jamonconquesso

[jamonconquesso]

🄂🄀 🅜INU🅣ES 𓈒 𓈒 𒂭۪۪۪۪᳝۟ 𝟏𝟐𝟒 𝂴 𝟑𝟑𝟑

✚ॱֺּׅ༏ིྀ𓏼 in the claustrophobic and decaying hallways, you find yourself trapped un a sadistic game to save your own life. time is a relentless ten-minute countdown, each second a torturous eternity under the gaze and hands of two men, nam-gyu and myung-gi. 𓈒 །∔ ‿◞

─── ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚 ꫮ𓈓𓊆𓋜์𝃌〪〫 n🅐m-gyu x 🅡eader x 🅜yung-gi , 🅝on-con , 🅢mut , 🅥iolence ; 🄜🄐🄢🄣🄔🄡🄛🄘🄢🄣　๋ · 𓈒𝅘𝅥

The air, thick and heavy, clung to you in the gloomy hallway, oppressive as a shroud. The penetrating stench of dampness and mold, intermingled with a metallic, rusty undertone, invaded your nostrils, knotting your stomach. A barely audible groan escaped your lips. Nam-gyu's fingers tightened viciously on your throat, cutting off the vital flow of air. Your eyes, wide with terror, desperately sought an escape route, any sliver of light or hope, but you only met Myung-gi's impassive gaze fixed on you. His hands, firm, icy to the touch, dug into your hips, anchoring you with inescapable force to the cold cement. Nam-gyu's guttural moans, a macabre melody of twisted pleasure, resonated in the oppressive silence. His smile, cruel and deranged, reflected his complacency at your evident agony. You implored the ancient wall clock, its motionless, rusted face, for time to dissolve, for you to escape that torment. But it was impossible. You were condemned to those last, agonizing ten minutes.

The blade's edge moved dangerously close to the fabric of your jacket, threatening your abdomen. Mere centimeters from piercing your skin. Your desperate gasps, the faint scraping of your nails against Myung-gi's skin, seemed to prolong your existence by seconds, by precious instants. You clung to him, feeling his faint whimper, a sign of his inner hesitation. He, deep down, still wavered. You sensed it, that silent struggle within him. When he had spotted you, running in a panic through the labyrinthine corridors, he knew, with certainty, that your end was sealed. However, Nam-gyu's strange and disturbing fascination with you had dragged them into this Dantesque situation, this forced encounter.

Suddenly, with a hoarse growl, Nam-gyu released your throat. The air, thick and cold, lacerated your trachea as it rushed in. A violent cough seized you, leaving your throat dry, scorched. You couldn't process what had happened. Nam-gyu's hands, with a brusque and determined movement, imprisoned your face. His thumb pressed your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and his tongue, without delay, slid against yours. The kiss was an assault, impatient, brutal, devoid of any hint of tenderness. His teeth tugged at your lower lip, a tacit attempt to silence any protest, any moan. Your hands clung to his forearms, futilely trying to push him away, but Nam-gyu pushed you with renewed force against Myung-gi. He, with his head against the wall, seemed too long to merge with the plaster, to become an inert extension of the structure, even though his hands remained firmly fixed on your hips.

──Damn it, stay still. Hold her, Myung-gi,── Nam-gyu muttered, his voice raspy, dark, imbued with a desire almost tangible, almost visible in the suffocating gloom. Nam-gyu's putrid breath scorched your cheek, a foul vapor that turned your stomach.

Behind you, Myung-gi's palms pressed harder, his indecision, palpable, manifested in every muscle of his arms. An internal struggle tore at him: succumb to the primal urge to lower his hands and shamelessly knead your skin, or resist the outrageous proposition, the moral aberration that Nam-gyu had offered him? He could, with ease, leave them to their fate, allowing Nam-gyu to deal with you. After all, he had promised Jun-hee he'd find her once the game was over. But now, he was trapped. A cold sweat beaded his forehead. Indecision, a tight knot in his stomach, wrestled with the frantic beat of his own fractured morality.

──Hey, it'll only be a few minutes. Come on, have a little fun,── Nam-gyu mumbled, his voice drawn out, sticky, like rancid, corrupted honey. His bloodshot, dilated eyes devoured you with a repulsive greed, a hunger that went beyond the carnal. ──Don't be so bitter, Myung-gi. It's not good for your you.

Myung-gi barely moved a muscle. His jaw tightened, a muscle protruding from his cheek, and a vein pulsed furiously at his temple, revealing the internal storm raging within him. His gaze locked on Nam-gyu, a tacit warning, an invisible boundary. His rigid, immutable posture was a brutal contrast to his companion's vulgar and unrestrained exuberance. The air around him seemed to grow colder, sharper.

──I have other things to do── his voice was low, a controlled murmur, each word a slab of ice falling with millimeter precision. His tone was neutral, devoid of perceptible emotion, an impenetrable façade that hid the internal battle he waged between logic and incipient indignation. ──Jun-hee is waiting for me.

Nam-gyu let out a guttural, harsh laugh that echoed through the hallway, an echo of his intrinsic vulgarity, his absolute disdain for formalities and rules. A sound that pierced your eardrums.

──Ah, Jun-hee this, Jun-hee that!── he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively, a gesture of annoyance, as if swatting away an irritating fly from his face. ──We'll find her, calm down. Don't be so rigid. This is more... Inmediate.── His eyes gleamed with an unhealthy light as he glanced at you, a spark of depravity that made you shrink. ──A small detour in the plan, don't you think? A necessary release valve. Relax a little, Myung-gi. You're as tense as a steel cable, man. A little fun never killed anyone, did it? Besides, no one will know about this “misstep.” It'll be our secret.

Myung-gi felt you trembling against him, an incessant vibration that passed through his body, an echo of your primal terror. His gaze fell upon the raw desperation emanating from you, and a pang, almost imperceptible, a distant echo of what might have been his humanity, pierced him. A fissure opened in his armor. He hesitated. A moral dilemma hung over him like a leaden slab: was it worth wasting precious time on this gratuitous vexation, this humiliation, when he had more pressing matters, clearer objectives, like finding the woman he had promised to find once the game concluded for him? But Nam-gyu, with his unwavering persistence, with his ability to corrupt even the most reluctant soul, had not only convinced him to eliminate every player who crossed their path, but also to follow his twisted path to you, to this public and private humiliation that stripped you of everything.

Nam-gyu pulled back just enough, barely a breath of distance, to offer you a sneering smile, a grimace that turned your stomach. His thumb, thick and abrasive, grazed your lips, now swollen and sore from the brutality of the forced kiss. The rough texture of his skin against yours was torture.

──Are you enjoying it, huh?── he rasped, his voice loaded with disgusting glee, his eyes piercing you with repulsive satisfaction, a sick lust. ──I'm sure you are, slut. You're transparent. Don't try to fool me with that slaughtered lamb face. I know what you like.

A choked sob, a silent, desperate plea, stuck in your parched throat, inaudible to them, but deafening in your own mind. You shook your head vehemently, a futile, frantic attempt at denial, to erase the atrocious reality assailing you, to make everything vanish into thin air like a bad dream. But your body, treacherous and vulnerable, responded mercilessly, succumbing to a shiver of revulsion that raised goosebumps on your skin. Nam-gyu's hands, already avid, already impatient, with skin rough from use and the cold sweat of his abstinence, had slid with brazen obscenity over your body. 

They clung to your breasts, kneading them with a disgusting familiarity through the fabric of your jacket, a fabric that suddenly felt thin, useless. With a quick and perversely efficient movement, he dragged your pants down your legs, stripping them off with a rustle of fabric that resonated like a cruel mockery in the oppressive silence of the hallway, leaving you exposed in your underwear. The act tore a guttural, bestial moan from him, almost a roar of triumph.

──Goddammit, you don't know how long I've waited for this, damn it!── Nam-gyu growled, his voice broken by feverish excitement and the agony of his addiction. His hot, fetid breath, smelling of stale tobacco and alcohol, crashed against your skin, a sensory offense that churned your stomach. His kisses, a wet, sticky torture on your neck and jaw, drowned you, suffocated you with their intrinsic vulgarity. At the same time, Myung-gi emitted a low, almost inaudible whimper, a choked protest that was lost in the sordidness of the moment, as he felt the nakedness of your skin against his hands. His body, though immobile as an ice statue, betrayed a palpable tension, a mute but undeniable resistance, an internal struggle that slowly consumed him, even as his face remained impassive.

Nam-gyu's fingers, avid and knowledgeable, as if he possessed a detailed map of your innermost vulnerability, traced the fabric of your panties. You felt the wet stain already growing there, a treacherous heat that spread like a plague across your skin, a humiliating physiological response that made you feel even dirtier, even more ashamed.

──Don't play hard to get, doll,── Nam-gyu muttered, his tone a condescending mockery, a scorn that pierced your soul, a verbal whip that flogged you with every syllable. He slid his fingers under the waistband of your panties, gently grazing your skin, an invasive touch that made you bristle, a premonition of what was to come. ──So wet for us, don't you think? So… Willing to be taken.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, a galloping tachycardia that stole your breath, burning your lungs with each desperate inhalation. Anxiety, thick and tangible, filled every corner of the hallway, an oppressive vapor that choked you, crushing you with its suffocating weight. You felt Myung-gi's fingers begin to move over your body, a hesitant, almost mechanical caress, palpating through the fabric of your jacket. He seemed to want to ascend, to explore higher, a temptation reflected in the slight tremor of his hand, but he stopped abruptly at the hem of your garment, as if an invisible barrier, an iron restraint, prevented him from advancing.

Nam-gyu, with a disdainful gesture, as if getting rid of something foul, tossed the knife aside. The metallic sound as it hit the floor resonated in the funereal silence of the hallway, a dry, ominous clang. Your face moved slightly back, a desperate effort to catch a glimpse of Myung-gi's expression, to read something in his eyes, to find a hint of empathy or regret. But you only found his gaze fixed on you, with a little more icy courage in them, a resolution you hadn't seen before, a determination that surprised and terrified you in equal measure. He wanted to act, you felt it, the tension in his body was eloquent, every muscle vibrating with an internal struggle, an impulse fighting to break free.

Without apparent remorse, without a shred of visible hesitation on his chiseled face, Myung-gi's hands gripped your breasts through the fabric of your jacket. Before you could retort, before your brain processed the next act, he began to squeeze and massage your breasts. His hand then rose, roughly gripped your chin, his fingers firm, and moved your face slightly upward, forcing you to look him in the eyes. His hungry, voracious mouth claimed yours in a second, a forced invasion that stole your breath, leaving you breathless. His tongue delved inside you with a sudden eagerness, an intrusion that left you breathless, a nausea rising in your throat. He swallowed your broken moans, absorbed them, as if feeding on your desperation, while his hands, with astonishing swiftness, moved your shirt under your jacket to directly touch your skin, an icy shiver, a current of dread, running down your spine, leaving you defenseless, vulnerable to his every move.

Meanwhile, Nam-gyu, with a repulsive agility that belied his state, crouched beneath your body. His lips, warm and wet, grazed the exposed skin of your thighs, a touch that made you bristle to the core, a sensation of disgust and profanation. You could feel the tip of his tongue, warm and rough, and his teeth, barely, lightly chewing your skin, an almost cannibalistic touch, an invasion of your personal space that chilled your blood. His gaze, filled with unhinged depravity, was fixed on Myung-gi, watching his tongue work in your mouth, how he possessed you with contained fury. A smile of satisfaction, of twisted pleasure, curved his lips, revealing an expression of euphoria. Evidently, he reveled in the scene unfolding, your every gesture, every spasm of your body, every gasp a macabre trophy in his vile collection.

His tongue then came out to lick the wet fabric of your panties, a vulgar touch that made you let out a choked moan, which was lost in Myung-gi's mouth. Nam-gyu, with shameless abruptness, pushed aside the soaked lace, revealing your intimacy. He slid his tongue against you, a cold and repulsive invasion that made you feel defiled.

Myung-gi pulled away from your mouth just enough to allow you a breath, a gulp of stale air. His eyes, now with a more discernible, more penetrating light, fixed on your expression. He saw the burning shame, the deep discomfort, the panic reflected in your contorted face, in your terror-filled eyes, as Nam-gyu's tongue penetrated you with voracious, unremorseful movements, with the brazenness of an unpunished predator. Myung-gi caressed with his fingers, long and now less uncertain, a hardened nipple through the fabric of your jacket, a distant, almost clinical caress, seeking to gauge your reaction, not to please you, but to calibrate its impact. Then, with deliberate, almost sadistic slowness, he pulled your jacket and shirt up over your breasts, leaving only your bra. Without a pause, without a second of hesitation, he also lifted the bra, exposing your bare breasts to his hungry eyes, which devoured you with obscene avidity.

──Damn…── Myung-gi whispered, his voice a low, barely perceptible growl, a mixture of raw astonishment and a primary, almost animal desire that you hadn't believed he possessed, that surprised you with its intensity. His eyes, now darker, like bottomless pits that absorbed you, rested on your breasts. A nervous tic agitated in his jaw, revealing an underlying tension.

At that instant, Nam-gyu moved quickly, raising his head to look into your eyes, an expression of brutal triumph on his face, a grotesque victory that made you feel nauseous, a bitter bile rising in your throat.

──Do you like that view, Myung-gi?── Nam-gyu muttered, his voice raspy, almost a hiss, not taking his lips from your skin, reveling in your degradation. ──Come on, admire what you're missing because of your shitty scruples. She's made for this. Look at her, she's moaning for us!

Without warning, with a surprising force and a chilling eagerness, Myung-gi sucked on one of your nipples with his mouth, an unexpected act that wrenched a stifled cry from you. His tongue swirled, hot and wet, while his other hand rolled and pinched the opposite nipple, a sweet and repulsive torture that tore an uncontrollable groan from you, an ill-timed mix of sharp pain and a strange, shameful physical response, adding another layer to your humiliation.

Nam-gyu moaned against you, a guttural sound that resonated in the hallway, his tongue licking with deliberate, firm movements. ──So tight, so eager! Come on, baby, don't hold back. Let that sound out. Let us hear it. For us, yes?

His two fingers, menacing and thick, hovered over your entrance. Finally, they pushed in, with a bluntness that made you arch your back in a spasm of pain, a sharp pain that coursed through your insides, curving to precisely hit your most sensitive spot. Your back hit Myung-gi's chest; you felt the warmth of his body and the vibration of his ragged breath, while groans, now of forced and humiliating pleasure, escaped your broken lips. You felt pleasure course through you, a wave of sensations that disoriented you and made you feel even dirtier, stained.

──Ah… That's it!── Nam-gyu snarled, his voice hoarse and guttural, resonating with the crudeness of an animal. He leaned down, his face grotesquely pleased, to lick every drop of your release. His fingers relentlessly moved in and out of you with an unyielding, almost rhythmic regularity. Myung-gi released your breast as soon as Nam-gyu penetrated you for the last time, his hands withdrawing with an abruptness that betrayed sudden disgust, a shameful retreat from his own involvement in that obscene act. However, you could still feel his erection pressing against you, a biting and merciless contrast between his apparent remorse and his undeniable carnal desire.

Nam-gyu gave you a sinful look from your thighs, his lips curved in a satisfied and complacent smile that revealed an expression of brutal triumph. ──Delicious,── he murmured, his voice unctuous, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He gave you space to fall slightly onto him, moving you away from Myung-gi's oppressive warmth. He placed a hand on your head, his fingers tangling in your hair with a force that made you bend, directing you to the floor to kneel beneath him.

He pulled down his pants with a sigh of anticipated pleasure, the fabric rubbing against his thick skin, releasing his already engorged and pulsating member, obscenely erect. He laughed, a harsh, unpleasant sound like crushed gravel, at your panicked reaction, at the uncontrollable trembling of your lips, and the wide-eyed fear in your eyes. ──Don't just stare, be good to me,── he commanded, his tone a veiled order, his gaze piercing, a promise of pain if you disobeyed. He brought the tip to your parted lips, an invasive gesture that forced you to react. You ended up obeying, your lips parting with minimal resistance while his large, strong hand cupped the back of your head, forcing you to sink down, to submit. You heard him groan loudly, a guttural, primitive sound, as the warmth of your mouth surrounded him. 

Your tongue was forced to circle his tip before you began to move your head slowly, with an initial clumsiness that turned into a mechanical, robotic rhythm. His hand tightened in your hair, guiding your pace with brutal authority as his member slid deeper. ──Damn, you're really good at this, huh!── He smirked at you, his eyes narrowed, watching your lips stretch around him, how you submitted to his will. ──Use your hands, baby.

You reached out, your fingers trembling and almost alien to your will, as if they belonged to another person. You wrapped them around the base of his length, where your mouth couldn't reach, caressing him while you sucked, an act of humiliating obedience that gnawed at your soul. His hips thrust forward without thought of whether you might choke, whether your throat, sore and lacerated, would withstand the onslaught, the depth of his invasion.

You felt uncomfortable, deeply unsettled by Myung-gi's perpetual gaze, a constant presence fixed between you. His scrutiny was a weight, a silent judgment that made you feel even more vulnerable. You only heard him breathing deeply amidst your broken moans. You moaned around Nam-gyu, vibrating through him as he hissed sharply, a raw pleasure that twisted his face into a grimace. Sweat ran down his temple, dripping from his forehead, as he worked you. He deepened his grip on your scalp, his nails grazing, sending waves of sharp pain that mingled with the forced pleasure in your body, a perverse amalgamation of sensations. He smiled maliciously, thrusting his hips forward with renewed force while murmuring, almost purring: ──You love being used like this, don't you? You love being our little whore, don't you?── But then, with a sharp inhale, he suddenly pulled away, the sound of a wet pop echoing in the hallway, leaving your lips shiny and parted, while a needy, pathetic whimper escaped you. You moaned, a hollow sound, at the abrupt absence in your mouth, at the unexpected emptiness.

He let out a guttural chuckle, a mocking sound, wiping the corner of his lips that still had lingering saliva, a gesture of repulsive satisfaction. ──Not yet, don't be impatient,── he whispered, his voice laden with perverse mockery, a promise of more torment. He leaned in to kiss your lips forcefully, his breath hot, his eyes gleaming with an animal heat, an uncontrollable, raw desire that frightened you. His kiss didn't last long; his tongue possessively plunged in, stealing your breath, a territorial invasion that left you breathless, with no space for yourself, while his fingers played with your sensitive nipples, pinching them, twisting them. His hands then adjusted their position, now pulling you towards Myung-gi as if you were an inanimate doll, a piece being passed from one predator to another. Myung-gi took your wrists lightly, his fingers against your burning skin, steadying you. Nam-gyu moved away slightly, his eyes gleaming with something dark and evil, a predatory cunning that foreshadowed a new phase of torture. He calmly dropped against the wall, resting his back against the cold linoleum, his posture relaxed, as he watched them with sadistic, expectant amusement.

──Take her, Myung-gi.── Nam-gyu's voice was a guttural whisper, almost a satisfied predator's purr, tinged with undeniable authority. ──I'll take care of her next.── Myung-gi cast him an indecipherable look, an almost imperceptible nod, a silent pact that chilled you to the bone, before focusing his attention, his intense and scrutinizing gaze, on you. Myung-gi's moral dilemma, if it had ever truly existed, had been crushed by the raw reality of the situation, by a darker motivation that was now revealed.

A choked moan, laden with corrosive shame and the incipient sting of a pleasure that horrified you to your very core, broke free from your lips. Myung-gi leaned in with a barely audible sigh, a warm whisper of air that brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, while his fingers, surprisingly delicate despite the brutality of the moment, settled on your jaw. You felt them caress it with a strange and disorienting mix of forced tenderness and absolute dominance. His hand then began a slow and torturous descent, a leisurely journey down your neck, your sensitive collarbone, your contracted abdomen, until it reached your thighs, where it stopped and squeezed your skin with a firmness that made you shudder, an ominous premonition.

He said nothing to you, not a single word. His silence was a torment deeper, more complex, than Nam-gyu's crude and obscene verbosity. He seemed incapable of even a monosyllable, and that restraint, that enigmatic lack of expression, confused and unsettled you more than his companion's defiant attitude. It was the mystery of his reticence, the uncertainty of his thoughts, that gnawed at you from within.

You squirmed weakly beneath him, a useless movement, a protest muffled by desperation, as the oppressive warmth of his body pressed against yours. You felt your breasts painfully crushed against his torso and Myung-gi's hard erection pressing into your back, a raw and humiliating sensation. His fingers hesitated on your skin, a momentary indecision that gave you a fleeting and cruel spark of hope, a flicker of humanity in his eyes that quickly vanished. Then, with an abrupt and almost impersonal movement, he turned you over, your face turning away from him, preventing you from seeing the expression in his eyes, from reading any trace of emotion or regret. He began to slide off his clothes too, the sound of fabric against the cold linoleum, a dull and ominous scrape. You shivered as you felt his tip, hot and slick with your own wetness, barely brush your moist folds, a barely perceptible caress at your sensitive entrance, a provocation. Your hips moved instinctively, unwillingly, a nervous tic of your body that profoundly embarrassed you, revealing a response you couldn't control. Myung-gi seemed slightly surprised by your reaction.

──Stay still…── he growled, his voice a hoarse whisper, barely a warm breath against the skin of your neck, a mentholated vapor that made you bristle. He slid his tip a little deeper, making you shiver with a perverse mixture of dread and a nascent, hateful sensation that invaded you unbidden.

From his spot, lazily leaning against the wall, one hand loosely covering his face, Nam-gyu hummed softly, a tuneless and dismal melody, like an otherworldly chorus. His eyes, however, remained fixed on you both, gleaming with obscene anticipation.

──Don't bother her so much. I want her in feet  when it's my turn,── he snapped, his voice unctuous and laden with a repulsive possessiveness that made you feel like property, an object for his delight.

──Shut up,── Myung-gi replied, his voice more a hiss than an order, but with an undeniable authority that made Nam-gyu shrug with a dismissive chuckle, a show of his submission to Myung-gi. Myung-gi aligned himself well this time, his body adjusting to yours with chilling precision. And then, without warning, without preamble, he pushed slowly, inch by inch, a paused and methodical invasion, until he was buried deep inside you, making your back arch over him in a painful and forced arc, a bridge of agony and searing pain. A loud, tearing moan escaped your throat, a lament that vibrated in the air, a silent protest that only you could hear within yourself. Myung-gi suppressed his groans as best he could, his face tense with effort, with the containment of his own arousal, resting his head on your shoulder as he hit bottom, his hot breath against your skin. 

──So… tight,── he murmured, his voice a deep murmur, almost of awe, his internal conflict evident in the almost imperceptible trembling of his muscles, in the slight clenching of his jaw. He began to move, withdrawing halfway before thrusting again with a sudden, violent movement of his hips, wrenching a choked scream from your lips, an echo of your pain and the humiliation that engulfed you.

──God, listen to yourself!── Nam-gyu exclaimed, his voice tinged with perverse pleasure, his laugh resonating in the hallway. ──You didn't moan like that with me…! Come on, Myung-gi, show this bitch how to really fuck her. Make her scream!

Myung-gi, unperturbed by Nam-gyu's provocation, set a slow but strong rhythm, less anxious and erratic than Nam-gyu's, more orderly and methodical, almost clinical in his execution. Nam-gyu's eyes gleamed at the sight, his hand slid, lazily stroking himself above, the bulge of his erection visible as he watched Myung-gi relentlessly take you. The sound of your skin hitting his resonated in the room, a wet, obscene slap, mixed with your muffled moans and the wet, dirty sounds of Myung-gi pounding harder and faster. ──A-Ah…── You sobbed, Myung-gi's hands gripping your hips with possessive force, directing you as he wished, a puppet without will in his hands. He growled against your ear, his breath hot, invading your senses, as his hips violently collided with yours, the impact reverberating in your bones, making your spine vibrate. His teeth grazed your skin

──Come… Hurry,── he whispered, his voice laden with an imperious urgency, almost a plea, an order. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, a weakness that invaded you, the knot in your stomach tightened so much it hurt, a physical agony that joined the emotional, a knot of desperation. Myung-gi groaned loudly, his thrusts stuttering as your walls mercilessly tightened around him, a response from your body that shook him, that made him shudder with pleasure. He spilled inside you with a choked groan, his hips still rubbing against you as he continued to thrust deeper with slow, languid movements, his body releasing tension, but yours still in torment, a prison of sensations.

He slowly withdrew from you, the sound of a wet pop echoing in the hallway, feeling his mixtures dripping down your skin, a cold, sticky wetness. Then, Nam-gyu stood up, his eyes turning to Myung-gi, a tacit question in his predatory gaze, a silent demand for his turn. Myung-gi only gave him a quick glance, a spark of understanding, an almost imperceptible nod, before moving away from both of you, leaving the empty space between your bodies. He moved with an almost spectral stillness, as if his participation in the act was more an obligation than a desire. Nam-gyu brushed the inside of your thigh, his fingers rough and calloused, as he knelt between your legs, his hand lazily stroking himself, his member already erect and throbbing, while his eyes, dark and greedy, swept over your ravaged, reddened body, a gaze that made you feel naked to the very core of your soul.

──Look at you…── Nam-gyu purred, his voice deep and unctuous, full of obscene and repulsive satisfaction. He rose, the tip of his large, already hardened member slid between your folds, provoking your sensitivity enough to make you moan and writhe, an involuntary spasm of pleasure and repulsion. ──You're broken, still dripping from him.

──S-Stop,── you whined, your voice a barely audible thread, a desperate plea, moving your hips slightly as you tried to push him away, a futile effort. But he came closer with a dark laugh, a deep, guttural sound that made you shrink, that chilled your heart.

──But we're having fun here, don't you think? We're not done yet!── He clicked his tongue, brushing your entrance with the tip before pulling away again, torturing you with anticipation, with the cruelty of his game. ──You can tell how much you're enjoying it, huh? Look at her, Myung-gi,── he said, not taking his eyes off you, as if he were displaying you, as if you were a trophy. He caressed your flushed cheek with his thumb, his touch rough and stained, ──You look so pretty like this. All broken, all ours.

Nam-gyu smirked, a twisted grimace that made you involuntarily flinch at the tears that began to threaten to fall from the corners of your eyes, a salty, stinging burn. ──Look me in the eyes, and say you need me.── He gripped strands of your hair under his fingers, pulling them hard, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes, already clouded with panic, met his dark and hungry gaze, a maelstrom of depravity and primal desire that consumed you.

──I-I… I need you…── You whispered with a broken voice, a lament that tore your soul, complete and absolute humiliation. The final defeat.

──Good girl,── Nam-gyu whispered, his voice tinged with absolute, nauseating triumph. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, a brutal assault on your lips, a theft of your breath. He threw you to the floor without delicacy, the impact resonating in your bones, pushing himself onto you until he filled you to the bone with an eager, desperate thrust, an impact that left you breathless, a feeling of emptiness that invaded you. ──Fuck, you're tight!── he growled into your neck, his breath foul and hot, his hand cradling your throat with a force that promised more than caresses, a latent threat, as he immediately set a brutal rhythm, each thrust forcing the air from your lungs, leaving you empty, broken, at his mercy.

Gasping as best you could, each breath rasping in your throat like sandpaper, your nails desperately dug into Nam-gyu's hands, seeking an anchor, a way to release the oppression that suffocated you. The sound of your wetness resonated in the hallway, an obscene, raw slurp, mixing with the gasps of your breathing as his fingers tightened with inhuman force on your trachea, choking your whimpers, preventing you from breathing. Nam-gyu merely smirked, an arrogant, satisfied grimace, sweat dripping from his temple, a greasy sheen under the dim hallway light, as he leaned closer, leaving mocking, wet kisses on your earlobe, your flushed, burning cheeks, and the corners of your parted lips, which tasted of ash and desperation.

──Come on, you're being finicky. Do you want the whole place to hear you? To find out how much you're enjoying this?── he murmured, his breath hot and fetid against your skin, feeling the salty, burning tears fall onto his hand.

──N-Nam-gyu, please…── you cried, your voice broken and choked, as your body, overstimulated and treacherous, tried to escape the overwhelming and painful stimulation, the forced pleasure that invaded you. But you couldn't.

──Stay still,── he tightened his grip on your throat, his fingers like a steel vise. You felt the air rapidly draining from you, as if your lungs were collapsing, it almost seemed he was trying to kill you, icy terror coursing through every fiber of your being, a cold that clung to your bones. He delivered brutal, wild thrusts, sending waves of electric pleasure and agonizing pain through your overstimulated body, a sweet torture that made you feel even dirtier, even more corrupted. You sobbed, vision blurred by tears, and through a veil of agony, you saw Myung-gi shift uncomfortably in the corner of the room, his eyes fixed on the scene, an indecipherable glint in his gaze that gnawed at your soul.

──Come on, come, I want to see how much more you can resist!── Nam-gyu ordered, his voice a whip lashing at your dignity. Your voice broke completely under his grip on your trachea as Nam-gyu's thrusts became more erratic, harder, the sound of skin hitting yours resonated in the hallway, a brutal echo of your dishonor. Your walls closed around his force, squeezing every inch of his member as your body arched beneath him, a forced arc of submission, a canvas of your agony.

──So good…── Nam-gyu groaned, throwing his head back, his neck muscles tense, his face contorted by bestial pleasure, by lust. His hips trembled as he sank deep one last time, hot, viscous streams spilling inside you, an overwhelming sensation that left you empty and full at once, a cruel paradox. ──Take it, damn it, take it all like the good girl you are.

You moaned weakly, a barely perceptible sound, like that of a wounded animal, shivering from head to toe. Nam-gyu panted heavily behind you, his agitated breath against the back of your neck, before pulling away slightly to see you in full view, a vision of your own humiliation. His eyes swept over your ravaged, reddened body, the marks of his fingers on your skin, your hair stuck to your forehead with sweat and tears, a portrait of your torment. ──Shit… Look at the mess we made, Myung-gi.── He murmured with an arrogant, satisfied smile, like a perverse artist contemplating his masterpiece.

──Hey,── he turned his head to observe the other man, who had remained in oppressive silence, his posture tense, a marble statue in the gloom, his face an unreadable mask. ──What if we both take her? Doesn't that sound exciting? It'll be even better!── Nam-gyu's suggestion, casual and perverse, sent a new wave of terror through your body, a chill that froze your blood. Nam-gyu slid in front of you, his hands gripping you tightly, holding you still so Myung-gi could slowly approach behind you. You felt his presence like a cold shadow, an icy anticipation enveloping you. He lifted you onto him, taking both your thighs from below with surprising force, fully exposing you before Nam-gyu, an offering to his avid gaze. You felt Myung-gi rub against you, the tip of his erection teasing your already swollen and sensitive entrance, a touch that made you tremble. You exhaled tremblingly, the air whistling between your lips, your hands gripping his arms with unconscious desperation, a need to cling to something, to anyone, as you arched your head towards him, waiting, fearing, the inevitable.

Nam-gyu struck against you, the wet sound of skin colliding, a resonant smack, shivering you completely, a sonic lash that made you close your eyes, seeking refuge in the darkness. ──Look how sensitive you are,── he said with a dark chuckle, almost a growl, seeing your hips contract uncontrollably, a response from your body you couldn't stop, a humiliating betrayal. You moaned, an animal, primal sound, while Myung-gi, with deliberate, almost sadistic slowness, began to push inside you, a slow invasion that felt like an eternity. The stretching of your insides, the sensation of being torn, made your mouth open in a choked scream, your nails digging into Myung-gi's hands, leaving red marks, furrows of your agony, as he filled you to the brim, an act of total possession that left you breathless, soulless, an empty shell.

──Oh, shit…── Myung-gi groaned, his voice weaker, tinged with a deeper pleasure, a surrender. He stilled, his body contracted by the intensity. He convulsed before spilling inside you again, a second wave, completely flooding you, to the point of nausea, a sea of his essence.

Nam-gyu chuckled sarcastically, his voice a pleased murmur as he watched him, an expression of triumph on his face.

──Wasn't it worth it, Myung-gi? This is fucking glory, the peak of pleasure!

You could only let out a small whimper, your entire body limp and lifeless in their arms, every muscle exhausted, every nerve throbbing with resentment and shame.

Nam-gyu pulled out with a hiss, a sound of release that resonated in the silence that followed. Myung-gi lowered you from him, your limbs limp and lifeless, letting you fall onto the cold hallway floor, your body now an inert pile of flesh and humiliation, while the acrid stench of sweat and your own degradation filled the air, an olfactory reminder of your degradation. The tension dissolved, leaving only a suffocating emptiness, a stillness that screamed.

Suddenly, a sharp, persistent beep pierced the oppressive silence of the hallway, a mechanical sound that, for an instant, seemed the most beautiful in the world. Your eyes, still clouded with tears, fixed on the digital counter on the opposite wall. The numbers flickered one last time, blinking with a dim red light, before the last digit vanished, marking a resounding and definitive 00:00. Time had run out.

A shiver ran through your body, but this time it wasn't fear or pleasure. It was the icy embrace of liberation, the urgent need to escape that personal hell. You stirred from the floor with surprising agility for your state, your aching, trembling muscles protesting with every movement, but adrenaline propelled you. Your gaze crawled across the filthy floor, frantically searching for your scattered clothes, scraps of fabric that represented your lost dignity.

You didn't dare look at the two men who remained, their ominous silhouettes in the hallway's gloom. The air, thick with the stench, sweat, and the metallic aroma of your own shame, oppressed your chest. You felt their gazes on you, like icy knives piercing your back, but you refused to return them. Every fiber of your being screamed to flee, to disappear, to erase every second of that terrible ordeal. Your hands trembled so much you could barely gather your clothes, your fingers clumsy and numb. The simple act of dressing seemed a monumental task.

Nam-gyu adjusted his clothes unhurriedly, the brush of fabric against his skin revealing a casual disdain for the recent frenzy. His eyes, no longer so ravenous, watched you with a mixture of distant curiosity and satisfied possession. It was as if he were evaluating you, another object in his personal collection. The smile that crossed his lips was not the cruel mockery from before, but something subtler, more unsettling, a chilling certainty.

──Looks like it's over,── Nam-gyu murmured, his voice now a casual whisper, devoid of the previous euphoria. His eyes, a mix of satiety and strange indifference, rested on you for an instant, evaluating you like an object at the end of its usefulness. An almost contemptuous flick of his chin indicated you had been discarded, at least for now. His hands were in his jacket pockets, his posture relaxed in contrast to the tension still vibrating in the air.

Myung-gi, with an almost imperceptible fluidity, passed by Nam-gyu. His steps were light, almost inaudible on the concrete floor, an antithesis to the uproar that had filled the hallway just moments before. He didn't spare you a glance, not a hint of recognition, not a flicker. It was as if, to him, you had never been there, as if the space you occupied was as insignificant as dust in the air. His tense shoulders and slightly clenched jaw were the only indications of any emotion he might harbor, an iron restraint. He slipped through the door, quickly disappearing from the place, like a shadow vanishing with dawn, leaving no trace, as if his very presence was a faded illusion. His departure was so quick and silent that, for a second, you wondered if he had truly been there, if his existence was nothing more than a mere specter of your torment.

Nam-gyu lingered for a few more seconds, his eyes fixed on the threshold where Myung-gi had disappeared, a slight grimace of disinterest or perhaps boredom. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he turned his head to look at you again. There was no desire in his gaze now, only a kind of weariness, as if the show were over and the curtain was falling, revealing the emptiness that remained. His hand rose with exasperating slowness, and he gave you a barely perceptible gesture, a kind of ambiguous salute, a farewell that lacked warmth or regret. Then, with a last, barely audible sigh, a sound lost in the dense air, he turned and left the hallway, leaving you completely alone in the gloom, lying on the cold floor. The echo of their actions and the silent promise of their return reverberated in every fiber of your being, a score of terror that would be etched into your memory.

[jamonconquesso]

N🅔CKLAC🅔 𓈒 𓈒 𒂭۪۪۪۪᳝۟ 𝟏𝟐𝟒

✚ॱֺּׅ༏ིྀ𓏼 you find nam-gyu's necklace abandoned on the ground. an unbeatable opportunity to collect what he owes you: the man who always considered you less is now battered and weak. it's your moment to take advantage. 𓈒 །∔ ‿◞

─── ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚 ꫮ𓈓𓊆𓋜์𝃌〪〫 n🅐m-gyu x 🅡eader , 🅢mut , 🅓rugs mention, 🅑lood and 🅥iolence ; 🄜🄐🄢🄣🄔🄡🄛🄘🄢🄣　๋ · 𓈒𝅘𝅥

The flickering fluorescent lights of the dilapidated bathroom pulsed with a dying beat, casting a pale shroud over the cold, stained tiles. You dangled the cross necklace between your fingers, feeling the icy, metallic texture of the piece against your skin, an inert caress. Nam-gyu's eyes, glassy and feverish, devoured every swing of the object, fixed on it with hypnotic greed, as if the rusted metal were the epicenter of his existence. His hands, once firm and mocking, now remained clasped, pleading, writhing in a mute plea for the tiny pills encapsulated within the pendant. The image of him, so torn by anguish, so desperate for an infinitesimal dose, plunged you into a profound perplexity. You, oblivious to the unfathomable abyss of addiction, incapable of understanding the torture of a body that begs, watched with a mix of bewilderment and slight revulsion that overwhelming need.

You knew of his addiction, of course. You knew it from the first time you heard him beg Thanos for pills, justifying his plea with the uncontrollable trembling and cold sweat that soaked his hands. You hadn't cared back then; as long as it guaranteed the team's victory in the game, any method was valid. You'd see him bite the pill with an almost animalistic ferocity, as if it were a mouthful of honey, and from that moment, his dependence had grown exponentially, transforming into an invisible chain that bound him to daily survival. When Thanos died, Nam-gyu had clung to that necklace with a quasi-religious devotion, as if his very life hung from that worn cord. Meanwhile, his presence had become a subtle invasion, a cat-and-mouse game where he, with an inherent toxicity, treated you like a malleable toy he longed to dominate. Incapable of controlling his own imperious needs, he took it out on you, pushing you to the limits of your patience and your own safety. You still remembered Nam-gyu's guttural laugh, a harsh, humorless cackle, as you choked, coughing violently and gagging on your own saliva, after being thrown out of the room a mere four seconds from the end.

You couldn't stand him. You really couldn't. You longed for him to vanish from your sight, for a sudden death in the next game to erase him from existence. You just wanted him gone. However, an undeniable truth persisted in your mind: Nam-gyu was undeniably attractive, even in his most grotesque and peculiar moments. When the light fell on the edge of his pronounced cheekbones, enhancing an implacable hardness; when, with an almost flirtatious gesture, he combed his dark, rebellious hair, tucking some strands behind his ears, revealing the outline of a sharp profile; when his fingers, long and adorned with silver rings, played with the metal, in a distracted but mesmerizing dance... You felt overwhelmed by guilt, almost mortified by the furtive admiration you gave him for more than three seconds. And, of course, he perceived it. He laughed, a dry, triumphant sound, and brazenly tugged at your clothes every time you quickly averted your gaze. You hated the insidious control he had managed to exert over you. That's why, when you saw him plunged into that abject desperation, searching and begging for his necklace, you saw the perfect opportunity.

You found it near one of the corpses, covered in traces of coagulated blood, a grim sight that added to the already macabre scene. It surprised you that Nam-gyu hadn't noticed its absence. You slipped it into your pocket and continued the day with a façade of normalcy. Until you saw him, later, screaming wildly at the guards, almost provoking a volley of shots for the same insignificant piece of metal. Passing by the oppressive men's bathroom, a muffled whimper reached you from inside. The sound was incredibly potent, and the pathetic degradation it evidenced bothered you. You had to do something.

With no guards in sight, you entered the bathroom. The moan, now closer, came from one of the stalls. You couldn't discern if they were sobs, laments, mere suffering, or a cacophony of all three. You ignored all the warnings your conscience screamed at you. You'd allow yourself, for once, the pleasure of calculated cruelty. You opened the stall door with slow, deliberate movements. Nam-gyu was huddled on the floor, his hands covering his face, his knees almost touching his chest. Seeing you, he flinched, a brusque, alarmed start. Sweat beaded his forehead, sliding down his temples until it almost soaked his dark, sticky hair. His hand, trembling, reached out to you, gripping the fabric of your jacket with surprising strength. He closed his eyes for a second, his brow deeply furrowed, his face a map of agony. 

──What...? What the hell are you doing here? Go... Just... Get lost,── he hissed, his voice barely a hoarse thread, tinged with a mix of shame and despair. He released his grip, recoiling slightly, like a wounded animal seeking its lair. You didn't take your eyes off him, observing his figure. He looked pathetic, unimaginably weak and pitiful. He began to scratch his skin with frenzied anxiety, his nails digging into his flesh with a violence that made you shiver.

You extended a hand to stop those self-destructive movements; if he kept going, he'd completely fall apart. He tried to pull away from your grasp, but you held him, your strength overcoming him in his vulnerable state. You pulled the necklace from your pocket, the metal cross gleaming under the sickly light, and positioned it in front of Nam-gyu's face, dangling it with exasperating slowness from side to side. Now, Nam-gyu's eyes didn't leave the necklace. His hands rose, almost with devotion, as if the object were a divine relic and you, an avenging angel who granted or denied it. ──Look, is this what you want?── you dared to inquire, your voice quiet, almost a whisper. You moved a little closer to him, bending your knees to reduce the imposing distance, adopting a more intimate posture. When he tried to take the necklace, you pulled it away with an agile movement. Nam-gyu, in a burst of frustration and need, almost lunged at you in a desperate attempt to snatch it.

──Hey... Listen... Listen to me,── he pleaded, kneeling on the cold floor in front of you, adopting a posture of humiliating submission, almost like prayer. You hit your back against the wall, the physical proximity between you becoming suffocating, charged with an electrifying tension. ──Forgive me! I'm sorry, sorry, sorry. I apologize for everything, okay? I'm so sorry, but, please, I can't do anything without it.── You cast a quick glance at the necklace in your hand, tightening your grip. All that façade of strength, that calculated mental disturbance, that feigned self-confidence, it all depended on a few miserable pills. He was a helpless coward beneath all that paraphernalia, a simple, anxious pushover who begged you on his knees when he used to brazenly revel in your suffering.

He continued to plead for mercy, detailing with a broken voice how much he needed it, how vital it was to him. You began to feel tired; the expected satisfaction wasn't arriving. It was an auditory anguish, almost despairing. You decided you'd leave, that you'd let him rot in that infected bathroom, that you wouldn't look back. But his sudden, desperate grip on your leg stopped you dead. His eyes, once defiant, now looked at you with an abject plea, begging for mercy. You swallowed hard at the rawness of the scene. An ambiguous shiver, half repulsion, half an unknown spark, ran down your spine. Your eyes fixed on his raw vulnerability, on this broken man who, in some aberrant way, ignited something primal within you. A warm, strange electric current snaked through your veins, a treacherous response to the pathetic nakedness of his need. It was incredible how suddenly desirable he looked in that posture, so desirable, and a sudden, unconfessable need to ruin him even more filled your body. The desire for him to stay that way, prostrate beneath you, submissive and yearning, burned within you, a dark and disturbing discovery about yourself. 

Although Nam-gyu's attention wasn't directed specifically at you, but at that crude, battered necklace, you couldn't ignore the tremor running through your own body. ──Damn it... Damn it, damn it! What do you want? What the hell do you want from me?!── He clung to the fabric of your pants, his fingers squeezing your thighs with desperate force, in a frantic search for answers. You swallowed tremblingly, a fierce and ruthless moral dilemma tearing you apart from within. You weren't "that kind of person," truly, you weren't, you had never believed yourself capable of such depravity, but the sweaty, damp, abject sight of him, his exposed vulnerability, pleading, desire, ignited something primal in you.

A heavy, dense silence settled between you, the only sounds Nam-gyu's ragged breathing and the wild pounding of your own heart. You felt the air stagnate in your lungs, a painful pressure in your chest. Time, capriciously, had stopped, an eternity suspended in the stench of dampness and despair. Your lower lip trembled barely, an almost imperceptible movement that betrayed the volcano of emotions bubbling within. A slow, deliberate blink, as your mind processed the raw vulgarity of the proposal.

──You want... You want to... fuck? Goddamn it, I can fuck you if you want.

The proposition, raw and devoid of any delicacy, resonated in the stale air of the bathroom, an icy slap that stole your breath. Your lips parted in an inaudible gasp, your eyes, once firm, now wide, lost in the unreality of the moment. It was a dream, a feverish hallucination, right? Impossible that Nam-gyu could have uttered such obscenity, such a desperate plea, at that instant. Time, capriciously, had stopped, an eternity suspended in the stench of dampness and despair. You felt the air stagnate in your lungs, a painful pressure in your chest. You were convinced you had remained motionless for over a minute, each second an agony of self-questioning, because he stirred, crawling even closer to your thighs, resting his head on them. His voice, now an urgent, almost unintelligible murmur, pierced the silence: ──Shit, answer me. Do you want to do it or not?

You felt his fingers ascend the fabric of your clothes, probing with an intensity that made you feel shamelessly exposed, an intrusion that raised goosebumps on your skin. A slight pain began to radiate from the pressure, and you prayed he wouldn't perceive how warm and treacherously damp your skin was becoming under his touch.

You nodded. An almost imperceptible movement, a decision made in the dense haze of an ambiguous desire that felt alien to yourself. Your body responded before your mind. You weren't sure of the implications, of the consequences. Surely he'd snatch the necklace from your hand, push you aside, mercilessly mock you for the rest of the games. But you dismissed that idea with astonishing speed when he abruptly stood up and, with a mix of ferocity and an almost animal need, took your waist in his hands, pulling you towards him with undeniable force, an irresistible magnet of darkness and desire.

You placed your hands on his chest, an act that, at any other time, would have been a firm repudiation, a decisive push to create distance. But now, under the dim light of that sordid bathroom, your open palms on his warm skin felt less like a wall and more like a fragile barrier, permeable to the storm emanating from him. The necklace, that insignificant piece of metal that had dictated so much of his torment and your unexpected power, slipped from your fingers, falling with a minuscule clink onto the wet, grimy tile. Its faint sound was muffled, swallowed by the dense atmosphere of desperation that enveloped them. He, his senses completely dulled by craving, seemed not to register it at all; his mind, now a maddened labyrinth, was totally absorbed in his primary need, a ravenous hunger that surpassed any other perception.

With an instinctive, almost convulsive movement, he buried his face in the hollow of your neck, seeking refuge, anchor, or perhaps, liberation. His incipient beard, sparse and rough, scraped your skin with a raw friction, a touch that was both strange and strangely intimate. An ambiguous shiver, not entirely unpleasant, ran down your neck. You tried to push him away, yes, a crude, almost theatrical attempt, your arms barely exerting force, a simulation of rejection that hid an unconfessable truth. A part of you didn't want him to leave, yearned to prolong this moment of supreme power. Your treacherous muscles didn't respond with the necessary firmness; every gesture was a vague, ineffective movement.

The closeness was overwhelming, suffocating; you could feel every erratic pulse of his body, just inches from your own skin. His feverish heat radiated towards you, enveloping you in a suffocating bubble of shared misery. His breath, warm and with a sour stench of bile and despair, hit your collarbone directly, a nauseating and potent reminder of his absolute vulnerability, an image so far removed from the haughty Nam-gyu he had always been. His entire body was a tangle of erratic and uncoordinated spasms, trembling incessantly, each tremor bringing him closer to imminent collapse, his nervous system on edge, begging for the peace of unconsciousness.

Suddenly, without warning, without a syllable, without a glance, you felt his teeth sink into your skin, a sharp prick that elicited a slight, almost inaudible gasp from you. He began to bite and suck with brutal, desperate force, as if trying to extract from you the very essence he lacked, the substance of his survival. You could feel the raw suction, the sharp and growing pain, but instead of repulsion, a strange sensation of chilling satisfaction began to spread through your veins.

The pain from his teeth intensified, a constant, raw pulsation that vibrated on your skin. You couldn't ignore it; the throb was vivid, an undeniable sign of his intrusion, but a newly discovered facet of your being, a dark corner you were unaware of, didn't want to stop him completely. A thin, warm trickle of blood began to slide down your shoulder, tangible evidence of his abject need. He felt it, his erratic tongue tasted it with a slight lick, and a guttural, almost inhuman moan escaped from deep within his throat. It wasn't a moan of pleasure, not as you knew it, but of agonizing relief, a primal, desperate sound, as if that act, that desperate violence, was the only thing capable of calming the raging fire in his veins, the unbearable torment of his withdrawal.

His hands, previously clinging to your waist with the force of an anchor in a storm, now tightened with an intensity that made you feel vulnerable, irrevocably trapped. Not from fear of physical harm, not from fear of his intentions, but from the inexorability of the situation, of that perverse connection weaving between you, so alien to reason. The bathroom's atmosphere, already oppressive with the smell of stagnant dampness and cheap disinfectant that failed to mask the grime, became suffocating with Nam-gyu's acrid sweat, the persistent bile stench of his breath, and now, the faint but unmistakable metallic scent of your own blood, a macabre tribute to this moment. A part of your mind, cold and analytical, registered with almost clinical precision the pathetic image of Nam-gyu, reduced to a trembling, supplicating beast, and compared it to the haughty, cruel man he had been, the one who reveled in your humiliation and controlled every interaction. The satisfaction emanating from that comparison was immense, perverse in its sweetness, an unexpected victory. But another part, more visceral, more primitive, felt inexplicably drawn to the raw need emanating from him, to the complete abandonment of his pride, to the abyss of his desperation, a dark force that resonated with your own.

His bites slowed, less violent, transforming into a series of eager, almost ravenous hickeys, like a hungry child clinging to a breast, seeking vital sustenance, an image that should repel and yet only intensified the strange tension. You could feel the erratic rhythm of his heart beating furiously against your chest, a wild drumming that echoed in your own temples, synchronizing with the rising tide within you. His fingers, once skilled at scoffing and mockery, at pointing out your weaknesses, now squeezed you with desperate force, as if you were the only solid surface in a world crumbling beneath his feet, his only hope. It was an abject dependence, an overwhelming weight that settled on you, but also an undeniable confirmation of your power. It was no longer he who dragged you to the limit with his poison; now it was you who held the edge of his abyss, and the sense of control was as intoxicating as it was terrifying, a drug more potent and addictive than the one he craved.

Nam-gyu's hands, impatient and anxious, clumsily slid up your torso, searching, feeling, with an urgency bordering on desperation, until they found their way to your breasts. Through the thin fabric of your clothes, he squeezed them with an almost possessive force, feeling their weight and firmness, a discovery that made him gasp slightly, as if he had found an oasis in the desert. Your moans, previously contained by surprise and inhibition, now became more pronounced, more urgent, a guttural and uncontrollable response to the increasing pressure, as your fingers instinctively dug into his back, not to push him away, but to urge him on, to deepen that strange connection. You felt his ragged breath on your neck, a burning ember slowly consuming you, burning away the last barriers of your resistance.

Without warning, with a hasty movement that lacked all grace or delicacy, he knelt again, his hands trembling uncontrollably as he hurried to pull down your pants. The fabric slid with a soft, almost imperceptible brush against your legs, revealing the intimacy of your body, now slightly damp with a warm moisture. The scent of his arousal, raw, animal, overwhelming, grew intense, mixing with the stale air of the cubicle, an irresistible invitation that enveloped you completely, clouding your judgment. With trembling fingers, clumsy from urgency, he tore off his own underwear with a pull, exposing pale, sweaty skin, and the promise of even greater vulnerability, a tacit pact of mutual exposure.

Separating your legs slightly, Nam-gyu buried his head between them. You could feel the hair on your sensitive skin, the dampness of his forehead, and then, with a palpable desperation that vibrated in every fiber of his being, his tongue found its target. Long, urgent licks, exploratory and hungry, traced every fold, every curve of your intimacy. His hands, though still trembling with urgency and desire, gripped your thighs with surprising strength, holding you close, ensuring you wouldn't escape, that you would be completely his in that instant of absolute abandon. You, overwhelmed by the most primal and disconcerting pleasure, by a sensation that bordered on the forbidden, arched against him, your moans filling the confined air of the small cubicle, an uninhibited symphony of desire, need, and a dark satisfaction that chilled your blood and inflamed you at the same time.

Nam-gyu, now completely lost in his own world of lust and desperation, driven by a force that transcended reason, intensified his efforts. His tongue moved faster, more frantically, his suckling grew stronger, more insistent, almost painful in its voracity. Your breathing became erratic, broken, a series of gasps and choked sighs, your moans higher, more desperate, on the verge of a scream you didn't know was of agony or pure ecstasy. The scent of his arousal, which was intense before, grew even stronger, more intoxicating, an olfactory drug that mingled with the taste of your own essence in his mouth, a combination that maddened him even more, pushing him to the edge of his own abyss. An inescapable tension, a taut rope about to break, vibrated in the air, promising a fall or a release. Nam-gyu's desperation was your control, and his humiliation, your perverse crown.

Suddenly, Nam-gyu grabbed your shoulders with a force that made you stumble, turning you with a rough, ungraceful movement, yet charged with a volcanic urgency. The cold metal door of the cubicle, its rough, icy surface, dug into your forehead with a dull impact that left you momentarily stunned, an abrupt shock that made you blink. Surprised by the speed and crudeness of the turn, you tried to turn back, your eyes searching for him, wanting to decipher the abyss that now opened between his plea and this new imposition. But he, with a firm, dominant hand on the back of your neck, held you motionless against the icy metal, your face pressed against the inert surface. His breathing, previously ragged from oral pleasure, was now a hoarse, wheezing, urgent gasp against your ear, a fiery breath that betrayed his feverish impatience, his desperation.

──Stay still── he whispered, his voice rougher than ever, barely a guttural growl, but laden with an unbreakable command, a demand that pierced your eardrum. His body trembled, not just from anticipation, but from an uncontrollable need that devoured him from within. His rude, anxious hands descended with a clumsy, frantic movement, sliding your pants and underwear to your ankles with a harsh rasp of fabric against skin, an invasive whisper announcing the dispossession of your last barriers. You felt the immense heat of his body behind you, an intense, crazed, almost feverish source of warmth. His heavy, rapid breathing struck the back of your neck, the accelerated, furious pounding of his heart echoing in your ears like a tribal, primitive drum, marking the beat of a wild dance.

He positioned himself behind you, his sweaty hips pressing eagerly against yours, and you could feel the undeniable evidence of his desire, hard, throbbing, an unbearable tension against your exposed skin. The musk of desperation and the salt of his skin filled everything. With a slowness that felt agonizing and exquisite in equal measure, he entered you. Each inch he advanced was a pang, an extension, a sweet and exquisite agony that stole your breath. A muffled groan escaped your lips as you trembled, your muscles tense, clinging to the cold door like an anchor in a shipwreck of sensations. And he groaned too, a guttural, primal sound that vibrated through both bodies, fusing his desperation with your forbidden pleasure, a dissonant symphony of need.

──Goddamn it...── he whispered again, his voice a harsh whisper, almost a desperate lament, a litany of his own miseries. ──I need you... Fuck.── The vulgarity was inherent in him, a part as intrinsic as his desperation, a mark of his origin and his fall. His hands, sweaty and nervous, but possessed by an iron will, began to traverse your body with a wild eagerness, caressing, exploring, his fingers tracing erratic, hungry patterns on your skin, claiming every inch. You could feel every detail, every sensation intensified, multiplied: the sticky touch of his skin, the penetrating smell of his animal desire, the metallic taste of anticipation that floated densely in the stale air.

He began to move inside you, slowly at first, with a caution that belied the ferocity in his eyes, the craving that burned them. Then, the rhythm grew, unstoppable, each thrust a promise of liberation for him, of oblivion for both of you. You lost yourself in the sensation, your rational thoughts fading into a sea of pure, uninhibited sensations.

With each thrust, the reality of your situation blurred, immersing you deeper and deeper into a haze of pure sensations. The cold metal door against your forehead, which at first anchored you to consciousness, now felt like an extension of the tension running through you, a necessary support to keep from collapsing under the whirlwind. Nam-gyu's moans grew more frequent, sharper, interspersed with guttural and vulgar exclamations that, instead of repelling you, intensified the raw nature of his surrender.

──Oh, shit...── he gasped, his voice almost torn, so close to your ear that you felt the hot, stale breath penetrate you to the bone. His hands clung to your waist with brutal force, his fingers sinking into your flesh with the desperation of someone clinging to life. Your own nails, almost without you realizing it, dug into his hands, tracing invisible furrows in his sweaty skin. A part of you wanted to push him away, to break free, but another, the one that now dominated, writhed with an unconfessable pleasure, begging for more, for total dissolution in the act.

The bathroom's stench, that mix of disinfectant and desperation, transformed into the dense, musky air of your own interaction. You could smell his sweat, salty and acrid, mixing with yours, a primal alchemy. The sound of his hips striking against yours, an increasingly frantic rhythm, joined your gasps and his grunts, creating a chaotic but hypnotic symphony that resonated in the narrow space of the cubicle. Each of Nam-gyu's thrusts was a dry, precise blow that pushed you beyond limits, exploring depths you didn't know existed.

──Like that... Yes...── he murmured, his voice barely a thread, almost a choked groan in his desperation. ──Do you feel it, uh? Do you feel me wrecking you?── His words, crude and laden with accumulated resentment, hit you with unexpected force, but they didn't stop the wave of sensations. ──You enjoyed watching me suffer there, didn't you? You enjoy watching me suffer?── His question, a poisonous discharge that mixed the pain of his addiction with the humiliation he felt, was tinged with a contained rage, but also a vulnerability you couldn't have imagined in him. It was a cruel retribution, a slap to the control you had exerted.

The vulgarity of his words should have been a cold shower, an alarm bell for your conscience. But in that moment, enveloped in the whirlwind of sensations, you clung to them, to the crudeness of his language, to the absolute lack of filters in his desperation. It was a confirmation, a validation of his surrender, of how low he had fallen to get what he needed. The irony was brutal: in his eagerness to control you, to subdue you, he had offered you the most absolute control, a dark and intoxicating power you had never possessed.

Your legs trembled, your muscles tensed on the verge of cramping, and the pressure inside you grew, inescapable, a knot tightening with each thrust. The heat was scorching, a flame rising through your body, burning away any trace of modesty or rationality. You no longer thought; you only felt. You felt each of Nam-gyu's thrusts, the slide of skin against skin, the echo of his moans in your chest.

Suddenly, Nam-gyu's movements grew more erratic, more savage, stripped of any rhythm, purely driven by need. The drumming of his heart against your back accelerated into a frantic tachycardia. A final thrust, deep and visceral, wrung a groan from you that was choked in the thick air. You could feel the tension in his body before a violent discharge shook him. A prolonged growl, almost the roar of a wounded animal, escaped his lips as he convulsed against you, his body trembling, seizing in the climax of his desperation. The tension, that rope that had held them together on the precipice, finally gave way, releasing a tide of sensations.

The heat within you intensified into an incandescent explosion, a scorching release that made you arch your back against the metal door. Your own limbs, previously tense and yearning, relaxed in a liberating spasm, and the world tilted on its axis, losing all consistency. You could hear your own ragged gasps, the death rattles of your own ecstasy, mixing with his. It was a bitter and sweet climax at once, a culmination of violence and desire, of control and submission.

When the last tremor left him, silence returned to the cubicle, dense and heavy. Nam-gyu remained clinging to you, his weight suddenly heavy and overwhelming, his breathing still ragged and erratic against the back of your neck. The stench of sweat and despair was almost unbearable now that the adrenaline was fading. His hands, previously urgent and anxious, still encircled your waist, but now his grip was weaker, almost trembling, as if all strength had completely abandoned him.

A shiver of lucidity ran through you. The pleasure, perverse and dark, began to dissipate, leaving behind a residue of guilt, a quiet unease. Nam-gyu, the man who had tormented you, lay exhausted and vulnerable, his face hidden in your shoulder, his body, once full of controlled cruelty, now reduced to a trembling mass of satisfied need. The inversion of power was total, absolute, and the sensation left a metallic taste in your mouth, like the blood still dripping down your shoulder.

He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just breathed, brokenly, his body inert against yours. It was the silence of the hangover, of the raw reality looming over the consummated act. There were no more shouts or pleas, only the echo of a shared transgression.

The air in the cubicle had grown heavier, dense with the post-climax stillness. Your every breath, previously ragged and feverish, now felt conscious, almost an intrusion into the renewed silence. Your own temples throbbed with a slower rhythm, a reverberating echo of the tempest that had raged within you.

Nam-gyu, who moments before had been a hurricane of urgency, now manifested as a heavy, inert presence at your back. His head, previously a yoke on your shoulder, had sunk deeper, his hot, damp skin pressed against yours. His hands, which had been the engine of unprecedented ferocity, now rested loosely on your waist, fingers barely brushing your skin, with a strange delicacy, as if the last vestige of his vigor had vanished with the release. This vulnerability, this unexpected stillness in a man accustomed to excessive cruelty, disoriented you. It was an image that completely defied the Nam-gyu you knew, the inclement and merciless one.

An unexpected pang of something bordering on compassion, an emotion so discordant in the symphony of resentment that defined your relationship, shot through your chest. Was it genuine, or just a trick of your mind to process the twisted connection that had just been forged? Then, without the slightest whisper, without any preamble, Nam-gyu moved. It was a slow, laborious shift, as if every fiber of his being weighed a ton. He lifted his head from your shoulder, his face still elusive to your gaze, tilted forward. Your muscles tensed instinctively, anticipating an explosive reaction, a return to his usual ferocity, but there was nothing. Only a faint gasp, almost a sigh of existential relief, escaped his cracked lips.

With exasperating slowness, his right hand, still trembling from the aftershocks of his imperious need, reached out towards the floor. Your eyes followed his every movement, hypnotized by the impending expectation. His calloused, gnarled fingers gripped the cross necklace you had dropped earlier. It was a strangely delicate, almost reverent gesture, heartbreakingly contrasting with the usual brusqueness of his demeanor. The small silver object, polished and cold, now rested in the palm of his hand. And then, with a precision that seemed impossible given his state of exhaustion, Nam-gyu opened it wide. A faint metallic click, tiny but resonant, broke the suffocating silence, an almost inaudible sound that, nevertheless, exploded like thunder in the claustrophobic stillness of the cubicle. The cross opened, revealing a small hidden compartment inside, a guarded secret.

From that minuscule space, with the tip of a finger that still trembled with an uncontrollable spasm, he extracted a small, pink, round pill, barely larger than your thumbnail. Nam-gyu brought the pill to his lips with astonishing speed, almost impulsively, as if the air itself could steal that precious treasure. He placed it on his tongue and, with a dry, visibly forced gulp, swallowed it. The entire process was a mechanical choreography, a silent, desperate, almost sacred ritual. He never looked at you. His eyes remained fixed on an invisible point, his jaw clenched, his expression indecipherable, a mask of concentration and a primal need that consumed him. It was as if the act of ingesting the pill was so intimate, so shameful, so revealing, that he couldn't bear the nakedness of your gaze.

His body began to imperceptibly relax, the trembling diminishing, his breathing becoming more paused, less ragged. It was the effect of the drug, flowing through his veins, placating the inner beast that devoured him. The bile stench became less pronounced, the sweat, less acrid, less invasive.

The biting irony of the situation struck you with almost physical force. This man, who had crawled to your body, humiliated and pleading, now found his peace, his ephemeral redemption, not in the carnal act he had just shared with you, but in a small pill hidden in a crucifix. You were merely a means, a momentary vehicle for his desperation, a fleeting stop on his tortuous and self-destructive path to the next dose. The power you had believed you grasped dissolved like sugar in water, revealing the bitter truth. You were just a part of his vicious cycle, an insignificant fragment in his incessant torment.

Nam-gyu moved away from you slowly, an almost imperceptible movement at first, as if the forced cohesion between your bodies vanished with the same slowness with which it had arisen. He straightened with visible effort, his shoulders still hunched from fatigue and the heavy hangover of his agony. Finally, he looked at you. His eyes, previously bloodshot and feverish with wild desire, were now slightly veiled, a hint of icy calm settling in their murky depths. But there was no hint of shame, no shadow of regret. Only a distant coldness, an abyssal distance that erected an insurmountable wall between you.

──Now leave,── his voice snapped, still rough, but devoid of the desperation, the gasping, the lament that had characterized it moments before. It was the Nam-gyu you knew, the tyrant, returning from the depths of his most abject weakness. ──And... Don't say a fucking word.── His gaze hardened, becoming a silent, palpable threat that weighed in the stale air. The forced intimacy, the shared abyss, vanished, replaced by the impregnable wall of usual hostility and contempt. The facade of vulnerability had crumbled, revealing the monster once more.

He left you alone in the cubicle, enveloped in the lingering stench of his sweat, with the metallic taste of blood in your mouth, a persistent ghost of the transgression. The metal door, which had been your anchor and your torment, remained open, a silent exit to the raw, relentless reality. The perverse victory you had felt had completely evaporated, leaving an icy void, a sense of raw manipulation, of having been used. Nam-gyu had gotten what he needed, his dose, his brief and selfish escape, and you were just an insignificant detail in his ritual of self-destruction. You realized, with an icy pang that pierced your soul, that in that shared abyss, only one of you had found an ephemeral relief. And it wasn't you.

[jamonconquesso]

D🅞🅞L 𓈒 𓈒 𒂭۪۪۪۪᳝۟ 𝟏𝟐𝟒

ㅤ─── ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚 ꫮ𓈓𓊆𓋜์𝃌〪〫 n🅐m-gyu x 🅡eader , 🅢uffocate , 🅝on-con , 🅜ild smut , 🅑lood and 🅥iolence ; 🄜🄐🄢🄣🄔🄡🄛🄘🄢🄣　๋ · 𓈒𝅘𝅥

The metallic dampness, a perpetual, clammy sweat of the structure, clung to your skin like a shroud. Each vein of rust on the cracked concrete, every elongated shadow cast by the meager light from the overhead ducts, composed a nightmarish labyrinth. The corridors, infinite and frigid passages, offered no promise of escape, only the certainty of an uncertain fate. Your feet, on the icy concrete, moved with a feverish cadence, an urgent rhythm dictated by the panic you desperately tried to smother. There was no time for introspection, no moment to unravel the knot of terror in your stomach. Only the imperative need to elude the bluish gleams, the unmistakable signal of the others' proximity, the hunters.

The key, a cold, polished shard of steel, jingled rhythmically against your chest, a melodic counterpoint to your wildly thumping heart. It was a precarious talisman, a faint presage of liberty. The door, a threshold of splintered wood and rusted metal, loomed mere inches away, a specter of hope as tangible as it was illusory. Your fingers, numb from cold and tension, reached out to it, a promise of liberation. But the blow surprised you with unexpected brutality, a dull collision that flung you against the wall. The air was ripped from your lungs in a choked gasp.

A pair of pleading, bloodshot eyes, clouded with sweat and dread, found yours. A comrade, a fragment of your own team, searching for a lifeline in the abyss. Before thought could solidify into action, a silhouette emerged from the gloom, dancing at the edges of your peripheral vision.

Nam-gyu. The mere mental whisper of his name was a litany of shivers, an evocation of the macabre. His laughter, once a distant echo, now reverberated in the corridor: light, ethereal, almost mocking, framed by the brutal theater of despair that enveloped you both. It wasn't laughter of joy, but the audible manifestation of a disassociated soul. Nam-gyu didn't walk; he glided, moved with an unsettling agility, a silent, predatory dance. His eyes, an unfathomable abyss of deep black, fixed on you for an instant. An ephemeral smile, a fissure in the curtain of his impassive facade, spread across his lips. It was a fleeting gesture, barely a nuance, yet charged with an implicit promise that chilled your blood. And then, in a fluid, brutal motion, the steel began its dance upon your comrade's flesh.

The sound. It wasn't a simple impact, but a nauseating cacophony: the sharp screech of metal tearing flesh, the wet crunch of tissues yielding, the dull thud of the hilt striking. The noise rose in your throat like bile, a retained vomit held back by the paralyzing rigidity of your legs. Immobility was a shackle forged by horror. Your mind screamed: Flee! Run! But your body remained anchored to the floor. Your breath hitched in your lungs. You covered your mouth with your hands, but the metallic stench of blood, the sweet and sickening aroma of fading life, already permeated the air. You could only crawl, fumbling backward into the adjacent room, a shroud of metal and shadows, while the screams, once shrill, progressively faded into a dying lament, a final sigh dissolving into silence.

The swaying of your body, a pendulum of resignation, rocked you in a frigid embrace to your legs. This was the end, and you knew it. A derisive outcome, a cruel mockery of fate. To have evaded death so many times, skirting traps and games, only to finally succumb to the inscrutable madness of a being who found pleasure in annihilation. A breath of hopelessness seized you, an oppressive cloak slowly suffocating you. You were dead. Or at least, your hope already was.

The metallic creak of the door, a discordant sound in the tomb-like silence, announced his return. Nam-gyu stood in the doorway, his slender figure framed by the gloom, an almost ethereal silhouette. In his hand, he held the matted hair of the now inert man, a macabre trophy, a palpable testament to his brutal efficiency. His eyes, the same dark eyes that had offered you that fleeting smile, settled on you. His voice, a soft, silky whisper, almost melodic, a perverse invitation that defied the atrocity of the scene, urged you to lift your gaze.

──Look up, girl. Look at me.

You obeyed. Your will, a dying flame, barely responded, but a morbid curiosity, a chilling fascination, compelled you to raise your face. Your eyes met his, and a shiver ran down your spine. There was no explicit cruelty in Nam-gyu's gaze, but a calculated coldness, a distance that disturbed you more than any overt threat. With a slow, almost ceremonial gesture, he pointed to the deceased's eyes, now open and vacant, dark sockets where the light, once incandescent with life, had completely extinguished.

──Do you see? He has a doll's gaze. Don't you find it fascinating?

Saliva was a rocky knot in your throat, an insurmountable obstacle. Doubt, a coin spinning endlessly in the air, assailed you: should you respond, or remain submerged in protective silence? Your thoughts were a whirlwind of contradictions. What did he seek? A reaction? Validation? But when the body hit the floor with a dull thud, a final echo of life fading away, the decision was made by your body, an instinctive reaction for survival. Your head nodded with frenetic autonomy, a puppet of survival, desperate to please, to avoid being the next "doll."

Nam-gyu approached, his light steps barely disturbing the dust on the floor. He crouched before you, his figure casting an ominous shadow that completely enveloped you. The cold blade of the knife danced over your cheek, an icy caress that raised the fine hairs on your skin. It paused at the corner of your lips, raising them into a forced grimace with his finger, a distorted smile that wasn't your own. The proximity of his breath, fresh and devoid of any trace of the blood he had shed, was another discordant element.

──You want to live, don't you?── His voice was an almost intimate whisper, a question that didn't require a verbal answer, for the desperation in your eyes already screamed it.

You nodded again, your soul trapped in the uncertainty of the next instant. What did that "living" mean in his twisted game? A snap echoed in the room, the sound of Nam-gyu's complacency. Then, the inescapable force of his hands lifted you, his fingers clinging to your arms with a pressure that left marks, and he positioned you against the cold wall, a figure imprisoned on a canvas of agony. Your body, now a pawn on Nam-gyu's chessboard, remained inert.

──How about you become my doll? I'll let you go if you say yes.

The question hung in the air, laden with incomprehensible implications, a dark veil over the meaning of your future existence. The word "doll" resonated in your mind, empty yet filled with palpable terror. What was it supposed to mean, being his "doll"? A puppet without will, without voice, without a life of its own. A possession.

──What does that mean? To be your... Your doll?── you asked, your voice barely a thread, a broken whisper that betrayed your terror.

Nam-gyu didn't answer with words. He raised the knife, the same blade that had taken your comrade's life, and extended it, its sharp point now directly at the corpse on the floor, which lay in a grotesque pose. The answer, implicit and brutal, hit you with the force of a punch to the solar plexus. To be his doll was to be that. A body without a soul. An object. But an object that, somehow, would continue to breathe. The dichotomy between life and death blurred into a terrifying nuance. A new form of terror, more subtle and profound, began to root itself in your heart. A terror that promised an empty existence, but an existence nonetheless.

Your lips trembled, an almost imperceptible tremor, a minuscule tremor that betrayed the storm raging within you. Your mind, a whirlwind of uncertainty and frantic speculation, wrestled with the enigma of his true intentions. If annihilation was his sole design, he would have killed you by now, in the sepulchral quiet of that corridor, with the same ease with which he had cut short your comrade's life. No, there was a duality, a veiled purpose in his actions, pointing to a conditional survival, to keeping you alive, but at a cost you couldn't yet fathom. It was a bill whose amount made you hesitate, a debt of existence you weren't sure you could bear. What sacrifice would he demand in exchange for that precarious breath? The question, silent and oppressive, hung in the stale air of the room, a sword suspended over your head, its blade dripping a mix of dread and morbid curiosity.

Nam-gyu looked at you. His eyes, unfathomable pits of darkness, were fixed on yours with a chilling intensity that cut to the bone. It was a gaze that didn't blink, an unyielding scrutiny that left no room for evasion, an abyss of indifference that froze you to the core. Slowly, with a deliberation that bordered on the most exquisite cruelty, he brought one of his fingers closer. It wasn't an abrupt gesture, nor an impulsive movement, but a paused, almost ceremonial approach, until the pad of his index finger, pale-skinned and finely veined, rested delicately on your throat. The contact occurred precisely at the supraclavicular fossa, the small, vulnerable hollow where the skin was thinnest, almost transparent, revealing the trembling pulse beneath the surface.

The texture of his skin was cold, an unsettling contradiction to the feverish heat emanating from your body, overheated from the incessant escape, soaked in the salty sweat that accumulated at the base of your neck. The contrast was a sensory slap, a collision of temperatures that accentuated the disparity between you: Nam-gyu's imperturbable coldness against the boiling turmoil of your own existence, the heat of your fear, the sweat of your desperation. His fingers exerted barely perceptible pressure at first, an icy caress that transformed, almost imperceptibly, into a slight squeeze. His thumb's pad now moved subtly, applying measured pressure directly over your trachea, that cartilaginous structure that allowed you to breathe, subtly restricting the vital flow of air. A choked whimper escaped your parted lips, a barely audible sound, like the sigh of a candle about to go out, lost in the tense, expectant silence of the room. It wasn't a cry of pain, but the instinctive, primitive gasp of a body being denied the most basic necessity: air. A nascent stab of suffocation ran through you.

The pressure intensified. Nam-gyu's thumb, rough and firm, with a short, clean nail, slid upward towards your thyroid cartilage, your Adam's apple, and then, with chilling precision, settled into the lateral hollows of your neck, directly over your carotid sinuses, pressure points where main arteries pulsed with the life he threatened to sever. His remaining fingers curved, clutching the base of your skull, enclosing your neck in a grip that promised asphyxiation, a fatal embrace. The pressure, now considerable, crushed your trachea, cutting off the vital supply of oxygen to your lungs. Your chest heaved in violent spasms, futile in your desperate search for air. A dry, tearing cough erupted from your throat, a guttural sound that was both a plea and a protest. Your eyes widened excessively in silent panic, and tiny tears began to form in the corners, a warm moisture that contrasted with the biting cold of his fingers. The world began to blur at the edges of your vision, a dark, oppressive veil threatening to envelop you, dragging you into unconsciousness. A metallic taste, the prelude to fainting, flooded your mouth.

A laugh burst from Nam-gyu, loud and unrestrained, a cackle that seemed to well up from the depths of an abyss, as if he'd witnessed the most hilarious and twisted joke in the universe. It was a laugh devoid of warmth, stripped of any hint of genuine joy, a raw and shameless manifestation of his amusement at another's despair. The resonance of his hilarity embedded itself in the charged silence of the room, a cruel echo that bounced off the peeling walls and struck you again, an auditory torment. His face contorted in a grimace of annoyance.

──What a bitch you are, don't you think? Gasping like a dying dog,── he hissed, his voice laden with casual contempt, as if the act of breathing were a personal offense.

With a dismissive, almost indolent movement, Nam-gyu used the same thumb that had squeezed your throat, that had danced over your veins, to wipe away a thread of saliva that had escaped the corner of your lips, a damp trail left by your convulsive coughing. It was a gesture both intimate and repulsive, an intrusion into your most vulnerable space, a desecration of your body. The contact, even fleeting, sent a shiver down your spine, a shiver of disgust and a macabre, inexplicable pang of something more. You frowned, a grimace of revulsion and confusion etched on your face. Why this act of apparent care after nearly suffocating you? What was this man who combined the rawest brutality with gestures of chilling intimacy? Nam-gyu's mind was an indecipherable labyrinth, and each interaction with him plunged you deeper into a mixture of overwhelming fear, visceral disgust, and a morbid curiosity that horrified you and, at the same time, held you captive. There was a strange, almost magnetic tension beneath the surface of the animosity, a spark growing in the darkness of your desperation.

The heat of your breath, once a strange contradiction in the frigid haze of the hallway, became a dense, oppressive vapor. Nam-gyu returned to your neck, this time with undeniable intent, with the deliberation of a predator savoring the anticipation of its prey. His two hands, icy and firm like steel talons, positioned themselves on either side of your throat. His thumbs settled with chilling precision on your sternocleidomastoid muscles, those taut prominences running along the side of your neck, the muscular cords that define the elegance of the nape and the poise of the head. Meanwhile, his other fingers, long and slender, wrapped around your nape, pressing with calculated force, brutally effective, directly over the carotid artery on both sides, those vital conduits that pump life to the brain. The squeeze was significant, a premeditated act of suffocation, designed to methodically steal your breath.

Instantly, your voice was snatched away. You lost the ability to speak, reduced to an inarticulate whimper, a muffled sound that barely escaped your constricted throat, a rasping croak that dissolved before it was born. You could no longer complain normally, nor even implore. Your universe, once expansive and threatening, narrowed to Nam-gyu's gaze: a pair of black orbs, unfathomable pits of darkness, fixed on yours with an icy intensity that chilled you to the bone. It was a gaze devoid of compassion, an abyss of raw enjoyment and brazen mockery, a reflection of his own twisted satisfaction. Your eyes, wide with panic, moved desperately, searching for an escape, a liberation that wouldn't come from him. You pleaded with the ceiling, a distant, dark canvas, as if the cobweb of oblivion descending upon you could tear. As if some forgotten deity could descend from above and finally grant you immediate release, without having to endure this suffocating ordeal, this prolonged agony.

The world began to close in, to shrink around you. Your vision darkened at the edges, as if a crimson and black veil slowly spread from the periphery, devouring the light. Your eardrums vibrated with the frantic pounding of your own heart, a deafening drumbeat resonating in your ears, a metronome of your own despair. Air, once an inalienable right, a need as basic as it was invisible, became an unattainable luxury, an agonizing chimera. Your chest contracted in painful spasms, your intercostal muscles pulling and loosening in a futile attempt. Your lungs cried out for oxygen, a burning thirst, a starvation that consumed you from within, disintegrating molecule by molecule. Tiny stars danced in your peripheral vision, the first, ominous signs of cerebral hypoxia, luminous signals of a brain shutting down. Blood roared in your ears, and the metallic taste of impending unconsciousness already flooded your mouth.

Tears, warm and bitter, treacherous in their incessant flow, slid down your cheeks, tracing salty paths on your skin, until they reached Nam-gyu's strangling hands. He let them be, immobile, observing the spectacle of your agony with a disturbing fascination. Each tear was a testament to your suffering, a detail in the macabre tableau he orchestrated. He seemed to revel in this display of vulnerability, in the constant drip of your desperation. And then, a perverse mercy, a momentary cessation of the torture. He granted you seconds of life, releasing the pressure for a fleeting instant, allowing a desperate, hoarse gasp to escape your throat, a primal death rattle. The air that entered was insufficient, raspy, as if you were inhaling dust and ash, but it was air. Just as your lungs seemed to expand, like bellows regaining their shape, he returned with more force, the pressure renewed, the cycle of asphyxiation restarting with methodical cruelty, a repeated torture.

He brought his body close to yours, almost with friction, a deliberate movement that eliminated any distance. You felt the growing bulge in his pants, a tense protrusion, an erection born of depravity that grew progressively larger and turgid as you clawed at his hands, your nails uselessly scraping his skin, in a desperate attempt to stop the torment. The flesh of your legs brushed, a forced and repulsive intimacy, a contact that churned your stomach. And to your astonishment, to the horror that invaded you and left you breathless, beyond the suffocation, he united his lips with yours. It was a salty, almost metallic kiss, the taste of your own , tears mixed with the iron tang of blood that the asphyxiation had caused in your mouth, a subtle bleeding in your gums or inside your cheeks. It wasn't a kiss of comfort, nor of nascent passion, but of possession, of absolute domination, a grotesque profanation of your being.

His tongue, warm and wet, delved into your mouth, exploring every interior crevice, every fold of your palate, every tooth, with a repulsive familiarity. He didn't care that more saliva escaped your trembling lips, that tears continued to flow, a salty, endless cascade. He simply licked them, incorporating that taste into his depraved pleasure, before continuing the kiss, a forced union of broken souls. His leg, strong and taut, moved with an uncomfortable brush against your intimacy, generating constant friction, a swaying motion that made you move your hips, not by your own desire, but as an instinctive reaction of a trapped body, a puppet dancing to his cruel beat. You heard his guttural, satisfied moans, a mixture of groans and gasps, accompanied by small insults whispered in your ear, each word a verbal lash that resonated deep within your being.

──You like it, huh? Begging for more, my little doll.── The words were distilled venom, but the pleasure in his voice was undeniable, a husky, complacent tone that made your skin prickle.

Darkness loomed, dense and voracious. The ceiling, once a distant, dark canvas, began to transform, its shadows becoming an unreal, luminous, and painful whitish sky. Life was draining from you, a thin thread unraveling to transparency, on the verge of snapping. The murmur of the outside world became a distant hum, and the sensation of your body began to blur. Just as the threshold between consciousness and the abyss became imperceptible, when your eyes threatened to close forever in eternal sleep, Nam-gyu let you go. His grip abruptly dissolved, the pressure vanishing like a distant echo.

You fell to the floor with a crash, a dry thud that echoed in the room, like a sack of bones. Air rushed back into your lungs in a painful wave, a sharp pang that burned your airways. You coughed uncontrollably, a cough that shook you, tearing at your throat, expelling the little air you'd managed to catch in a desperate attempt to fill your empty lungs. You brought a trembling hand to your neck, where the sudden void left by his hands now felt strangely empty, a palpable, almost ghostly absence, the imprint of a recently withdrawn threat. Your skin, bruised and sensitive to the touch, throbbed with a dull ache.

You lifted your head to look at him. He was already wiping the liquid traces from his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, a nonchalant, vulgar gesture, as if he'd just finished a tasteless meal. There was no remorse in his eyes, not even a hint of the sadistic intensity he'd shown moments earlier. It was as if the episode hadn't affected him in the slightest. He picked up the knife he'd dropped on the floor, with the same indifference, and tucked it into his pocket, the cold metal disappearing into the fabric. At that instant, your communicator sprang to life, a monotonous, mechanical voice announcing that the game had ended.

The last few minutes, a personal hell, replayed in your mind like a horror film: you'd been cornered, suffocated, almost defiled by this man who had relished every moment of your suffering, every time your eyes seemed to lose their light. He gave you one last laugh, an unchained cackle, full of an implicit promise that chilled you to the bone. Then, he raised a hand, fingers slightly curved, and made a lazy, almost indolent gesture, indicating, with chilling coldness, that you would see him again. A threat. A promise.

He rose, his silhouette dissolving into the dimness of the hallway. The room's door, which had once offered a false hope of refuge, now seemed like a freshly opened prison, a reminder of your vulnerability. The air, though present, felt dense, heavy, laden with the echo of the horrors experienced and the macabre atmosphere of the game. Nam-gyu's promise resonated in your ears, a somber bell that wouldn't cease, a grim omen that would accompany you beyond the confines of that place. Your life has been saved, but in exchange for something more valuable than breath: your dignity, your autonomy, your very essence. And the unshakeable certainty that this game, for him, had only just begun.

[jamonconquesso]

🍒 ॱֺּׅ༏ིྀ𓏼 ꮇA_STERLIꭶT.ꮨpeg 𓈒 ། 🍏‿◞

.⋅ॱ ✲ ꮥquidꮹame.mꭾ4　 ͏ ✟͏͏ ✦ .　˚ ⋅ ✧

n🅐m-gyu x 🅡eader , 🅢uffocate , 🅝on-con

n🅐m-gyu x 🅡eader , 🅢mut n🅐m-gyu x 🅡eader x 🅜yung-gi , 🅢mut , 🅝on-con

[jamonconquesso]

✎ါဴ°̩̥‧̥· (ˊσ̴̶̷̤ ₋̮̑ σ̴̶̷̤ˋ)₊🚗⁺˚ 🄜🄐🄢🄣🄔🄡🄛🄘🄢🄣 ⡾ 𓋫

🍎 ୁછਊਅ 🅐🄀🄄 .°˚̩̩̥·༜᥄𐇛˚̩̩̥· ़̲์᪥ၵ꯭᪲Y̲oU s🄷ou𝗟d t🅐ke 𝓽hi𝙎 Fi🄬e wi🅣h ʍ𝐞 🚫 🥬