adrien a secret.

“Why? People can't handle me spending time with my boyfriend?” It just rolls off his tongue the way he claims you're his — even when you're not.

You're about to retaliate, about to shout whatever insult that comes to mind but you feel his hand move down to cup your crotch. Your body jerks at the touch and you shoot him a glare but he returns it with a sly smile.

“You're not my boyfriend,” you manage to force the words out your throat.

“Yeah but can any guy make you feel like this?” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts, pushing pressure onto your cunt. You can't help the curses that flow from your lips and the fact that you're arching your back into his hands.

“They don't know how to treat you right, only I can,” You can hear the jealousy drip off his tone like honey on a stick: thick and sickly sweet.

His fingers are brought back up and now he's pulling at your waistband, dipping his fingers underneath your shorts. His hand just glides over the smooth expanse of your pelvis, dipping down to your sweet, slick sex. Adrien starts by parting your folds with his index and his ring finger, skimming his middle over your fluttering hole.

You're so wet he can hear every movement his finger makes on you.

His thumb finds your clit, pushing the tip of it against that bundle of nerves. He's massaging circles on it, punching out a loud whine from your throat.

“Shit cutie, you're sensitive there?” He laughs, moving his hand lower so he could press his palm against it. Your little mewls and the way you grip onto the side of the chair so tightly makes Adrien want to rip your clothes off and fuck the daylights out of you, but he can't, he'll get caught almost instantly.

His fingers finally meet your hole, pushing in one finger slowly. You gasp, hips rolling up to grind your clit against his palm as he stuffs his finger into you. Adrien laughs again like he's having fun drawing all these reactions out of you.

Your warm, gummy walls hug his finger so snugly he has to slip in another one just to loosen you up a bit. He groans, driving his middle and ring finger into you. Everytime he pulls them back and slams them in your legs tremble and that obscene wet noise rings through his head like the aftermath of a drug.

“You like that prez? Such a good boy f'me aren't you?” Adrien bites his own, chapped lips, repeatedly ramming his fingers into you, watching as you laid your head back and let the moans spill out from your parted lips. The moment he starts curling his fingers up your body tenses and you absent-mindedly grab onto his forearm.

You're seeing stars with the way he's hitting your G-spot every single time he drives his fingers deeper into you.

“Fuck— ah– Adrien,” You cry out, moving your hand down to push down on his, encouraging him to put more pressure on your pussy. He gladly obliges, moving his fingers faster and pushing his palm against your clit with more force than before.

The familiar feeling of a knot wells up in the pit of your stomach and you know you're about to cum.

“C'mon, that's it.” Adrien can tell you're close from the quivering of your knees and the way sweat trickles down your forehead. He kisses the salt away before groaning as he feels his fingers get soaked from your orgasm.

He pumps his fingers slowly, letting you ride out your high before stopping completely.

“Shit, let me eat you out next tim—”

“Stop talking.”

doctors note ; hope i did alright for my first time writing for ftm reader T T

[mr-celestial-writings]

Accidents

Summary: You hate Cars, You hate them so much. They're only good for being Death machines. Cars have taken so much from you. Yet, your motorcycle isn't always Practical.

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Parental Death, Mentions of Car Accident, Descriptions of Car Accident. Depictions of PTSD, Depictions of Trauma.

DC MASTERLIST||OUTLAW READER MASTERLIST

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You hands were shaking as you entered the car. Jason and the others needed a quick ride to a safe house, you were the only person they could call.

There were blinding white lights. She screamed.

You hated cars, really, you did. You put up with them, though. They were good for carrying larger groups. They had their purpose, you understood that.

You just preferred your bike to them.

You heard the tires screech, the sound of the car crashing.

You let out a shaky breath as you started the death machine. Drive slowly and carefully, and everything would be okay. You wouldn't end up like your mother.

Blood. There was so much blood. It was all her Blood.

You began the drive, focusing on the road. It was just a 15 minute drive. You could do this.

Once you got there, Jason could take over and you could soothe your nausea.

You could smell smoke, you didn't understand why. Why did Mommy stop moving?

You took deep breaths, trying not to get to into your own head. You couldn't risk a spiral. Not now. You just kept pushing down the memories. Jason and the others needed you.

Besides, you weren't a child anymore. You should just get over it.

"Mommy? Mommy wake up!"

You gripped the steering wheel, your knuckles turning white at how tight your hold was. Your breathing was uneven. Just focus on the road, [Last name].

You were almost there.

Sirens, why were there sirens? Don't the police only come after bad people? You don't think you were being bad.

You saw the building. You were almost free from this metal death machine. You saw the other Outlaws standing outside.

"Mommy! Mommy!" You cried as the nice man took you out of the car. He put your head into his shoulder.

You pulled up on front of the building. You quickly put the car into park and left it.

"[Name]? What's wrong?" You heard Jason asked. You stood on the sidewalk, covering your mouth. You had to will yourself not to cry.

"Your driving." You said weakly to your brother. You needed some air, needed to stay out of that thing.

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a/n: The Call to world and character build came to me. I had to answer it. I hope you all enjoyed.

[dehydrated-turtle]

Don't Pull Out

//warnings// +16, mdni

"Don't you dare pull out," you whisper in Jason Todd's ear as he pounds against your cervix relentlessly. His thrusts getting unsteady as he whimpers into your ear and grips the flesh of your waist, holding you in place with one hand. Your hands claw at his back as you feel the heat between you deepen, the sweat gluing your chests together. You can feel your own high about to bubble over as his hips stutter and his cock jumps in your folds, pouring the white river into your canal, gently leaking out of your folds. He stays inside of you for a moment before slowly peeling his skin off of yours and pulls out, admiring the way his cum falls out of your hole, groaning at the obscene sight, "Jeez, honey, the things you do to me."

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 25th - Food Play (Papa Emeritus II x TransMasc!Reader)

IM SORRRYYYYYYYY about the not on time updates ! I would be doing so much better at this if I didn't have the damn flu 😭🙏 The missing days WILL all come before November, just unfortunately late </3 Hang in there !!!

Tags: Established Relationship, Minimal AFAB Language Used, Food-Play, Nipple Sucking, Cunilingus, Blowjobs, Cum-Shot, 2nd Person POV

Secondo had something special planned tonight for your anniversary. You expected something big and extravagant, like going out to some ridiculously priced restaurant and having him fill you up on expensive wines and cheeses, like what he usually does for your date nights. But tonight, he insisted on something more subtle, intimate. You were thankful for that, as much as you loved your usual outings. You really weren't feeling like getting drunk in public and spilling wine on yet another one of your suits.

He had made you dinner at your house. You knew whatever he cooked was going to be better than any fancy restaurant he could've potentially taken you to. He was a God when it came to cooking. The table was set, the room was lit with candles, your favorite music was playing softly on a record, and the meal was still steaming as it was being placed on your plate by yours truly. There were multiple courses, each one more delicious than the last. You knew he was intent on stuffing you to the brim, but this isn't what you thought he meant. Not complaining though.

You were already getting full, but your taste buds were screaming at you to continue, both because it tasted divine and you wanted to please Secondo. Just when you were reaching for another helping of carbonara, Secondo put a hand over yours. "Don't fill up too much now, you must save room for dessert."

"Oh, there's an actual dessert? I just thought that was a euphemism for your cock." You quipped, taking a sip of your wine to cleanse your palette.

"That too," He laughed. "But there is an actual sweet treat prepared for you, dolcezza. Would you like it now?" As bountiful as the feast he prepared for you was, your stomach was begging you to get it over with before it explodes. You decided to trust your gut, literally. You nod, and he eagerly stands up to go get it. He places the small plate in front of you; tiramisu. A relatively easy dish to conjure up, so it's not like he pushed himself with this one, but still a classic, flavored with a dash of coffee liqueur just how he likes.

You usually liked to drizzle a soft chocolate sauce on top, and tonight he allowed you no exception, setting a bottle beside you. "Help yourself, amore mio." He offered. "I don't want to overdo it and ruin your dessert." You obliged, squeezing the bottle over it in a way you thought was gentle, but apparently not gentle enough. Chocolate sauce splattered all over the plate, and a little on your cheek, the bottle making an embarrassing fart sound doing so.

"You're supposed to shake the bottle first, amore." Secondo chuckled, holding back a particularly hearty laugh to not make you feel any more embarrassed.

"I know that now." You frown.

"Oh, my poor boy." Secondo cooed, approaching you with a twinkle in his eyes. He eyed the chocolate dripping down your cheek. "Let me get that for you." He purrs lowly, dipping his head down to slowly lick the sauce off your cheek. You shiver at the feeling, but just as the arousal shot through you, it was over, pulling away and returning to his seat. "Eat up, dear." He says innocently.

With your hand shaking, you pick up your fork, digging in and taking a small bite. It was delicious, the soft, spongey tenderness of the cake held a taste that was bold and bittersweet, mixed with a sweet creaminess. The alcohol gave it a different kind of warmth. But you could hardly focus on the taste, not with Secondo staring at you like you were his next meal. You have another bite, then another. You don't even get halfway though before you slam your fork on the table impatiently.

"Let me cut to the chase. Are you gonna fuck me or not?" You spit, the tension too much to handle. Secondo grins mischievously. "Is that what you want?" He quirks a brow. This dickhead knows what he's doing. "Well... then meet me in the bedroom. And bring the chocolate sauce." He winks suggestively, voice low and seductive, walking off. Another shiver went up your spine.

Impossibly quick, you shot up and rushed to the bedroom where he was, holding zero composure, stopping only to grab the chocolate sauce you almost forgot. Arriving at your destination, you realized he brought some things with him too. Whipped cream, peaches in a basket, the whole nine yards. Now I know why he wanted to dine alone. Who knows how long he must've been thinking of trying this shit, watching you eat at those fancy restaurants, spilling and making a mess of yourself must've gotten him all worked up.

You speedily unbutton your dress shirt, imperative to not stain yet another article of white clothing. Secondo has already unclothed, half hard cock resting on his thigh, twitching appreciatively the more you strip for him. "Why don't you get on the bed so I can worship you, mio amato?" Secondo sighs, stroking himself lazily, his length growing steadily. Of course you instantly plop down on the bed, legs spread and ready for him.

Normally, he would delve into your cunt as soon as he possibly could, but he held a cocky smirk, inching down painfully slowly. Just when you thought you'd finally feel his tongue on you, your eyes shut tight in suspense, you felt a cool dripping of some sort of creamy liquid on your lower bits. You open your eyes in confusion and could not believe the audacity of this man.

The fucking chocolate sauce.

He squirted chocolate sauce on your fucking clit.

Finally, his mouth is on you, pulling away the laugh that was bubbling in your throat and replacing it with a moan, licking you clean of the chocolate. Even after a three course meal, he ate you like he was starved, slurping and sucking like you were his life line. Your orgasm was already building up, limbs tightening and stomach in knots, a knot ready to come undone. It's like he was sucking the soul out of you.

You came, hard and rough, your body feeling heavy and boneless. Still, you needed more, just a little more. You needed him, in any way, in any hole. The frustration is unbearable. He lapped up your arousal, savoring the taste somehow more than you savored any of his dishes. When he came back up, you expected him to pull you in for a kiss like he always does, but he hesitated, pulling out a ripe peach from the basket at the bedside. "Bite into it." He commanded. "I want to taste your mouth in a state even sweeter."

You bit into the plump peach, juices dripping down the front of your chest unabashedly. He watches with wide, hungry eyes, licking his lips at the sinful sight. The moment you swallow, he's on you, knocking the rest of the poor peach to the ground. Such a shame, that was a damn good peach. His tongue fought yours violently, something that is usually classic foreplay for him, but this time you suspect it's just to get as much taste as possible. Still not a bother to you at all regardless.

He pulls away from the kiss, strings of saliva connecting your mouths from the passionate encounter. He dips his head down, laving the leftover juices that ran down your chest. He uses the opportunity from cleaning you up to take one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling over the sensitive bud, alternating between sucking and biting. You writhe underneath him, fingers digging into his biceps, fighting desperately to keep yourself grounded. His mouth works wonders everywhere.

You feel his cock throb against your thigh, and have a wicked idea. While he continues to work on your nipples, distracted, it doesn't take much force to push him off of you, flipping so now you're on top. He smiles, enjoying the change in dynamics, excited to see where you were going. "You like playing with your food?" You tease in a sing-songy voice, taking out the whipped cream. He knew where this was headed. "Now it's my turn."

You spray some in your mouth at first, just for shits and giggles, before spraying some on the tip of his dick, which stood tall and proud, ready for you. Secondo laughs, definitely tipsy from the wine, way more entertained by this than he should be. You dip down and lick it off, slow and sensual. That make him suck back his laughter real quick, a deep pleasurable sigh escaping his lips. He lets his head fall back on the headboard, relaxing. You swirl your tongue around, the cool sweetness of the cream mixed with the heaty, savory taste of his manhood intoxicating.

His mouth hung in a perfect 'O' shape, brows furrowed, the pleasure overwhelming. "Cazzo..." He mutters under his breath. You inhaled him deeper, hollowing your cheeks in order to take him all the way. It was when your hand came to play with his balls that he felt his own orgasm approaching rather quickly. "Ah-! Amore..." His voice faltered in warning, breathing picking up. You removed yourself from his cock, finishing him up with your hand furiously jerking him.

He whined in protest at the lack of your perfect, tight mouth, but he quickly finished, cum spurting from him and all over his hairy stomach, catching on his abs and pooling in his bellybutton. As he came down, he looked down at you, dazed and still fueld with desire. "I'll give you a proper fucking soon enough," he huffed exasperatedly. "O-once I recover..." You smiled and nodded, happy to bounce on his cock the second your sensitive hole stops throbbing.

He sighed and pulled you close, sweat dampened bodies intertwined. He leaned in to your ear. "Caro, can I ask you a question?" He muttered. You stirred slightly, humming to show your interest. "You know I would never complain about such a thing, but I was simply wondering... why didn't you swallow? You usually do." You snickered.

"I'm full."

-

[impish-baby]

Platonic yandere! Fae (Basil) x Transmasc! Prince! Reader - 🌿✨️

You can barely contain your excitement as you run down hill into the trees, almost tripping over a stray pebble in your haste.

Everyone in the palace is too busy to deal with you most days, and even then, it's loathsome to be confined in those stone walls. Finally free from duties or nosy advisers, you can visit your one true friend.

The clearing barely comes into view before Basil is sweeping you into his arm, a wide grin on his face as he spins you around. "Oh, my little prince! Why, is it ever so good to see you~" You're only sat down on your own two feet for a moment before he's grabbing your hand and leading you along, "Come, come! I'm sure you have plenty of royal gossip to share with me."

-

Basil sits on a tree stump with you in his lap, intently listening to you ramble on. He doesn't interrupt once as you tell stories of the latest drama in the courts or whatever argument the knights have gotten into as of late, only subtly tightening his hold on you when your family is mentioned.

"-and I'm still not being allowed to practice sparring, no matter what I say! It's for 'men' only.." You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "Rubbish.."

"Is that so?" He leans his head down next to yours, giving you a small smirk. "You know, if you'd just come home with me, you could be yourself with no issue."

This again. "I can't just go to the fae realm or wherever it is you roam, Basil, I have responsibilities-"

"Ah, yes.." He clicks his tongue, "Your responsibilities. Because you're so important that the place would simply fall apart without you? You're merely a spare princess in their eyes, darling."

The words sting, but they are true enough.

"I, however, see you as so much more." Basil cups your cheek gently, forcing you to look at him. "You're kind and smart, a good brother and son." He ruffles your hair, "if only you'd come with me to a family that would adore you the way you deserve."

You huff wetly, standing to storm off back to the castle. Basil let's you off of his lap without issue, smiling pleasantly and calling out to your retreating form. "I only ask you to think of it, alright? I'll even bring some swords with me next time we meet, I bet you're a natural~"

[sharkboywrites]

Friendly reminders to cis fanfic writers that afab≠woman

Afab means assigned female at birth so this includes/can include cis women, trans men, transmasc people, nonbinary people, and intersex people.

If you’re making a fic where the reader is a woman, uses she/her, wears feminine clothing, etc. tag it as fem reader instead.

I’ve been smacked in the face as a trans man by reading fics tagged afab thinking it will be gender neutral, but the reader is actually a woman and I’m disappointed because I was ready for a fic I thought would apply to me.

Have fun writing and make sure you’re tagging your fics properly, ty <3

[millionswrites]

trigun stampede! brothers as twitter links

mdni, masc reader, bottom vash, no writing just porn

top! knives

01|02|03|04

sub! vash

01|02|03|04

millionswrites

[yanderestarangel]

I beg on my knees, please do a mtf! sevika x ftm! reader, where sevika tries to get her sweet sub hubby pregnant✨✨

♡⁠┊TW: mtf!sevika, ftm!reader, vaginal penetration, au, t-dick, breeding, mommykink, unprotected sex...+

She would be astonished and proud that you lasted so many hours on her cock. It had been a long time since the two of you had fucked like animals in heat. The older woman's cock throbbed with each thrust of her hips meeting yours, every expression of pleasure spilling from your lips as you rode her like your life depended on it. The sensation was intoxicating—like honey, sweeter and more addictive than the purest drug. She knew she would never tire of it.

You were so wet she could feel it dripping down to her balls, the obscene, beautiful sounds of your slick echoing through the room. Your already sore and reddened pussy clung to her, while your t-dick was overstimulated to the point of aching. Yet, she didn't stop. Her fingers continued massaging that sensitive spot, drawing out desperate whimpers of her name from your lips like a mantra. You begged her to cum again, to fill your womb until you couldn’t feel your legs anymore. But she couldn’t stop—she wouldn’t.

Even as your muscles burned and pleaded for rest, your core craved more. Struggling to find your wife’s soft breasts amidst the overwhelming pleasure, you clung to her as she used her hips to hit your sweet spot repeatedly.

The older woman grunted and moaned, her hands gently holding your head in place as she encouraged you to suck on her nipples and the soft flesh of her breasts. She watched you through a haze of pleasure, her cock pulsing deep inside your body.

"Good boy..." she murmured, her voice hoarse and dripping with affection. "Taking everything mommy has to offer, huh? Fuck... I’m going to fill you up so much—I’ll make you such a beautiful father."

Her hands gripped your hips tighter, her thrusts growing sharper as she grabbed your ass cheeks to drive herself deeper, the head of her cock brushing against your womb. She slapped your face gently, forcing you to look into her eyes. The firmness of her grip kept you grounded, though it would have been easier to lose yourself completely in the overwhelming sensation.

Her thumb traced your bottom lip, her gaze softening as she smiled faintly. A warning pulse of her cock made you gasp. "I want you to keep it all inside, okay? I want to make sure my husband takes it all like the strong man he is."

Her words hypnotized you, making you whimper and beg for another hot load. Sevika was all too happy to grant your wish. Her final thrusts were accompanied by the sound of skin slapping and filthy words spilling into the air. When she came again, you felt your walls milk her cock, greedily taking every drop of her cum as it painted your insides. Her thick fingers pressed against your entrance, ensuring not a single drop escaped.

She kissed your forehead, her hand soothingly running along your back as you calmed. "It’s okay, baby boy. You took it all like a good man. I can’t wait to see you looking beautiful and full with our children." she whispered, her voice tender and filled with promise.

And if the next few weeks didn’t bring results, she would make sure you stayed on her cock until they did—even if it meant keeping you there 24/7.

★ ! yanderestarangel©

[superhaught]

Yes, Princess (Chapter Three)

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+ mdni, harddom!Regina, sub!Reader, afab transmasc reader, little boy, puppy play (light), stress sex, CNC if you squint, smacking, choking, bondage, face sitting, scratching, multiple orgasms, strap on sex, fucking to feel something, fucking until breaking

Word Count: 2200, Part 3/?

Part 1 / Part 2

Regina really needs her toy.

Explicit content below!

You were sliding notebooks into their place on the shelf in your locker at school. It was the middle of the day but you were already tired and dreading the classes you had left. 

There was a flash of blonde out of the corner of your eye and then a strong grip around your wrist. 

“Come on, we’re going.” 

You turned to face her but she wasn’t looking at you, she was trying to pull you where she wanted you to go. 

“Gina? What’s going on?” 

“Shut up. I need to go home and you’re coming with me.” She pulled on your wrist and you could barely shut your locker door before she was yanking you away.

“Regina!” You resisted her pull and made her stumble to a stop. 

She huffed angrily and turned over her shoulder, shooting a glare at you. Her eyes were red, wet and puffy. Her neck and chest were flushed. 

“Regina, baby, what’s wrong?” You asked softly, twisting your arm around so that you could hold onto her, too. You caressed your thumb over the inside of her wrist. 

“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I need you for one thing. Can you give me that or not?” Regina’s tone was severe. It almost frightened you. 

“I…” 

“Fucking answer me!” She squeezed your wrist, carving into you with the points of her almond-shaped nails. 

“Okay! Okay, Regina… I’ll come with you.” 

“Oh my god, finally. You make things so difficult sometimes.” Regina returned to pulling you down the hallway toward the exit to the student parking lot. 

She didn’t open the car door for you like normal. She didn’t check her hair and makeup in the mirror. She didn’t reach across your chest and buckle your seatbelt. She just started the car and peeled out of the parking lot in a fury. 

The fifteen minute drive only took twelve and you were both silent the entire time. But you clocked Regina’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Her left leg was bouncing up and down anxiously. Your jeans started to feel uncomfortably restrictive. 

Of course you wanted to know what was going on in Regina’s head, but you couldn’t help the fact that her frenzy was turning you on. You sighed and adjusted the crotch of your pants, feeling too hot between your legs. 

Regina noticed your adjustment out of the corner of her eye and the corner of her lips lifted into the slightest smirk. Upon pulling into her driveway, she slammed the car into park, turned it off and got out without waiting for you. She stormed into her house and up the stairs to her bedroom.

You followed quickly.

Once you were in her room, she slammed her bedroom door shut and went straight for your clothes. Regina wordlessly grabbed your shirt and whipped it off of you in a swift motion. 

“Regina-“ you felt like you should protest and slow her down but you instinctively lifted your arms up for her to take your sports bra off anyways.

She started undoing your belt, “shut up, or I’ll gag you.” 

You opened your mouth to speak but then closed it again. 

She glanced from your mouth back to your eyes, “don’t wanna be gagged, huh?”

You whispered, “you’re being more… intense than usual…”

“You’re a big boy. You can handle it, can’t you?” She ripped through the button and zipper of your jeans and quickly hooked her fingers into the waistband of your pants and boxers and pulled them down and let them bunch up at your ankles. 

You bit your bottom lip and nodded. 

“Finish. I’m grabbing what I need.” Regina walked away from you and opened a dresser drawer. 

You pulled your shoes and socks off and stepped out of your discarded clothes. 

Regina came back to you moments later holding a harness and strap on, “put this on and get on the bed.” 

You nodded curtly and took the harness and toy from her and put everything on like she told you. 

Regina began taking her own clothes off; crop top, bralette, signature docs, high waisted jeans, matching panties, all thrown into a pile on the floor. 

You secured the harness around your hips, tightening the straps, adjusting the dildo. 

“I’ve had the fucking shittiest day,” Regina began, “so…” she pressed two fingers into your sternum and pushed you backwards until your legs hit the bed and then she shoved you and you fell into the mattress with a thump. “I need to ride you. I need to ride that cock until I can’t anymore. Or until I forget this day. Whichever comes first.” 

You nodded and started to scoot back on the bed while Regina got up onto the bed and straddled your thighs. 

“There’s one more thing,” she continued. 

You looked up at her expectantly as she settled herself hovering above your hips. 

“I have quite a bit of pent up aggression at the moment and… well, I need to let it out. So, will you be a good boy for me? Can you be a nice, quiet, dumb puppy and let me take it out on you?”

Your eyes widened, “Regina-“

“It’s a simple yes or no.”

You swallowed and nodded affirmatively, “y-yes… yes.”

“Good. What do you call me?”

“Princess. Yes, Princess.”

“Very good. Good boy. I need to make sure you’re ready. What are our safety tools?”

“I say ‘gentle’ if I just need to check in, and ‘red’ for full stop.”

“Very good. And if you can’t speak but you can move?”

“Tap or squeeze you twice to check in, three times to stop.”

“Yes, that’s right. And I can check in with you the same way. What if you’re bound and gagged?”

“The clicker.”

“Yes, very good babyboy.” Regina took a deep breath, closing her eyes and tying her hair up into a bun, “I’m going to restrain your hands but I’m not planning on gagging you unless you give me a reason to,” she met your eyes, “is that understood?” 

You nodded.

Regina reached out and smacked you, whipping her palm across your cheek.

You yelped in pain and stared at her with wide eyes. 

“You know better. Use your words. Now, is that understood?”

“Yes, Princess…” you whispered, reaching up to soothe the sting on your cheek. 

“Did I give you permission to do that?”

“No, Princess.”

“Right. I didn’t.” She tutted disapprovingly and leaned forward and grabbed your wrists and cuffed you to the bed with the restraints. She tightened the straps so that you’d have no room to wiggle your arms.

Regina then moved up your body and positioned herself hovering above your mouth, “get me wet.” 

Without waiting for a response from you she lowered her pussy onto your lips and you couldn’t help but moan. 

Regina closed her eyes as you gave her your tongue, dragging it through her slit and circling her clit, doing everything you knew she liked. She wasted no time before she took a fistful of your hair and started grinding herself on your face the way she desired. 

You looked up at her and just let her rock her cunt on your tongue. 

“Suck my clit.” 

You obliged and took the bundle of nerves between your lips and sucked. Regina groaned with pleasure and squeezed your hair harder. It hurt. 

She let out a strained exhale and then moaned, “g-good boy… now fuck me with your tongue.” 

You managed a quarter of a nod and then pushed your tongue inside of her. She didn’t let you do the fucking, though. Instead, she rolled her hips, moving herself on your tongue and rubbing her clit on you in the process until she came. 

You could tell it was an unsatisfying orgasm for her. She just took a second to breathe and let go of your hair and then she was immediately moving away from your face and drawing her attention to the dildo harnessed to your crotch. 

Regina unceremoniously spit into the palm of her hand and then used it to wet the shaft of the toy, spreading her saliva onto the tip and down the length of the silicone before straddling your hips and guiding the cock into herself. 

She closed her eyes once again and took her hand away as she slowly lowered onto the dildo. 

“Mmmm…” 

You watched her take the toy and you moaned along with her. 

“Shh…” she instructed as she bottomed out and sat still for a minute to let herself adjust to the fullness and then she steadied herself with her hands on your abs and started to move up and down. 

“Oh… yes… there…” the blonde vocalized.

“Feel good baby?”

She met your eyes, “thought… I told you… to be quiet.” Regina reached for her nightstand drawer and grabbed a brightly colored dog training clicker and shoved it into one of your cuffed hands. Then she wrapped her hands around your throat and squeezed, choking the air out of you. 

You gasped a little but kept watching in awe, feeling an intense wave of heat sprint through your body. 

Regina bounced on the strap, picking up her pace quickly, lowering one of her hands to touch her clit while she rode but keeping the other one around your neck.

She moaned, low and pleased, at first, then her moans turned into high little gasps, “ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!” 

She rubbed her clit fast and took the strap deep until she came hard, much better than the first. She screamed out through this one and squirted all down the dildo and onto your body. 

But Regina did not stop there. She slowed for a moment and then she just kept riding. She maintained her grip on your throat, letting up for short bursts every once in a while so that you could gasp for air before she squeezed again. 

You tried to keep watching her in awe and fascination. You wanted desperately to watch her cunt swallow the strap with every move of her hips. But your eyes teared up and stung and you were forced to squeeze them shut with every choke while she bounced mercilessly on the cock. 

She rode and rode and rode, bringing herself orgasm after orgasm. Her hands squeezed around your throat, moved to your chest to hold herself up while she dug the points of her nails into your skin. She leaned forward and roughly bit and sucked on your neck and earlobes to make you moan just to smack you across the cheek again, the crack of skin on skin and her own moan of pleasure drowning yours out. She only needed you for this one thing. In this moment, you were just her toy. Warm and pliant. 

Regina took her fingers that she had on her clit and shoved them into your mouth for you to suck while she choked you.

You closed your lips around her fingers and your eyes rolled back in your head while you ran your tongue down the length of her slender fingers and tasted her on them. You caught the faintest hint of a pleased smirk on her face before she returned her fingers right back to her clit and kept going. 

“Oh fuck fuck yes yes!” Regina rubbed her clit with her middle finger, took the entire dildo and came again, soaking you, and the bed beneath you, even more. Still, she didn’t stop. 

You were stunned as you looked at her. You didn't know how she had it in her to keep going. 

Her face and chest were bright red with effort, sweat coating her skin and adhering strands of her hair to it. Her legs began to tremble, her thighs no longer being able to keep up with the demand. Her voice shifted from exclamations to intelligible whines and whimpers and groans. Her jaw relaxed and you watched drool pool at the corners of her lips and drip down her chin. 

Regina still moved up and down on the strap and built herself back up to the edge and then she was bottoming out on the cock and bouncing on it with one final push of energy before she came with a last screaming orgasm. 

Her legs gave out and she slumped over and laid on top of you. 

You quickly finagled your way out of the velcroed restraints and wrapped your arms gently around the fucked out form of Regina now collapsed boneless on top of you.  

Regina breathed heavily. She shuddered and whimpered as aftershocks jolted through her body. 

You rubbed your palms up and down the expanse of her back and played with the hair at the nape of her neck, turning your head to kiss her temple. 

The blonde buried her face into the crook of your neck as her shuddering finally slowed and she mumbled something. 

“What baby?” 

She lifted her head slightly and whispered, “thank you… I love you…” 

You smiled and kissed her hair, “I love you too.” And with that, you felt the last bit of tension she was holding onto melt away as she fell asleep. 

[l1tw1ck]

Scholarship

Top Tony Stark x Bottom!FTM Reader

Terms Used for Reader: Pussy, Sex, Dick, T-Dick, Cunt

here's a random tony blurb. idk if it's long enough to be worth putting on ao3 😭 heavily inspired by an event req, will probably post that next?

CW: Non-Con, Power Imbalance, Spanking, Daddy Kink, Perv Tony, Creampie

"How many more times do you have to be sent to detention until you stop acting out?" Tony sighs, sitting at the teacher's desk as you take your normal detention seat. He's the principal, but offered to watch over your detention this time. It wasn't a strange request since he's the reason you have a scholarship, it's expected of him to worry about someone he personally sponsors. "You’ve skipped so many classes, are you trying to get your scholarship rescinded?”

You don't respond. You don't skip school because you want to. You live on your own so you spend most of your time working or sleeping. You miss your morning classes often due to constantly being overworked. You work two jobs so school and detention is the only time you have to rest or study. The scholarship only covers your attendance, you have to work for everything else. You wanted to sleep this time around.

Tony sighs. "Come here."

You walk towards him. "What?"

He walks over to the other side of his desk and forces you to bend over. Before you can even say a word, he spanks you. "I awarded you with the scholarship because I saw your potential. With conduct like this, you’re making me look like a fool.”

Your breath hitches, there's no way this is allowed. "Don't- don't touch me-"

Tony ignores you and unbuckles your belt, restraining your hands with it before forcing your pants off. "Maybe a little forcefulness will straighten you out." He spanks you again. "I've always liked you, you know?"

You shiver. Liked you? The principal, liking you, a student? You always thought he looked at you weird but this never crossed your mind.

"You always seemed tough, so tough that I thought it'd be hard to break you. But that's only a facade, isn't it?" He pulls your underwear down. "What a pretty sight." He runs his fingers down your sex and to your t-dick, softly touching it and involuntarily getting you wet.

"Get the fuck away from me!" You kick his leg, but it does nothing.

"And here I thought you'd lost your fight." Tony chuckles, sliding a finger into your entrance.

"Stop it!" You squirm around. “I’ll tell the cops!”

He grins and lets out a shaky breath, your struggle is turning him on. He leans forward and into your ear. "I could just force my cock inside if that's what you want, sweetheart." He slides another finger into you.

You shake your head. "No- I don't- I don't want that-"

He groans in pleasure. "Scared? If you're good, I’ll be gentle."

"You're a disgusting bastard."

"Am I?" He pulls away from your ear and takes his fingers out. You listen to the sound of his belt falling to the ground and the shuffling of his clothes. Your body seizes at the feeling of something rubbing against your pussy, the tip of his cock. You brace for his entrance, soon feeling him force his thickness inside you.

Tony moans again. "Your pussy feels so good around my cock." His voice is deep and dripping with lust. You never thought Tony Stark would turn out to be a guy like this. "Fuck, you're taking me so well..”

“I- I didn't skip because I wanted to!” You clench your fists. “I work every night and every weekend!”

“You should’ve told me, sweetheart.” Tony gently rubs your back. “Quit. I’ll pay for everything. I can't have my best student wasting his time at some crappy job…”

You shake your head. “I’ll drop out..”

“If that's what you want. I’ll take care of you and you won't have to work another day in your life.”

You keep shaking your head. “I won't tell anyone…just…just let me go.”

“You hate me that much now?” He starts to fuck you at a lazy pace. “You used to look at me with such hopeful eyes…you idolized me.”

You don't say anything.

“I think I’m gonna miss that. I always fantasized about you looking up at me like that, sucking my cock like a good boy. The mere thought of seeing you smiling with my cum all over your face drove me crazy.” He grabs your waist. “But you hating me is sexy too. Your fear is adorable.”

He starts fucking you properly, making the desk shake with each movement. “God, I’ll never get sick of this pussy.”

The intrusive feeling of his cock inside you is undeniably pleasurable but even more disgusting. The thought of experiencing this frequently makes you sick. You don't want to feel good.

“C’mon, baby, moan for me.” He spanks you. You’d rather get your mouth sewn shut. He leans against you and brings his hand in between the gap between you and the desk, aiming for your dick. You twitch as he strokes you. You can't help but make noise. “There you go.” You can hear his smile.

“Some- someone–” You let out a whimpery breath. “gonna hea- hear~”

“No one will. These classrooms are built to be as soundproof as possible. Even if they do, I’ll make sure they won't say anything.”

You feel disgusted at the possibility that he made it that way for this specific purpose.

“Mm- I’m close–” He huffs. “That's how fucking good you feel. Could barely last 30 minutes. Shit—”

Your eyes widen as you feel his cum flooding your insides.

“Don't worry..” He mutters, slowly pulling out and watching his cum drip down from your cunt. “I don't want any kids.”

You hear a camera flash.

[samsblades]

✶ deep satisfaction — sam winchester

cw : tmasc!reader, smut, dom!sam, subby!reader, size difference, petnames (baby, good boy, pretty boy, no pronouns used though), thigh & dick riding, praise, slight degradation/teasing, dirty talk, p in boypussy, creampie, unedited, 1.5K words. requested ! MDNI !!! 18+ ONLY.

summary : you get desperately horny while cuddling sam and can't help but grind against his thigh.

you're right where you should be, tangled up in bed with sam. your head gets tucked under his chin as it so often does, and your limbs are practically indistinguishable from his. and though it is the perfect place to be, and you certainly belong in his arms, you can't help but feel like there's one place you could be that's just a bit better. or rather, position. you'd still very much like to be in his arms.

it's just that you're not thinking with your head or your heart right now, but rather with the heat that courses through your body with a burning insistence. the press of his thigh between your legs makes it hard to think at all. you wonder if he can feel you throbbing through the fabric of your boxers, because you are desperately horny and can feel yourself growing slick as soft, quiet minutes slip by. but you think you can ignore it for just a little while longer.

until he shifts, searching for a more comfortable position, and the thick muscle of his thigh presses heavily against your dripping slit and sensitive tdick. it takes everything in you to hold back the moan that jumps into your throat, but he feels you tense and the slow release of a hot breath into the skin of his neck. his hand slides to your waist and your thighs clench around his. your lips brush against the column of his neck and you know that he knows what you want. with a squeeze of his long fingers at your waist, you let out another shaky breath and drag your hips along his thigh, covered only halfway by his boxers.

"fuck," you moan softly as the sweet pressure finally brings you some relief and makes you all the more needy for more. "…sam." your hips suddenly move with a fervor that would almost be embarrassing if it didn't feel so good, the rustle of sheets and soft panting quickly filling the air.

"that's it," sam rumbles, voice quiet and pleased in your ear. "go ahead, baby. take what you need. such a desperate little boy aren't you?" his murmured words draw a ragged groan from your throat. and the way his broad, warm body encompasses yours only serves to heighten your lust. his hands are so big as they grope at your waist and make their way to your thighs, squeezing and encouraging as you shamelessly hump his leg.

"yes," you huff out, already feeling absolutely gone from the way he falls so easily into this role, guiding you and giving you exactly what you need, his words affectionate and teasing all at once. the slight edge of condescension sets your nerves alight as the barrier of your boxers becomes frustrating. you want to feel his muscled thigh against your bare cunt.

"that's right. my desperate boy, huh? mine," he says decisively and easily because it is indeed an easy truth. you're his and he's yours, simple as that.

"yours," you agree, nodding your head absentmindedly. your nose pushes into his neck, then your lips as you latch to the soft skin to suck and lick and nip. your hands scramble to pull your boxers down, the sheets getting tangled in your legs as you clumsily attempt to stay as close to him as you can. he can't help but give a soft chuckle, taking over by ripping the sheets away and tugging your underwear the rest of the way off.

your hips chase after his thigh, your legs intertwined once again as you grind your throbbing tdick into him, your slick sticking to his skin and the scent of your arousal filtering into the air.

"oh, god," you groan, your chin tipping back enough to give him access to the hot skin of your neck. he takes advantage, like always, dragging his lips, teeth, and tongue over your neck in a way that makes you cling to him with urgency. and soon, the rock of your hips into his thigh isn't enough, but you know he likes the way you try to get yourself off on just his leg.

"please," you pant, breathless. "please, sam i need more, please." begging might get you what you want.

"yeah? you need it? how bad, baby?" he croons into your ear, manhandling you until he's on his back and you're straddling both of his thighs.

"need it so bad," you groan, letting him tug you up to where you want to be, "need your cock, sam, i need it so bad." your hands tug at the waist of his boxers just enough for his hardened length to spring free. your hips squirm restlessly over his thighs at the sight, at the thought of being full of him. your hands quickly abandon the fabric to wrap around his cock, slowly twisting and pumping to pull a grunt from sam's throat.

"always so desperate for my dick, aren't you?" his voice is a guttural mutter as his hands wander to your ass, squeezing without the pretense of gentleness. you nod in confirmation, your hips still pathetically searching for any sort of friction until you're given permission to sink onto his thick cock. "such a good boy."

there's no warning or given word as he grabs your hips and lifts you until your entrance is aligned with the tip of his dick. your hands fly to his chest just in time for him to slam your hips down, sheathing his cock into your dripping hole with a force that tugs a choked, surprised cry from your lips and sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head. you nearly collapse forward into his chest, but manage to hold yourself up as you're finally filled. it takes a moment to recover, but second you realize that he's holding back from using his strength to bounce you up and down on his thick cock, you take matters into your own very horny hands.

you rut more than bounce, like a desperate animal in heat that can't seem to ever get enough. your grunts and whines fill the room, his darkened eyes watching you fall apart around him with pleasure.

"such a tight little boycunt," he groans, gripping your hips to keep you close and steady. "and such a pretty boy for me, begging to sit on my dick like this."

"you're so big," you moan, thighs beginning to tremble as you chase a rapidly approaching climax.

"mhmm, and you're gonna make yourself cum on it, just like the desperate boy you are," he practically demands, voice strained as you clench around him in a way that makes him wild.

it doesn't take long for your frenzied movements to get you there, your body extra sensitive today. "gonna cum!" you grunt, the pads of your fingers digging into his chest as you rut wildly into him, overwhelmed by his size and how perfect he feels inside of you.

"c'mon, then," he growls, chest heaving with labored breath, "cum for me." you're certainly not one to deny that request, and you don't think you could if you tried anyway. you pitch over the edge into ecstasy, finally given exactly what you need. as white hot pleasure rushes through you and a heady groan is ripped from your lips, your arms and legs shake until your body calms and you collapse onto his warm, welcoming chest. he drinks in your rapture like a drunk.

but he's not done yet, evidenced by the way he gives you a few mere seconds to catch your breath before he's thrusting up into you, chasing his own high because he knows you'll let him use you like this. you moan helplessly into his skin, the hair on his chest tickling your nose and cheek. he pounds into you, relentless as he grunts lowly and clutches your hips with unmatched fervor. shaky, your hands slide upwards until one rests at the base of his neck and the other tangles into his hair.

"inside, please," you breathe out, desperate for one more bout of pleasure even as his thick length drags against your sensitive walls.

"fuck, you're so good," is all he can manage, his breath coming in short pants and pretty groans. and gladly, he obliges, easily tossed into his orgasm by your needy request to be filled with his cum.

the feeling of his warm, thick cum spilling into you is as comforting as it is pleasurable, the last thing that you needed to be fully sated. with a final aching groan, sam's hips relax back into the bed, cock softening inside you as his arms curl gently around your waist and settle on the sweaty skin of your back. he rubs lazy circles, catching his breath with you. you sluggishly shift up until your face is settle back into the crook of his neck and he can bring his lips to your forehead for a soft, breathy kiss to the skin there.

"you know, next time, you can just ask," he murmurs, a hint of amusement and ever-present affection in his voice. you can't help but give an unseen sheepish smile and feel your cheeks warm, but you certainly don't regret how things went just now.

so all you say is a soft, "i know," and nuzzle further into his neck with a sense of deep satisfaction.

[servicpop]

electric fueled adefemi akinola ( cyberpunk oc ) x racer ! bttm ftm reader

ⓘ a bit more dialogue heavy than I'd want it to be, implied you've been hooking up, unprofessional doctor / medical play(?) , he uses his vibrating fingers , use of pussy and cunt like once or twice

The city of dreams they called it. Nothing short of a dream when you're seeing holograms reach out to you, and people on the streets with metal and wires embedded into their skin. Adefemi was no stranger to it, having one fully cyberware arm himself.

Day and night he ran this little shop, favored by racers who badly beat up their rides on those hellish courses—only the best of the best could make it through without missing at least a bolt or more. People drove their vehicles in and out, scratched and dented for him to fix with a price.

Though, he had one recurring customer he'd always slip in a discount, for whatever reason he could find.

“'Nother crash?” Adefemi chuckled as he saw you duck under the roller, and push your bike towards him.

You'd come almost everytime he was about to switch that open sign closed, everytime the sun lowered it's harsh rays past the horizon and just barely seeping through the cracks of those high rise buildings. Nonetheless, Adefemi had his shop on the outskirts of the city, so there was nothing but desert and maybe a few gas stations out front. It was far enough that the sun could come through without the disturbance of the buildings.

“Yeah,” he hears you sigh, walking out from behind his workbench as he takes a good look at the state of your bike. All battered and bruised like you'd deliberately swung a bat at it just for an excuse to see him again—or so he'd hope you did.

He ran one metallic finger over the flat surface of your bike, running over the jagged edges of metal from concrete slashes. It seemed like you really had a tough time this race.

“I could probably fix her up in a few days,” He concluded, pulling away from the bike as he rose to a stand from his previous squatting position. He glanced down at your back and then back to you, taking that damned face of yours.

“Say, you came here few weeks ago didn't 'cha?” Adefemi tucked one arm under another as he tilted his head slightly to the left, his metal arm glinting in the low light of the shop. “If you just wanted an excuse to see me, just walk in,” he shrugged, his dark eyebrows raising with the rise of his shoulders.

“Before I get to work, any metal needin' fixing for you?” One thing he liked about you was how human you were. You strayed away from bulky cyberware sticking mainly to little enhancements, never anything flashy like a metal spine or a chrome leg. It made Adefemi think of you less like a metal zombie.

“Maybe just a routine check-up will do.” It didn't hurt to get checked up occasionally seeing that you pretty much neglect your metal needs. You didn't have anything flashy enough to constantly take care of, which was good in a way.

Adefemi nods, hand on his hip as he juts his thumb behind him, pointing to the medical recliner chair hidden behind the plastic translucent curtains. It was very much like a medical setting, one you'd find in a hospital if it wasn't so worn out and stacked with metal parts and whatnot.

You climb onto the chair, laying awkwardly down on it. The fabric of the chair sticks to your bare skin as you adjust your position on it to get comfortable.

Adefemi comes in shortly, pulling those plastic curtains around the two of you as if there were people to see—there wasn't. But it undoubtedly sets the "doctor" mood.

He's wearing one blue glove on his hand with flesh and bones while he disinfects his metal one. They're a sort of silicone material for his fingers, but his palm and the rest are full metal. But it always changes, everytime you come Adefemi always has a new set of fingers like he switches them out based on preference.

“Just a regular check-up aye?” He leans on the side of the recliner with one forearm along it before pushing himself off of it to grab a few tools. “How's your eyesight? I could enhance your night vision if that suits your fancy.”

Night vision. Crucial for races in the dark, especially when those other sadistic assholes always push to ride in the night. You were never one to be into that sensory depravation stuff when it comes to races, preferred to know when you're about to hit the curb and total yourself and your bike.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Adefemi doesn't need a verbal confirmation from you, he just knows from that look in your face “This might sting or feel a bit weird but if you need—one—nice, warm hand to hold onto, I can take off my glove.” What a charm.

You almost consider his proposal when the tweezers come dangerously close to your eye; he's already done the necessary calibrating and loosening screws to ease the process but you can never get used to having your eye plucked out of your head.

It's jarring feeling yourself lose vision in just a second, all you could do is hear Adefemi walk around with his heavy boots against stone cold floors. He's talking—which is a relief—about anything just to reassure you that he's still there and he hasn't disappeared.

Your fingers twitch a little when he's slotting your eye back into its socket; a few blinks and everything seems just a tad bit sharper, clearer.

“What a big boy,” He's praising you, but in the way a mother would do to her son, which only slightly offended you, “Didn't need me to hold your hand, so brave.”

His chest puffs out every time he laughs and he's ruffling your hair before moving on. You see his eyes flicker a gentle blue as he scans your whole body in what you guess for any signs of injury. It was common that you'd get at least a few scratches or cuts from your races.

He pauses after seeing a particularly nasty gash running from your hip bone down to your inner thigh. You must've taken quite the fall to get something like that, to have a gash all the way from the side of your hip to your thigh.

“Nasty,” he grimaces, almost as if visualising how you got it. “I gotta get a little close n' personal, hope that's alright,” He raises his palms, holding his hands up in surrender and to show his peace.

He's unbuttoning your pants and sliding it under your legs, folding it neatly and placing it on the table beside him. You can tell he's been raised well, folds your clothes efficiently and neatly, makes you wonder if he's the type of person to have his closets and drawers all tidy like that.

He pushes the bottom of your underwear up to see a little more of that marred skin. He takes a good look at it before grabbing a cotton ball and gently dabbed it along the cut. There were some awkward moments were he had to blindly apply the medication to the gash that was covered by your clothing. The cotton ball was coated in some sort of antiseptic which inevitably stung, and before you could squirm or start kicking him in the face out of pain, Adefemi uses his cold, metal hand to hold you down by your thigh.

“Don't go thrashing your legs like a madman, you'll hurt yourself more than me,” His voice is lazy, almost tired but still has a playful lilt to it. His hand eventually travels to your lower stomach, and he applies a gentle heat to his hand to soothe you—an enhancement he gave himself.

It's a new one, since you've never seen him use it before but it's nice, like a heat pack resting on your tummy.

“New enhancement?” You ask, and momentarily the stinging pain is forgotten.

“Yeah, you like it? I got a few others too,” His eyes are trained on your wound but his mind is focused on your words. A true multi-tasker. He lifts his head to reach for some bandages, before he looks back up at you.

“I'm gonna take off the uh—rest just so I can bandage you properly,” He's sliding down your underwear extremely slowly, giving you enough time to back out and tell him to stop if you ever got uncomfortable. He slides it down your legs and off from your feet, placing it on top of your folded jeans.

He lifts your thigh up just enough for him to roll the bandage under and over the flesh. Both his hands are on you, one metal hand gently cupping the side of your thigh while the other secures the white bandages over your wound. You're staring at his face, gazing at the way his eyes always seem to flicker to one specific spot. It makes you concious to say the least, but you'd trust him with your whole body.

Adefemi seems to notice your darting eyes and he sighs with a small smile, shaking his head as he looks up at you.

“Gettin' nervous are we?” He drawls, his voice a low rumble as if etched with a lack of sleep—or too much, “We can check that up too, If you're up for it.”

You can't bring yourself to say no, it's been awhile since you've really been able to spend time with your good ol' mechanic in that way. Though you're not entirely sure if he genuinely means to check or if he's inviting you to do something else.

“Y'know dysfunction is gettin' real common lately.”

Right.

“Can't hurt to treat it early, can it?”

Right.

You slowly nod, tilting your head to the side mostly out of embarrassment. He's so slow in his movements, gently brushing his fingertips along your folds, using two fingers to push them apart in a V shape. Its a strange feeling, cold metal on the warmest part of your body, it makes you twitch. Adefemi stays in that position, just staring at your flesh, taking note of whatever he's observing.

“Looks good, I'll run a few tests alright?” You know what he's implying with that, and he's taking it a step further by flexing his metallic hand “We can test my new features while we're at it.”

He shifts to stay beside you rather than at your legs, one hand leaning over the table beside your recliner with a pen between his fingers while his other hand rests low on your pelvis.

“At anytime you feel any pain or uncomfort, let me know,” He's using that fake tone of his to make himself sound a little more like a real doctor. More than the back alley mechanic he is.

He's careful with his movements as he slips a finger over your slit, the base of his finger brushes against your clit as he dips the tip into your opening. He hears you gasp a little and you can faintly hear a small chuckle to himself, followed by the scribbles of pen on paper.

He's so slowly rubbing his finger in and out, ensuring everytime he pulls his finger out, he digs the ball of his palm against that sweet nub. The mechanical heat from the rest of his metallic hand on your lower stomach doesn't help either; its almost soothing despite how agonisingly gentle and lazy he's being with you.

Adefemi glances back down at you before speaking, “Don't freak out, yeah? I ain't here to hurt you. It's just a little buzz—it'll feel good in a sec'.”

You feel a soft vibration from his finger, like a slow massage gun. He lets you adjust, getting all your squirms and soft whimpers as you restrain your back from arching up into his hand.

He slots another finger in—his ring finger alongside with his middle—firmly warming his fingers deep within your tight walls before upping the intensity. He arches his hand up from its resting position along your body, pressing his thumb against your clit. Adefemi rubs it in deep circles, observing the way you rake your fingers against his poor chair and hike your knees up to half-assedly alleviate the overwhelming sensation.

“You enjoying yourself?” He snorts at the tremble of your eyelashes and the whines bubbling in your throat, “Feels good don't it? Got it just for seein' pretty boys like you come all unwrapped.”

He pulls his soaked fingers from your cunt, rubbing your aching pussy like a gentle caress before delving his fingers back inside. You would've thought the soft scribbling in the background would drive you insane but its hard to think about what pisses you off more than what pleasures you.

“You gonna come pretty boy?” He teases slowly, the drowsiness of his tone was pretty much hypnotising—the things this man could do with his voice alone. His lazy chuckles were a product of seeing your pre-cum spray out from the frequency of the vibrations his hand was giving off, and the desperate raise of your hips to meet his fingers.

“Hmm... ain't that right?”

He writes down something for one last time before he places the pen down, turning his full attention to you. His free full flesh hand comes down on your head, stroking along the direction your hair sprouts from the crown of your head.

Adefemi's gentle head caresses have a great difference to his other hand. He's taken the responsibility to get you across the edge, curling his fingers agaisnt your sweet spot as he starts thrusting his fingers. It makes an obscene plap noise each time he pounds his thick, metal fingers into you.

With the hand so delicately stroking your hair, he grips it enough to manipulate the angle of your head, tilting it back so he can better hear all those noises spill from your mouth.

As your legs shake and your eyes squeeze shut, Adefemi hums softly, watching as you soak his recliner with the evidence of your orgasm. He works you through the after-high tuning down the vibrations and focusing on making it feel comfortable.

“Better than I thought,” He notes, sliding his fingers out before walking over to the sink to wash his hands. He glances back at you, legs shut and your head tilted back as your chest rises and falls from your breaths.

“Nothin' to worry about,” he swivels back around, grabbing your underwear as he wipes your bottom half with a warm cloth, slipping the fabric over your ankles, up your thighs and around your hips.

He reaches over and grabs your pants, helping you put them back on and even doing up your buttons for you.

“Next time though, if you just wanna see me, you don't hafta' crash your bike over it.”

[defectivevillain]

the games we play

pairing: Gi-hun/Young-il/Reader

the reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “And surely you’ve seen the way Young-il looks at you,” you press on, motivated by Gi-hun’s silence. “Like he wants to pick you apart, break you into pieces, and then put you back together again.” Gi-hun is quiet for several moments. “I… haven’t noticed that,” he eventually admits. He pauses for a moment, evidently thinking. “I’ve seen Young-il look at you like that.” Something unpleasant jumps in your chest. “Then we’re both in trouble,” you huff, rubbing a hand over your eyes.

Gi-hun and you attempt to navigate the 33rd Squid Game, under the watchful eye of the enigmatic Oh Young-il.

word count: 10.3k | ao3 version | fic playlist

warnings: spoilers to Squid Game season 2; canon-typical blood, violence, and death.

author's notes: This is Gi-hun/Reader/In-ho (Young-il) centric. Leaning heavily on Gi-hun/Reader, with subtle In-ho moments. The reader is written to have incurred debt from their undergraduate studies in America.

This fic does not have a happy ending. Also, it’s canon non-compliant/divergent.

I made a playlist for this fic too. Feel free to listen, if that’s your vibe :3

Thank you to @connorhasabigtip for beta reading this & watching the first four eps with me! love you bitch. and jun-ho is in love with you. so I guess that makes us related fr now.

You first meet Seong Gi-hun in a sandy arena, under the watchful eyes of a killer doll figurine as you play Red Light, Green Light. At the time, you only know him as Player 456—the strangely vocal man who insists that the game comes with the risk of imminent death. You’re not quite sure why you decide to believe him. Maybe it’s because you have no other choice; or maybe it’s just because there’s less risk. Either way, you choose to follow his advice. You end up near the front of the group of players scattered across the field, which means you are forced to remain frozen as you hear gunshot after gunshot. There are people screaming and attempting to escape, but you know it’s no use. They are all shot down, until the doll finally seems to have enough and turns its back on the field once more. 

You take the proffered opportunity to continue running down the field, until it begins to turn around again and you’re forced to freeze. 456 and you are the frontrunners, with 456 focused on helping everyone. He’s calm and collected under pressure—keeping his mouth hidden behind his elbow as he shouts out orders. 

Thanks to his help, the majority of the remaining players survive. And while most of them appear to scorn him for his relentless optimism, you can’t help but feel grateful that he warned everyone. You steal glances at him from across the dorm before gathering the courage to walk up to him and introduce yourself, dipping your head in a mock bow. He returns the gesture, introducing himself as Seong Gi-hun. You talk for a while, before finally relenting and asking him if he’s played these games before. The troubled expression that passes over his face is the only answer you need, but he confirms it verbally anyways. He won the game a few years ago. As for why he came back… he hopes to stop the games once and for all. 

“You’ll need some help then,” you remark, sounding far more confident than you feel at the present moment. “I can join you,” you offer. 

He looks askance. “It’ll be dangerous,” Gi-hun warns you. 

“Everything about these games is dangerous,” you point out. It’s true. If you’re going to die, you’d rather die fighting for something—instead of solely being a victim to these fucked up games. 

“True,” he acquiesces, before sliding over and giving you enough room to sit next to him. You take the proffered space and rest your forearms on your knees, clasping your hands and staring at the players across the dorm. 

“You may want to keep it a secret,” you say after a few moments, tapping your fingers restlessly. “That you’ve played these games before, I mean,” you clarify after seeing his confusion. 

“Why?” Gi-Hun frowns. You’re not surprised by his reaction—while you don’t know Gi-hun very well, it’s clear he has a good heart. He sees the best in people. And while that’s normally an admirable quality, it doesn’t quite help him here. 

“If you warn everyone about the second game now, and then it turns out you’re wrong…” you continue. You’ve been thinking about his show of resistance during the first game, and you suspect whoever is running the game will do whatever it takes to ensure he doesn’t do the same thing again. “You’ll be a pariah. No one will trust you. And that’s exactly what they want. They’re betting on the fact that you’ll tell everyone about the second game. They’ve probably changed it so you’ll lose credibility.” You finally seem to get through to Gi-hun with that remark, as he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“That’s… a fair point,” he eventually agrees. It seems he hadn’t thought of it. He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Feeling eyes on your back, you turn around to find a player staring at Gi-hun and you. Your skin burns under his intense gaze, and he shows no embarrassment at the prospect of being caught staring. Instead, he only blinks. You stare at him for a moment, before eventually convincing yourself to turn away. Your skin crawls for the rest of the day, even as you get into bed and try to get some sleep. 

The second game takes place early the next morning, after the majority of players vote to continue the game. You’re once again led through those winding pastel halls and stairs, only to find yourself in an arena reminiscent of a playground. You look over at Gi-hun, who looks a bit troubled by what he sees. Evidently, it’s a bit different from what he saw in the second round of his previous game. 

Once the surviving players are gathered in the space, an announcement confirms that the next game will be a six-legged race. Gi-hun shoots you a relieved look and you remember what he told you after your conversation the previous day. The second round last time was dalgona. It appears the game masters changed the game, just as you predicted. Gi-hun is still looking at you with gratitude and it makes you feel a bit uneasy, knowing the feeling is wasted on you. The announcer’s voice breaks through the static in your mind, directing players to gather in groups of five. 

“I’m with you,” you say after a moment, looking at Gi-hun. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out more confident and assertive. Internally, you’re a bit more unsure. Sure, you spoke with Gi-hun a lot yesterday, but that doesn’t mean he sees you as an ally yet. 

Thankfully, Gi-hun doesn’t object. “Of course.” He nods. You feel a slight smile slip onto your face, relieved that you won’t have to look around for a group. With the addition of Player 388, your group now has three members. You only need two more for the game. 

“May I join your group?” You blink to find Player 001 standing in front of you. He was the one staring at you two last night. The man looks between Gi-hun and you. You don’t trust yourself to speak, instead letting Gi-hun and 388 decide. 

“Sure,” Gi-hun agrees. You’re secretly a bit suspicious, but you let it go. 

With the addition of a young girl, your group is complete with five members. Since the game is a six-legged pentathlon, there will be five games interspersed along the track. Your group decides on the following pairings: Player 222 and Ddakji; Gi-Hun and Jegi; 001 and spinning top; 388 and Gonggi; & you and flying stones. 

As you’re watching the first group stumble through the obstacles, you feel a sudden presence behind you. “A miss in Flying Stone will eat up a lot of time,” 001 says. And wow, this guy needs to learn about personal space. You swear his breath is hitting your neck as he hovers over your shoulder. You instinctively flinch and turn around, comprehending his remark.

“Shut up,” you then respond, your nerves high enough without this guy’s comments. “Stop with your mind games. We’re on the same team, in case you didn’t realize.” You snap before you can stop yourself. You immediately turn back around to watch the team playing; and in your eagerness to look away, you miss the slight quirk of the man’s lips. 

The first two groups die. The gunshots still ring in your ears, even after the guards remove their corpses and the game continues. There are growing puddles on the ground, marring the childish appearance of the arena. 

Desperate for a way to distract yourself, you turn to 001 again. “Who are you, anyway?” you soon ask, unable to hide your curiosity. He just blinks at you, that infuriatingly blank expression on his face. He almost seems like an android, with how little emotion he shows. “I didn’t see you here for the first round.” You frown. And sure, the first round had hundreds of people. But you think you’d remember a guy like him. He’s… Well. You hate to admit it, but he’s very conventionally attractive. And his stare is eerie. If you had seen him, you would’ve remembered.

Gi-hun overhears and freezes, looking at you before following your gaze to stare at 001. He seems curious. “And you knew my name, when I never told it to you,” Gi-hun continues. 

Your eyes widen. You’re about to press the guy for more information when the buzzer rings, summoning your group to the starting line. That was suspiciously good timing. But it doesn’t matter—you can worry about 001’s origins later. Right now, you have a game to win. 

Fortunately, your group makes it out alive. The group you share the arena with isn’t so lucky, and the sound of gunshots echoes in your ears long after you head back to the dorms. All of you are dejected as you see how many people died last round. You feel particularly worried for 222, who had revealed herself to be pregnant. Just how in the hell is she getting through this? She must be in immense pain. 

When you’re given your rations for the day, you give her your bread. 001 gives her his milk, and before long, each member of the group has sacrificed something to ensure her wellbeing. You can’t help but feel sickened at the thought of her presence here—she’s so young, and she’s carrying a baby while fighting for her life to survive. You don’t necessarily pity her, since she’s proven she’s very capable and athletic. Still… You resent the circumstances that brought players like her here. 

You think back to the game you just played. Everyone did very well and succeeded on the first try, except for 001—who took several tries to successfully wind and throw the spinning top. It’s ironic, considering he was trying to warn you all earlier and put more pressure on you. All of that talk… just for him to buckle under the pressure. It almost makes you want to laugh. If the rest of you hadn’t done so well, he could’ve gotten you killed. 

A sharp bolt of anger rushes through you. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten our conversation,” you say to the guy, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. 001 blinks at you innocently. The gesture just irritates you even more. “Who are you? How much debt do you have? What’s your job?”

“I think you can stop interrogating him,” 388 interjects, clearly sensing the tension settling across the group. You grit your teeth. 

“No; he’s suspicious,” you argue persistently, your spine tingling uneasily as you’re met with 001’s blank stare. “He beat the shit out of those two guys and pretended like it was nothing.” Indeed, when two contestants had been messing with a third guy, 001 had promptly walked up to them and overpowered them with ease. “He knew Gi-hun’s name when he never told him, and he was playing mind games all through the last round.” You finish scrutinizing him. The guy stares right back, seemingly unaffected by your skepticism.

“Hey, enough of that,” 388 remarks placatingly. You bite your tongue and allow him to keep speaking, if only because you’re so frustrated you can hardly think. Your fists are clenched at your sides. 001 is still staring, and he’s likely getting enjoyment from your irritation. “We should be celebrating our victory! And if you’ll excuse me…” He gets to his feet and stares at the group. “I don’t know your names yet. Mine’s Kang Dae-ho. It means ‘big tiger’.”

All of you proceed to introduce yourselves, before it gets to 001. Supposedly, his name is Oh Young-Il. “It’ll be easy to remember, because it corresponds to my number,” he remarks. This guy is only getting more and more suspicious with each thing he says. There’s no way in hell that’s his real name. And he seems to recognize you don’t believe him, because he’s staring at you again. 

The group is a bit more withdrawn today, after the events of the previous game. As your adrenaline dies down, you realize you’re quite tired. The others seem to feel the same; yet the day passes with infinite lethargy. It feels like a whole lifetime until the lights-out announcement. Upon hearing the announcement, Gi-hun guides the group through building a kind of fort and assigning members for guard duty. Supposedly, people can get violent at night—and kill one another just for the promise of more prize money. You’re not exactly surprised by that, so you go along with his orders. Gi-hun offers to take the first shift—leaving the rest of you to sleep peacefully (or, at least, as peacefully as a person can sleep in a place like this).

When you wake for the next shift a few hours later, you find Gi-hun still awake—staring off into the distance with a frown on his face. You sidle up next to him and the two of you sit in silence for a while. It’s not necessarily an uncomfortable silence. The two of you are both deep in thought, as you evidently reflect on the horrors you’ve witnessed. 

“...I don’t trust Young-il,” you admit quietly. There’s a persistent but quiet hum in the air, the only companion to the silence. 

“Why not?” Gi-hun asks. He doesn’t look suspicious, but he doesn’t exactly look believing either. He always believes the best in people, though. And his desire to stop the games has kept him too busy to notice the way 001 is acting. 

“He’s… slippery,” you settle for saying after a few moments. “He messes with people just to see their reactions. Plus, did you see him in the first game? Because I swear I didn’t see him, and then suddenly, when it was time to vote, he just… appeared.” 

“I mean, isn’t that strange?” you continue, unable to stop talking now that you’ve finally spoken your mind. “Especially when his vote was the one that ushered in the second game. It’s just… I don’t know, it’s really fishy.”

Gi-hun hasn’t spoken a word, instead looking ahead in sincere contemplation. “And surely you’ve seen the way he looks at you,” you press on, motivated by Gi-hun’s silence. “Like he wants to pick you apart, break you into pieces, and then put you back together again.”

Gi-hun is quiet for several moments. “I… haven’t noticed that,” he eventually admits, fully turning to look at you. He pauses for a moment, evidently thinking. His eyes are searching your face for something—but it’s a different kind of scrutiny than Young-il’s covert malice. “But I’ve seen him look at you like that,” Gi-hun says quietly. 

Something unpleasant jumps in your chest. “Then we’re both in trouble,” you huff, rubbing a hand over your eyes. 

(And little do you both know, Young-il has been lying awake the entire time, digesting every word of your conversation.)

“You should rest, Gi-hun,” you suggest. “I’ll take over from here.” It takes some argument, but you manage to persuade Gi-hun to sleep. You spend the rest of your guard shift staring ahead and fighting off sleep. Your eyes are dry and you’re beginning to get a headache, but you’re happy to keep watch if it ensures the safety of your group members. 

You must zone out for quite a while, because there’s soon a hand on your shoulder. You flinch and blink dazedly, only to find Young-il staring at you imploringly. “It’s my turn to keep watch. You should rest,” he suggests. His hand hasn’t moved from your shoulder. Gi-hun’s words echo in your ears: I’ve seen him look at you like that. Young-il’s dark eyes are glittering. You’re immediately assaulted with one unshakeable conviction: he wants to rip you apart and eat you alive. 

You’re not sure how long you remain there, pliant under the man’s grasp, before you shake yourself out of it. All you know is the faux concern knitting his brows together, and the lingering hand on your shoulder that only slips away after you’re out of reach.

…You don’t sleep very well. 

The third game, Mingle, is quickly proving to be the worst one so far. It should be simple: the players stand on a spinning carousel, and when it stops moving, a number is announced. Players must then assemble a group of that number and gather in one of the nearby rooms before the time expires. Elementary. 

Except… it’s utter mayhem when the numbers are announced. The lights go out, the countdown is ever present in a loud chirping tone, and it’s loud. 255 people is far too many for the enclosed space you find yourself in. And while your impromptu group develops a hesitant strategy, there’s no telling what number will come next. Hell, at this point, they could announce “1” and eliminate three-quarters of the players. You hope it doesn’t come to that. 

As the rounds continue, you grow more and more restless. There’s a horrible pit in your stomach as you return to the spinning stage each time, stepping over corpses and puddles of blood. You almost feel as if you’re stuck in some strange sort of limbo, cursed to continue this stupid game over and over again. To make matters worse, there are slits in each of the doors that conceal the rooms—giving you a front row seat to the brutality of the guards. 

Finally, after what feels like far too long, you’re at the last round. You swallow hard, fighting off the dizziness and vertigo that the spinning stage is inciting in you. Jun-hee, Dae-ho, Young-il, and Gi-hun have all survived thus far, thankfully. You all had to split up a few times when the numbers were smaller, but you survived nonetheless.  

“What do you think the last number will be?” Gi-hun asks the group. 

You contemplate the question. Before you can respond, Young-il speaks. “Two,” he answers with frightening certainty. You pay him a wary glance, only to find that there is no trace of hesitation in his expression. Everything he does only makes you more unnerved. He must be doing it on purpose, at this point. 

You look at Gi-hun wordlessly. But just as you’re about to ask him to be your partner, the lights are going out and the number is appearing on the screen above. Indeed, as Young-il predicted, the last round requires a pair to enter a room.  

You barely get a moment to think before Young-il latches his hand onto your wrist, yanking you after him and leaving you no choice but to follow. You spare a glance behind you at Gi-hun, relieved to see he’s running to a room with Dae-ho. Your attention is quickly recaptured by the people you’re running near, and you have to push past them to get into the nearest room. With Young-il’s help, you manage to get inside and slam the door behind you. 

You’re about to breathe a sigh of relief when you lock eyes with another guy. It’s a third player, who was inexplicably standing in the room. Everything falls to an eerie silence as you come to terms with the situation. The timer is quickly counting down. He needs to leave for Young-il and you to fit the requirements. If you have too many people, you’ll fail and die. But the clock is already counting down, and the door locked behind you, and there’s just no time, not enough time—

You feel yourself slide down the wall and onto the ground, shakily covering your head in your hands as if that will do anything to stop the oncoming onslaught of bullets from the guards. You can only hear the sound of your own ragged breathing reverberating through your ears, as you try and fail to keep it together. 

The sound of shuffling breaks you from your thoughts; you look up to find Young-il with his arms wrapped around the guy’s neck as he chokes the life out of him. The guy’s face is turning red from the strength of his grip, as he scrambles to get some air. His eyes meet yours and you just… stare. 

Three… Two… One.

The other player slumps on the ground. 

A few seconds pass. There’s nothing but silence. It seems the guy died just before the countdown ended—bringing the number of players back down to two and ensuring your victory in the game. 

Your eyes are locked on the other player’s corpse. Then, as if against their own volition, your eyes find Young-il’s, and every one of your prior suspicions is confirmed. 

…You’re frozen. 

He gets to his feet, pushing the corpse away as if it’s nothing more than an obstacle. The casual nature of the gesture makes you feel sick. Then Young-il politely offers you a hand, as if you had merely stumbled on the ground. As if he hadn’t just killed someone right in front of you. 

You’re frozen. You think there’s blood spattered across your face from one of the previous rounds. You can’t speak, can hardly breathe.

Unperturbed, Young-il crouches down before you. He takes your forearms and deftly tugs you up to your feet. 

You’re 

still

frozen. 

He’s guiding you out of the room now, his grip on your shoulder tight and loose all at once. The door slides open with a menacing sound. The other players are leaving their rooms. You want to search the crowd, but the contestants’ faces are all blurring together. There’s a helpless sound trapped in your throat. 

“Oh, thank God, you guys—” a familiar voice says. Gi-hun is running towards you. You want to be touched by the sheer relief in his voice, but you’re too busy trying not to pass out, or punch something, or just sob. You wrap your arms around yourself and try not to think about the blood flooding the floor, the ringing in your ears, the maleficence of the man at your side. Gi-hun claps a hand on your shoulder, his expression morphing into a concern you don’t deserve. “What happened?”

You can hardly breathe. Gi-hun’s looking at you expectantly and it takes all your effort not to just break down right there. You look at the ground, see the bloodstains, look back up. The doors on the far side of the space are opening, marking the end of the round. There’s a swarm of teal as players make their way back to the dorms. 

You think you’d stand there forever, if not for Gi-hun’s guidance. He pulls you after him gently. You follow. You feel Young-il’s gaze burning into the back of your head. Your tongue is locked to the roof of your mouth. You think you’re shaking, but it’s hard to think straight over the roaring sound in your ears.

Oh Young-il. 001. 

The inexplicable combat skills. The ease with which he killed the other player. That eerie look on his face, as if he’s viewing the game through the eyes of an observer. The gleam in his eyes as he stares at Gi-hun, you, and tests your resolve. This game, these players… they’re all an experiment to him. And he is the mad scientist engineering the entire thing. 

You’re fucked.  

You don’t remember much of what happens after that. The survivors make their way through the winding pastel corridor once more. You nearly trip on the steps several times, just barely catching yourself each time. Your ears are ringing. Even Jun-hee seems worried for you, and she’s carrying a baby.  

To make things worse, you keep hearing people calling your name. At first, you think you’re just imagining it. But you hear it again and again; and when you turn around, you hear the crazy shaman lady beckoning you closer. She’s slipping through the line and walking towards you now, crooning about fate and destiny and your imminent death. You don’t know what to say, can’t seem to summon that fire that has kept you safe, skeptical, this entire time. Before you can respond, Gi-hun’s leading you away from her with an arm around your shoulders. You can just vaguely hear Young-il speaking with Dae-ho and Jun-hee behind you, likely providing a sugar-coated lie for your state right now. You want to vomit. 

You blink and you’re on one of the bunks. Gi-hun’s saying something, looking at you worriedly, but his voice sounds garbled and warped like he’s underwater. You blink, blink, blink. Your hands are trembling still. You can’t rid yourself of the memory: of that player, in his dying moments, looking to you for help. You could’ve done something, should’ve done something. 

But what could you have done? If you had stopped Young-il, all three of you would’ve died anyway for having an incorrect number of people. Right? Young-il only did what was necessary to ensure your survival. Should you be grateful to him? 

No. You don’t want to feel thankful for a person who snuffed out the life of another before your very eyes. You don’t want to feel any positive emotion in this place. It’s all a lie. Everything is just… a feeble exercise to fight off despair. But it always comes back. Always. 

You hide your head in your knees, trying to gather the shattered pieces of your composure. You want to hate yourself for this—for the way you just shut down—but, at the same time, it only seems rational. Young-il is one of the game masters. You’re not sure just what his role is, but it must be something important—for him to be able to slip into the players’ ranks with ease. And you just saw him kill a contestant before your very eyes. What’s stopping him from doing the same thing to you, or Gi-hun, or Jun-hee, or Dae-ho? He could’ve easily strangled you in that tiny room. What prevented him from doing so? What guided his arm to wrap around the other player’s neck, instead of your own?

Moreover, if Young-il really is a part of executing these games… Who’s to say he doesn’t have advanced knowledge of the rounds to come? That only increases the despair you feel. What’s the point of fighting, if the game is rigged? If Young-il has adjusted the odds to his favor? Your head aches as you attempt to rationalize it all. Nothing about it makes sense.

…But you can’t let 001 win. You can’t let him break your resolve. That’s what Young-il’s here to do: he wants to stop Gi-hun’s insurgence—and, by extension, yours.

You run through your thoughts for a while, attempting to string together the tangled mess of information you’ve learned and witnessed. “Gi-hun.” You eventually say. Your voice is raspy, somehow. You haven’t spoken in a few hours now. Everyone in the group looks over at you. Your voice sounds like a stranger’s. “I need to speak with you. Alone.” You get to your feet and make your way to the ground, before shoving your hands in your pockets as you wait for him. Gi-hun stands up. 

Gi-hun is at your side as you walk, looking at you. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” You suggest as you walk away. He nods at your suggestion and the two of you head into the giant restroom. It’s not the ideal place for a conversation, but here, none of the other players will eavesdrop. There are cameras, but you doubt they have audio. 

You stand in the center of the empty bathroom for a long moment. Gi-hun seems to take the initiative, leading you into one of the stalls. The space seems far too small, with the two of you practically pressed together as you evade the cameras. The edges of your dirtied white shoes nearly touch. 

If Gi-hun is uncomfortable with the proximity, he doesn’t show it. After all, you both have far bigger problems. “What happened?” He asks you carefully. There are muted pink stains on his shirt—blood from the past games. You’re sure your clothing looks much the same. 

“I—” you choke out. This is much harder than you expected. Your sentences are choppy and fragmented as you continue speaking. “You remember our conversation last night?” It almost hurts to speak. 

“Yes,” he confirms, likely recalling your suspicions about Young-il. At this point, you almost wish you were wrong—that 001 was merely another player, just like the rest of you. But you know that contradicts the facts. 

“Young-il’s working for them,” you manage to say. 

Gi-hun is silent as he processes what you’ve just said. 

“He killed a man in front of me,” you say, your voice shaking. “When we were in the—the room. There were three of us. And I thought I was going to die—” You’re fighting for air again, your words interrupted with involuntary shudders. 

You look down at your feet to hide the tears you’re fighting off. But Gi-hun only leans forward and pulls you into an embrace. You can’t help but clutch at him like a lifeline. 

“He put the guy in a chokehold and killed him,” you manage to say, once you’ve calmed down a little. “Gi-hun, the look on his face—” you choke off, shaking your head. His hold on you just tightens, as if reassuring you of his presence. You feel so weak for allowing yourself this moment, so vulnerable and desperate as you fall apart in the arms of the man who has lost so much more than you can possibly fathom. 

“Any attempt we make at stopping the games, he’ll be there listening,” you state, trying to take a breath and gather your thoughts once more. You could easily spend the rest of the night falling apart, but you know it won’t get you anywhere.  

Gi-hun swallows, bringing a hand across his chin as he evidently attempts to puzzle out what your next move should be. “That’s a problem.” He eventually says. You nod. 

“I think Young-il joined to mess with you,” you confess. “And if that’s the case, he must be more than a mere guard. The guards don’t have that kind of power. He’d have to be pretty high up in the hierarchy.”

“No wonder you were despondent earlier,” Gi-hun sighs. He laughs, a gesture completely devoid of any positive emotion. He rubs a hand over his face. “I had a plan: take the guards’ guns from them, get to the control room and demand answers.”

You just shake your head. You both know an exercise like that would be futile, and result in countless unintentional casualties. 

“It’s probably him,” Gi-hun continues. “He’s been right in front of us the whole time.” Us. Not me, but us. You feel momentarily touched by the remark, before you see the distressed look on his face. You can’t imagine what Gi-hun’s thinking right now, as he attempts to find a way to end this game system. System, because these games are far more than isolated events. A group—hell, an organization—with this kind of resources wouldn’t just give up after one game. It’s a constant cycle of despair and greed. 

Is there even a way to break the cycle? Gi-hun is only a single player. Dismantling an entire system—and, moreover, the predatory tactics it uses to ensnare people—is an impossible task. And you both know it. These games rely on the corruption in the outside world… and that can’t be wished away by an uprising here. People will always be greedy. People will always fight for their lives. And people will always resent being controlled. You shake your head. 

There’s a harsh banging on the door of the restroom; the two of you flinch, hearing a guard summoning you back to the dorms. You exchange worried looks before complying with his orders, stepping out of the bathroom and heading back to the group. 

“What took you guys so long?” another player asks when you get back. He’s been sitting on the outskirts of your impromptu group since you got back from the game. “Don’t tell me you hooked up in there; that’s where we all go to piss.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Gi-hun must be wearing a similar expression, because he’s also silent. 

“What?” he asks, looking to the others for support. “Come on, it’s not that crazy of an assumption to make.”

Jun-hee looks like she’s fighting off the urge to smile in amusement; Dae-ho is laughing; and Young-il is silent as always. You could convince yourself there’s an extra tension to the set of his shoulders, but you won’t. 

Dae-ho continues attempting to keep the group’s morale up, but you can’t seem to move past your conversation with Gi-hun—and neither can he. When the countdown to lights out begins, the two of you are volunteering for guard duty. 

You want nothing more than to go to sleep, but your mind won’t let you. You’re stuck sitting in silence, fighting off stinging eyelids and persistent fatigue. 

Eventually, you lose the battle to exhaustion; and you wake some time later to feel a slightly stiff neck and hear an amused exhale of breath. Your awareness comes back slowly, as you exit your dreams and return to the nightmare of your waking life. The dorms slowly sharpen before your eyes and you blink blearily, wondering why your side feels so warm. It doesn’t take you long to connect the dots on that particular puzzle—as you look over to find yourself nearly nestled into Gi-hun’s side, your head resting on his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening up and sliding away a little. It takes a concerted effort to ignore the heat racing across your skin. 

Gi-hun doesn’t look particularly bothered, instead blinking. “You needed the rest,” he says, considerate as always.

“And you didn’t?” you ask with a raised brow. 

Gi-hun’s about to respond when you both hear rustling. Dae-ho’s sudden presence behind you makes your heart jump. 

“You should rest,” Dae-ho suggests, crouching behind you both. “Both of you. It’s my turn anyways.”

Neither of you can come up with a good argument, so you go back to your respective beds and fall asleep. 

The next night isn’t a very restful night either. The fourth game takes the lives of far too many players. Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and countless other contestants die. The majority of the beds in the dorms are empty now. Many players appear dejected and overwhelmed with the situation. Yet, the majority still consistently votes to continue the game. You are well and truly trapped here.

You reconvene with Gi-hun after the game and quickly decide that you should attempt getting some more information from Young-il. Gi-hun is quick to volunteer you for the task, citing his somewhat mediocre lying abilities. This is how you find yourself seated next to Young-il in the near darkness that night, fighting off your nerves as you try to convince yourself to speak. 

“What do you want?” you ask when you can finally suppress your nerves. Your fingers twitch and you clasp them in your lap. Young-il is silent for a moment, before raising a brow. Maybe he didn’t hear you. “What do you want? What are you doing this for?”

He’s still quiet. You choke on a sharp, broken laugh. Even direct confrontation isn’t enough to get him to admit his role in the games. 

“How did you fall into debt?” Young-il asks you instead.

You decide to humor the question, if only so that he’ll be more talkative later on. Maybe he’ll be more motivated to tell the truth if you’re self-disclosing too. “I studied in America,” you reply. “Took a lot of loans, but it wasn’t enough. Obviously.” You huff, looking around. To think you spent all that money to get a degree… only to end up here.  

“Hm.” He doesn’t seem to have much to say regarding that. Young-il doesn’t look particularly surprised at your response either. 

“How did you actually get here?” you ask after a few seconds. “Are you even in debt?” Young-il does give off a bit of a businessman vibe—someone who’s more responsible with his money. It’s kind of hard to imagine him being in the same kind of crippling debt that keeps many of the players participating in the game. 

“I was,” he answers eventually, his arms resting on his knees. 

“You were,” you repeat, a bit surprised that he entertained the question. You recall what he told the group regarding his wife and her liver cancer, back when you first met. “Because of your wife’s treatment, I assume. Did she…?” you trail off quietly.

“Dead,” he answers, before you can stammer and stumble through an appropriate way to ask. 

“I see,” you remark. “But you’re still here. You won a game in the past, and then joined the game masters?” No response. You continue anyways. “Why? Did you have nothing else left?” You’re sure he can feel you staring at him expectantly, but he doesn’t crack under the pressure. 

“You’re persistent,” he notes after several moments. 

“And you’re very tight-lipped,” you respond immediately. Your heart is racing in your chest. This is a bit dangerous. There’s no telling what could make Young-il snap and grow angry. But, you suppose, anger would at least be a reaction. For the entirety of the games so far, he’s been infuriatingly emotionless. “That’s surprising, that you were a participant in the games once. Going through that is enough for anyone to leave and never return.”

“But you returned,” you speculate. “And to the wrong side, no less.” You’re just saying anything at this point—attempting to provoke some sort of reaction, regardless of what it is. So far, nothing really seems to be working. Maybe you need to go a bit below the belt. “I can’t imagine your wife thinks highly of you. Watching from whatever afterlife she’s in.” And that’s easily the rudest thing you’ve ever said to him, but, oh well. You could die tomorrow in the games, or here at his hand. Does it really make a difference? 

Young-il’s eyes immediately flash and you know you’ve trapped him. “Are you attempting to make me feel guilty?” Young-il asks, his voice devoid of emotion. But you know the brief flicker of anger in his eyes wasn’t a trick of the light. And while his anger is likely volatile, at least you're getting something. He’ll be more likely to talk if he’s feeling emotional. 

“Is it working?” You blink, still looking at him. He’s silent. “...Guess not,” you mutter resignedly. You swear you hear an amused exhale of breath from him, as if he’s holding back a laugh.  

“How do you get all this money, then?” you ask, genuinely curious. “This kind of operation can’t be easy to maintain.” After all, there are more than just the players that they have to worry about: there are the guards, the game masters, and whoever is watching these games. Because you know someone is watching. You can’t quite prove it, but you know regardless. 

“You are very perceptive.” Young-il says in lieu of an answer, a note of something complex in his voice. 

“Don’t patronize me,” you scoff, annoyed by the empty flattery. 

“I’m not patronizing you,” he continues, turning to look at you for one of the first times since you started speaking. “You have been a thorn in my side this entire time.”

“Oh,” you remark, surprised. You certainly weren’t expecting him to admit that you’ve been annoying him. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You really are quite strange,” he huffs.  

“And you aren’t?” you ask, taking the bait he’s dangling in front of you. “You could’ve been safe up there, or wherever the control room is. But instead you’ve joined the players once more. For… no reason. Or for entertainment, I suspect.”

Silence. 

“Do you know what games are next, then?” There’s no answer from him. You’re getting more irritated. “You realize I’m not going to stop asking questions,” you pester, if only to get him to say something. 

“That does seem to be part of your charm.” He says. It’s weirdly difficult for you to tell if his tone is sincere or sardonic. Perhaps a bit of both? No, surely not. He must be joking.  

You blink. “Okay… has there ever been more than one winner of the game?” you ask. You’re not sure why that question comes to mind. And you think you already know the answer. 

“No,” Young-il replies, confirming your suspicions. 

“How are you going to survive then?” you question, looking at him curiously. “Gi-hun’s going to win.” Will he sneak away before the last game? Or perhaps he’ll be given an advantage for it? 

“How are you going to survive?” he reasons, breaking you out of your thoughts.  

You shrug. “Not sure I will,” you admit. You’re not necessarily okay with that, but you pretend that you are. “But surely you can just sneak off or something. Fake your death in a game and disappear.” You raise a brow at him. 

“You have accepted your fate already,” he analyzes, ignoring your attempts at getting more information. He’s good. 

“The odds are against me,” you confess. “And I’d rather Gi-hun win.” Gi-hun has a lot more to live for. He would be the optimal person to carry out the end of the games, not you. 

“Why?” There’s genuine emotion on Young-il’s face, for what must be the first time. But it’s not surprise or suspicion—it’s confusion. Pure, complete confusion. He doesn’t understand what you just said or why you said it. 

“Because I care about him?” you respond, the statement coming out as a question despite it being the truth. Something passes over Young-il’s face, but it’s so quick you can’t even begin to decipher what emotion it is. “He’s the only good person in this place,” you say, your gaze wandering over the beds across the room. The remaining players are mostly asleep, awaiting the fifth game tomorrow. 

“Rest,” Young-il says, effectively terminating your conversation. “It’s my turn to keep watch.”

You don’t want to go to sleep. But Gi-hun and you agreed that you both need rest if you want to perform well in the games. And Young-il has had many opportunities to kill you already. He hasn’t done it yet. For some reason, he wants you both alive. And that is truly a frightening thought.  

As you head to your bed, you lock eyes with Gi-hun. The two of you have a lot to talk about, it seems. 

“Well, I tried my best,” you sigh, looking over at Gi-hun in the dim lighting of the restroom that morning. The two of you had decided to try to get more information out of Young-il—hence, your conversation with him the other night. You’re not sure if it was very helpful, but at least you can say you tried. 

“You did very well,” Gi-hun reassures you easily. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you respond easily. The two of you are standing close together in the same stall, just like last time. “I want to end the games too… Did you get any ideas from that conversation?” 

“A few,” Gi-hun says with a frown. He seems distracted now, and almost apprehensive. You squint at him. “Is it true?” 

“Is what true?” you ask, a bit confused. 

“You said you care about me,” he recalls. 

Oh. Shit. You had forgotten he was listening to the conversation, at that point. “Of course I do,” you respond after a few seconds, recognizing Gi-hun isn’t the type of person to throw your feelings back in your face. You do care about him, yes. “You didn’t know?” you ask.

Gi-hun stares at you for a long, long moment. He’s scrutinizing you, searching your face for something. Whatever it is, he must find it, because he eventually settles. Then he’s continuing on as if he hadn’t said anything in the first place. “There’s nothing we can do about the game tomorrow… But I’m thinking the final game will be our chance.” 

“Okay.” You say after a moment, filing that previous reaction to the back of your mind. “What was the final game, when you played?” 

“Squid Game.” He responds. The expression on Gi-hun’s face is a heartbreaking mix of resignation, grief, and frustration. His fists clench at his sides as he recounts the rules. By the end, he’s practically shaking—and you realize he’s digging his nails into the palms of his hands. Concerned, you reach out and pry his fists apart, before slipping your fingers through his and clasping his hand. He looks surprised by the gesture, before he settles and nods. 

The two of you try to sleep that night as best as you can, given the circumstances. You’re worried about the final game—and the way Gi-hun ended your conversation, as if there was something he wasn’t telling you. You know he’d never hide something from you that you needed to know. You’re just… worried. Worried he’ll do something stupidly noble or self-sacrificing when it gets down to it. Of course, there’s no point in agonizing over the final game just yet. You have to make it through the fifth game, after all. 

You’re awoken along with the 30 remaining players early the next morning to begin the next game. And it is a brutal one. It is nothing like the challenge Gi-hun recalled from his own experience, where contestants jumped on glass panels, at a height that promised death for anyone who fell. It appears to involve a lot more dexterity than the last few. And, even more troubling, players have the opportunity to impede each other’s progress. 

Players are placed into groups of three and given a few minutes to complete their tasks. Gi-hun is in the first group, by some stroke of bad luck. Thankfully, he survives—but the same can’t be said for his other two group members, who are quickly shot in the head and dragged off into the darkness. You’ve been selected for the final group, which means you’re forced to watch as group after group dies in their failure to complete the challenge. This game seems designed to only let a few people survive. 

By the time it’s your turn, Gi-hun and Young-il are the only two players who managed to finish the game successfully. That’s not exactly a good omen for your survival, but you made sure to watch each player’s attempt and learn from their mistakes. You think you have a good idea of how to accomplish this task. You can only hope the pressure doesn’t get to you. 

The countdown begins and you get to work. Your hands are shaking as you scramble to finish what feels like a far too complex task for the few minutes you’re given. It’s down to the wire as your shaking hands rearrange pieces and build upon them, to the point where the timer is at ten seconds. 

Against all odds, you complete the game. The two players at your side are pleading and begging the guards to show mercy, but they are swiftly eliminated—all while you’re standing near them, close enough to hear the gunshots ring in your ears painfully. 

You can just barely recognize the guard’s arms rising to make a circle over their head, indicating that you passed the game. Sweat is beading down your neck; your hands are shaking so badly that you look as if you have extra fingers; and your chest almost hurts, as if your ribs are attempting to squeeze your internal organs and crush them. There are colors passing before your eyes at lightning speed. Shadows morph and blur at the edges of your vision. You feel unsteady on your feet. The guard standing in front of you is ordering you to exit the arena. You take a slow breath. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’ll be fine. 

You take a step. It’s more of a laborious effort than it should be. Why does it feel like you’re trapped in quicksand? Another step. You lurch forwards, catching yourself and straightening up. The exit looks so far away. You’ve been walking for minutes now, but you haven’t even made it halfway across the arena. 

There are puddles of blood everywhere. The white sneakers they gave you are practically pink now. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, but your teeth are chattering as if you’re freezing. Everything seems to catch up to you. Days of improper nutrition and lackluster sleep; of constant vigilance and ceaseless stress; of grief and regret; of physical strain and exertion. 

It’s strange. One moment, you’re walking along just fine (albeit a bit slowly); the next, your entire world is tilting as you crumple and fall to the ground like a broken marionette. There’s a pink blur of a guard before you, and you can only hope they’ll give you a swift end to this endless series of games.

You wake up to a stiffness in your joints and a dryness in your eyes. You blink several times, your vision slowly sharpening to reveal the dorms. You’re situated on your bed, and if not for the memory of the last game, you’d think you were just waking up from a nap. You bring a hand to your temple and groan, slowly pushing yourself up. 

Then you notice a presence at your side. Gi-hun sits on the bed across from you, looking at you worriedly. “Gi-hun?” you ask, blinking past dry eyes.

Gi-hun settles, redirecting his attention and seemingly realizing you’re awake. He immediately lingers at your bedside, staring down at you with a torn expression. “I thought you were dead,” he says immediately, so quietly that you nearly hear the remark. 

“Young-il and I were waiting for you,” Gi-hun continues, his gaze exploring your face as if drinking in the sight. “But you didn’t appear… until the guards came back. And one of them was holding you in their arms.”

“I thought—” Gi-hun chokes off. “They wouldn’t tell me anything—” He says, clearly frustrated by the lack of information. He shakes his head. You reach out to grasp his hand, only to realize he’s already holding yours. His grip is delicate, as if afraid he’ll hurt you. You squeeze his hand lightly, hoping the gesture is reassuring. “And there was so much blood.” His voice cracks.

You look down to find your clothes absolutely splattered in blood (hell, nearly drenched). “It’s not mine,” you say aloud, thinking back to the game. Your opponents had gotten eliminated, and the two of you were standing quite close at the end. The guard hadn’t even waited for you to get out of the way before blowing their brains out. Their blood went all over you. “I passed out. I think—Everything must’ve caught up to me.” You press a hand to your temple and wince at the headache you find. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Gi-hun admits. He strengthens his grip on your hand and his other hand falls to your bended knee. 

“I’m glad you are too,” you return the sentiment. Gi-hun stares for a long moment, before shaking his head and pulling you into a hug. He grasps you tightly. 

“And Young-il?” you ask later, some time after the two of you have broken apart. You’re not necessarily worried for him—more worried about him. There’s no telling what he has planned. 

(Recognizing your exhausted state, Gi-hun decides not to tell you about Young-il. He doesn’t tell you about the look on the man’s face, or about the mechanical way with which the man entered the empty arena moments later. He doesn’t detail the ringing gunshots that echoed throughout the nearby space, or the brief glimpse he caught of Young-il as he walked away… There was blood splattered across the man’s face and a vindictive gleam in his eyes. Meanwhile, Gi-hun returned to the dorms with the rest of the guards, nearly begging them to tell him something, anything-)

“He left, I imagine,” Gi-hun says instead. It almost seems as if he wants to say more, but he’s holding himself back.  

“It’s just us?” you ask, grasping his hand tightly. You need some sort of anchor to reality. You feel as if you’re starting to slip.  

Sensing your distress, Gi-hun moves to sit next to you on the bed—all without letting go of your hand. “It’s just us,” he confirms. 

There is so much you wish you could say. But in your exhaustion, only one thing comes to mind. “Can finally get a good night’s sleep,” you say tiredly. You have no intention to hurt Gi-hun; and you doubt he will harm you. You won’t have to stay up all night guarding the group. (Because the group is gone. Because Jun-hee and Dae-ho are dead. Because Young-il left.) 

Gi-hun stares in disbelief, before laughing. The sound breaks you out of your spiraling thoughts. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him genuinely laugh before. “I guess so,” he relents. 

The two of you sit there for a while, before the lights-out announcement breaks through the uneasy silence in the dorms. It’s far too quiet—you’re used to hearing pieces of conversations, shuffling as people move about the room. You feel sick to your stomach. And so, so horribly alone. 

You decide to abandon your dignity and ask Gi-hun if you can sleep next to him. Fortunately, before you can overthink the question, Gi-hun is nodding with relief. The two of you then push your mattresses together on the floor and get settled in.

Before long, you’re staring up at the ceiling. Gi-hun’s hand finds yours. You twist to your side and look at him. He looks at you. The distance between you almost seems to shrink, as the two of you gravitate towards one another. There is so much you wish you could say. Dread, guilt, grief, frustration, and exhaustion all battle for prominence in your chest. You lean into him; he leans into you. It feels far too natural. 

This moment is a brief reprieve from the reality of the situation, and the fate that awaits you tomorrow. This glimpse at quiet domesticity is the most you will ever get. 

All things considered, it’s… nice.

The final game is Squid Game, just as Gi-hun predicted. The two of you walk to the arena together, entirely silent. You feel nauseous. You don’t want to die. But you definitely don’t want Gi-hun to die. He must be thinking along the same lines, as his lips are drawn in a tight frown. You trudge up the pastel steps a bit more slowly than usual, as if that will somehow delay your death. (It won’t.)

There’s a knife on the floor in the middle of the squid drawn in the sand. You almost want to laugh. If they think you’ll kill Gi-hun, they’re sorely mistaken. The two of you have chosen to wait until arriving at the final game to announce your decision to end. This way, you may have a chance at meeting the game masters.  

The walls around you are painted a cheerful blue. It couldn’t look more unsettling. You take a slow breath, steeling your nerves as you fight to speak. There’s an eerie silence in the air. “We choose to end the game,” you announce, slowly turning around at the cameras that must be scattered around the area. 

“We’re in agreement,” Gi-hun maintains, his eyes flitting about warily. “Clause 3 allows the majority to end the game.”

Your heart is roaring in your ears as you are met with nothing but silence. Will they really permit you to do this? Are you really allowed this ending? You’re breathing hard, despite the fact that you’re locked in place. 

“Congratulations, Player 228 and Player 456. You have won the 36th Squid Game.”

“What?” you choke. 

“What?” Gi-hun echoes. The two of you exchange bewildered looks. You chose to end the game, so why are you being granted victory? 

You hear sardonic slow applause coming from the other side of the space and you whip around, only to find a man in a geometric black mask. “Well done,” he says, his voice distorted. 

Dread prickles along your skin. Even with the mask and voice distortion, you know who is standing before you both. “Young-il,” you say guardedly. “If that’s even your name,” you add on. You strongly suspect it isn’t. 

The man removes his mask, revealing himself to be 001: Oh Young-il. Your suspicions are confirmed. You don’t quite react, save for subconsciously clenching your jaw. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Young-il remarks, looking between the both of you. “I suppose that is to be expected. You were quick to catch on,” he says, staring at you intently. You feel restless and fidgety under the weight of his gaze. 

Gi-hun looks… furious, betrayed, and resigned all at once. It’s clear that, despite the fact that he believed you, he still gave Young-il the benefit of the doubt. He is too good for this place, you are reminded once more. 

“Hwang in-ho,” 001 says, apropos of nothing. 

“What?” you hear yourself say.

“My name,” he explains. “You will need to know it, as we are working together from this point forward.”

“What?” you repeat, horror crawling up your throat. Working together? “No, we’re supposed to leave—” You look at Gi-hun helplessly. He looks just as nauseated and disturbed as you are, which is a small ressurance. The winners of the Squid Game are allowed to return home. Right?

“You will receive the prize money, split amongst you both,” Young-il—no, In-ho—continues. As if either of you care about that at the moment. The prize money is the least of your concerns. “However, your continued survival comes with a condition: you must work alongside me to oversee the games.”

Gi-hun and you are both quiet for a long time. “Why?” Gi-hun finally asks, the first to regain his composure after that remark. He shoots you a helpless look, before staring back at In-ho firmly. “Because we’re both alive?” 

“Precisely,” he agrees. In-ho cuts an imposing figure in his all-black clothing and you’re once again reminded of the feeling you got when he first arrived—the sense that he didn’t belong. “You said it yourself a few days ago: there has only ever been one winner. I have negotiated for your continued survival, on the promise that you will remain here.”

“For how long?” you ask. You don’t particularly care to hide your fear and dread. 

“As long as you have,” he responds easily, clasping his hands behind his back. As long as you have—so, for the rest of your life. 

You pay another glance at Gi-hun, knowing there’s no way he’ll accept this. Sure enough, he looks troubled… then contemplative. You’re hit with an instant feeling of foreboding. Gi-hun seems to be planning something. “If one of us dies,” he says, his voice hollow. “Will the other one be free to go?”

“...I suppose,” In-ho says, his brows furrowing minutely. He doesn’t seem to understand the point of the question.  

“Gi-hun,” you say, suddenly sensing what he’s about to do. The knife is still in the middle of the arena, untouched and neglected. But not for long, you suspect. “Don’t,” You plead. 

Gi-hun is already lunging for the knife. “No-!” you scream, immediately trying to grab the weapon. Gi-hun’s faster—wielding it and attempting to stab himself. You just barely grab his arm in time, the change in momentum sending you both sprawling to the ground. You try to wrestle the knife out of his hands, but it’s an increasingly difficult effort. Your hands are shaking, your arms burning as you use every muscle in your body to keep him from sacrificing himself. 

“Go,” he says, tugging the knife towards him again. You’re pulled along with it, straining to fight his strength. “Live a happy life, away from here.” A happy life. You both know that’s not possible. 

“Not without you,” you choke, your hands trembling on Gi-hun’s. Gi-hun is determined, but you have a height advantage as you lean over him—and you use it to pry the knife from his grip. You don’t hesitate to bring the blade to your own throat. 

“No, no, no-!” Gi-hun immediately grabs at your forearm, attempting to pull the blade away from your neck. There are tears streaming down his face, and your own vision is blurred. Your grip is growing sweaty as your adrenaline keeps you fighting to bring the blade back, if only to spare Gi-hun. The blade is getting closer and closer, already kissing your skin and drawing blood- 

“Enough!” 

In-ho's voice cuts through the air. And you suddenly feel an intense pain in your ear. The knife in your hand clatters to the ground, but you barely notice as your knees crumple under you. You’re practically writhing on the ground, your every nerve thrumming and buzzing. Your vision is pulsing around you; you slam your hands over your ears and whimper. You’ve never felt such intense, relentless pain before. Blood drips down the skin of your palms—your ears are bleeding. Tears run down your cheeks as you try and fail to recognize anything but the blinding pain. 

Finally, it stops. You choke on a breath and hear Gi-hun gasp, evidently reeling just as you are. The sand beneath you almost seems to dig into your palms. There’s a liquid feeling itching at your ears and you wonder just how much blood is trickling down your jaw and neck.

“Enough,” In-ho repeats. You’ve never seen so much emotion on his face: he is furious. He takes the knife from the ground and wields it in a tight grip. “You both will live to oversee the games,” he orders. In-ho’s eyes are still flitting between the both of you warily, as if making sure you won’t try anything again. “That decision is final.” 

With that parting remark, In-ho leaves Gi-hun and you to fall apart in the arena.

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[marimology]

One piece men catching you walking around in their boxers

Law, sanji, bartolomeo

warnings : a little nsfw on sanji’s part, GN! reader , can be read as either afab or amab

note : I’m back with a quick drabble….uni has truly been kicking my ass

Law

- was wondering what happened to his limited edition spiderman undies

- your cooked, corazover even

- His boxers would smell like flowers and it wouldn’t bother him until he realizes “wait I don’t use a flower scent”

- At first he thought it was penguin and sachi playing a harmless prank and shoved it off

- But he was doing work at his desk like making sure his nakamas records were up to date with current health, but then you came in in nothing but a baggy shirt and boxers that he just KNEW wasn’t yours

- “Y/n-ya lift your shirt up”

- “Nah I don’t feel like it”

- “ROO-“

- “fine fine ,better?” you said with a fake pout lifting it up to reveal the missing boxers.

SANJI

- this fucking pervert

- you want those specific boxers ? You can have them he’ll just walk bare ass until the next island it’s fine

- You just wore them because you couldn’t find yours? Well now he isn’t going to wash them because they smell like you or he will but he’ll just spray your signature smell on them

- maybe he’ll let you wear them again but there will be cum stains on it

- Gets hard almost immediately and almost fucked you while you were in them , but the others were nearby and he has decorum he isn’t like zoro

- “y/n are those my boxers”

- “Do you want them ? I can give them back”

- “NO MY SWEET KEEP THEM♡♡”

Bartolomeo

- feels a sense of pride

- Like “hehe yes my partner is wearing my boxers”

- Is very smug possessive it , to the point where if you wear them you can’t wear anything over them

- Are you ashamed of his elmo boxers or something??

- no bitch if you are going to wear his shit wear it with PRIDE

- That’s to say that he owns a pair of boxers anyways

- When you wear them be prepared for him to not listen to a single word you say because he’s distracted

- one of his crewmates was with him as you walked by and noticed he was looking and went “Bart what color shirt are they wearing”

Bartolomeo : “ain’t nobody looking at that shit”

- who’s to say he even owns boxers let’s be fr

[renranram]

Could you maybe write a transmasc fic with a little spice of praise and degrading?? (There aren't enough transmasc fics 😓) you can also add your own little bedazzle to it ofc <33

Pretty Boy

nsfw

just schlatt fucking his boyfriend with love lolsies

afab reader, mentions of top scars, calling you his handsome boy, praising, calling you his slut/whore, p in v, daddy kink!

a/n; hii! okay.. erm im gonna be honest im not really great in this ff 😭 but yk i hope u enjoy it :))

you chuckle softly, getting ticklish as schlatt press kisses on your stomach, " my very very handsome boy " he whispers at you as he fixes your dark curly hair

" you're so fucking handsome " schlatt added, cupping your cheeks, as he presses smooches all over your face, as he slowly thrusts in and out of you as you moan in reply

" ah.. jay.. " you moans softly, as he continues to kiss you while his hips rolls gently and slowly

" you take me so well baby " schlatt continues to leave trails of kisses on your cheek until it reaches your neck as he pauses, " you smell so good " schlatt smiles before pecking your neck

" i think i'm buying you more of these " he teases you, as he holds up your leg, resting it on his shoulder, deepening his thrusts as you moan

" oh my god... jay, " you whimper out, as you gasp, feeling his teeth on your skin as your firsts ball up, gripping on his covers, schlatt groans out, slapping your thigh, gentle, " fuck.. dont tighten up slut "

your face flushes red, " my fucking handsome whore " jay mutters, as he continues to thrust, trailing his lips across your torso to put a stop as he reaches your chest

pecking on your top scars, his eyes staring at you with admiration, " i love you so much toots, im so fucking proud of you " he smiles

as he leans back, his hand trailing on your scars, " so fucking proud of you, so prettier with these " he added as he picks up his pace as you were a moaning mess

" i..i love you too " you hiccupped, schlatt always liked missionary, so he can admire how pretty you are, your teary eyes, your scars on your chest, your beautiful.. beautiful face

you throw your head back as he took you off guard, suddenly slamming his dick inside you again, his pace faster than ever as you were a mess under him

" ah ah ah ah oh my god- ah.. j-jay oh my god " you moan out, as schlatt grabs your hands, gently pinning you down as he mercifully continues to fuck you dumb with his cock

" my fucking pretty boy, such a fucking whore for my cock " he mutters, " does the pretty boy love his daddy so much? "

" yes, yes, oh my god, daddy yes- " you sobbed out, nodding as he plunges into your hole as if it's nothing, skin slapping, sweating and moaning fills the room

" daddy... daddy.. please.. please im about to cum " you manage to whimper out as he nods, " yeah? be a pretty one and put on a show for me alright? " he whispers

suddenly lifting you up, placing you on his lap as he places his hand on your back for support, " fuck.. baby boy.. i think im fucking cumming "

" ngh- ... fuck! " you scream out, your body shuddering as you release your orgasm whilst schlatt's penetrates your hole with his semen, filling you up