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winnisblur · 28 days ago

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“Love me, Love you, Let me love you..”

pairing ❤︎ : gender neutral reader X nicholas. w.c ❤︎: 4.5k. synopsis ❤︎: at first, he came off as someone so innocent and so nice, but now he’s haunting you with his obsession.

this fic includes ❤︎: smut so MDNI, insecurity, toxicity, possession and obsession, reader is oblivious, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping(?), nicho is a yandere(sort of), reader is tired, reader wants to escape(fails to do so), nicholas is inexperienced, bad oral giving(reader receives), he cums untouched like twice or three times in his pants, somnophilia, unprotected sex, cumming inside, porn no plot, nicho calls ur privates “cunny” and etc.

warnings ❤︎: english isn’t my first language, so srry about any mistakes in the story, this fic is inspired by “massive attack - angel” oh, and this is word vomit && not really proof read !!.

The rain was coming down, lashing against the panes of his window like an eternal drummer in the grayish gloom. A momentary light of a lamp cast on the walls around the outlines of Nicholas's face stared at you in wide-eyed amazement and with something else there that was not quite right. "You have come for me," he whispered, trembling as if his voice were a prayer. "I knew it when I saw you.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling heavy on your chest. You wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but the intensity in his gaze rooted you in place. "Nicholas, I—"

"You don't have to say anything," he cut you off, stepping closer. "You don't even realize it, do you? How perfect you are. How much I need you."

The sound inside your head, mingling with the haunting melody of Massive Attack's "Angel," which he would play on repeat whenever you two were together. The repetitive rhythm, the hypnotic hum of "love you, love you." felt like a cage, keeping you hostage in this weird, suffocating reality.

You came across Nicholas accidentally, or as he would later put it, by fate. He was unobtrusive, almost invisible within the throng, yet something about his eyes when they followed you sent a chill up your spine. It wasn't malicious-not in the beginning. It was like he wanted to learn you, engraving in his memory all the small particulars that constituted you.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he had said during your first real conversation. His voice was soft, almost timid, but there was an edge to it, like a spark waiting to ignite.

You laughed it off nervously, brushing off his words as harmless admiration. But as the weeks wore on, his attention became suffocating. He knew things about you that you hadn't told him-your favorite drink, the route you took to work, the songs you hummed absent-mindedly. "I just notice things," he explained when you confronted him, his smile disarming. "Is it so wrong to care?"

It wasn't care. It was obsession.

"I see it now," he said one night, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch your face. "You're my angel. You're here to save me."

"Nicholas, stop," you said, pulling away, but he followed, his movements wild and unpredictable. "Don't you get it?" he asked, his voice shattering. "I've been alone my whole life. No one ever stays. No one ever sees me. But you—you're different. You're everything."

In his words, there had formed this uncomfortable interplay of vulnerability and possession. You wanted to comfort him, to help him see he didn't have to save himself with you. But the more you tried, the tighter he held onto you. "You really think you can just walk away?" he said one night, his voice colder than you'd ever heard. "After everything I've given you? After everything we've been through?" Your heart was racing in your chest as he took another step closer, his shadow cast over you. "Nicholas, I never asked for any of this. I didn't—"

"Don't lie to me," he snarled, raising his voice. "You do care. I see it in your eyes. You're just too afraid to admit it.” The room was much smaller, much heavier. In his voice, the desperation wrapped itself in a tight, throttling vice-a hold that made breathing just a little harder.

And each time you turned for the door, he'd bring you back by the strings of words, muddling with your reality until your perception of what is wouldn't matter any longer. “You think I'm the problem?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with venom. "You're the one who's running away. You're the one who can't handle love."

"I'm not running," you protested weakly, but the conviction in your voice was waning. "Yes, you are," he insisted, stepping closer. "But it's okay. I understand. Love is scary. But I'm not going anywhere. I'll wait for you to see it, to see me.” He was blurring lines between his love and his control, entangling you deeper into a web that he had been weaving.

It all boiled down to that stormy night when "Angel" was softly playing in the background, Nicholas standing before you, his face unreadable. "I can't do this anymore," you said, your voice shaking. "I can't be what you want me to be.". He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You don't mean that," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I do," you said, your resolve hardening. "This isn't love, Nicholas. This is-something else." His face twisted in a mix of hurt and anger. "Don't you dare say that," he hissed, stepping closer. "Don't you fucking dare.”

For the first time, you had seen the cracks in his façade, the raw desperation that fueled his obsession. He wasn't merely in love with you; he was consumed by you. "You're my angel," he whispered, his voice finally breaking. "You're supposed to save me."

"What if I can't?" you said, tears streaming down your face. "What if I'm not who you think I am?” He didn't answer; his silence was far more terrifying than any words he could have said.

You eventually stayed-not because you wanted to but because you felt you had no choice. His words, his actions, his love-all leaked into your mind and remolded your reality until you could no longer know where you stopped and he began. "You are mine," he would whisper, one night, as you lay beside him, your body stiff and unyielding. "And I am yours. Forever."

The words swam in your mind, entwining with the haunting melody of "love you, love you…" You closed your eyes, the weight of his love pressing down on you like a stone. You couldn’t run away from him, even though his love felt like a dangerous spider’s web, holding you hostage in it’s white webs, but still…there was a small side of you, a sick side of you that loved being here, being his and only his, away from the “dark and cruel world and people trying to steal you from me.” as he would have said it. But, in your mind…you still wanted to escape. Be freed from his suffocating love, maybe one day…when the time comes.

The moon was low, a pale witness to the trembling of your resolution. The endless forest stretched before you, the shadows twisting like grasping fingers toward your soul. You wrapped your coat close to your body, the cold air nipping at your skin, but the chill was nothing against the fear thrumming in your veins.

You had finally decided to run.

And Nicholas's words continued to haunt your mind, at once haunting and relentless:

"I'll always find you."

Wasn't a promise, was certainty. But you had to try.

Breathing in ragged gasps, feet stumbling out over roots and rocks-the very ground rising up against you-the louder running sounded, the more deafeningly silent it fell, as even the forest seemed to hold its breath. “Hunting me down," you thought, the lyrics from a song Nicholas used to hum under his breath surfacing unbidden. "Like a deer in the night."

It was cruelly ironic now.

You had not planned this out perfectly, and how could you? Every moment spent under Nicholas's watchful eyes was a show, every step calculated to appease suspicion. Tonight, though, he had tumbled into one of his rare restless sleeps, and you had seized the opportunity in its grasp. The cabin was well behind you now, the oppressive walls replaced with the suffocating embrace of the woods. You thought you just might have a chance-until you heard the snap of a branch behind you.

Your heart stopped.

"N-Nicholas." you whispered low, the words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. A shadow moved in the distance, too fast to catch. "What is it that you are so afraid of?" his voice had once teased, soft and coaxing. You knew now that he was asking for nothing else but submission, not assurance.

You fell again, scratching your knees on the ground. The pain was sharp yet kept you running. Nicholas had always been watching. Even now, as you ran into the dark, you felt his gaze on your back, like a weight. "Do you think that you can hide from me?"

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, low and even, playing with its victim. Your breath caught as you spun around, searching for him. But there was nothing—just shadows and the echo of his voice. "You're mine," he said, closer this time. "You always will be."

Before you could take another step, his hand closed around your wrist. The world tilted as he pulled you back, and you collided with his chest. His arms wrapped around you like a vice, unyielding and inescapable. “Why are you running, angel?" he asked, his voice soft yet laced with something darker.

"I…" You couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. “Do you have any idea what it's like," he continued, "to lose something you love? To lose your angel?" You swallowed hard, and the tears pricked at your eyes. "I'm not your angel, Nicholas.”

"But you are," he said, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with an intensity twisted in your stomach. "And you're mine." He carried you back to the cabin, paying little heed to your protests. The creak of the cabin door let in the chill of the forest, but was replaced almost immediately with the suffocating warmth of the small space. Nicholas carried you inside, his arms unwavering against your quiet struggles. He sets you down on the old, worn couch, the touch of his hands on your arms not letting go until he takes a step back.

He stood there, silent, as his eyes roved over you. The dirt smeared across your cheeks, the scrapes on your knees bleeding through your torn clothes—your entire form trembling with exhaustion and fear. His expression shifted, softening with something close to anguish. “Look at you,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You’re hurt.”

You didn’t respond, too drained to meet his gaze.

Nicholas dropped to his knees in front of me, moving with a slowness and a care that was almost insulting, as if he still expected me to take off running. His hands hovered over my legs before carefully lifting your knees to survey the damage. At the sight of blood covering skin, his jaw clenched. "You didn't have to do this," he whispered, his voice breaking on something that sounded a lot like betrayal. "You didn't have to run."

You winced when his thumb swept over a particularly tender scrape, but he didn't back off. Instead he stood and vanished into the bathroom, returning moments later with a damp cloth, a first-aid kit, and a change of clothes. "This will sting," he said softly, as if soothing a child.

The material grazed your knee, and you hissed at the quick sting. Nicholas' other hand instinctively shifted to steady you, laying lightly on your thigh. "So fragile," he whispered, his gaze darting up to yours. His eyes were aflame with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Why do you make me hurt you like this?"

Your throat went tight, but you said nothing.

"You can't leave me," he said, his voice cracking for the first time. "Don't you see? You're the only thing keeping me alive." Your heart ached despite yourself. His desperation was suffocating, but it was also painfully human. "You don't love me, Nicholas," you said, your voice shaking. "You love the idea of me."

He flinched as if you'd struck him, his fingers loosening a moment before closing again. "No," he said, his head shaking. "You don't understand. I need you." Maybe you were prey. Maybe you had been the whole time. Because no matter what, you couldn’t out run him, out smart him, he was always two steps ahead of you. You couldn’t outrun the hunter in your heart that was stabbing you, in the heart constantly.

When he was done cleaning your wounds and your small argument between you two, Nicholas set the cloth aside and gently lifted you into his arms once more. You wanted to protest, but fortunately, your body betrayed you and was too exhausted to fight. He carried you to the bedroom; the air was heavy with unspoken words. He set you down on the edge of the bed, knelt again, brushed the dirt off your legs, and slipped clean clothes right next to you. “Arms up, angel.” Nicholas softly cooed. You reluctantly raised your arms up in defeat, waiting for his next move which his warm fingertips ghostly tracing the bare skin exposed beneath your sweater, pulling it up and off so gently and carefully. He continued until you were only left in your underwear, shivers ran down your spine once the harsh coldness of the room began to creep underneath your skin. Nicholas could only giggle at the sight of you, shivering and curling up into a ball, goosebumps all over your skin, you looked so small and helpless, which was making all the blood in his body travel all the way down to his dick. His dick throbbed against his underwear, aching to be freed from the tight restraint, not to mention he had little to no experience in sex, meaning his poor swollen reddish-pinkish tip is currently leaking so much pre-cum, you’d think he was cumming just from the sight of you shivering and bare body…or maybe he actually was doing that, that is if you could see it if he pulled it out right now and started fucking you, but he’s too much of a coward anyways. Thinking you’d run away again, hate him even more if you found out he can’t pleasure you sexually to your liking, and he isn’t a fast learner, two disadvantages against him right now.

“I- I just need to…touch you.” he said, mostly to himself since you seemed out of it, like you’ve finally accepted your reality and that this is not just a foolish nightmare that you would’ve to be woken up from. His guilt was eating away inside of him, the guilt for having such lewd thoughts about you when you’re in such a vulnerable state right now, like you haven’t been in that state since he gaslit and manipulated you into moving far away from the city, but he turned a blind to that and continued in his delusions that you were perfectly fine and happy with him. But the urge…the urge to just touch you, taste you, feel himself inside of you was stronger than his willpower to stop.

He bent down on his knees hurriedly, facing your clothes privates, or “cunny” as he would like…no, love to call it. Your underwear had hid all of you, all of your soft-to-the-touch cunny, and don’t ask him how he knows it’s soft, he just does. He liked it when his fingers trace around your private, the way you’d shiver under his touch, the way a small sound slipped from your mouth when he poked it. He shuffled, shifting his position to be more comfortable as he brought his jaw closer to your privates, licking it through your underwear, and an embarrassingly loud moan came from him once his tongue could semi-taste your wetness. At first, he was gentle, barely lapping at you, he kept licking like a small kitten, burying his nose deep inside, getting high just from the scent of your cunny. His eyes flicked up every now and then, watching your reactions and noises, noting in his mind on what you liked as he kept licking shyly. Then with his hand, he moved your underwear to the side, and he might’ve busted another nut at the sheer sight of your wetness, drool ran down his mouth and his pupils dilated, if he knew you were this pretty and wet down there, he wouldn’t have waited this long to fuck you ans make you his.

He dived in like a starved man, which in this situation, he practically was with the way he was messily trying to spread you open with his tongue. He tried replicating what he had seen in all of the cheap porn videos he has watched ever since he had met you, fantasising you and him in the videos as he was pathetically rutting his hips against his pillow, or a clothing of yours he had managed to snatch when you were unaware of your surroundings. His tongue licked in small circles, trying his best to push his tongue past your pink, puckering hole, clenched around nothing but air and the occasionally times the tip of his tongue managed to be slipped in but still slipped out due to him being inexperienced. But despite knowing you wouldn’t get any pleasure and could be possibly turned off from this, he continued licking you, he continued lapping at you cluelessly and moaning into your private. For him, it felt good, so good that he might cum untouched for the second time. You shifted away from him, and Nicholas pulled away from your heat, you wetness and drool pooling at his chin as his brows were furrowed, worried that either you weren’t liking what he was doing or you were trying to run away from him giving you love and affection. And with that, his hands flew in a hurry to clasp around your ankles, tightening his hold onto them, making sure that you aren’t getting away, not this time and never again in the future. Nicholas got up, his knees aching from being sunken in the harsh cold wood floor. He repositioned you, making space for him to lay down beside you, his erection that was begging for attention was pressed against your ass, his leaky dick seeped through his clothing and dripped down onto your skin. Resting his head on his hand, he relaxed beside you as you lulled into slumber, which left Nicholas confused for a second and stopped his hand from wandering around your body. Were you exhausted? Did you pass out on him? Did he scare you too much and have possibly given you a heart attack? These thoughts raced in his head until he realised, he had forgotten he had slipped a sleeping pill inside your drink before you tried running away since he sensed something was off about you, but to his dismay, the pill took longer to work it’s effects on you which left him frustrated but not so much anymore.

He thought to himself, should he continue or should he drop the act, clean you and dress you and sleep the night away? He doesn’t think twice about the first option, abandoning the second as his hand traveled down to your heat again, you were so wet right now he felt himself drowning in a pool of your wetness, and it was so much easier to try and slip a finger into your hole. He didn’t want to hurt you, so he went very slow and gentle, it took some wiggling but he managed to fit two of his fingers inside your warm and gummy walls, and with his leg, he spread your legs further apart, now he could get more inside of you now that there was more space for him to explore. He pushed in and out, curled his fingers, trying to be exactly like he cheap porn he has seen, and desperately trying not to pull his fingers out and replace them with his aching dick. Nicholas leaned towards your face, his free hand cradling your face as his thumb drew circles on your cheek, you looked so cute like this, your eyebrows twitching and scrunched in pleasure while small sounds of pleasure left you, he couldn’t help himself but to kiss you, he nudged your mouth open, and pushed his tongue inside of you. He felt just like the couples in the cheap videos, where they would kiss while they touched each other, he kept fingering you, pushing in and out at a slow pace, while he kissed you deeply, all of this was enough to make cum again untouched, soiling his underwear and pants again. “Fuck, I need you..feel so good.” He admitted in a hushed tone to himself after breaking the kiss. In reality, he wanted so much more, so so much but he had already taken more than he wanted and deserved. This was someone who was supposed to love and in return, he would protect them, not fuck them while they’re sleeping but he has heard you talk about this, talk about how you fantasied about being fucked while sleeping way before he even had the thoughts of taking you away from the world and people and making you his. So right now, in his mind, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, just simply being a good caretaker/boyfriend and fulfilling your dreams.

Maybe, maybe he could rub himself against you, he sucked in a sharp breath as he removed his fingers from your hole, shamelessly cleaning them with his tongue and moaning at the taste of you, he pulled his pants and underwear just enough to free his sensitive dick. Just touching it hurt, he needed this so badly, as much he’d like to deny it, he had waited for this moment and imagined this so much that he might’ve believed it happened even though it was all in his head. He had one hand on your stomach as he rubbed the tip of his leaking dick against your ass, smearing the skin with his cum. He sloppily grinded against you, the position you were both in wasn’t good and could probably end up with Nicholas having aches all over his body, but atleast his dick was having fun from being rubbed by your soft skin, so it was worth it. Every now and then, whenever his dick slipped near your hole, he wanted to slide in so badly but he had to hold himself back, he told himself that he would only grind his dick, nothing else and nothing more. But the thought was tempting to him, what if he just…slipped the tip in, just the tip. And that’s what’s he’s doing, whining to himself as he stopped his actions, holding his twitching dick as he directed towards your hold, sliding his tip in so easily, and a groan sliding off his lips as well.

This wasn’t enough, he needs more and more, otherwise he’d be blue-balled by the morning and grumpy all day of his dick doesn’t get his fix of being wrapped around your walls. Nicholas leaned over your sleeping body, your nipples were so puffy, he touched them with his fingers, watching them grow slightly harder when interacted with his fingers, he ran his fingers over them, twirled them, traced over them and put them in his mouth, lapping at them so desperately and pathetically. He had forgotten about his dick if it weren’t for it to start oozing out more precum inside of you, thus he tried wiggling around and trying his best to push more of himself inside of you. And finally, he winced as he bottomed out all the way inside you, th way your gummy walls felt around him, how they clench around him and wrap around his dick, oh he was in heaven. He swallowed nervously, the way your walls were sucking him in were driving him crazy, and slowly, he thrusted inside of you, trying to control himself and not go into pounding mode, although he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but just him pulling in and out inside of you felt so good, so warm. But that didn’t last long, he thrusted inside of you faster, moaning quietly just from hearing the sound of your wetness and the sound of skin slapping in the room so lewdly, he held onto your tights as his thrusts got sloppier, and what made him go even more crazy, was the sight of the slight bulge in your tummy everytime he thrusted in. That was enough for him to thrust harder and faster, losing himself in the sensation and whining about how good it felt so loudly, good thing you we’re far away in the mountains otherwise Nicholas had to deal with noise complaints, and with that, he was tipped over the edge and his dick spurted cum inside of you, painting your walls white with how much he was cumming, he panted heavily as he tried to catch his breath, he didn’t even last that long but it was worth it, so worth it.

The cabin felt smaller now, it’s walls closing in as Nicholas watched you from across the room after he cleaned you up, and himself, changed the sheets and put on some thick clothes on you since winter was harsh in the mountains. His expression was unreadable, a tangle of devotion and obsession. "You can try to run," he said finally, to himself mostly, his tone hushed yet firm. "But you'll always come back to me."

You slept there, not knowing what was going with him, what he was saying and what he was doing. Even if you were wide awake, you couldn’t say anything. What was there to say when you’re slowly feeling yourself spiral out of your body and become what he wanted, a doll all for him.

As the night wore on, the meaning of Hunter settled over you like a shroud. You could run; you could fight, but somehow or other you would always be connected to him-by fear, by love, or by that gray area in between.

And Nicholas? He would always hunt you.

#― teamie’s !#&team smut #&team imagines #&team x reader #&team nicholas #&team angst #andteam imagines #andteam smut #andteam x reader #andteam nicholas #nicholas imagines #nicholas smut

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winnisblur · 1 month ago

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“Cracks In Our Hearts.”

pairing ❤︎‬: gender neutral reader x sunghoon. w.c ‪‪❤︎‬: 4.5 - 5k (it’s word vomit at its finest) synopsis ‪‪❤︎‬: you’re a player in squid game, and thanks to a certain square guard, you’ve managed to survive (and get fucked).

this fic includes ‪‪❤︎‬: smut so mdni, death(s?), blood, sunghoon is a guard and is hot with a mask and pistol, he’s also cold(i think that’s the word), reader just trying to survive, ends up dying tho lol, bathroom sex, choking, pain and gun kink, degradation, sunghoon is actually a jerk beneath the mask, so is reader, unprotected sex, readers skin colour nor private parts are mentioned and etc.

warnings ‪‪❤︎‬: english isn’t my first language, not really proofread so srry about that, and i’m nervous af cus this is my first time writing T-T, this is based off of s1 so spoilers ahead (for those who haven’t watched both seasons”.

…..I shouldn't have survived the first game.

The thought clings to me like a stain as I sit cross-legged on the cold gray floor of the dormitory. Around me, everyone's faces wear that same haunted look-eyes sunken, shoulders hunched-but it does nothing to erase this truth: I'm still here, and a hundred others aren't.

My hands shake as I clutch the bottle of water they gave us, the only comfort in this nightmare. “Red Light, Green Light” was supposed to be simple. A childish game, nothing more. But then, when the first shot went off, the simplicity was in pieces. I kept my head down, my steps calculated. An act of luck rather than any skill saved me. Halfway, my legs had locked, but the chaos around saved me. I was too scared even to breathe, let alone blink while that giant, doll-like machine scanned the field. The screams. The silence. They cling to me as much as the relief of being alive.

But that leaves me with just one question: how long will I last?

Dalgona Game

As the guards herd us into the grounds, that feeling of luck is not there.

The sun knocks heavily upon the earthy ground, and a whispering wave curls through the players. In front of us stood a table piled high with tins, each containing the next nightmare: “Dalgona candy.” The guard with the square mask appears to be in charge; he steps forward. His voice rumbles from behind his mask. "You will each choose a tin. Inside is a shape. Your task is to extract the shape from the candy without breaking it. You will have ten minutes."

That's it? A shape?

But then I look at the examples on the display-circle, triangle, star…and an umbrella. My stomach does a flip. Not just precision, but luck too. A wrongly picked tin means my death. The queue moved fast; shaking hands reached for tins, people picking as if their lives depended on it. Because they do.

When it's my turn, I force myself to breathe and reach for the one closest to me. The metal feels cool and heavy in my hands. I don't even open it right away, afraid to see what fate I've chosen. Finally, I lift the lid.

The umbrella stares back at me.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. I look around, and there are a few groaning in despair as they unveil their shapes. Most got stars or circles—luckies. The timer starts, and the courtyard almost becomes a battlefield of concentration. People start licking their candies, tapping needles at them, and quite a few try to bite them. I take the given needle and gently press it against the candy. The sound of cracking candy nearby makes my heart run. I start shaking and tracing the thin, delicate lines of the umbrella. "Steady," I say to myself. Halfway through, it happened.

Snap.

The handle of the umbrella broke off clean. My blood ran cold.

It was over.

Instantly, my head jerks up to find the nearest guard. They are already converging on other players who busted their candies. I heard shots ring out and immediately froze. That is when I see him.

One of the square-guards, taller than the others, stops a few feet away. I cannot see his face, yet there is something different in the way he looks at me. His head tilts slightly, studying me, and for that one fleeting instant, the noise falls away. Then he takes another step closer.

"No," I whisper. Shivering, my heartbeat surges as I hold the shattered candy tightly against my body, to hide it from view. But instead of brandishing his weapon, he leans in and whispers, "Pretend you're still working." I stare up at him, appalled. "Do it," he says sharply in a low voice, and I automatically comply. I push the broken pieces together, my hands shaking so severely it's a wonder they don't break into a hundred more pieces. The guard-he-stands close enough that I can sense his presence. He occasionally looks around, subtly blocking the other guards' view of me. “Why?" I dare to whisper. He says nothing.

Minutes tick by-although by some miracle, no one notices my snapped candy. When the buzzer goes off, I hold my breath for the worst to happen. Instead, the square-guard advances, feigning that he's inspecting the other players. Somehow, I get away.

The dormitory is noisier tonight. Some are cheering, others crying, but I do not think of anything besides him. Why did he save me? Was this some sort of mistake? A test? My head runs with the different connotations, but no sensible fact makes sense. Guards are not supposed to show mercy.

When the lights dim for night, I am awake. I play that moment in my head over and over-the quiet authority in his voice, the way he lingered just long enough to save me. There's just no getting answers, yet I couldn't help my mind from running over and over with thoughts of him.

Sunghoon’s POV

This was reckless.

I lean against the wall of the guard quarters, helmet in my hands, and let my breath out slowly. My heart hasn't stopped racing since I saw them-their trembling hands, the way they froze when their candy broke. I should've ignored it. I should've done my job. But something about the way their eyes widened, filled with fear and determination, stopped me. I don't know why I helped them. It wasn't out of pity. It wasn't out of guilt.

It was them.

I have seen hundreds of players, most of them desperate enough or selfish enough to catch nothing but their own survival. But they're different. I shouldn't be feeling this way. Guards aren't supposed to feel anything. Yet every time I think about their face, my resolve cracks just that little bit more.

If anyone finds out, I'm as good as dead.

But somehow, I just can't seem to care. Tomorrow's another game, another chance to see them. I just hope I can keep my distance.

For both our sakes.

The Next Day

I wake up to this gnawing feeling in my chest. It isn't the ache in my limbs or the exhaustion of staying up all night, reliving the events of the Dalgona game in my head; it's the dread of what comes next.

Another game, another chance to die.

They walk us to the next arena as effectively, coldly, with all the same efficiency of people used to doing a day's labor. My head was down, letting myself just become part of a whole, not standing out too much. The cold-faced, geometric-mask-covered guard statues line the wall opposite. My eyes fly toward each square mask.

Grievously stupid. Insane even-but what did it matter? Had he watched me just then? Was he going to try to save me?

A small part of me wants him to, but the larger part is reminding me of one crucial thing: here, I am on my own. Completely and utterly. Not even him.

Sunghoon’s POV

There they are.

Perched atop the arena above, my eyes find them in a heartbeat. They scan the guards again, their shoulders tense, eyes keen despite the exhaustion clinging to every player out there. I shouldn't watch them. Shouldn't give a damn.

Yet I can't peel my eyes away, though. Still alive, that's what matters.

My grip tightens on the rifle in my hands as the Robotic Female’s voice booms across the arena, announcing the rules for today’s game. I already know what’s coming. Another trial, another bloody mess.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they survive. Even if it means breaking every rule I’ve sworn to follow.

The Tug-of-War Twist

We are brought to a very large outdoors arena, with several platforms towering up to the sky. Ropes traverse atop thick, and beneath these? A fall so long I could hardly see the bottom.

Tug-of-war.

The explanation is simple: teams of ten; whoever wins lives. Losers. well, the fall does the talking. I'm pushed towards a group, and panic bursts in my chest as I realize the dynamics are uneven. None of them appear to be very strong. A few even shake so hard that I don't think they can hold the rope.

This is bad.

The guards line the edges, rifles in place to take out anyone showing even a millisecond of hesitation. My eyes flicker to them out of instinct, and there he is-square guard. His posture is stiff, but his helmet angles toward me as I step on the platform. Is he looking at me?

The thought's cut off by a buzz. And with that, the first match begins. I am horrified as the opposing team pulls with ruthless precision. Losing is being dragged, inch by inch, toward the edge. Their screams echo when the rope jerks once more, sending them plunging into the void.

This isn't just about strength. It's strategy.

When it's our turn, I reach for the rope, my palms already slick with sweat. My team looks hopeless, all whispering prayers and clutching at whatever scraps of courage they can muster. The opposing team, however, is all muscle.

"Pull!" someone yells as the buzzer sounds, and I dig my heels into the platform. The rope's abraded heat against my palms sears the skin as we're yanked forward. Arms scream, legs wobble-it feels like we are seconds away from catastrophe. "Lean back! Use your weight!" someone yells, but it's futile. We're losing so much ground. That's when I saw him.

The square-guard stood near the edge, his head cocked as he watched me. For what feels like an eternity he doesn't move, before finally he moves a step closer and leans on his rifle at his shoulder. I'm stuck until his hand moves after all, and it does really slowly.

It was the signal.

I watch transfixed as his gloved hand takes direction toward the other guys on the opposition side of this platform, then he tap-dances his foot quickly yet small - almost in a blur-close around anchor point holding their ropes steady. My eyes widen.

Is he telling me their side is rigged?

I have no time to think. I lean back with all my strength and yell to my team, "Pull to the left! They're off balance!" The others hesitate but follow my lead, shifting our weight. The opposing team stumbles, losing their footing, and in the chaos, I catch something flicker in the corner of my vision-a quick, subtle motion from his side.

The anchor point snaps.

The opposing team barely has time to act before they're pulled forward, screaming as they tumble into the abyss. We collapse onto the platform, gasping for air. Relief washes through me, tainted with disbelief.

I should be dead.

I glance toward him again but he's already gone, sucked back into the sea of guards. Tonight, I cannot get him out of my mind. The square-guard. The one who has saved me over and over again. No one else is paying any attention to anything but celebration or mourning as I slip into the shadows near the edge of the dormitory. The guards patrol the perimeter, their masks gleaming under the dim lights. And then I see him.

He leans against the wall, a little apart from the others. As I approach him, my heart pounds, and every step sounds louder than it should. "What are you doing?" I whisper. His head snaps toward me, and for a second, I think I have made a mistake. But then he steps forward, his voice low and sharp. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you," I shoot back, emboldened by adrenaline. "You've been helping me. Why?” He hesitates, glancing around before tugging me further into the darkness. "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to," he says. "I think I deserve an answer," I say, crossing my arms over my chest despite the tremble in my hands. "You've saved my life twice. Don't act like that's normal." For a moment, he says nothing. Then, with a sigh, he lifts his mask just enough for me to see his face.

He's younger than I expected. Sharp jawline, intense eyes that seem to pierce right through me. "You stood out," he admits, his voice softer now. "Most people here…they're just trying to survive. But you-" He catches himself, as if he's said too much. "But what?" I press.

“You fight," he says so simply. "Even when you're scared. Even when you shouldn't." The words dangle in the air, between us like a challenge. Heavy, electric. "I don't know why I do these things," he continues more irritably. "But if you wanna stay alive, don't trust me. Don't trust no one." His words shouldn't assure me, and yet suddenly, for the first time since I have been here, I do feel one thing: hope.

"Thanks," I say under my breath. He doesn't answer, but pulls his mask back down and steps away, leaving me in the shadows.

I trudge up the stairs, the fluorescent lights above me flickering with every labored step my legs take. It was mountainous, but I had survived another game, another step closer to whatever hellish end this place had in store. The other players say nothing. Their faces are hollow, their skin pale. No one dares speak anymore. Silence is safer.

I stop on the last step as a guard blocks my path. Square mask. My heart catches. "What's this?" I say, sharper than I mean to. Exhaustion has sucked any tolerance from me. "You're flagged," he says bluntly. "There's suspicion you might be carrying something you shouldn't be. You'll have to be searched." My blood turns cold. Suspicion? Prohibited? “That's crazy," I say, my panic rising into my chest. "I don't have anything-"

"Follow me." There's no request about it. The other players glance my way, their eyes wide and wary, but they don't get involved. They're too frightened to risk drawing attention to themselves. I hesitate, my mind racing. If this is a setup, if they think I've broken a rule, this could be it. This could be my end.

But I have no choice. Taking a deep breath, I follow the guard down a dimly lit corridor and into a bathroom. The sound of the door locking behind me makes me shiver. “Turn around," the guard instructs in a cold, emotionless voice. I do so, my heart racing. "Look," I begin, "I don't know what you think I've done, but-"

"Stop talking.” It cuts through my protest, and there's something about it-something familiar. I turn to face them, my brow furrowing. “What is this?" I ask. "Who are you?" For a moment, they don't respond. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the guard lifts their mask. My breath catches.

It's him.

The square-guard who's been helping me. The one I thought was gone, fired, or worse-killed for breaking the rules. "You-" I stutter, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had to see you," he says, his voice soft, yet urgent. "I couldn't stay away any longer." I blink, trying to process the rush of emotions-relief, confusion, anger. "I thought you were-what happened to you? Why did you stop-" "I had to lay low," he interrupts. "They were watching me. But I'm still here. I don't know what to say. My mind is racing, torn between gratitude and frustration. “Why did you bring me here?" I ask finally.

His eyes lock with mine, intense and unyielding. “Because I couldn't take it anymore," he says, his voice low, stepping closer. "Watching you risk your life, knowing I couldn't do anything to stop it-it's been driving me insane." I swallow hard, my heart racing as he closes the gap between us. "You shouldn't be doing this," I whisper. "If they find out—"

"I don't care," he says with finality. "I've already broken the rules for you. What's one more?" And before I can say another word, his hands frame my face, and he kisses me. It's not soft or tentative-it's desperate, raw, like he's pouring every ounce of fear and longing into the moment. I'm stuck in a freeze-frame moment for a second, mind whipping. Then I yield and cling to his uniform while kissing him back with every ounce of fierce intensity of my own. The world falls away, and I feel something other than fear for the first time since this nightmare kicked off.

But not for long.

He pulls away, forehead resting against mine, hard breaths mingling between our lips. "I can't protect you anymore," he says, his voice cracking. "Not with what's coming." I search his face, my chest tightening at the pain in his eyes. "You've already done more than enough," I whisper. He shakes his head. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough."

A heavy silence falls between us, and I know this is goodbye. Expect it wasn’t actually, his lips captured mine again, his lips….almost saying they wanted me, needed me. That is until he broke the kiss again, and pinned my back against the cold, colorful tiled wall of the bathroom. His body language seemed like he has longed for the dramatic (sort of) crash of holding me against the wall, kissing me like he was dreaming about this every single minute of the day.

He winced as my nails raked across his back through his pink suit, he probably felt like his outfit was being torn by my nails, which could get us both in trouble if that was actually to happen. He winced again as he took ahold of my wrists and slammed them to the wall in retaliation, wedging his knee between my thighs, which made a gasp leave my lips at the slightest bit of friction I was getting from his thigh.

“Didn’t know you were this desperate for me,” he teased after breaking the heated kiss for the nth time, leaving him and me breathless, panting with saliva connecting us. His low chuckle echoed through the empty, now suffocating bathroom, and making his vampire teeth pop out. “it’s laughable, really. Does the games make you horny?” he teased yet again, raising his thick eyebrows in a way that seemed mockingly, his thigh moving back and forth slightly, earning a whine from my lips as he chuckled like he was enjoying me being teased. “Does your life being on the line make you horny? You sadist bit-“ Pain blistered across Sunghoon’s cheek, he couldn’t help but grin as it sent shockwaves of sensation tearing across his body. Adrenaline hummed through his veins as he hungrily kissed me again, choking me with his gloved hands. I thrashed, ripping at the back of his head by a fistful of hair and biting down hard on his lower lip. Both of our lips were bleeding now, but the metallic tang only made him deepen the kiss even more, greedily trying to taste much of it as possible, masochist much?

“Fucking slut,” He hissed, licking blood and spit from my chin. “You’re a cunt and a dick, a motherfucking cunt and dick sucker.” I hissed back, he chuckled. He fucking chuckled this was all a fucking a circus show for him. “Damn right,” he teased. “But only good girls or boys get their cunts and dicks sucked by me, which isn’t you unfortunately.” he grinned, his hips rolling against my privates, yet again another chuckle slipped from his lips like he enjoyed watching me being frustrated sexually, and I could confirm it just by looking at his eyes that had a glint, a glint of giddiness everytime pain was inflicted upon me.

I hooked my foot behind his knee, forcibly collapsing it. First, he tries making me shit in my pants from coming out of nowhere and telling me that I had to be pat down, makeouts with me, choked me and almost knocked out all of the air in me, calls me names and now his hand is reaching up to my knee to bring me down with him…great. He smirked as he yanked me down onto him, flipping me onto my back and pinning me to the cold floor now instead. He gave just one slow, merciless grind of his hips against mine, and I’m only just realising but…he’s fucking big.

“Who said that…I want you to fucking suck me off or eat me out?” I bit out, nursing my injured lip to keep from moaning as he set out a torturously slow pace through our clothes. “It seems pretty eager to me,” Sunghoon teased, gloved fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “I bet I could make you cum in- shit-!” His head smacked harder against the tiles than it should have as I tossed him onto his back, thighs clenched tightly around his hips. The throbbing pain only added to the throbbing pleasure as I rolled my hips. “Just who do you think fucking I am? Just- fuck- just because I’m trying to survive and win doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your fucking bitch.” Sunghoon grinned up at me, I was already flushed bright red and riding his hips with rough, desperate japs of my hips. “Big talk for someone who’s riding me like their life depends on it, ironically.” he snickers. “I can feel you, asshole. You’re in the same situation as I am!” Sunghoon smirked, and in one quick move, he snatched my wrist and rocketed back to his feet, spinning me back around and leaving me face-first against the wall. “You might not be able to kill people like me, and neither I could survive the games you’re playing but god…you’re right, I do want you.” I shuddered at his deep voice. I shifted, legs spreading to support myself better and Sunghoon slotted his knee right between them once more, hands settling on my waist as I got my one free hand between me and the wall, trying to push and give myself some space. I only succeeded in pushing our bodies closer than before, his cock nestled firmly against my ass.

“Let me have you,” Sunghoon purred, squeezing my waist and slowly moving up my sides the way that turned me into putty. I moaned, shuddering again. “Fuck you! If you want me so badly, then come and take it, take me!” well, that is an invitation that Sunghoon hasn’t heard before, even before doing this whole crazy guard thing at a unknown island. He growled, jerking my pants down in a hurry, like he actually couldn’t believe that his dreams are about to come true. I threw my elbow back, but Sunghoon just pinned my wrist back to the wall. “Stop being a fucking brat,” he hissed. I struggled and choking back a moan, feeling the material of his pink suit against my bare ass. “Get your shitty ass outfit outta the way,” I demanded. “Shit feels like sandpaper!” I hissed. “So sensitive and demanding,” he cooed, even as he let me have both hands back to brace myself against the wall. Sunghoon didn’t dare to move back and give me an opening to escape, only reaching up to unzip his suit and free himself, mostly his cock that was strained against the fabric and begging for friction as it twitched in his underwear. I adjusted, leaning away long enough for Sunghoon to free himself. “If you were me, you’d complain too!” I hissed. “Yeah, yeah, stop running your big mouth. You want it or not?” he rolled his eyes, his suit and underwear failing to his ankles as he leaned forward, completely trapping me between him and the cold wall, his bare cock resting just on my ass, just right where I needed him, so far yet so close. “I told you you fucking idiot, just take it-“ Sunghoon couldn’t help but thrust all of his cock in one go. Making me moan out loud at the blissful pain from the thrust.

For Sunghoon, you were a wet dream come true to life; Sunghoon’s cock glided through you without resistance, soft and slick, tightening only as he rutted against a known sweet spot along your walls. I moaned, arching my back, wrapping tightly around him. He groaned in response, leaning over me, his hands covering mine, fingers almost interlocked. The sweat on my neck left a layer of salt on Sunghoon’s tongue, but beneath it was nothing but you. Sunghoon muffled his own moans against my throat, sucking and biting his way down to my shoulders. I turned my head, covering my mouth with the inside of my elbow as he fucked me against the wall. Sunghoon hiked me up onto my tiptoes, leaning back to appreciate the view, your skin glistened with sweat under the fluorescent lights. “…Please, I’m close da- fuck-!” your words and moans rang loud in his ears, in the bathroom, the silence sharpening your cries. They acted as pokers to the hot coals of fire in the pit of Sunghoon’s stomach, making him embarrassed over how loud you were, neither was the wet and loud sound of skin smacking was making it any better. If any of his fellow guards were outside or just a tad bit close to the bathroom, he’s fucked and killed to death alongside with you.

That is when Sunghoon got an idea, an idea that satisfies his other personality, the one that was created whilst being here for a very long time that he has lost sense of time, and that is fear. He lives off of the idea of goosebumps appearing on the player’s skins just before he kills them, and in this case, while he’s fucking them and practically making them cock-drunk from his stroke game. Sunghoon leaned down and grabbed his long forgotten, abandoned pistol on the floor, aiming the barrel at your forehead, and with that his thrusts became harder, sloppier but you…you were terrified. Terrified on why there’s a gun to your head suddenly, is he going to kill you after using you like a worthless, lifeless sexdoll? Is that what’s going to happen? You couldn’t lie to yourself because the thought kinda turned you on and made you wetter even more, because you wouldn’t mind being his sexdoll if his cock was constantly inside you and making you go brainless. “Stop moaning like a whore unless you want me to pull the trigger right now, and kill you before they find us.” he threatened lowly in my ear, licking and bitting as he tried to muffle his own sounds. By now, you knew you looked pathetic with your eyes red, red and snotty nose as tears stained and wet your flushed cheeks as you began to bite onto your ragged and bloody jacket, trying to keep quiet because as much as it turned you on at the thought of dying on his dick, but you valued your life at the moment because, living longer equals bouncing on his dick for even more before you die.

Sunghoon barely managed to pull out on time, painting his pleasure all over your ass. He grinned at the realisation that you were still haven’t even came yet, still hanging on the edge as he lowered his pistol and patted his gloved hand on your ass, watching it jiggle with the motion of his hand, giggling to himself as he brought his head up and was met with the sight of you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed at him. “Get your own self off, brat.” he teased, putting on his suit back and mask, giving you one last cocky glance before he makes sure he looks presentable in the mirror and walks out on you, leaving you frustrated at him, at not being pleasured enough, at the games, and yourself because behind his handsome looks, he’s actually just like the other guards, ruthless and cold.

The Final Game

The days blur all together.

The games are getting more brutal, and the players, myself included, are growing desperate. Every moment feels like a race against time, against fate. The tension among the remaining participants is palpable. We’ve all become numbers now, not people—just pawns in a game that doesn’t care about our lives. The final game is announced, and my heart skips a beat.

It's the one everybody's afraid of: the glass bridge.

We line up in a row, one behind the other, in front of the two routes laid out before us, each comprising several glass panels, some strong and some weak. We had to walk over them and choose appropriate ones to cross or plunge to death. A shiver runs down my spine as the first few players go up front, and what happened was inevitable. One after another, they fall. Screams pierce the cold air, but clear had been the instruction from the guard that no one was to move unless his turn came upon him. Just as I'm about to take my first step, I suddenly feel. something.

It's him.

The square-guard above watches on, his eyes tracking my every movement, and for a split second, our gazes meet. The connection is brief, but it's enough. I don't know what to make of it, but something in the way he watches me is different. There's something in his eyes-something almost…regretful.

It's my turn.

I step onto the bridge, my legs trembling as creaks come from within the glass as my body weight presses down upon it. The first few steps are just fine. My luck has to turn sometime. The crack starts to give under me and I freeze. I looked back, and that is when I see it-something shifting in Sunghoon's posture. Moving.

Too late.

Balance is lost.

I heard him scream my name-my real name, not a number-and did not care. I fell. This was a never-ending fall. The world spun and the only thing I was aware of was air rushing in as I dropped with the pretty firm knowledge I'd not live to cry out.

And then, there was nothing.

Sunghoon's POV

The world is silent.

I stand in stock-stillness, my heartbeat the only sound of the drumbeat as their body disappears into the void below, and with every shattered piece of me. I should have. I should have—

My fist slams against the metal wall. Its echo rings out into that space. Why didn't I act sooner? Why couldn't I pull them back? Why couldn't I protect?

I close my eyes, the guilt suffocating me. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. But here I am, crushed under the weight of it, the weight of my failure. I should never have gotten involved. I should never have helped them.

But I couldn't stop myself.

And now…

I failed.

I failed them.

The game goes on, but Sunghoon's mind is a maelstrom.

The rest of the players are like shadows, their faces hollow with fear and exhaustion. To Sunghoon, however, time has stopped. He stares at the rest of the players, his eyes searching among them for any sign of the one he couldn't protect. Every step weighs too much to be taken. Every decision he makes feels like a mistake. And when the final buzzer goes off, he barely hears it.

It's the end of the day now, and it doesn't matter anymore.

The only thing filling Sunghoon's head is the weight of his own guilt. The others are rejoicing, but his mind is consumed by you-your face, your eyes, and the time you spent together. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

And he never will.

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