voxslays

[voxslays]

male cast 1/2

[voxslays]

I might start posting again when squid games season 3 drops but idk tbh…

[voxslays]

CURB THIS SICKNESS. . . ! — ( SOFT YANDERE!PLAGUE DOCTOR OC X READER. )

#. synopsis! — there's a virus outside that's snuffed out the lights of many. . . and lucian refuses to let you meet such a miserable fate .

#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , multiple orgasms , vaginal fingering , implications of paranoia , cum swallowing , oral sex , cunnilingus , blowjob , vaginal sex , obsessive behavior , frequent usage of endearment terms (love, darling, angel) , missionary position , bathing , established relationship , slight choking , slight hair pulling , creampie , biting .

#. word count! — 5.1k .

#. oc carrd! — click here to find more information on lucian + other original characters of mine that i might write for in the future! xx .

When the virus began to spread in all directions from its alleged location of origin, —you were certain you’d be dead before winter. If not from sickness, then certainly from another disease, or at the hands of some twisted maniac just searching for someone to slaughter that nobody would care enough to miss. You thought it was only a matter of time before you succumbed to hunger or thirst or the changing chill of autumn, or maybe something completely different: but something was bound to happen, and you were sure of it.

And it did. . . But it was nothing like what you had in mind.

Lucian may have seemed like something out of a horror story passed down through generations, still clad in his working attire the night he scooped you up in his arms from a shabby alleyway like a stray kitten, but he was surprisingly gentle (and perhaps unusually quiet.) He wasn’t very talkative, but he cared for you in a way you were completely unaccustomed to, —prepared you a warm meal, brewed you chamomile tea, ran you a hot bath, and gave you a place to sleep for the night. He said you were slightly fevered and a bit malnourished, but all things considered, it could have been worlds worse.

“You’re lucky,” he hummed, a gloved hand smoothing over your jaw, “the pestilence hasn’t taken hold of you.”

Even back then, that wasn’t why you felt lucky. . . No, much to the contrary, you felt lucky because this man had taken you in without expecting anything of you in return, and he sought to keep you safe from the rot of the outside world. Thus, little by little, you stopped caring much about going out there. 

His place is a bit quaint for two, but it’s homey, and it smells perpetually of lavender. Over time, he’s shifted the sleeping arrangements, and now you rest in his arms each night; about as close as one can get to being a lover without having the label.

A part of you is sure you could get it if you asked, but to you, it doesn’t matter much. At the end of each day, he comes home to you, and that’s what counts. You take care of the housework while he’s away (not that there’s ever much to do.) For as odd as he is, his living space is free of most things, —no trinkets unrelated to his work (which you are not keen on touching), and he’s meticulous about picking up after himself and keeping all his items in order, so your unofficial duties are few and far between. Otherwise, the rest boils down to cooking meals, washing clothes, and keeping yourself entertained while he’s away. . . Like some kind of glorified trophy wife.

And sure, this will probably get old eventually, but for now, this is what you’re working with. He likes to have you close and to know where you are, —to know that you’re safe and not out getting infected by anyone or anything. If you’re at his home, you’re safe from all the filth of the outside world, and heaven knows it’s so nice to come home and lie next to a body so utterly unmarred by the grime of society.

You’re sure once the virus has stilled, he’ll ease up.

But tonight is not that night. Lucian all but stumbles through the door, and you can hear his rapid breathing through the long, beak-like shape of his mask. He seems startled and frantic, and you rush over, a concerned expression crossing your features.

“Lucian? Are you alright?” You ask, reaching out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

In an instant, he snatches your wrist and grabs for the other, holding one in either hand. His grip is fervent, but far from painful, and you become more confused the longer he goes without explaining the state he’s found himself in.

“Lucian—”

“Darling,” he cuts you off, “you mustn’t get near the door.”

“Okay,” you nod in compliance, “but why?”

“The pestilence has taken hold of this city,” he replies. “The air out there, you wouldn’t believe the thickness of that putrid aroma. It’s suffocating.”

Before you can ask if there’s something you can do to quench his worries, he tugs you away from the entrance and into the bathroom. He removes his gloves and sets them aside, reaching down to begin running a warm bath. Then he looks to you, almost expectantly.

“Strip, please,” he encourages, —saying it like he’s desperate for the act, albeit not necessarily under the context you’d prefer of him.

“Lucian—”

“Darling,” he hisses, “please, do as I ask of you.”

His bare hands cup your cheeks.

“Please,” he repeats.

It’s hard to deny him when he asks like that and has been so good to you, and it’s not as if he’s asking for a lot. He’s just having a bad night, and if scrubbing yourself down will help ease his mind a bit, you’re willing to put in that sliver of extra effort for his sake.

Lucian sighs in relief as you begin to disrobe.

“Thank you,” he comments. “I really don’t have a clue what I’d do if you fell ill. . . I don’t think my heart could handle such a thing.”

You slip the last of your clothing off and step gingerly into the filling tub. It’s not long enough to stretch out in, so you bunch yourself up neatly to fit the space and look up at him once more.

“I feel fine,” you assure.

“I’m glad,” he replies. “Even so, it’s much better to air on the side of caution. The human body is a dangerously fickle thing, and it can be incredibly fragile. I’ve seen as much firsthand more times than I can count. In its infancy, this virus is little more than a common cold, but progresses into something fatal at a rapid pace.”

You simply nod as he kneels next to the tub, rolling his sleeves up.

“Your breathing is ragged, Lucian,” you state, “you should take that mask off and get some fresh air.”

“After,” he answers quickly.

He reaches for the half-used lavender soap bar and lathers it on his palms, then reaches out to smooth the suds over your arms and neck. His motions are a little rough and all too urgent. This is far from the first time he’s accompanied you for a bath, but it is the first time he’s ever done so and been this aggressive in his approach (if only as a result of his own anxiety.)

For the time being, he seems to avoid your breasts, instead reaching for one of your legs to hike it up out of the water. He repeats this process with the other, cleaning you until he seems satisfied. When he makes no move to revisit your chest, you take the soap from his hand and lather it yourself, placing it in its previous spot before leaning back slightly and allowing your hands to travel where you’d have liked for his to go.

Lucian watches but doesn’t touch. Your fingertips nudge at your nipples, feeling them harden under the minstrations, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth. If nothing else, he should be getting the hint by now.

Surprisingly, you’ve never had sex with him in all the months you’ve spent curled up in his arms, sleeping in his bed. He’s watched you take care of yourself on a number of occasions, has helped with his fingers another few times, —and allowed you to wrap your hand around him once a few weeks prior; but anything beyond that has seemed to be off limits. You’ve chalked it up to his shyness, or perhaps his distaste for human contact as a result of the pestilence; but tonight feels distinctly different.

Even in his previous state of frazzlement, Lucian seems all too content to sit back and watch you fondle your own breasts, soapy fingers clutching and releasing in tandem. You’ve always liked for him to watch you do things like this. Though his mask obscures the view of his face, you just know his eyes are trained on you, soaking up every movement, and you like to think he’s drooling at the way you grope yourself for his enjoyment (and for your own.)

“Lucian?” You prompt, half-lidded eyes glancing over to him.

His shoulders straighten as you say his name.

“You’re very beautiful,” he says, words almost too muffled by the mask to be made out.

“You think so?” You smirk a bit.

“I do.”

Ah, but that’s nothing new, and it’s nothing he hasn’t shared with you before. On the very night he took you in and washed your hair, he smoothed his gloved hands against your scalp and mumbled about how pretty you looked, even with dirt still caked on your skin. Even covered in filth from the alleyways you’d been sleeping in, he thought you were nothing less than stunning, —a real vision to behold, and he’s never skimped on such compliments.

You pause for a moment, reaching out to grasp for his hands. He allows the gesture, though he seems a bit confused, leaning in closer to the rim of the tub as you position him to your liking.

“Do you think I feel feverish?” You inquire, placing one of his hands on your neck and another on one of your breasts.

He makes no move to pull away, firming his grip up almost instantaneously, as if he’s been itching to feel you this way.

“Perhaps a bit warm,” he mumbles, taking a moment to roll your nipple between two nimble fingers, “but body temperature is known to rise during times of. . .” he trails off, clears his throat, then utters: “arousal.”

You trail your nails down his arm, letting your head tip back again. His hands are a bit calloused, but they feel so good against your skin, and you let a few moans slip past your lips. It’s not often he touches you like this without his gloves on, but the flesh-on-flesh contact is electrifying.

“Not to worry you, but I do feel a bit strange,” you huff slightly.

Through the slightly tinted bath water, Lucian can still watch your hand as it travels between your thighs.

“I’m just a throbbing mess,” you hum, giving him a pointed stare; “but you’ll take care of me. . . Right, Doctor?”

It may just be your imagination, but you could swear you heard his breathing shudder at that request. You’ve never been this forward with him, but something apart from the facial expression that’s still hidden away tells you that he likes where this is going. His fingers clamp down on the column of your throat, squeezing just enough to make taking in air a bit more of a struggle, but not anywhere near hard enough to be fatal.

The bit about being a throbbing mess was by no means an exaggeration on your part, so you take matters into your own fingers for the time being, drawing circles on your clit beneath the water.

“Of course,” he finally finds the voice to agree, “—I’d do anything to keep you from feeling unwell.”

That is what you like to hear.

“Anything?”

“Anything.” 

His grip tightens on your throat again, for emphasis, and with that, he seems to come slightly undone.

“Darling, that’s why I’ve demanded you stay here in my home, —our home. It’s safe here, free of contaminants and filth and anything that could cause you harm,” he says, the words spilling out like he’s been holding them back since he first set his sights on you.

“The world outside is ill, not just this rotten city. I’m working tirelessly to combat this pestilence, but as things stand now, the safest place you can be is here. With me. You understand that, my love. . . Don’t you?”

You’re only half listening, but you nod in agreement anyway. Whatever he’s saying, you trust his opinion on the matter.

“Of course,” you gasp, almost slipping a finger inside yourself to the tune of his melodic voice.

“I knew you would,” he continues, loosening the grip on your neck again. “You know I only want what’s best for you, that everything I do is to ensure your safety, —to eliminate the possibility of you ever falling sick.”

“Of course,” you repeat, head growing cloudier by the minute. “You’ve always taken such good care of me, right from the very beginning.”

God, he’s so elated that you’re seeing things his way. The way this makes him feel is almost too much to handle.

“I try so hard, darling, I truly do,” he says, both hands coming up to cup your cheeks.

“Please, Lucian,” you mumble desperately, “I need you tonight.”

He complies, shedding his long coat and draping it over your shoulders once you’ve stepped out of the tub. The chill of the air against your wet skin leaves your nipples hard and sensitive, and as he leads you to the bedroom, you hope he realizes just what it is you’re asking for. His fingers are a plentiful start, and you just know they’ll feel so good stuffed inside you, curling to hit all the right places, —but they’re nothing compared to the cock he’s stingily hidden away for all this time.

Tonight, you want him in all his glory in the glow of the lanterns on the walls. You want to strip him bare and gag on the length between his thighs, feel him twitch against the roof of your mouth, tease every vein that runs up his shaft. It’s not enough to grind against him while you’re half asleep or hump his clothed thigh until you’ve left his pants damp and your pussy sopping, just begging to be fucked by this man who might just love you more than he could ever fear any virus that lurks outside these walls.

“Don’t fret,” he tells you, though it sounds more like a command than a gesture to soothe any worries, “just lie back. I’ll be sure to give you. . . A proper examination.”

You could cum just hearing that.

With half your body pressed against the headboard and his coat nearly slipping off your body completely, he sets to work in his underclothes and mask. It’s by no means an uncommon sight, but there’s something distinct about him this late evening; the way his black attire contrasts so beautifully with the stark paleness of his skin and the mystery it shrouds him in that you’re just dying to sink your teeth into. Everything hidden beneath that cautious wardrobe and that long mask. . . You’ve gotta have it. It’s a necessity.

His fingers, ungloved, begin softly with your calves, tracing senseless lines.

“I’m not so fragile,” you remind him.

For as oblivious as he can be, Lucian takes the hint, and by the time he’s reached your thighs, he’s content to give them the same treatment as your throat.

The way he splits you apart is almost painfully clinical, a thumb on either side of your lips, peering through the eye holes of his mask to admire the way your folds glisten in the orange lantern light. A few prodding strokes leave you biting your lip again, body waning in anticipation for the moment he finally turns his hand over and sinks the longest of his fingers inside you, —slowly, but deliberately. It’s impossible to see his expression, but you hope his mouth hangs open a little at the way your cunt suckles on his finger, encouraging him to prod more and maybe stuff another few inside for you to grind against.

There’s something about the warmth of his fingers that gets you off almost in equal amounts to the way he moves. Another finger inside, and you whine, halfway to an orgasm from this alone.

He’s not particulary rough in his execution, but there’s a clean meticulousness in every movement that leaves every cell in your body craving more, begging for anything he can offer. Months upon months of wanting, of dropping hints, of hoping he’d catch on and finally see things your way, —and at last, you’ve made it. And now that you’re here, you’re content to simply lie still and let him have his way with you.

“Please don’t stop,” you beg, nearly choking on the words when the tips of his fingers brush just the right spot.

“Before you’re satisfied?” He sits forward a bit, resting his free hand on your stomach to press you down onto the bed. “Darling, I couldn’t fathom it.”

You will your upper body forward, grabbing for the hand on your stomach to move it up to your throat. He squeezes, scissoring the fingers inside you, watching closely as your body shakes and your eyes roll back a bit in ecstasy.

“I’ve tried,” he says to you suddenly. “I’ve tried so desperately to be gentle with you.”

You smile.

“I appreciate that,” you answer. “But I don’t want you to be gentle at the moment.”

“That’s a dangerous request, my love,” he warns.

God, you hope so.

You reach forward and grab at the beak of his mask, pulling it upward gently until it begins to slip off and reveal the handsome face underneath. Dark hair, dark eyes, but skin almost pale enough to be sickly, you meet his gaze just long enough to ask for permission, then lean in to kiss him on the mouth. It’s the first time, and it’s electric. He’s avoided this for months, —avoided your mouth, your unspoken pleas, all the passes you made for the sake of keeping himself at bay. But here you are now with two of his fingers stuffed inside you, his hand on your throat, and your lips slotted against his own.

“Please,” you murmur, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

And you can feel the restraints of his mind come unwound.

He’s no longer gentle in the way he fucks you silly with his fingers, hammering them over and over and over again into that delicious spot buried deep inside you, squeezing your throat hard enough to cut your breathing off. The way your pussy spasms as you cum is blissful, and he loves the way your arousal soaks his digits, loves the way your back arches, soundless moans spilling forth as he makes you orgasm.

“I fucking tried,” he says again.

It’s almost manic, so desperate and sort of pathetic in the kind of way that turns you on. This is the first time you’ve ever heard him curse, and it dawns on you that even the filthiest of words sound so unendingly elegant when they’re spoken by Lucian.

“I tried to be gentle. I tried to keep you safe here, —to shelter you from whatever forsaken wasteland remains out there,” he insists, his fingers still buried in your twitching cunt. “I just wanted to protect you.”

He lightens the grip on your throat as you lean in to kiss him again, cupping his face in your hands.

“You have,” you assure him.

“You take such good care of me, Lucian,” you mumble into his ear. “Let me show you how grateful I am.”

The fingers stuffed inside you slowly slip out, and reach for his hand, guiding them to your lips, taking his digits into your mouth to taste yourself on them. He watches with hunger and interest as you clean him with your tongue. He leans in to kiss you to get a taste of it himself, grasping your hair near the scalp and taking a fistful hard enough to make you gasp.

“I can’t let you leave,” he murmurs. “It’s not safe out there. When this pestilence has been subdued, I’ll do this all correctly. We can start from the beginning, and I’ll be a gentleman.”

“I look forward to it,” you answer softly.

“You’ll stay until then?” He inquires.

He’s clearly overreacting, but it’s hard to care when you just want him inside you. Lucian has seen death day in and day out, —so it’s no wonder it feels like it permeates everything around him. He just doesn’t want you to suffer such a fate, and you’re confident that you won’t, as long as he’s yours.

“Of course I will,” you answer.

It’s like something primal takes over. Suddenly his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, and his hands are grasping roughly at your breasts, pushing you down onto the bed as he crawls between your legs. He pauses, hovering just above your dripping cunt, turning his head to sink his teeth into the meat of your thigh. It makes you squeal a bit, and he kisses the teethmarks he left behind as if in apology.

You can’t help but wonder how long he’s been yearning for this. It’s like every part of him is thrumming from the thrill of it all, and this man who has previously refused to even kiss you on the mouth is now stationed exactly where you want him, tongue lolling out to lick a solid stripe up your folds. He laps like a man starved, then spreads you apart with his thumbs to suck your clit mercilessly.

It’s good enough to make your vision go blurry, and you can’t seem to form proper words through the haze. Desperately, your fingers claw at the sheets of this mattress, and he moans against your hot cunt, sending a vibration rippling through your core that makes your back arch on instinct. You mumble something that comes out like gibberish, pussy convulsing against the flat of his tongue.

His arm comes round to press your hips down, forcing you to be still. It’s the kind of toruture you’re sure you’ll learn to live for. There’s only so much you can wriggle under his arm, which has a surprising amount of force despite his rather lanky stature.

From what little friction you manage as you attempt to grind against his tongue, you tip yourself over the edge and as the knot in your stomach unties for the second time tonight, he continues licking, lapping at the juices that spill forth.

He stands and reaches for the top button of his shirt, not bothering to wipe his face, chin and lips glistening with your aftermath. You watch him undress with lustful eyes, propping yourself up on your elbow, then slinking back against the headboard once again, resting your weary body against it. The quiver of your thighs doesn’t stop you from nudging at your swollen clit.

“I wanted to be a gentleman,” he comments, untucking the shirt from his pants and pulling the front open.

It’s not skin you haven’t seen before. In fact, you’ve seen every inch of him at one point or another; just never all at once, and now, you’re waiting with bated breath to see him completely exposed for your eyes only.

“I truly did. I wanted to give you comfort and security, —to love you as you deserve. And I knew from the moment I saw you that only I could give you exactly what you’ve always needed.”

You hum in acknowledgement as he continues to strip himself bare.

“But it’s so clear to me now that I’ve neglected you,” he continues. “This beautifully desperate display is all a result of my negligence. . . I failed to realize just how much you needed me like this. How much you needed the touch of a man. . .”

He sounds apologetic, but your eyes are fixated on his half-hard cock. The last time you saw it, he asked that you keep your mouth away; insisting it wasn’t sanitary to use it for such purposes, terrified that you might contract some sort of illness if you sucked his dick for the sheer enjoyment of doing so. This time, however, you have a feeling you’re well past that.

To test the waters, you let your hand fall away from your cunt, slipping off the side of the bed to kneel before him. He gazes down at you as you open your lips and let your tongue fall out, encouraging him to make what he will of it.

“My love,” he says, placing four fingers under your chin to rest his thumb against your tongue for a moment, “—I’ll make everything up to you. . .”

His free hand pumps his cock once, twice, thrice, —then he places it gently on the flat of your tongue, letting you feel the weight and the warmth of it. He sighs.

“Darling,” he groans, “ah. . .”

It takes very little for him to come close to cumming in your mouth, just a few minutes of sucking him off, listening to him moan, feeling him quiver at your touch. You hum with his member stuffed down your throat, and he cants his hips reflexively, an orgasm bubbling up beneath his skin.

Your non-dominant hand holds his cock steady while the other is stuck between your thighs, rubbing furiously at your clit, making you whimper along his shaft. When he notices, Lucian finds that wholly unacceptable and snatches you up to position you on the edge of the bed, relieving the pressure on your aching knees. You weren’t down there for long, but kneeling was hardly comfortable on the hard floor.

He spreads your thighs apart and smacks the pads of his fingers against your slit.

Whatever he’s doing, you’re sure you’ll enjoy it to the fullest, so you occupy yourself with his cock again from this new angle, bending awkwardly to mouth at the reddened tip. His fingers find their way inside you once more, working their delicate magic, brushing against all the right places. At this point, you’re more desperate for his dick to slip inside you like this, but you take what he offers in stride (and more of him into your mouth in the process.)

He’s vocal, and that’s utterly divine. His gravely moans and the pump of his fingers leave you cumming for a third time before his first orgasm arises, depositing a sizable amount of his seed into your mouth.

“I love you,” he huffs, —and if he were anyone else, you’d be certain it was just the oral sex talking, but no. . . Lucian wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.

Of course, he’s made similar confessions over the months, and has certainly treated you like it long before he ever expressed it so directly, but still. . . It feels nice to hear it, if nothing else.

“I love you too,” you answer honestly, urging him closer with your arms wrapped around his neck. “I’m yours tonight, completely. . . If you’ll have me. . .”

“Oh, darling, don’t be foolish,” he remarks, kissing you deeply. “You’ve been mine since the moment we met.”

Your back to the cool sheets, he lingers over you now, his shadow looming over you so monstrously. There’s a stark flush of red on his face that has begun to spread down the length of his neck, and one of his hands finds its way to your breasts as the other smoothes across your thigh. The head of his cock kisses your sopping entrance, sending a series of chills from the top of your spine to the bottom.

His breath on your neck makes your chest tighten, and he finds your lips with his own again as he sinks inside you, filling you up.

“Lucian,” you whimper, helpless to his touch as he pauses, buried down to the hilt inside your cunt.

He presses a few gentle kisses to your throat, murmuring something about how nice it feels to be stuffed inside you. He feels your nails dig into his shoulders as you adjust to his intrusion.

“You must understand by now,” he says, mumbling the words right next to your bitten earlobe. “Everything I do is for you.”

“I do,” you gasp slightly. 

As he begins to move, your walls clench around him, and he exhales deeply against the junction of your neck and shoulder. You roll your hips to match his pace, but as he goes faster, that becomes fruitless. Eventually, you resign yourself to the fate of lying there against the pillows, speared on his cock, him making a mess of you as you moan uncontrollably.

This was everything you’d been hoping for and then some, like some erotic dream come to life. Lucian’s lips travel where they please, —stopping to peck at your jaw, then to suck on your throat. Your breathing is haggard, and he smooths a hand down your side, resting it against your hip for a moment.

“Just a little more,” he whispers, as if to be reassuring.

“Just look how stunning you are, angel,” he murmurs, “how pretty you look like this.”

He kisses you once more.

“You take this so well, like your body was made for me.”

You’re delirious enough to believe that might be the case.

His cock pounds a little harder, and he hits the perfect spot, tearing a desperate yelp from your throat. You’re overstimulated and weak, but your high is itching just under your skin, and you couldn’t bear to see it disappear.

“Please,” you whimper to him, completely at his mercy, “—please, I’m so close.”

He loves the desperation that clings to your voice. The hand on your hip travels to your clit, pressing roughly against the abused little button, making you jerk slightly. He rubs a few heavy circles against it, and you come undone, cunt spasming around his cock as he chases his own release inside you.

Lucian is sloppy near the end, which may just be the only time you’ve ever known him to not be perfectly calculated and precise. His breath hits your neck again, over and over as he huffs through the hunt, finally sinking his teeth in when he comes to a finish. His cum sits hot inside your cunt, and he catches his breath for a moment, head resting against your throat.

“I apologize,” he utters. “I hope that wasn’t too much for you.”

You exhale slowly, his cock still buried in your heat.

“Don’t apologize,” you murmur, “I enjoyed myself.”

You feel him smile against your neck.

“I’m glad, darling.”

For the first time, he sleeps next to you without clothing, letting you touch every part of him, tangling your limbs together. Your face buried in the crook of his neck, breath fanning softly against him, as close to sleep as you can manage without tumbling over the precipice, Lucian reaches for his long coat and drapes it over your body, holding you closer.

[voxslays]

yandere Isekai trope

What if you wake up in another world and nothing is quite as it was before you fell asleep? Everything looked different—hell, even you looked different, wearing a strange school uniform.

That’s when a screen appears before you:

“In order to leave this place, you must get along with the yandere of this universe and identify—plus avoid—their darling. Good luck, and don’t get yourself killed.“

So that’s why you’re standing in front of the classroom the screen assigned you to. Peering inside, nobody seems to notice your presence. You take a seat and inspect every person carefully… 

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Is he not in this school?

But then he walked in, head slightly bowed to avoid drawing attention to himself. Yet somehow, you knew it had to be him. It was a gut feeling, strong and undeniable. The boy was quite tall and lean, with little muscle, a gentle appearance, and hair that fell over his face. His expression was unsure.

He’s supposed to be the yandere? You smirked to yourself. Definitely manageable.

As he took his seat, you came up to him and warily sat yourself down next to him. He didn’t even bother glancing up, absorbed in whatever he was sketching in his notebook. 

You’d figured you should try befriending him—gain his trust so he (hopefully) wouldn’t hurt you.

Your first interaction with him was short-lived 

“Hey, I’m new here. Uh…what’s your name?“

…

Shit. 

You take a peek at his notebook.

“That’s a really pretty drawing! You’re very talented!“

“…Thank you.“ 

Were you the first person he’d spoken to? It sure felt like it. You almost felt bad for him.

As time went on, you tried every tactic to win him over. After countless failed attempts, you finally earned his tolerance, maybe even fondness. Now, he even waits for you after class, which was…kind of cute. You learned his name was Luca, a shy boy who loved to draw and read comics.

It made sense for him to be a yandere, you thought. 

Eventually, he grew clingy. You didn’t mind. If anything, his attachment meant he wouldn’t turn on you later…right?

But you’d be lying if you said he hadn’t grown on you, too. If not for the yandere thing, you’d actually enjoy your late-night talks (it’s more of a one-sided conversation, but oh well…) and the times when you did school projects together at your house and he gets flustered by being in your space. 

But you’re forgetting something really important, aren’t you? 

“Hey, my name is Lola! It’s nice to meet you all!“ 

She was an awfully cheery girl who just transferred here. The kind of girl boys fell for. Even…

You turn your head to study Luca’s reaction.

His expression was unreadable, but this has to be her—the darling. Now, you just had to avoid her as much as possible.

“Thank you. You can sit now. Uh…you! You’ll show Lola around and partner with her for the upcoming project.“

The teacher pointed directly at you.

Aw, shit.

Arguing was pointless, so you agreed. But you could feel Luca’s glare burning into you as Lola beamed beside you.

“I hope we become good friends!“

You spent the rest of class ignoring him, but dread coiled in your stomach. 

After class, as everyone scattered, you grabbed Luca‘s wrist before he could leave. “Listen, I…I really like you. I don’t want anything to change what we have. Once I finish what the teacher asked, I‘ll stay away from her, okay?“

He blinked in surprise, then smiled. “I-I didn’t think you’d understand. Thank you so much.“

And with that, he left.

At least that went well.

Or so you thought.

Lola was determined to befriend you. No hint, no brush-off worked. The more time you spent with her, the more Luca withdrew. His distance made you paranoid—rightfully so.

Today was another dreadful day and you were the only one left in school working on an assignment—too scared to walk home now that it was already this dark out. After packing up, you sighed and headed out—until a strange noise made you stop in place. 

Against your better judgement, your feet dragged you to the source, scared of what you would find.

That’s when you saw an open classroom and heard a piercing scream from inside. Your stomach dropped and hands started shaking.

There he was, repeatedly stabbing a person, who was so familiar to you, you almost threw up. Lola. Luca was hunched over her. He must’ve heard you, because his head slowly turned, blood splattered across his face.

“You? My darling… you weren’t supposed to see this.“

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!“ You backed away.

He looked like he was the one who had just been stabbed. His lips trembled.

“W-What do you mean? I did this for us! She wouldn’t stop bothering you! She deserved this—ALL OF IT! She wanted to take you away from me, can’t you see? You told me you didn’t want anything to change what we have, so please, please don’t look at me with that look. I love you so much, please…“

What have you done?

[voxslays]

Fallen For You

Thanos/Choi Su-bong x gn!reader

summary: After you are injured in the last game, You and Thanos try to make it out of the games alive so you can see where your budding relationship takes you, and Nam-gyu tries to make sure he is the sole winner by any means necessary.

warnings ⚠️: canon-typical violence, injured reader, one mildly suggestive comment, mentions of drug use, reference to a suicide attempt [thanos's canonical one before meeting the salesman]

a/n: Part 2 to my previous fic Devotion, you should really read that one first to get context! I hope you all enjoy it! This is actually one of my favorites I've written. There's like a motif in there that goes crazy in my brain. This is likely the last super long fic for a while, btw. Just don't have the time rn.

- title from "Fallen" by Witt Lowry. if you haven't heard it, go listen to it. it is 1000% thanos x reader core -

You woke up to the harsh lights in the dorms and the announcer telling you breakfast would be served soon. You realized that Thanos was asleep on your shoulder. Your face turned red upon realizing it, but despite your flustered demeanor, you couldn't ignore that this felt so right.

You shook him awake gently. “Su-bong?” You called out, voice soft as if his actual name was a secret to the rest of the world.

He jumped awake rather abruptly, looking around before realizing it was just you. He then quickly comprehended that he had been leaning on you, and you swore you could see the light dusting of pink across his face.

“Hey, what's going on?” He asked, voice deep and raspy from sleep. You ignored how your stomach leaped at the sound. He yawned before you could answer.

“Breakfast.” You said before looking over to him. He looked like he hadn't slept at all. He really watched over you all night?

“You didn't have to stay up all night for me.” You said quietly.

He shrugged, wanting to downplay his concern. “I couldn't sleep much anyway.” He said nonchalantly. It was technically true. He didn't think he would have been able to sleep even if you hadn't been with him.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

You felt like shit. Your head felt like it was under water. You felt fuzzy and dazed like you weren't entirely present in the moment. Your side was killing you as well. You could feel the fabric of your jacket dried onto your skin. There was a dull ache with every breath and any movement.

“Could be better.” You mumbled.

He could tell you weren't doing well. You were incredibly pale and your skin looked clammy. Your eyes seemed out of focus.

Before he could say anything else, you started to get up. “I'm gonna go look it over in the bathroom. Watch Nam-gyu for me.” You said.

It wasn't a question or a request, just a statement. You needed to clear your head. While it may not have been the best idea to go alone, you didn't want Thanos to see how bad it really was. You hadn't even wanted him to know you were injured at all. If he knew how severe your injury was, you were scared he would be swayed by Nam-gyu to turn on you. It wasn't that you thought he would do it, but Nam-gyu was just manipulative. Your anxiety about being betrayed was an assessment of Nam-gyu's character, not Thanos's.

You walked as normally as you could manage until you made it into the hall and out of view of Nam-gyu. After, one hand held your side while the other trailed against the wall to help you keep your balance. You were somewhat worried about Nam-gyu following you, but your trust in Thanos and your exhaustion allowed you to push it from your mind.

The wound was still bad. You had bled through the t-shirt you used as a bandage, although it seemed like the bleeding had stopped for the most part now. That didn't mean it didn't hurt like a bitch. There wasn't much you could do to treat it. You didn't have any more fabric to use as a bandage. You just returned everything to how it was and left it at that.

You washed the blood from your hands, watching the discolored water recede into the drain. Once your hands were clean, you washed your face with cool water, trying to see if that would make you feel any better. It did somewhat, but it didn't amount to much.

-

Thanos stayed toward the side of the room where you both had slept, but his eyes were trained on Nam-gyu. If that fucker moved an inch, Thanos would be on him instantly.

Which is exactly what happened. Nam-gyu began walking toward the door. The second the man took a step, Thanos was sprinting over to the door to the hallway, blocking the door.

“The fuck you think you're doing, man?” Thanos spat. His right hand reached into his pocket, gripping the handle of the steak knife.

“So much for having a diplomatic conversation.” Nam-gyu said, full of sarcasm. His emotion was blank, as it usually was. But there was a glint of something in his eyes.

“Cut the crap.” Thanos retorted. He glared at the man he used to call his friend. He wouldn't call him that anymore. Something changed, but he wasn't sure which one of the pair changed. “I'd hate to burst your bubble, but you're not going back there.” He said.

Nam-gyu smirked. “You know, I'd be doing us both a favor if I took them out. They're already weak.” He said, hinting that he knew you were injured. It was hard to miss now that it was just the three of them.

Thanos's grip on the knife tightened. His gaze hardened into a glare. “Go fuck yourself.” He shot back.

Nam-gyu chuckled darkly. “They’re distracting you from what you really want.” He said.

Thanos scoffed. “Like you care what I want.” Nam-gyu didn't actually care what Thanos wanted in life, just as long as it made him money.

Nam-gyu looked genuinely offended. “I've known you for how many years? I stuck with you through everything and you're gonna tell me that I don't care about you?”

For a second Thanos believed him. He really wanted to trust him but he just couldn't. This wasn't real.

“You stuck around because I gave you a cut of the money and the drugs.” Thanos said coldly.

He could see Nam-gyu's jaw clench. The comment clearly got under his skin, but it was mostly because he knew the statement had some validity.

Something about his demeanor changed, though it wasn't visible. The atmosphere between the two changed. Tension was rising and they both could feel it.

“You know,” Nam-gyu began, taking a slow but confident step forward, “I only need to kill one of you two in order to keep the games going.” He said.

The words sent a shiver down Thanos's spine. He knew what he was referring to. They needed a majority vote to leave. You and Thanos would be enough to end them now.

But it would be impossible to reach a majority if it was just one of you and Nam-gyu left. There was no way he would vote to leave.

Before he could lift the knife from his side, Thanos was roughly shoved into the wall outside the hall. He could feel his head ache from the collision. He tried to raise his knife, willing to do whatever it took to survive, but Nam-gyu had other plans.

He grabbed Thanos's wrist and dug his fingers in roughly. He tried twisting the joint in a way it wasn't meant to. Eventually it caused Thanos's knife to fall to the floor with a clatter.

Nam-gyu chuckled, lifting his own knife toward the man's throat. The smirk across his face made Thanos sick to his stomach. It felt like his heart was going to explode. It felt like all he could hear was his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Unfortunately, he could hear other things. Notably, Nam-gyu's next statement: “Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you now. I want them to watch.”

The words made his stomach drop. How could he say that? They were good friends until the games started. Best friends even.

And now Nam-gyu would kill him and force you to watch it happen just for a paycheck. It seems his greed knew no bounds.

“Why the fuck was I even friends with you?” Thanos spat.

Nam-gyu was obviously seething. “I have been there for you through everything. I put my ass on the line for your career and look at you now. You're nothing without me.”

Thanos rolled his eyes. “Bullshit.” He exclaimed. He swung his fist and struck him in the side of the head, hoping to knock him off guard.

Nam-gyu responded with a punch in his gut, causing him to involuntarily groan in pain.

“I've been your promoter for years and now you want to throw me out for some bitch you met a few days ago?” Nam-gyu said, clearly trying to upset Thanos.

And it worked.

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Thanos yelled.

Nam-gyu's smirk only grew. “You get a hard-on for some bitch you just met and now you're going to toss me out, huh?”

Thanos didn't say a word. He tried to shove the other man away from him. When that didn't work, Thanos tried kicking at his knees. This made Nam-gyu's knee buckle, but it wasn't enough to subdue him.

Nam-gyu moved so he was pushing his forearm into Thano's throat harshly. He tried to struggle out of his grasp, but it wasn't successful.

Nam-gyu was clearly fuming, but he also had a smug look that Thanos wanted to wipe off. The man laughed with a smirk, pushing his arm further against the other's neck. “Don't worry, I'll make the effort to finish the job you couldn't.” He hissed.

Thanos was almost speechless. He had known Nam-gyu for how long and now he's getting pleasure from trying to kill him and even joking about his suicide attempt. But honestly it felt like they were strangers. The friendly facade was a completely different person.

Using the little air he was able to sneak into his lungs, Thanos hissed through gritted teeth: “Fuck you.”

Nam-gyu's grip on the knife tightened as he considered killing him without an audience (well, at least without you present) but he abruptly stopped, sharply inhaling like he was in pain.

Thanos took the second that his grip relaxed to take a greedy breath of air. He felt like he was going to get even more bruises on top of the set from Player 1.

Then he noticed Nam-gyu coughing up blood. A bit of it landed on Thanos's face. Nam-gyu stumbled to the floor and your form replaced his.

Your hand was trembling holding a knife. A bloody knife. You dropped it to the floor, the noise cutting through the tense silence.

You had heard the commotion and rushed back as fast as you could. In your haste, you must have moved the wrong way. You felt a sharp pain in your side, crying out. The glass must have dug deeper since you started to feel your blood start to seep into your clothes again.

Nam-gyu was so distracted with Thanos that he hadn't noticed you move beside him. You stabbed him in the back between his ribs, likely puncturing a lung.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I-” You started saying frantically before Thanos pulled you into his arms.

With what little energy you had, you spoke through tears. “I heard you yelling and I thought-” You started, voice cracking into a sob.

He shushed you softly, one hand rubbing up and down your back. “I'm okay, you're okay.” He murmured. But his demeanor, particularly his gaze, was the complete opposite.

His glare was fixed upon his dying friend. Well, who he thought was a friend. There was no remorse, no concern, nothing. He just wanted to make sure that Nam-gyu wasn't going to get up.

He was feeling a multitude of emotions. He was at war with himself. He wanted to feel bad for him. That was his best friend lying on the ground struggling to breathe. But he didn't care. He was almost glad. He was sitting there listening to the man's last breaths and he couldn't get himself to care.

The large doors started to roll open as an announcement played.

“Player 124: eliminated.”

You winced like the words had cut through you, but you pulled yourself away from him, almost stumbling to the floor yourself.

“I want to vote to leave!” You yelled out. The circle-masked guards in the room didn't react to your words at all. They only brought forth another black coffin with the red ribbon. “You said we get to vote after each game, right?” You shouted.

Thanos watched you for a moment until he realized what you were doing.

“Yeah, let us vote!” He said loudly, his voice causing you to jump slightly.

You were met with a deafening silence. While everything was quiet for you, the extremely elegant room the VIPs were in turned to chaos. One whined about his bets while the others debated what should be done with the two of you.

Your breathing quickened as your vision started to blur. “No, no, no.” You whispered repeatedly, trying to convince your body to keep fighting it.

You can't die here. Not after everything that happened. You just killed a man. You can't have done that for nothing, right?

And you can't leave Thanos like this. It's not fair to him. After everything that has gone wrong for him, he deserves to have happiness for once.

Thanos's eyes were glued on you. How could they not be? So he seemed to notice your eyes rolling back into your head sooner than you did.

His arm was around you in an instant, gently lowering you to the ground. He got on his knees beside you. “Hey, hey, y/n you have to wake up, okay? Don't leave me like this, please.” He begged.

He couldn't lose you, he can't bear it. He didn't know what he would do without you. He may have only met you a few days ago, but you gave him a spark that he didn't know he was missing. At this rate, he didn't think he'd know who he was without you. He was practically alone now except for his mother. You seemed like a guiding light in his eyes.

Before all of this, he was about to end his life because he didn't feel he had anything left. But now he wanted to be a better man, to get clean, to live for you. You changed him. You can't leave him.

“We want to go home! I'm not going to kill them. You may as well send us home unless you feel like sitting here and watching them bleed out.” He yelled out to whoever was listening. This statement ended the debates of the VIP. They had their decision.

Of course they would never communicate that to the players. Thanos had gone back to trying to wake you up, begging to see your eyes again. He had started crying at some point. He didn't know when but he realized when a tear rolled off his cheek and landed on yours.

He hadn't been paying too much attention to his surroundings. The end of a rifle collided with the back of his head. He lost consciousness instantly.

-

Su-bong came to on the side of a street on the outskirts of Seoul. He took the debit card out of his mouth, holding the plastic in his shaking hand as he looked around.

“Y/n?! Are you out here?” He called out. It was stupid for him to even assume you both would be dropped off at the same place.

He couldn't calm himself down after realizing that he had no idea if you were even alive. Maybe you died and that's why he's alone back on the mainland. He couldn't remember anything else no matter how hard he tried to. Everything went fuzzy after you had passed out. Did he only make it out because you died?

The only tangible proof that he had that supported the argument you were alive was the amount on the card. He took it to an ATM just to look at it. He wanted to see if all of the suffering was worth it.

22,800,000,000.00 ₩

Half of the amount that would be paid out for a sole winner. Maybe you were given the other half. It was the only hope he had that you were alive.

But he also knew the people running the games were sick and twisted. Maybe they just wanted to get his hopes up. He wouldn't be surprised if they did it on purpose just to mess with him. Part of him thought they would deposit the rest of the money late just to see his reaction.

He was grieving you even though he didn't even know if you were dead.

His instincts told him to go on a bender. He had been so used to numbing whatever emotions he had with drugs that it almost became second nature to him.

But he knew you wouldn't want that. He wanted to be better. You really did change him, and he held himself to it even though you weren't around to see it.

And he really did start to turn his life around. He went to his apartment and flushed whatever drugs he had stashed there. He didn't want them anymore. He deleted the contacts of his dealers and any of his former friends from his phone.

He abandoned the persona of Thanos. Thanos died in the games. He wasn't the same man anymore, and he didn't intend on going back to his life of fame. At least not under that name.

He called his mom for the first time in a while. They had a long, emotional talk. Su-bong owned up to his mistakes and begged for a second chance. He also managed to explain what happened over the last week and the fortune he had gained. While most people would assume it was an elaborate lie, his mother believed him. He wanted to come stay at her place for a few days, which she gladly accepted on the condition there would be no drugs in her house.

There were a multitude of reasons that he wanted to go back home. First of all, there was an eviction notice posted on the door to his apartment when he arrived. His landlord finally got tired of the late rent. He didn't want to stay in that place anymore. He left enough cash to pay his rent with a short note of apology.

Second, his mom was really the only person he had left. He didn't want to be alone right now after going through all of that. Plus, he knew his mom would enjoy the company.

But the main reason he wanted to visit his mom is because he desperately hoped he would somehow find you there. He discussed his hometown that night after the last game. He knew that if you were searching for him, that would be the only place you knew to look. He was clinging on to the last bit of faith he had that you were still alive.

So he went to stay with his mother. Things were a bit awkward at first, but they really connected and reconciled with each other over time. He tried to do anything he could to hopefully make up for everything he had put her through. She didn't ask for any of the money, but he offered it anyway. He didn’t exactly feel comfortable spending it on himself. It was blood money and it felt disrespectful to use it for selfish reasons. He finally started to understand what that crazy guy was talking about.

On this particular day, Su-bong was picking up takeout to bring home for his mother. She had mentioned that diner which was popular in their town, so he figured he could take something home for dinner. He didn't think much of it at that moment, so he didn't entirely realize he could run into you there. Thinking about you was painful for him right now. He hadn't had enough time to process everything, so he tried his best not to dwell on the specifics of your interactions. It only caused him more heartache thinking of what could have been and also anger at the situation the games had put him through.

But it was also hard to not think about you. You were constantly in his mind even when he tried to spare himself the heartache. Eventually he started writing his thoughts down in hopes it would help him process everything. He had a few half-written songs jotted down in a notebook. They were in a completely different tone now that they were about you. You deserved to be treated with more reverence than his cheesy raps could allow.

He waited in line at the counter, not entirely paying attention to what was going on around him. His mind was too caught up in his own musings that he hadn't realized it was his turn.

“Sir?” The waitress called out, finally getting his attention. “The name for the order?” She prompted.

He smiled sheepishly, almost embarrassed by his obliviousness. “Choi Su-bong.” He said.

The waitress walked away to go check on his order. He turned around, leaning against the bar and scanning the restaurant. The building still had hardly changed from how he remembered it.

When the order was ready, Su-bong took it from her with a soft word of thanks before turning to leave.

As he did so, the door opened, the metallic clinking of the bell ringing through the room

He looked up, wanting to make sure he didn't walk into whoever entered. But when he did, he froze, jaw slack with shock.

It was you.

You made it out

-

You had also woken up with a debit card in the streets but a day later and with a set of neat stitches and needle marks in your arm. They must have done surgery to save you.

You felt almost grateful. You knew they were the ones who put you in this situation, but they took the time to allow you to leave alive instead of shipping you off in a black coffin.

There was also worry gnawing at you as you gathered your bearings. Where was Su-bong? You were afraid that he had somehow sacrificed himself for you. Maybe they arranged it somehow? You didn't even know if that was possible, but it felt like anything was possible in that place.

You too thought to check the balance on the card, and the fact you had only half of the prize money was the main reason you started searching. If he was gone, you would have gotten all of it… right? Or maybe this was another sick plot to mess with your emotions.

You took a day or two to get back on your feet before going to look for him. You settled your debt and reached out to your family to let them know you were alive.

You were hoping by that time he would have announced a tour or something. That money could help him launch into stardom, so you figured that's what he would be doing. He likely would have had enough time to organize something by now.

But his social media was radio silent. No tour, no update, nothing.

That really cut down on your leads, but it didn't entirely surprise you that he hadn't gone back to his stage persona yet. He had seemed pretty disillusioned with that whole thing after seeing who Nam-gyu really was. But at the same time, music really seemed to be his passion, and it seemed like now he had the ability to make his own decisions now that Nam-gyu wasn't around to cause problems.

You only had one idea. And it was a long shot, but it was all you had.

You went to the diner. It was the one thing he had mentioned that you could tell for certain it was the correct place. You booked a cheap hotel room in the town and tried to be in the diner as much as possible. The owner thought you were trying to cause trouble at first, but you managed to explain the situation to him without giving too many details. He shrugged you off. He was fine with you hanging around as long as you were putting money in his pocket. You spent almost your whole day there.

You honestly thought this idea was a fruitless endeavor, but here you were, standing frozen in the doorway.

“Hey.” You said softly. He fumbled to place the bag on a nearby empty table before pulling you into a hug. He tried not to let his emotions overcome him and cause a scene in the diner. You were in the same boat. You were so relieved that you could cry, but you stayed collected.

After a moment, you heard the owner say something from behind the counter: “You didn't tell me you were looking for that asshole.” The way he said it made it clear it was a joke between the two of them that you didn't understand fully.

Su-bong chuckled but didn't say anything back, but he gave the man a middle finger behind your back. The owner laughed loudly as he headed back to the kitchen.

He pulled back slightly, making sure to grab the bag of the takeout. “Do you want to go back to my mom's place?” He asked quietly, not really wanting the owner to hear him and have questions.

You nodded, a smile beginning to form on your face. You didn't say anything in fear of your voice faltering.

The short walk to his mother's house was quiet and restrained. There were a million things the two of you wanted to say. Emotions and feelings were waiting for the floodgates to open, but they didn't come. You both knew that the conversation couldn't happen in public to avoid causing a scene.

It felt like sparks flew through both of you whenever your hands brushed against each other's. Eventually you loosely grabbed his hand, causing him to clear his throat. It clearly flustered him, but he stayed quiet and took hold of your hand.

Once you made it to his mother's small house, you felt your defenses crumble. When he placed down the takeout bag, you walked to him and threw your arms around him. You buried your head in his chest, taking deep, shaky breaths as you tried to stop yourself from crying.

He held you in a tight embrace as if you would fade away. Maybe he was still sleeping and this was a dream.

“I thought you were dead, I was so fucking worried.” He said, desperately trying to keep his voice from cracking.

You shook your head. “They stitched me up before they let me go.” You mumbled.

He looked confused for a moment. “Were you awake at all?” He asked, wondering if you had any more information.

“No. I remember coming back from the hall and…” You said, trailing as a way to sidestep the elephant in the room. “And it gets fuzzy. Then I woke up in the street.”

You sat there in a quiet silence for a moment before you spoke. “I know you aren't mad, but I'm sorry for what I did to Nam-gyu. I didn't-”

“You don't have to apologize.” He cut you off. There was a sharpness to his voice, but you could still feel the concern he felt for you.

“I know, but I want to. I feel like I should.” You murmured. Your hands gripped the fabric of his jacket as if you were holding onto your last connection to the world.

He shook his head, pulling away from you so he could look at you. “Listen,” he started, hands resting firmly on your shoulders, “I'm not mad at you for that. You saved my life. He got what he deserved.” He said.

You met his eyes and your breath caught in your throat. “It's just-” You struggled to find the words, “Maybe there was a way we all could have walked out of there.” You said. You knew deep down that there was no way that would be possible. Nam-gyu was walking out of there alone or in a coffin.

Su-bong shook his head. “Never in a million years would he have agreed to that. He's too selfish.” He countered.

Your eyes were welling with tears yet again. “I know, but I have to-” You began, voice cracking. “I have to live with that. I-”

He pulled you back into his arms, quietly talking to hopefully calm you down a bit.

This was new territory for him and he would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. He never really consoled anyone like this before. It wasn't in his nature, and usually he was the one being consoled. His friendships had never really reached the point where this was typical. But if anyone deserved his best effort, it was you.

“You did what you had to do, okay? If you hadn't, you probably wouldn't have made it out.” He said. One of his hands stroked your hair gently while the other ran up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you, but his movements were somewhat stiff. He was just nervous to do something wrong or to hurt you in some way.

He took a deep, shuddering breath himself. His nervousness started to fluster him. Look at him. He was acting like a schoolboy with a silly crush. He was so smitten with you that he started to overthink anything he did.

“I know getting through this won't be easy, but we're gonna do it together, alright? I promise you that.” He said.

Coping with the trauma you received, the actions you had to take seemed like an impossible task. How could you move on from this? You had to kill someone. You nearly died yourself.

But while in his embrace, you were inclined to believe him. Maybe you would be okay.

He rested his chin on the top of your head gently. “You know, I came back to stay with my mom because if you wanted to find me, this town is the only place you would know to look.” He said softly. While reconciling with his mom was great, he was mostly thinking about you.

You furrowed your eyebrows slightly. “What do you mean if i wanted to find you?” You asked.

He stiffened slightly. He hadn't meant to show that insecurity to you. He had somewhat thought that if you were still alive, you weren't going to want to put up with him.

He pulled back slightly. He stuttered as he spoke, his brain fighting between wanting to be open and wanting to maintain any shred of his cool and collected demeanor. “I mean, I just-” He started. You could see his eyes begin to water. You hadn't known that you would have struck a nerve.

“I just have a lot of baggage, y'know? I thought you would have realized you're too good for me.” He said, voice quieter than you ever heard it before.

You met his eyes, looking almost confused. “Of course I'd come find you. I mean, I've been in that diner from open to close for the past 3 days. I'm surprised the owner didn't kick me out.” You said, smiling slightly as you made him chuckle weakly.

You reached a hand up and gently held his face, thumb ghosting across his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch reflexively. Gentle affection was something he isn't used to, but his instinct was to gladly accept it from you.

“I know you have a troubled past, but that doesn't change anything for me, okay?” You asked. A tear rolled down his face and you swiped it away with your thumb.

“I sought you out because I care about you… a lot. I'm not going a-”

You were cut off by him pulling you closer and connecting your lips. You gasped out of shock before smiling and kissing him back. You looped your arms around his neck.

You both were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. You pulled away quickly to see an older woman standing in front of you both. Your eyes widened as you realized she was likely his mother.

Your face turned two shades redder from embarrassment. Your stomach fluttered, both from the kiss itself and the embarrassment of being caught in the act.

The woman narrowed her eyes at her son. “Su-bong, is this the person you told me about?” She asked, seeming almost angry for a reason you didn't entirely understand.

He reached up to rub the back of his neck, looking over at you before back to her. “Yeah.” He said, managing to get the word out without his voice cracking.

“Good. After everything you said about them, I would have been angry at you on their behalf if you brought a hook-up home.” She said sharply. She then turned to address you. “It's nice to meet you.”

You smiled, greeting her with a bow before looking back at her. “Just wondering, what did he say about me?” You asked. Su-bong looked down at you quickly. You met his gaze with a smirk.

He pinched the bridge of his nose out of embarrassment. “I hate both of you.” He groaned.

His mom laughed. “Yeah right.” She exclaimed.

You nudged him gently with your elbow. “I think we're going to get along great.” You teased, to Su-bong's dismay

-

bonus:

His mom insisted that you could eat some of her portion of the food Su-bong had picked up from the diner. She had actually wanted to cook you something herself, but you agreed to take some of the takeout for her convenience.

As you three ate, his mother was asking you about yourself. When you got on the topic of where you lived, she furrowed her eyebrows.

“That's 30 minutes away. What are you doing at that diner?” She asked. She wasn't asking you about your whereabouts specifically. She was asking why you traveled so far for such mediocre food. There was nothing special about the place, so it was hardly worth the travel time.

You chuckled, not noticing the blush rising on Su-bong's face. “He told me about the diner during the games. It's the one place I knew where to look for him after all of that.” You explained.

His mother smirked slightly. “You wanted to meet them at the diner that everyone goes on first dates at?” She teased. It was a sort of inside joke in their community that if you were there with someone, it was likely on a date since that was the cheapest place for it.

You looked over at him and he avoided making eye contact with you. “Wait, was that you asking me out?” You asked, almost giddy.

He sighed, feigning disinterest to mask his embarrassment. “Maybe.” He muttered tersely.

Your eyes softened as you looked at him. “That's so sweet.” You gushed.

He finally looked over at you, almost scanning you for any dishonesty. He wasn't used to being soft in a relationship, so this was completely foreign to him. He felt so vulnerable in that moment, but he'd feel that way for the rest of his life if you would keep looking at him with so much love in your eyes.

[voxslays]

Yanderes who eyes are boring into yours as you sob and trying to explain the unexpected pregnancy. Your eyes brimming with tears and slowly trailing down your cheeks as you swore you were on the pill and you’d even used condoms so you had no idea how this could happen!

You were so preoccupied with weeping and blubbering gibberish into his chest that you didn’t notice the wicked grin spreading across his face.

He would pat your back with one hand and use his other hand to play with your tampered birth control in his pocket.

[voxslays]

Don't; Hwang In-Ho

Warnings: Typical Squid Game violence, Season 1 spoilers (no season 2 spoilers), reader is older than Jun-Ho, creepy old man.

You couldn’t remember the last time that you had slept properly; not since In-Ho went missing, at least.

There were so many unanswered questions, so little information about his potential whereabouts, and neither you nor Jun-Ho knew where to begin. That was until he found that card… That damned card.

You recognised it immediately, of course you did. Your father had received the same one… had invited you to come with him. You couldn’t tell Jun-Ho. How could you?

How could you tell him that his brother – your lover – had been taken to play death games, all while your father and other rich pigs watched in enjoyment. You knew what you had to do: you had to go.

As you followed your father into the building on the island, you paused, wondering if not telling Jun-Ho had been a mistake. While you hadn’t seen him in a few days – a sharp contrast from your usual seeing of each other every day – you could have text him, just to let him know. It was too late now, though. There was no point dwelling on it, you had to find In-Ho.

In-Ho recognised you straight away, freezing in place for a moment before regaining his composure.

Why were you here? He asked himself. He had sworn to himself that neither you nor Jun-Ho would ever become involved with his wrongdoings, yet here you were, and little did he know, so was Jun-Ho.

“Search all the VIP’s belongings,” he had told one of the guards, watching as they wordlessly nodded and quietly left the room, obeying the frontman.

In-Ho’s eyes were on you, yet you were unaware, too focused on trying to find him, despite him being so close to you.

Would you ever know? God, he hoped not.

Jun-Ho was quick to recognise your figure, eyes widening beneath the mask that did not belong to him. He watched you converse with a man way too old to be flirting with you.

“Such pretty eyes you have,” the man said, gazing into your eyes, rather than watching the game in front of him. “Such a pretty young thing.” The hand the man placed on you had you cringing, yet you held yourself well. This was your chance to find out some information.  To find out if something had happened to In-Ho.

In-Ho was watching, eyes glaring at the man who seemed so infatuated with you. It should be him touching your cheek, thumb running across your skin.

“Maybe if you come into another room with me, I can show you them in another light,” your flirtation lit a fire inside In-Ho but he knew that there was nothing that he could do; he couldn’t expose himself.

The man was quick to take up the offer. Why wouldn’t he? And so, the two brothers you were so acquainted with watched as you led to man into a private room, hands intertwined.

Nobody noticed as In-Ho left, pulling up a camera to watch what was happening.

“Please,” the man sobbed. “Please don’t kill me.” He begged, trying desperately to lean away from the cold barrel of the gun that you pressed against his head. The very gun that you had stolen from a guard that you passed on your way to watch the games.

You didn’t want to kill him, but if that was what it took to find In-Ho, you would.

“Tell me what you know about the games, and I’ll consider letting you live,” your lips were pulled into a straight line.

The man sobbed again, entire body shaking as he stuttered out the little that he knew.

You nodded, watching as the man relaxed for a moment when you didn’t immediately pull the trigger.

“You’ve been very helpf-“you began before you pulled the trigger; you couldn’t let him potentially expose you to the others.

In-Ho couldn’t stop his eyes widening as you pulled the trigger. As you killed a man. All for him. To find him.

You would never look at him the same, was all that he could think.

“Sir,” a guard muttered. “This was found in the girls belongings.” They said, passing the frontman a small picture.

It was you, Jun-Ho, and In-Ho on Jun-Ho’s graduation day. You were all smiling as Jun-Ho stood there. In-Ho’s arm was wrapped tightly around you, Jun-Ho stood in front of you both.

“It’s the same man in the ID that was found,”

In-Ho knew he had to act fast, and so he left to find Jun-Ho, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

“Who are you?” Jun-Ho asked the masked frontman in front of him.

Sweat ran down his palms as he stood on the edge of the cliff. One wrong move and he would fall, most likely to his death. He didn’t have many bullets and there were too many guards. They would easily win, and they were already preparing to shoot on their boss’s command.

Too focused on the man wearing black, Jun-Ho didn’t notice you quietly approaching; nobody did until you kicked a guard, grabbing his gun as he tumbled to the ground. You were quick to run over to Jun-Ho, standing in front of him, ready to protect the younger man at all costs.

“Tell us who you are,” you said, unlocking the safety of the gun that the guard had foolishly forgotten to take off. “I will shoot you all.”

The guards prepared to shoot at the warning until the frontman raised his hand as a simple no, reaching up to unclasp his mask, despite his injured shoulder.

“In-Ho…” Jun-Ho whispered as you stood there wordlessly, hands shaking as you dropped the gun in shock.

“You’re the one doing this?” You asked. “How could you?”

In-Ho’s shoulders tensed at your words, at the coldness in your voice, the raw, unfiltered hurt.

His hand raised, reaching towards both you and Jun-Ho.

“Come with me…” He pleaded, hesitating for a moment when Jun-Ho shook his head. “Please.” He whispered.

Jun-Ho shook his head, and you watched in horror as In-Ho shot him causing Jun-Ho to fall backwards and off the cliff.

Your head spun around, watching him hit the water below as you screamed his name.

“How could you?” You repeated your earlier words, taking a step back, further towards the cliff.

In-Ho could read your mind, he had known you long enough.

“Y/N, don’t,” he warned, the hand that previously held the gun now shaking by his side.

“You’re not the man I thought you were,” were your final words as you jumped off the cliff, determined to help Jun-Ho… before it was too late.

[voxslays]

[voxslays]

Ohhh godddd I love them so BADLY

[voxslays]

- Love the Way You Lie - part 1

Pairing: 001 / The Front Man × Reader

Genre: Betrayal, Angst

⸻

You met 001 on the second day of the games.

While everyone else panicked or hardened, he smiled like he’d already made peace with death. He was kind, fragile, strangely gentle in a place built to crush souls. You didn’t mean to care, but he made it easy.

He’d joke with you. Offer his food. Ask you questions about your life before this hell, like it mattered. You protected him during lights-out. He made you laugh when you didn’t think you ever would again.

“I think you’re too good for this place,” he told you once, voice soft.

You smirked, “I think you’re too good at pretending to be helpless.”

He only smiled in return — and you missed the warning in it.

Then one morning, he was gone. No explanation. No body. Just an announcement:

“Player 001 has been eliminated.”

It wrecked something in you.

When the game ended, you weren’t freed — you were offered something: work behind the scenes. The mask. The red suit. A chance to survive longer.

You refused.

Until someone said, “He’d want you here.”

You believed that lie like a prayer.

⸻

Weeks passed.

You moved like a ghost through the halls of the facility. You kept your head down, stayed quiet — until the voice of the Front Man cut through your world.

It was distorted. Low. Cold.

But you knew it.

Something inside you said: It’s him.

You didn’t want to believe it. Until the night you followed him.

Through hidden halls. Down a steel staircase. Past a door only he could open.

You stayed in the shadows and watched as he removed the mask.

And there he was.

Not dead. Not fragile.

Just him — 001. Calm. Controlled. Wearing the face you trusted like it was just another mask.

Your breath caught.

The floor creaked under your foot.

His gaze snapped toward you.

You stepped into the room. “How long?” you asked, voice hollow. “How long were you lying to me?”

He tilted his head slightly. “From the beginning.”

You laughed once — sharp, broken. “Why?”

He took a step closer. “Because you looked at me like I was still human.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “I would’ve died for you.”

“I know,” he said softly.

He reached for your face — slow, deliberate. You should’ve turned away.

But you didn’t.

Because you hated him.

And you loved him.

And both were true.

His gloved fingers brushed your cheek like a secret. “I never lied about this,” he murmured.

Then he kissed you.

Desperate. Damning. Final.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t safe. But it was real.

And when he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, you whispered, “I hate how much I love you.”

He smiled — sad and soft.

“So do I.”

You accepted him. And he took care of you.

_________________

Hello my loves

There will be a part 2 of this very soon

Bye~❤️

[voxslays]

After hours

Or Attention part 7 

Pairing: In-ho x recruiter!reader; Salesman x recruiter!reader

Warnings: 18+ only;  rough intimacy; unprotected sex; self-destructive coping mechanisms; bruises; physical assault; voyeuristic intensity toxic relationships; possessiveness; jealousy; unresolved tension; heavy angst; graphic violence; emotional whiplash; emotional manipulation; sexual tension; grief; guilt

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: In the stillness of the Host’s office, In-ho is faced with everything he's buried—his grief, his guilt, and his for the woman who keeps slipping through his fingers. she finds herself drifting toward danger, drawn to Gong Yoo like a moth to flame—his mouth sharp, his hands unforgiving, his obsession unmistakable. What started as sparring turns into something far more depraved, a violent rhythm of teeth, heat, and whispered promises neither of them intend to keep. But in the world they belong to, nothing stays hidden. Especially not from Hwang In-ho. When In-ho walks in on them in the middle of a moment too raw to deny, the fallout is immediate, violent, and unforgiving—because some things were never meant to be shared.

Author’s note: This work contains mature content intended for adult audiences. Reader discretion is advised. Darlinggg, guess who’s back from jaill? This chapter is a bit explicit, please bear that in mind! I wrote this over the course of this week and I am very excited to share it with you, please let me know your thoughts!

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Headquarters ; 11:45 PM; The Host’s office

When In-ho arrived at the Host’s office, the old man was already seated, his silhouette poised in the plush black leather armchair that faced the expansive windows overlooking the Seoul skyline. In-ho had been here many times before, yet the room never failed to impress—or unsettle—him.

The office was a study in shadows and luxury, its interior steeped in understated opulence. Black marble stretched across the massive desk like a frozen river, gleaming faintly under the dim, amber-hued lighting. Behind it, another leather chair sat with quiet authority, unoccupied for now. The faint but unmistakable scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the deeper notes of aged whiskey—a blend that hinted at decades of habit and power.

Despite the elegant austerity of the space, it was the towering, floor-to-ceiling windows that always stole In-ho’s attention. Draped in heavy velvet curtains that were now drawn back, the windows framed the city like a living painting. Seoul shimmered beyond the glass, its lights flickering like restless stars. The night pulsed with quiet life, and in the background, a soft stream of old jazz trickled from a speaker tucked into a corner—scratchy saxophones and languid piano chords that curled around the silence.

It was a room built for control. Quiet, cold, and deliberate. But in moments like this, with the city glittering below and music breathing softly in the dark, it felt almost like a sanctuary.

“Sir,” his voice greeted Il-nam politely, almost automatically.

“Ah, Frontman,” the old man said with a faint smile, as though the title amused him more than it impressed. “Come, take a seat. Pour yourself a glass.”

In-ho nodded and moved without question, the routine familiar. He approached the liquor cart, noting how the labels were untouched since his last visit. He chose a bottle—one he suspected Il-nam expected him to—and poured carefully. No spills. No second guesses.

He sat beside the old man, in a matching leather chair that always felt a touch too yielding, too worn, as though it had been shaped by countless others before him. He removed his mask slowly, almost reverently, and placed it next to Il-nam’s golden owl. His mask looked clinical, geometric—designed to obscure. Il-nam’s, by contrast, radiated myth and menace. Even now, unmoving, it seemed to watch him.

For a moment, they said nothing. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was deliberate. Owned. Il-nam’s gaze remained fixed on the glowing skyline, a kingdom sprawling beneath his feet. The music—a low, aged jazz melody—hummed in the background like a ghost of another era.

Il-nam lit a cigar, the flick of his lighter echoing faintly in the still room. He didn’t ask, merely extended the box. A gesture not of hospitality, but of testing. In-ho accepted with a measured nod, striking a flame of his own. He inhaled, feeling his lungs burn.

“You know,” Il-nam said, voice soft but sure, “you’ve always been my most calculated soldier. The most loyal.”

The compliment hung in the air like smoke—sweet on the surface, but cloying underneath.

“It’s one of the reasons I’ve always liked you. Trusted you.” He took a long draw from his cigar. “And why, soon enough, this will all be yours.”

He gestured lazily with his glass, encompassing the room, the operation, the view—the illusion of power.

“But tell me, dear boy... do you still want it?”

Dear boy.

The words, though gently spoken, landed like a leash. Il-nam wasn’t asking permission. He was measuring resolve.

In-ho stared out at the city, at the flickering lights that once seemed full of possibility. Now, they looked distant. Cold.

“I do,” he said quietly. “I always did.”

“You like her. The Dancer,” Il-nam said flatly, not so much accusing as stating an unavoidable truth.

In-ho froze for a fraction of a second—just long enough for it to register. Of course, he should have known better than to expect privacy. Nothing escaped Il-nam, not in his world. The Host didn’t need to ask questions. He already knew the answers. Always had.

There was no use denying it. Not to him. He didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he let the silence settle, took a slow sip of his whiskey, and kept his eyes on the glittering skyline. But his mind had already drifted—back to the rooftop pool, to her. Midnight steam rising around them like ghosts. The bruises on her skin. The fury in her voice. The way she clung to him like she hated herself for needing him.

He’d stepped into the water, fully clothed, unable to stay away. They’d burned, both of them—on the edge of something dangerous, something inevitable. She’d dared him to feel. He had. Too much.

The memory still ached like a fresh wound. And yet, like all things with her, he buried it deep beneath the mask.

“It’s irrelevant where my affections lie, sir,” he said finally, voice clipped and composed. “What matters are the games.”

Il-nam gave a soft, breathy chuckle—not mocking, but close.

“Oh, my dear Frontman. There is still so much you do not understand.”

He leaned forward slightly, cigar pinched between two fingers, the ember glowing like an eye in the dark. His voice was calm, but his words were razors.

“When I die—and that day is fast approaching—there will be a power vacuum. The VIPs will sense it before the smoke even clears. They’ll circle like sharks. Each one more grotesque and ravenous than the last. And the thing about sharks,” he added, tapping ash into the crystal tray, “is they don’t respond to logic. They respond to blood, charm, seduction. Instinct.”

In-ho said nothing, but his jaw tensed.

“And the VIPs?” Il-nam continued, pausing for dramatic effect. “They’re enamored by her. Utterly. They watch her like she’s an eclipse—rare, dangerous, and beautiful enough to forget how dark the world gets when she’s near.”

He swirled the liquor in his glass, eyes not leaving In-ho’s face.

“You, on the other hand... you’re cold. Sharp. Detached. That’s what makes you perfect for this role. You don’t bend. You don’t bleed. But she? She could sell water to a dying man in a desert. And he’d thank her for the privilege.”

There was a beat of silence before In-ho responded. His voice was calm, but edged now. Controlled—barely.

“What exactly are you trying to imply, sir?”

Il-nam exhaled, the smoke curling like a spell around his words.

“Oh, I’m not implying anything, my boy. I’m telling you. You need her. Or someone like her. But preferably her.”

He looked at In-ho now, finally. Really looked. The smile on his lips was gentle, almost paternal. But there was steel behind it. Calculation.

“You may hold the leash soon, but don’t fool yourself—you’ll still need to lead the pack. And they won’t follow a statue. No matter how perfectly carved.”

In-ho looked away again, glass resting on the arm of the chair, half-forgotten. His reflection stared back at him in the window—sharp-suited, expressionless, hollowed by years of serving something he barely understood. Beside him, Il-nam’s presence loomed like a fading god still pulling strings from the edge of death.

Maybe this was another test. Or maybe it was already too late to resist what the old man was orchestrating.

“I’ll do what’s required,” In-ho said quietly.

Il-nam smiled, pleased. He always was when people said exactly what he expected them to.

“I know you will.” Il-nam’s voice was calm, composed—until a dry cough broke through, shaking his frame. He waved it off with a trembling hand, then continued, eyes glinting with old amusement. “She was meant for you, you know. I saw her that night—drenched in someone else’s blood—and I thought, Yes. She’ll need taming, of course. But who better to handle that fire than my Hwang In-ho? Someone who won’t be threatened by the blaze. Someone she can push against without burning the whole operation to the ground.”

He said it like a compliment. Like it was a clever match he’d orchestrated from the start. A blade paired with a steady hand. Fire to thaw the ice—but not melt it. It had been three years since that night. Since Il-nam had plucked her from chaos and offered her a place in his empire. And every day since, she had proven herself—intelligent, ruthless, magnetic. A perfect match, the old man believed. Not just for the game, but for In-ho.

And In-ho hated it.

Hated the way Il-nam spoke of her—as if she were a weapon to be wielded, a pawn to be positioned. A beautiful, dangerous thing meant to be managed. But he couldn’t deny the truth behind it. The appeal. The way fire and ice sparked when they collided. The way she looked at him—not with fear, but with challenge. And how, despite everything, he kept coming back.

Even he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. Not about what he felt.

“So do something about it,” Il-nam said, voice dipping lower now, sharper. “Because while you hesitated… the Salesman didn’t. And he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep her.”

“Sir, with all due respect... he’ll get bored. A month, tops.”

In-ho wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Il-nam—or himself.

Because for all Gong Yoo’s many faults, boredom had never looked like this. In all the years In-ho had known the man, he had never seen him so consumed by anyone. Not a player, not a contact, not even a target. And that? That unsettled him.

Because if the Salesman’s loyalty started to bend beneath the weight of this growing obsession, if she became the exception—then they were all standing on thin ice with fire licking at their heels.

“Maybe,” Il-nam replied, with a shrug that felt too casual. “Maybe not. But never underestimate someone like him. The second you do, you wake up with a knife in your back.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharpening with age-worn precision. “He doesn’t hesitate. And he doesn’t miss. You, of all people, should know that.”

The words struck like a match across old wounds. Designed to provoke. To stir the memory.

And it did.

The image came unbidden—his wife, frail and fading. A hospital bed they couldn’t afford that reeked of antiseptic and too many goodbyes. A transplant they never reached. The waitlist stretched into forever, and they had no money, no time. He remembered the way her fingers would clutch his sleeve in the middle of the night when the pain grew too much. The way she’d whisper that it was okay to let go if he had to. That she could bear the pain, as long as their child lived.

And then, the man at the station. The smile, too polite. The voice, too smooth. A simple game. A simple offer. One that had rewritten everything.

Gong Yoo had offered him a miracle.

And when In-ho came back?

There was nothing left. Only ashes. A funeral. A child he’d never hold. A man he barely recognized in the mirror. And the Salesman—still watching, still smiling—as if he had known all along that this was exactly how it would end.

A part of In-ho would always blame him. For presenting the choice. For knowing the weakness. For seeing the rot before In-ho even admitted it was there. He had exploited it with precision. And it didn’t matter that now, as Frontman, In-ho outranked him. Didn’t matter that in less than a year, he would be Host—superseding every operation the Salesman had ever touched.

Because every time they met, every time that smug smirk crossed his lips, In-ho saw it. The truth.

Gong Yoo remembered the man he used to be.

And In-ho would be damned if he let that man take her.

Headquarters ; 01:30 AM ; the training center 

The training center was silent, save for the soft, ambient hum of recessed LED lights lining the ceiling. The air inside was cool and sharp, climate-controlled and pristine. Every surface gleamed—polished steel, matte black floors, smooth concrete walls. Sleek. Minimal. Efficient.

It was a space built for precision, not comfort. The kind of place where noise felt out of place, where even footsteps seemed too loud.

At the center of the room was a state-of-the-art sparring ring, its floor a stretch of smart fabric capable of tracking movement and impact in real time. The ropes were taut, clean, reinforced with carbon fiber. Cameras were mounted unobtrusively in the corners, always watching, recording every jab, dodge, and fall.

Along the perimeter, modern gym equipment stood in sharp lines—treadmills, resistance rigs, weight racks, and combat simulators, all sleekly designed in monochrome tones. Digital panels blinked softly on each machine, ready to scan IDs and log sessions automatically.

The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone—clean, controlled, like a lab meant for violence. Not a trace of sweat lingered. Any sign of effort or exertion was erased almost instantly by the facility’s ventilation and sanitation systems.

Every mark left here was temporary. Every drop of blood, cleaned before it dried. Here, the pain was calculated. Efficiency was sacred. Weakness wasn’t mocked, it was corrected.

Her and Gong Yoo had been sparring for over two hours now, locked in a relentless rhythm inside the ring. Sweat clung to their skin, but neither seemed eager to stop. The space around them faded into the background. It was just the two of them, circling, dancing, daring.

The air was thick with heat and adrenaline, despite the sterile chill pumped in by the overhead vents. Their breath came in sharp, steady bursts. Their sweat slicked the floor beneath them, pooled in the hollow of their spines, dripped down the curve of her jaw and the arch of his collarbone.

And still, they didn’t stop.

Each time she came close, just inches from landing a blow, Gong Yoo slipped away like silk through her fingers. His movements were infuriatingly fluid, all lean grace and unearned ease. He dodged not just her fists, but the rules. He played with her. And yet, she refused to back down. That was the thing about her—she didn’t surrender. She sharpened.

Their match was no longer just sparring—it was a storm waiting to break. Sweat and friction and something deeper that neither of them dared to name.

“Again, princess,” he said, voice low and maddeningly smug as he sidestepped her roundhouse. “The second you actually hit me, we can go home.”

His voice echoed in the high-ceilinged space, cutting through the silence like a blade. She landed hard on her feet, pivoted fast, and glared. Her ponytail whipped over her shoulder like a challenge.

She rolled her eyes, resetting her stance. “You do realize no one’s calling you ‘home,’ right?”

He smirked. “Yet you’re still here, chasing me like a lovesick schoolgirl.”

Their movements were sharp, controlled—like a tango with consequences. Footwork, counters, sidesteps. Each strike felt rehearsed, but only because they had done this so many times before. Gong Yoo’s style was all cocky grace and calculated evasion. He didn’t fight fair, and he didn’t need to.

So she adapted. She stopped aiming for perfection—and started aiming to win.

She moved—fast, sharp, untelegraphed. A fake-out high, then a sweeping low kick. He jumped, barely clearing it, landing with a grin. His breath hitched slightly, but he covered it with laughter.

Their fight had turned into something else entirely. A rhythm. A seduction. The space between them thrummed with energy—charged, magnetic, volatile.

Her next blow was wild—not clean, but close. It grazed his shoulder, enough to twist him off-balance for the first time all night. He recovered with a spin, teeth bared in a grin that looked far too satisfied.

“Oof,” he teased, shaking out his arm. “Was that desperation I felt? Or are you just dying for an excuse to touch me?”

“If I wanted to touch you,” she snapped, voice breathless and biting, “you wouldn’t still be standing.”

“Is that a threat,” Gong Yoo asked, stepping forward slowly, deliberately, “or a promise?”

She smirked. “Depends. You planning on dodging that too?”

She didn’t back down. Not an inch. Her eyes burned into his—furious, electric, locked in. “Depends. You planning on running from that too?”

He chuckled, but there was something darker in his eyes now—something focused. Intense. “I’d be stupid not to. You hit like you mean it. Like you hate me.”

“I do,” she said, without missing a beat.

He tilted his head, almost admiring her. “Funny. You fight like you want me to stay.”

Their breath mingled now—fast, hot, clouding the inches of air between them. His chest rose and fell in time with hers, soaked through and heaving. Her fists were still raised, but her fingers were twitching—ready, waiting.

“You’re insufferable,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, soft and low. “But you like that.”

She stepped in, faked a right, then threw her elbow—fast, brutal, aimed for the side of his jaw. He caught it with one hand, inches from his face. Their skin met—damp, electric. A breath passed between them.

A heartbeat.

His fingers curled around her arm, not tight—but firm. His thumb traced the inside of her wrist, just once. Barely there. Like a secret.

“You’re good,” he murmured.

“I know,” she said.

Gong Yoo leaned in, just enough to feel the heat of her skin. “But I’m still better.”

Her smirk was sharp as a blade. “Then stop talking and prove it.”

His laughter still echoed through the training center, low and infuriatingly pleased with himself, when she moved.

Not to strike. Not to fake. To finish it.

She didn’t lunge with a punch. She closed the space with purpose—shoulder brushing his chest, lips parted, breath hot from exertion and something far more dangerous. Her body pressed against his, slick with sweat, every inch of her radiating heat and intent.

He opened his mouth—probably to drop another smug line—and that’s when she kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.

It was a collision of mouths and months of games. Of too many nights spent circling each other like loaded guns and not nearly enough time spent unloading the tension between them.

She bit his bottom lip, just enough to make him hiss, and then twisted her hips, hooking her leg behind his. Caught completely off-guard, Gong Yoo hit the mat with a thud that echoed off the polished walls, sharp and satisfying.

By the time he registered what had happened, she was already on top of him—thighs straddling his waist, hands pinning his wrists to the mat above his head. Her breath was ragged, her pulse racing through her skin like a war drum.

“Still think I’m slow, Salesman?” she panted, smirking down at him.

Gong Yoo looked up at her with a familiar heat in his eyes—half impressed, half aroused, and entirely hers for the moment. His shirt clung to him, soaked through, his chest rising against her thighs. That sharp jaw, always clenched when he was trying not to give in, was now slack with something caught between restraint and the urge to ruin her.

“You cheated,” he growled, wrists flexing beneath her grip.

“No,” she said, leaning closer until her lips brushed his again, “I know how to play you.”

He bucked his hips—just enough to make her grip tighten, enough to feel the tension snap taut between them. “You’re cocky for someone who usually ends up on their back.”

“I like being on top,” she whispered, voice wicked in his ear.

He grinned, all teeth and threat. “So do I.”

Then, in a blur of movement, Gong Yoo twisted his wrists free and rolled, slamming her into the mat beneath him with a guttural sound ripped straight from his throat. Now he was on top—legs bracketing her hips, one hand pinning both of hers, the other tangled in her hair. His grip was firm, strong enough that if he squeezed any harder, it would bruise. 

His face hovered just above hers, their noses nearly brushing, his breath ragged and hot. “You think I forgot what your mouth tastes like?” he rasped. “You’re playing with fire, little girl”

She bit her lip, her legs shifting beneath him, wrapping around his waist with slow, deliberate pressure, pulling him closer into her. “If you miss it so much…” her voice dropped, husky, breathless, “take it.”

His mouth crashed into hers again, this time without hesitation.

It was all tongue and teeth, frustration and hunger. Gong Yoo’s mouth devoured her, one of his hands mapping her body like he already knew the terrain but needed to rediscover every inch, finally settling on her hip bone, gripping into the soft skin hard. She kissed him back with equal ferocity, biting down on his lip until he groaned into her mouth.

They didn’t break for air. Not at first.

Because that was how they fought best. Not with fists or strategies. With dominance. With surrender. With a desperation they only ever allowed to surface when it was just the two of them, locked in a room where no one could see the truth behind the masks.

Her voice broke the moment between kisses, low and breathless. “You’re stalling, psycho killer. What happened to going home after I landed a hit?”

His lips ghosted down her neck, his breath scorching. “Who said we were leaving yet?”

And just like that, the sparring match was long forgotten.

In one smooth, unrelenting motion, Gong Yoo was back on his feet, dragging her with him like she weighed nothing. Her legs were still wrapped tight around his waist, her hands locked around his shoulders, and a startled gasp slipped from her lips before she could catch it.

“Hey!” she started, but it died on her tongue when she saw the look in his eyes.

Predatory. Determined. Starving.

He smirked, that maddening, slow curl of his lips that always meant trouble. “No need to thank me,” he said, breath warm against her jaw. “Just figured I’d be a gentleman and help you clean up, princess.”

Before she could snap back, he was already striding across the floor with her still clinging to him—carrying her like a victory. Every step jostled her against him, the friction of his body between her thighs sending sparks straight through her core. She clenched tighter on instinct, and he hissed softly, eyes narrowing like a man walking willingly into a fire.

He shoved open the shower room door with one shoulder, steam from earlier sessions still clinging to the tiles like ghosts. The scent of heat and sweat clung to the air—intimate, heavy, charged. The sound of water still dripping from one of the nozzles echoed in the background like a slow, steady heartbeat.

“You’re filthy,” Gong Yoo muttered, pressing her back against the nearest sink counter. “Wouldn’t want to send you home covered in sweat and attitude.”

“Then put me down,” she said, smirking despite herself.

“I plan to,” he murmured. “Eventually.”

With deliberate slowness, he set her down atop the sink’s cool marble edge—his hands lingering on her thighs, thumbs pressing just hard enough to make her shiver. He stood between her knees, chest heaving, heat radiating off him like a second skin. His hands slid up, unbuttoning her shirt with fluid ease, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Because he had.

She watched him through half-lidded eyes, breath catching as each button slipped free, revealing skin beneath fabric, inch by inch. His gaze dragged over her like a physical touch, lingering on every old bruise, every fresh mark he’d half-forgotten he left.

“You always look best like this,” he murmured, voice low and dark. “Wrecked. Smirking. About to lose control.”

“And you always talk too much,” she whispered, tugging his shirt open in one sharp movement, buttons scattering across the tile. He flinched, not in pain, but in pleasure.

He stepped closer, pressing her back slightly against the mirror, hands finding her waist, gripping tight.

“I think you like when I talk,” Gong Yoo growled against her neck. “Especially when you’re like this—wet and trembling and pretending you're still in control.”

She dragged her nails down his chest. “Try me, psycho.”

He did.

His mouth was on her collarbone, then her throat, trailing heat in his wake. Every kiss was a claim. Every bite a threat. The mirror behind her fogged with the rising heat, her breath smearing across the glass as he pressed harder, deeper, pulling another gasp from her lips.

She reached between them, fingers already undoing his belt, and he caught her wrist mid-motion, holding it firm.

“I’ll take care of that,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “You’ve done enough damage for one night.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she whispered back, breathless. “I’m just getting started.”

And then he kissed her—really kissed her—his mouth crashing into hers with enough force to make her head tip back. His grip on her hips tightened, and she responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into her like she could fuse their bodies through sheer will.

Without another word, Gong Yoo moved again—deliberate, controlled, commanding. He turned one of the showers on, steam immediately hissing into the air as hot water spilled from the nozzle, fogging the glass and beading against the polished tiles. The room filled with heat, the sterile cold replaced by something carnal, heavy, undeniable.

Then he was back on her, peeling off the rest of their clothes with a carelessness that made it clear: he wasn’t interested in ceremony. Shirts, pants, underthings—all discarded in a tangled pile on the floor, forgotten, like everything else that wasn’t this.

With practiced ease, Gong Yoo lifted her again, arms locked under her thighs as he carried her into the cascading stream. The moment her back met the shower wall, she gasped at the contrast—the cool tiles against her spine, the scalding water pouring over their skin, and him, pressed between her legs like he belonged there.

His mouth found hers again in a kiss that was all tongue and hunger, the kind that left no room for air or thought. She arched into him, body slick with water and need, her fingers digging into the nape of his neck as if she could anchor herself against the force of him.

“You’re insatiable,” she purred against his lips, her voice a breathy tease laced with challenge.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark, jaw tight. “And you’re a goddamn menace.”

His hands gripped her hips as he pushed her harder against the wall, the muscles of his forearms flexing with restraint he was barely holding onto. Her soft curves molded to the hard lines of his body—the planes of his chest slick against her breasts, her thighs tightening around his waist with every shift of his hips.

Gong Yoo’s hand slid up her side, a featherlight touch that barely grazed her ribs, her waist, the underside of her breast—enough to drive her mad. She whimpered, low and needy, pushing against him, trying to chase the contact he was withholding with maddening precision.

The disapproving moan she gave made his lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Patience,” he murmured, voice low and rough in her ear. “You’re always in such a hurry to come.”

Her head dropped back with a soft growl, water trickling down the column of her throat. “And you’re always playing games.”

He ghosted his mouth down her neck, tongue flicking over the pulse hammering beneath her skin. “Because I know how much you hate losing.”

His fingers finally dipped lower, teasing the inside of her thigh, finally settling on her core rubbing it with his thumb with maddening slowness. Her whole body tensed, suspended between need and anticipation, every nerve ending alight and screaming for more.

“I swear to God, if you don’t—”

He silenced her with a rough kiss, one hand gripping her jaw as he deepened it, claiming her mouth like it was his to own.

“I will,” Gong Yoo growled between kisses. “But not until I hear you beg for it.”

Her moan was a curse, her nails dragging down his back. “You're evil.”

“You knew that the first time you let me touch you,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear. “And you still came back.”

And she had. Again and again.

Because no matter how sharp the fight, how brutal the burn—they always came back.

The sound of the water masked everything—the moans, the gasps, the soft thud of bodies against tile. Gong Yoo’s breath was ragged against her neck, his hand finally sliding lower, slipping past the place where teasing became something else entirely.

She was clinging to him, her head thrown back, legs wrapped tight around his waist, both of them drowning in the heat and the pressure of everything they refused to name.

They didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t hear the footsteps.

Didn’t see the man standing there—until it was far too late.

Hwang In-ho froze in the threshold, a wall of stillness in a room thick with steam and sin. The heat hit him first—the blast of humidity, the scent of sweat and sex in the air—but it was the sight that carved the air from his lungs like a blade.

Her.

Pinned to the shower wall.

Her back arched, her lips parted in ecstasy, arms wrapped around Gong Yoo’s neck like he belonged there.

Gong Yoo—bare, soaked, inside her like it was his right.

In-ho didn’t speak.

Didn’t shout.

He moved.

The rage was silent. Cold. Controlled. It boiled behind the impassive set of his face, behind the dead calm of his eyes. Before either of them could register his presence, he was on them.

In a blur of motion, In-ho ripped Gong Yoo off her, fingers digging into his shoulder and yanking him back with brutal force. She let out a shocked cry as Gong Yoo stumbled, still slick from the water, barely catching his balance before—

One hand grabbed the bastard by the shoulder, tearing him away from her like ripping flesh from bone. The other curled into a fist and swung. The punch landed with a sickening crack—jaw, bone, blood. Gong Yoo’s head snapped to the side, body slamming into the tile wall, water spraying violently around them.

In ho drove his knuckles into Gong Yoo’s face with brutal precision—left, right, again, again—each strike more savage than the last. His fist collided with flesh and cartilage, splitting skin, bursting blood across the pale tiles.

His chest heaved. Water poured down his face, mixing with sweat, blood, and something darker—everything he had buried beneath the mask for years.

Grief. Jealousy. Guilt. Rage.

All of it.

And in the shattered silence, In-ho stood over him, soaked, shaking, hands clenched—his heart pounding like a war drum.

He didn’t speak.

There was nothing left to say.

[voxslays]

looking for me? ✩ the salesman 

read part 1 here!

warnings: 18+, smut

a/n: finally a part 2!! i had so so much fun writing this :))

 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

it had been a couple of weeks since your encounter with that mysterious man on the subway. you wished you could forget about it but the mystery of the man plagued your mind. and honestly, the way he had left you - building you up just to leave you in that corner - only made you want more.

college had still been tiring you out - much more than you would like to admit. most nights were sleepless - whether it was studying late at the library or working late shifts at your part-time job at the bakery. today was going to be one of those nights. 

it was a saturday, and you typically worked early mornings to late nights on the weekends. it made you feel pathetic, really, the way everyone your age was going clubbing on a saturday night and you were stuck here at 07:00. the day started off slow, people only casually dropping in to buy small pastries or simply browse. about two hours into your shift, you heard the bell on the door jingle as a tall figure stepped into the bakery. you looked up from the register, and just like the first time you saw him, your mouth dropped. it was the man from the subway, looking better than he did that night - if that was even possible. he was dressed in the same suit, a light grey color, and carrying the same black briefcase that you knew held ddakji cards and money. 

his gaze met yours as he stepped into the bakery and he gave you a polite nod of acknowledgement, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. you watched in curiosity as he reached for a tray and began placing individual packets of bread onto it. a lot of bread. every time you thought he would stop, he kept adding more to the pile. he was going to sell out your whole stock at this rate. after a couple of minutes, he finally stopped adding bread to his growing pile and brought the tray to the register to you. 

“you’re going to buy all of that?” you asked in disbelief. the man didn’t answer but simply smiled and nodded his head. you began checking out the pastries and placing them in a brown paper bag and the man handed you a wad of cash to pay for the groceries. you counted the money and placed it inside the cash box, before continuing to pack the breads into the bag. he had bought exactly one hundred and that number seemed peculiar to you - it was almost too specific. you slid the bag over the counter to the man once everything was packed and watched as he reached into his wallet to pull out more cash. 

“you already paid-” you tried to tell him, but he pulled out a couple of bills and handed them to you, his fingers lightly grazing your palm as he placed the money in your hand. 

he closed your fist around the cash and simply said, “for you. enjoy your day.” before grabbing the bag from the counter and leaving the bakery. you stayed there, frozen for a couple of seconds, watching as he left, before you opened your hand and counted the money. 150,000 won. holy shit. 

you quickly pocketed the money, wondering why he had given it to you. he had surely recognized you from the subway, right? maybe it had to do with the fact that you told him you had college debt? 

your thoughts were disturbed when you heard the shift lead call your name. realizing you had been standing frozen for some minutes, you turned to face her. “are you okay?” her expression was more judgmental than that of concern. 

“i-yeah, sorry,” you stuttered. “um, i’m really sorry to ask but do you think i can get off work right now? something came up.” really, you were just determined to follow the man and find out what he was up to. 

“what came up?” 

when you failed to instantly come up with an excuse, the shift lead chucked. “sorry, tough luck. i know - none of us want to be here on a saturday.” 

the rest of your shift passed by in torturously slow time. every minute felt longer than the last one and every customer somehow infuriated you. the only thing on your mind was the subway man. the man who had touched you in a way that made you feel crazy yet had also left you with nothing. after what seemed like days, it was finally 21:00 and time to close the store. you swept up, wiped down counters, and even helped the clean the dishes - anything to leave as fast as you could. as soon as you were done, you quickly bid goodbye to your boss and stepped out of the restaurant, the cool night air hitting your skin. you shivered slightly and pulled your sweater over yourself. 

as you walked to your apartment, something caught your attention in the corner of your eye. just across the street, a tall man walked briskly. a tall man in a grey suit. carrying a black briefcase. your eyes widened and you quickened your pace - it had to be the subway man. you watched as he suddenly turned into an alleyway. barely looking to see if any cars were coming, you ran across the street, trying to catch up to him and turning into the alleyway where he went. to your dismay, the end of the alleyway diverged into two different directions. you looked down each direction but didn’t catch a glimpse of the man or any clue as to which way he went. not wanting to get lost and given that it was late at night and dark out, you decided to admit defeat and exited the alleyway, continuing on your way home. 

you wondered on the way home if you had maybe just imagined the man turning into that alleyway. maybe seeing him in the morning and spending your whole fourteen hour shift thinking about him had made you crazy. as you made it to your apartment, you were fairly certain you had just imagined seeing him. reaching into your sweater pocket for the keys to your apartment, you were suddenly startled by a strong arm wrapping around your body and a hand firmly pressing against your mouth, inhibiting your ability to make any audible noise. you felt a hot breath tickle your ear and a low voice murmur, “looking for me?”

the strong arm turned you around and pressed you against the door so you were now facing him - the subway man. his hand was still pressed against your mouth. “no need to scream, right, darling?” you nodded and he removed his hand from your mouth before bending down to pick up your apartment keys that you had dropped in shock and he handed them to you.

you stayed frozen, keys in hand, until the man finally spoke again. “you’re not going to go inside?”

you blinked, coming back to reality. “no, i am, sorry- you just…” your words trailed off, the shock of his surprise clearly catching you off guard.

as you fumbled with your keys, hands shaking, you could feel the man still standing behind you. as you pushed the door to your apartment open, the man stepped in behind you, shutting and locking the door. 

he stayed leaning against the door, dropping his briefcase on the floor next to you. you looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, but his gaze bore into your skin and made you feel uncomfortable and not nearly covered enough in your skirt and sweater. 

“you followed me today.” he finally spoke, taking a stride closer to you. 

“i… did i?” you questioned, trying to play dumb. 

he laughed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “you did. in the alleyway.”

you didn’t respond, so he took another step closer to you, now towering over you as you looked up at him. “don’t play any games with me,” he muttered. his hand reached up to gently tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and cup your face, before he bent down to press his lips to yours. you kissed him back, leaning into his touch. the kiss was soft but you could tell it was filled with a deep yearning. his hand tangled it’s way into your hair and he tugged gently, making you moan against his mouth. when he pulled away, his fingers gently brushed over your lips. 

“on your knees.” he muttered firmly. you quickly sank to your knees and watched as he undid his belt, dropping his perfectly tailored grey pants to the floor, quickly followed by his boxers. he stroked his hard length, then reached his other hand down to carefully tilt your chin up to look at him. 

“you think you’re clever, huh? following me? did you think i wouldn’t catch you?” 

“no, i…” your voice trailed off as he reached down to grab your hand and guided you to continue stroking him.

“are you gonna apologize, darling?”

you hummed in agreement and his hand moved to the back of your head, guiding your mouth onto his length. you bobbed your head back and forth, trying to take as much of him as you could. his hand stayed resting on the back of your head, tangled in your hair, guiding your movements. he would occasionally push you so far down that you could feel him touching the back of your throat, making you gag and making tears burn in the corner of your eyes. you hollowed out your cheeks and he groaned in response before pushing you off of him. 

“get up.” you rose, unsure why he had made you stop. his hand wrapped lightly around your neck and he inched his face forward, lips brushing against yours. “are you going to let me cum inside you, darling? are you going to be a good girl for me?”

“yes,” you breathed, feeling the arousal in your underwear growing. “please.”

he smirked at your response and turned you around, pressing you against the wall, so he was now behind you. you felt his hands lift up your skirt and toy with the hem of your underwear, dropping them to pool around your ankles. he stroked his length teasingly against your wet folds, slapping your slick entrance a couple of times. “please,” you whimpered, the teasing getting unbearable. 

“please, what? you use your words, darling.”

“please, fuck me,” you whispered, and despite not being able to see his face, you knew the exact smirk he was making. when you finally felt him slip in, one hand firmly gripping your hip, the other resting on the wall for support near your head, you couldn’t stop the moan escaping your lips. he was so big, you could feel him in your gut as he sunk further into you. when he finally began to thrust, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips meeting your ass blended together until you were certain you were seeing stars. you felt the knot in your stomach building and tried to hold tighter onto the wall. 

“cum for me, sweetheart,” you heard the man whisper in a deep voice near your ear. “i’ve got you.” 

you whimpered, and with a couple more deep thrusts, the pressure in your stomach unraveled and you felt your legs shake as you gripped the wall tighter, trying to steady yourself. he continued to thrust into you, every movement overstimulating you and eliciting a whimper to slip from your lips, until you finally felt him come undone inside you. 

his hand moved from your hip to wrap firmly around your neck, gently turning your chin to face him, as he planted a passionate kiss to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth. when he finally pulled out, you felt an ache in your core, knowing you would be sore tomorrow. you turned around to face the man, watching as he was pulling his pants back on, fastening his belt. you leaned against the wall, still breathless and slightly shaky. he bent to grab his briefcase and straightened his suit, just like he had done at the subway. this time, he leaned closer to you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before bowing slightly and clicking the door to your apartment shut as he left without another word. 

you groaned, leaning your head against the cool wall, before picking up your underwear from the floor and getting into the shower to clean yourself off.

when you awoke the next morning, still sore, you stretched lazily in bed. it was early morning and you had another day-long shift at the bakery. you quickly got ready, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. you got ready to leave the house, slipping on your shoes, but when you opened the door to your apartment, you froze. 

lying outside your door, in perfect arrangement, was a bouquet of roses with an envelope sticking out of them and a small box. you stepped out of the door quickly, looking around to see if you could spot who had dropped these off at your door - surely it was a mistake. not seeing anyone, you grabbed the bouquet and small box and brought it inside the house. the box was black and rectangular, wrapped with a pink ribbon. you hurriedly opened it, and your jaw dropped. a delicate bracelet lay inside and next to it - a morning after pill. you laughed when you saw it, instantly realizing who it was from. the bracelet was beautiful, though, and you clasped it to your wrist, admiring the way it sat beautifully on you. it had to be the most expensive piece of jewellery you owned. 

you looked at the bouquet of roses next, and plucked the envelope from where it lay. you flipped it over a couple of times, but it wasn’t signed. you opened it carefully and your jaw dropped once again. a stack of bills lay inside and your hands shook as you carefully counted the money - 1.5 million won. your hands trembled as you held the money, unable to believe it was real. despite there being no indication that it was from the subway man, you just knew. you could feel it. as you finally stepped out of the house to go to your shift, you hoped that maybe you would see him again. 

[voxslays]

what if ayano and 1980s ryoba fought to the death hunger-games style? who would win?

If Ryoba found out Ayano was her future child:

Ayano: She's.. Really good at this..

If both are clueless that they are related:

Ryoba: Wow! That was easy!

[voxslays]

More text post memes

[voxslays]

Why dis 🔪 look so mad😭😭😭

[voxslays]

Male! Ryoba Aishi x F! Reader

You should have just avoided him the moment you saw the signs. Then maybe you wouldn't be in this life right now.

You wouldn't be in this situation where you're married to a psycho.

It all started in my first year of high school.

You were running late for the opening ceremony on your first day of school at the prestigious Akademi High School. Your parents thought that attending this school would help you attend a good university in the future.

Then You ran into him; you shouldn't have given him your name the moment you met him.

.

.

.

.

.

.

You should have notice how he was acting strange

.

.

You shouldn't have befriended him

.

.

You should have known that he was the one watching you

.

.

.

.

You should have just stay away from him

.

.

.

.

You shouldn't have followed him to the gym-

Mommy?

You heard a small voice called "mommy." The voice called again. You turned to the voice but only saw your sweet daughter Ayano tugging your dress and worriedly calling you. Then you felt a sharp pain in your hand and turned back to see your finger had been cut by the knife you were holding.

You spaced out a bit as the blood dripped onto the chopping board, coating the half-chopped vegetable. You then snapped back to reality and panicked at the mess. "Oh my! " You shouted and Hurriedly grabbed a towel and placed it on the cut. You looked down at your daughter and asked, "Dear, can you clean the chopping board while mommy takes care of her cut?" Ayano nodded.

you quickly walked down to the bathroom, turned on the sink tap, and put the wounded finger on the falling water. You stare at the cut as the blood painted the water red before fading away. You shake your head. You turn off the tap, and grab the med kit from the cabinet and took the bandage before wrapping it around the cut. You put everything back and walked out of the bathroom into the kitchen, where you saw Ayano patiently waiting for you while holding the now clean chopping board.

You walked towards Ayano and said, "Thank you, dear," and crouched down to her level and softly patted her head, "I'm sorry you have to see your mommy being so clumsy." You lightly laughed as Ayano smiled a bit, you stood up, and saw the time.

"Oh my! would you look at the time your father will be home soon," you said, and grab the chopping board from Ayano. "Sweetheart, would you please set up the table while mommy finishes dinner?" You asked Ayano, who nodded and ran to the dining table to set up the table for dinner.

You set down the chopping board on the counter, grab some fresh vegetables, and continued where you left off awhile your dull eyes began staring out into nothing and humming a song.

You smiled when you heard the front door opened and a familiar voice calling out

"Honey! I'm home!"

[voxslays]

𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ where you discover your salesman wasn’t the ideal boyfriend, he was ruining your life, so when you disappear without a trace, he makes everything to find you, only that he wasn’t prepared for the surprise you’d give him.

warnings_ age gap (not specified), fluff, angst, unhealthy relationships, implied sex, choking, toxic salesman (surprised?), no proofreading

notes_ would y’all hate me if I pulled a fic about Kim Shin from Goblin without seeing the k drama first? also, NEW HAN JEONG-WON FIC AND JOEL MILLER FALLACY SERIES PART TWO ARE COMING!!!!

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ———୨ৎ───୨ৎ

The afternoon was cold, with much wind and threats of showers. As you walked outside your job, you gave it one last glance at the beauty salon. Your days of scheduling appointments and smelling the acrylic nail paint were over.

You had been fired. Why? It was a mystery.

Your gaze is on the sidewalk. Your head is somewhere else. Questioning what had you done wrong, what was the issue? You wanted answers. And they weren’t provided.

You feel embarrassed, angry, and too fragile. But when you look up, you sigh, already feeling some comfort.

You walk towards the dark grey Maserati parked by the sidewalk and get inside.

“Hey, you”

Your boyfriend turns and smiles when you lean to kiss his cheek.

“How was your day?” He asks, in his perfectly neat suit and perfectly neat hair.

The question breaks your smile, until slowly, you are on the verge of making a pout. And suddenly, you burst out crying.

“I’m sorry…” you say amidst the tears.

When your boyfriend was a successful businessman, who owned a Maserati and was a responsible adult, you felt like a miserable young woman who had just lost her job.

“What happened?” He asks again, hugging you as he can while being in the driver's seat. His big hands caressed your face and wiped the tears.

You sighed, trying to relax before speaking.

“I got fired. And I don’t know why” you admit with tons of shame. But your boyfriend kissed your face all over until your sobs grew quieter.

“Look at me, sweetheart” his warm tone was enough to calm you. And his gorgeous smile offered reassurance too. “They don’t know the smart, talented, and kind woman you are. It was just a beauty salon, baby”

“Yeah but-“

“You don’t need it. I can take care of you” Your eyes snap open in surprise.

You were very close to finishing your master's degree. With a bachelor’s already, nobody in Seoul wanted to hire you despite having amazing qualifications.

But you couldn’t financially depend on your boyfriend.

“No, dear. I can’t let you sustain me…” you say with a little chuckle. “I must thank you, another reason to adore you’ve just given me. But I can’t…” he smirks, hands in your cheeks.

“Yes, you can….”

Upon his insistence, you sigh.

“Fine. But just until I find a new job” you state.

“Sure, pretty one” Both of you smile at each other and you have to kiss him again.

“Thank you” he only nods in agreement.

“Your home?” You nod at him.

“I’ll cook you whatever you want” The truth was, the salesman loved your food and was happy to help you while cooking to your surprise.

“That sounds great to me,” he says starting the car and pulling away.

You don’t glance at the beauty salon. Maybe your boyfriend was right. They didn’t know you. You preferred to focus on the meal you could prepare for him.

Three months into the relationship you could already start feeling the domesticity creeping in. Not that you minded.

…

His hand rested comfortably in your lower back.

“Stop being silly. Open your eyes, baby” he says in your and you chuckle, not daring to open your eyes.

“I can’t feel the bottom of the pool. Of course, I’m not opening my eyes”

Your boyfriend invited you to spend the night at his luxurious apartment. He said that nobody used the pool for early spring. It was rectangular-shaped, warm lights that illuminated the whole pool.

It was the pool of a millionaire. And there was your salesman boyfriend teaching you to swim.

“But you’re already swimming, love” Your eyes snap open and you realize he was just holding the tip of your fingers.

“Now this is embarrassing…” you admit with a slight blush forming on your cheeks.

Your boyfriend chuckled and finally let you go. For a couple of seconds you feel in danger, but soon your salesman swims closer to hold you.

“This such a great day. I passed my cultural competency test. I got a new job, you taught me how to swim” you blurt out while grabbing his hands and caressing his knuckles.

“A new job? Where?” Your salesman asks with genuine curiosity.

“The local library. It’s my dream job, baby” You sounded so happy and excited.

Even your boyfriend was infected by your great mood. He ignored certain thoughts running through his head and decided to enjoy the night with you.

“That’s great news. Congratulations, love” Before you can add something else, he kisses you.

And until your ass brushes the edge of the pool, you know he has been craving more than some kisses.

Your legs close around his waist and you suppress a moan after how hard he already was.

You weren’t even wearing a bikini. It was a swimsuit.

“Am I actually that hot or you’re just too promiscuous?” He stopped kissing your jaw to start laughing.

“Shut up, you make it sound like I am a rabid child” you cackle.

“A rabid child? What the fuck is that, baby?” You were still surprised you could laugh and switch back to sexy time with him.

“Stop laughing or we won’t fuck” he says rolling his eyes.

“I can live without your cock”

“You can’t”

“No, I can’t” you accept with a big smile.

When in public, your salesman was often quiet, meticulous, and even cold.

But for you, he always warmed up.

…

The miso soup was boiling already. You hurried to the stove and let the flames die. It smelled good. You also made some tempura and rice with kimchi for your man.

He was staying the night at your place and you were happy to have him as your guest.

“It’s me!” You hear from the door.

“Come to the kitchen!” You answer back with a smile.

You had given him a copy of your apartment’s keys five days ago. He seemed surprised but quickly accepted the keys, saying he would take such good care of them. Then he basically urged you to ride his face as a thank-you gesture for the keys and you screamed you loved him when you came. And you weren’t pressuring him to give you the keys to his place. You could wait until he decided to do the same.

“Is that miso soup?” Your salesman asks hugging you from behind. “And tempura?”

“Yes, now go take a shower and it’ll be served when you come out” You turned around, letting him cage you in his arms.

“Fuck, I adore you so much,” he says peppering your face with soft kisses, making you laugh.

When he came back already showered, he was in grey sweatpants and a white tee. Even his pajamas looked expensive. His wet hair made him look disheveled but painfully sexy.

As soon as you saw him you wanted to beg him to fuck you on the table. But you were hungry.

“How was your day?” He asks, drinking his sparkling water with a straw.

“Good. I’m going to have two weeks of spring break” you answer after chewing a piece of sweet potato from the tempura. “And… I seriously had a pregnancy scare”

He stopped sipping, paying full attention to you.

“Really?” He asked with feigned but well-disguised disappointment. Just to test you.

“Yes, I was going to call you in a panic but an hour later the issue was solved” you admit chuckling.

Your boyfriend eyes you with a deep gaze. Unbeknownst to you, he was scanning every one of your moves. He wondered what was your opinion on parenthood.

“Do you wish to have kids?” He asks with confidence.

The question makes you tilt your head in doubt.

“I like kids. I bond with them very well” you start, carefully choosing your following words. “But… I’m scared of pregnancies. And- perhaps I’m too selfish, but I won’t put my body in danger for that”

You look down, not sure why. But if your boyfriend wanted kids one day, you would certainly be disappointing him.

To your surprise, he is relieved and surprised.

“It’s okay. Adoption is always an option…” you look up at him, meeting his smile with a slight sigh of relief. “I couldn't bear the pain of losing you if anything went wrong”

Your smile grows.

“That was a good rhyme…” he frowns but soon chuckles after paying attention to what he said.

The salesman grows convinced each day that you were meant for him. That he was your salvation and only chance to succeed.

In your mind, you were living the dream. You had a job, an almost finished profesional career, and the perfect boyfriend.

What could go wrong?

…everything.

…

Three weeks later, you were a mess. Once again, the library dismissed you after sending a rejection letter. Which you never sent. You apologized and begged to stay but your boss kept saying that in a year you could apply again since they would move outside of Seoul in a couple of months.

Your eye twitched in anger and you huffed with annoyance as you fished out your keys from your bag.

When you finally arrive at your door. A pink paper caught your attention.

An eviction notice.

“You have to be kidding me…” you mumbled, bumping your forehead against the door.

Everything had been great for almost a month.

At least your boyfriend remained perfect in your eyes. But what happened?

Your phone started ringing and as soon as you saw the nickname you had given him pop up on the screen, you sighed.

“Hi, love” you greeted.

“Are you home?” He asks and it sounds like he was stuck in the middle of traffic.

“Yeah, I just arrived” The tiredness was evident in your voice.

“What happened?” He knew you so well.

“Nothing…”

“Don’t lie to me, y/n…” you also knew he was smiling.

Busted.

“I got fired again. And there’s a fucking eviction notice at my door” Your voice sounds a little broken, but you do your best to not cry.

“I’ve been punctual with every payment” you add, finally entering home and closing the door. “I don’t know what is happening with my life”

“You are so successful and have your life in order. And I’m so miserable and-“

“You are fine, my love” he states, instantly making you feel lighter.

“No, I’m not”

“Sweetheart, stop” you sigh, trying to calm yourself, so you nod despite him not being able to see you. “You are perfect. This is just a bad season. Let me help you a little”

“What? No! We’ve talked about this”

“I’ll help you find a new place. And don’t worry about the rent or your tuition for now…” you finally broke down.

“Just say yes, love,” your salesman says through the phone.

You cry, in happiness and sadness.

“Fine, but I’ll find a way to pay you back” You hear him chuckle.

“Let’s not worry about that for now. Yes?…”

As long you were with him, everything would be alright.

Right?…

…

The smell of fresh paint makes your head hurt, but it’s worth it.

Your salesman had found the best place for you to live 8 days ago. It was a ten-minute walk from his elegant department. The apartment that you were now calling home was bigger than the first one. It had a decent master bedroom, one and a half bathrooms, a studio, a mini kitchen, and a living room.

You thanked your boyfriend for lots of cooking, baking, and sex. Promise to actually pay him as soon as you go back to work.

But in the meantime, you would paint the living room. Pearl color, glossy finish.

You dig a brush to start with the edges and sink it into the bucket of paint.

But then, you remember what the landlord said. He recommends you turn off all the electricity in the place to avoid trouble.

And so you did. But an odd sound caught your attention.

A beep. Unusual because none of your devices emitted that sound.

You looked around, thinking it was just the sound of the power. Until you started eyeing the wall you were about to paint.

“Shit…” you get up on an old pair of stairs, looking at the right edge of the wall.

Slowly, you peel the still-fresh paint and pull the object.

A camera that looked like a black dot. It was so small that you could barely fit it between your thumb and index finger.

Horrified, you placed it back onto the wall.

And after turning back on the power, you grabbed your keys and went out.

…

Your salesman knew about your missing satin dress.

When you asked him how did he know, he said you mentioned it to him.

You hadn’t, but in the heat of the moment, he convinced you.

That was a day after you moved into the new place.

It was awful to be pointing at him when he remained innocent. But your brain quickly made the correlation.

When he said he would be out for a couple of days, you knew it was time to see if your theories were right or wrong.

But you weren’t ready to unveil his dirty little secrets.

You brought a hacker into your place. She was a classmate of yours. With her experience and a silent agreement of confidentiality, you paid her.

There were cameras in your bedroom, living room and studio. The footage of them was linked to a random apartment in a modest area. The owner of the place was Park Tae-soo and the man in the picture of the attached ID was your boyfriend. But that wasn’t his name. At least not the one he gave when he met you.

At that point, you realized the man you had been dating for months was insane.

Park Tae-soo was also responsible for your eviction, you getting fired from two jobs. The man that had invited you out a year ago was dead. Likely because the salesman killed him.

So you understood, he had been watching for a long time.

And it scared you. But it also made your blood boil.

Knowing he was gone, you cried for two days. Because you were aware that after his return, nothing would be the same.

You just had to make a call.

…

You questioned if the way he was holding your hand was real.

A touch so warm and loving, making you oblivious of the monster he was.

He took you to a Spanish restaurant. He made you laugh and share things about your days while he was gone.

You just said you missed him so much.

The walk back home was calm. Slightly cold, but he gave you his scarf.

And back at your place, you poured some wine and took out some vinyl.

“You have so many vintage pieces of vinyl,” your salesman says.

“I stole them from my grandfather”

“He had a varied taste” You take a seat beside him, handing him a glass of wine.

“Any you prefer?” You ask, leaning into him.

“These are American and British singers or bands. I don’t know much of them” you nod, understanding him.

“And you, baby?” Your salesman asks.

You eye through the options. There’s Johnny Cash, The Ronettes, Aretha Franklin, ABBA and many more.

But one was your favorite.

“I love Lesley Gore” he watches you enthusiastically as the music starts playing.

In his rotten heart, there is love for you. And while he knows he’s terrible for you, he thinks he can’t let you go.

“Dance with me…” you say taking his hand.

He chuckles, leaving the wine on the table to follow you.

“I don’t know how to dance this…” he admits.

“It’s a slow tempo. Just grab my waist and follow me…”

He does it. Then you place your arms around his neck and your head lays against his chest.

You don't own me

Don't try to change me in any way

You don't own me

Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay

For a couple of seconds, the salesman wonders if that was it. If he should quit his job, ask you to marry him and leave the country. What started as a random obsession, turned into real love. And he grew without that. So he had to thank you for making him feel human again.

And don't tell me what to do

And don't tell me what to say

And please, when I go out with you

Don't put me on display

Despite hating vulnerability, he was yours. Swimming in his own thoughts, he completely lost the lyrics of your favorite song. And that would’ve helped him the following days.

I'm young and I love to be young

I'm free and I love to be free

To live my life the way I want

To say and do whatever I please

Would it be worth it? To live in a lie? To accept he had tied you down, pinned you so hard so you could never leave his side? No, but if you stayed, it would end up that way.

“I love you so much” you admit with honesty. He caresses your waist and kisses your forehead.

“I love you too,” he says.

And the fact that you loved him insanely, was dangerous.

You hold the tears as you dance with him in silence, in the middle of the dark room. And when he starts undressing you, kiss after kiss, you accept you would miss him like hell.

…

The place is empty.

The salesman doesn’t know what to feel.

His first thought was that you were in danger. Quickly he started looking around, noticing each drawer and room was completely empty. No clothes, no books, no food, nothing.

He grew anxious and angry.

It made no sense, you called him not even half an hour ago. He last saw you two days ago.

And then, he acknowledged some music softly playing in the kitchen. The salesman frowned and slowly walked towards the music. His cautious steps gave him enough time to notice which song was playing.

The same song you chose to dance with him the last time he saw you.

He listened closely, paying attention to the song as he entered the kitchen.

You don’t own me? He owned you, he owned you since the moment he set eyes on you.

Beside the player, a note was perfectly folded.

The salesman gulped before unfolding the paper.

I love you like you have no idea but my pain will never be your pleasure.

Why you just couldn’t be normal?

The salesman bitterly smirked at the paper. He ripped it apart and chuckled.

Normal? So you never understood him.

You had known only his best side. Always keeping the composure to prevent his true self from being seen. And somehow, your little brain had worked out so hard that you unmasked him.

Was he surprised? Yes and no.

All he wanted was for you to depend on him. He wanted to make you feel like you couldn’t live a day without him.

But he missed the point that you already felt that way.

When he walked to inspect the cameras, his rage escalated. He noticed the cameras had been off. So what he had been seeing of you was already filmed footage from previous days.

How did you manage to unmask him?

He was always so careful. Rarely someone knew he had done something vile.

But you were oh so smart.

The salesman chuckled again, confident that he would find you.

…

He couldn’t find you. A whole year passed and you had disappeared. You were no longer enrolled in college. He knew you were alive and active in the country. But he couldn’t find where.

It was a torture. And he wouldn’t be lying if he said it didn't feel like a game at the beginning. He really thought you would eventually appear.

The recruitment period was once again over and he had to hand in some reports at the island.

His confident steps through the elegant hallways sounded with echo. He accommodated his black tie.

Two pink guards opened the doors and let him inside the office.

It was the same, except for a leopard coat hanging from a table.

“Good to see you’re back,” Hwang In-ho said standing up from his minibar.

The salesman knew him, he was a guard when In-ho won his games. When Il-nam took a liking to him, the salesman spent a lot of time with the man.

They weren’t friends, but colleagues? Sure.

“I have the report”

“Hand it, please. I’m running late for a meeting” The salesman was about to ignore the comment but the door was opened again.

He turned to see who was the intruder and almost dropped the papers.

It was you.

“Sorry to bother…” you say with a little smile while acknowledging the salesman.

“That’s y/n. She’s my wife” In ho added while being distracted, concentrated in the report, signing it before placing it in a folder.

You exchange looks with him and all you can feel is relief and happiness. He would finally understand where had you been for a year. He would likely get mad. And you would cheer for that.

“Something happens?” In-ho asks after noticing neither of you had exchanged words, only looks.

“It was a silent greeting, dear,” you say while putting on the leopard coat.

“Hmm, I’ll send this report out. Shall we go to the meeting?” You nod, giving a kiss to your husband’s cheek and waiting a couple of seconds after he walks out of the room.

The salesman watches you closely. You cut your hair, and your skin looked like glass. And while you looked more mature, even older, you also looked heavenly gorgeous.

You try to walk past him but he harshly grabs your forearm.

“What are you doing?” He asks with brutal seriousness.

“What do you mean?” Your feigned innocence makes his blood boil.

“Don’t play dumb”

“I left a man who wanted to control me. I found an opportunity. Now I have a stable job. Oh, and I married a wealthy man who actually cares for me and sees me as his partner. I love him…”

To your surprise, he grabs your neck, choking you.

This was the real salesman. The man you should’ve known.

“You should’ve done this when we were together” you chuckle while being barely able to speak. “I would’ve been such a good slut for you”

He only smirks.

“What happened to the innocent clumsy woman I was fucking?” He asks with rage and disgust. He lets you free after hearing some guards coming nearby.

“Now I’m just like you” you whisper in his ear, being able to brush your lips against his skin with your high heels.

Your scent intoxicated him. He was about to hold you close. But he knew he couldn’t. And you had already left the office.

…

The train passes, and it leaves the station, forming a wave of wind that invades the place. When the salesman looks at the other side of the tracks, there you are.

You lock eyes with him.

A genuine smile forms on your face, eyes sparkling with bittersweet warmth. The salesman takes your gaze as cocky and even vengeful.

He deserves it. He tried to ruin you and succeeded but was taken aback by your graceful manner of handling the situation.

The woman staring at him is just like him. Though, you were corrupted by him.

He can tell by the way your lips are painted in bright red, by the way, your elegant heels give you a straight posture, by the way your eyeliner looks sharp enough to intimidate, and by the way your hair looks perfectly and naturally curled; you know how his world works.

And what the salesman thought it was an hour of staring and decoding your soul; was actually seconds.

And when another train arrives, he crosses the doors and brushes past people to get to the other side.

You’re married? He couldn’t care less.

He has to touch you and know that you are actually there. He needs to hear you still love him despite all the damage he caused. He doesn’t deserve it but he craves it. Because after tasting heaven by your side, nothing could satisfy him anymore.

Not even his job, not even the thrill of killing and torturing.

He will get on his knees and lick your heels if it means you will stay with him. He would dedicate the rest of his life to praising you. Thank you for loving him. For setting his heart on fire and making him dependent on you.

But when the salesman makes it to the other side, you’re gone once again.