★
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
YOU ARE THE REASON
Show & Tell
d e v o n
🪼
AnasAbdin
Discoholic 🪩
PR's Tumblrdome
No title available
No title available
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Claire Keane
Today's Document
if i look back, i am lost
roma★
NASA
No title available
Acquired Stardust
tumblr dot com
seen from Germany
seen from South Korea
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Spain
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Mexico
seen from Türkiye
seen from Netherlands
seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
@mr-blenderman
WELCOME TO MY BLOG!
He/Him/Ele/Dele - 🇧🇷🇵🇾🇯🇵🏳️⚧️- Adult
🍞 Bread's side blog for NSFW/NSFL stuff
🍞 NSFL ALPHABET
🍞 Art tag: #🍞myart
🍞 Follows from @breadtheend
🍞 Originally made this blog to write fanfiction but now i just rt/post stuff that makes me hard which is mostly gore 🫶
Masterlist below
SAW:
Diego Cortez x Reader
You go to Mexico with John Kramer and meet a cute taxi driver. Too bad you gotta torture him now. You freak. (Male Reader): (LINK)
SCREAM:
Stu Marcher x Reader
You and Stu share your love for Knifes and Gore (Male Reader): (LINK)
FNAF:
Steve Raglan/William Afton x Reader
Reader works for the pizzaria but after the missing children accident has to be fired and find another job. Still misses his old boss despite knowing his secret and wishes to see him again, but who knows fate might be on his side. (Male reader)
Pt. 1
Pt. 2
William comes home beat up and you take care of him (Gn Reader): (LINK)
Mike Schimdt x Reader
Mike is exhausted (physically and mentally) and just need someone to vent and find comfort him (Male Reader): (LINK)
(all Male Reader)
Catmen OCs:
Enough catboys, now its the catmen's turns (every character is at least 30 years old)
Trevor (The Victim): Introduction
Thomas Davis (The Hentchman): Introduction
I love that on the internet i can find friend w the same batshit crazy interests as me
Its gonna take a while until my gayass learns how to make those aesthetically pleasing banners
hentchman! catboy(man)! character x taller! human! criminal boss! soft dom! male! reader
Image by me (the author)
>>Synopsis: Thomas, a stray catboy who's looking for food to feed his younger siblings accidentally runs into the local criminal org boss' and gets a job(?)
>>Cw/Tw: child abuse, blood, mentions of trafficking and murder and one eyeball, pet names, no smut.
>>Children catboys are called kitten/litter 'cuz I thought it was cute. You and Thomas have a 3-5 age gap (up for interpretation).
>>1.4 k words
...
Unwanted litter. That was Thomas and his younger siblings were. Abandoned in a no named road inside boxes that barely fit the 4 of them. As the oldest sibling, it was his responsibility to gather food and find shelter for them.
He quickly learned that being a stray hybrid brought advantages and disadvantages. On one side, he could use his looks and overall cuteness to ask people for money, or use it as a distraction to mug them. On the other, he was constantly targeted by strange groups. Despite being abandoned, catboys are quite the catch in the black market, specially ones as young as him. Thankfully, he had his claws and sheer speed to get away from dangerous situations.
He taught his younger siblings to read signs for danger, and how to steal and flee effortlessly. Them 4 of them being quite known for their mischievous behaviour.
He was 17 now, his younger siblings being 15, 10 and 8 respectively. Thomas was coming home with that day's dinner when from the corner of the street he heard a whine from one of his younger siblings following with the sound of something soft being kicked and thrown to the ground.
He sprinted to where their hideout was and found it completely destroyed, 3 men in suits, all armed, standing above it.
"That's what you get for trying to steal from me you little shit!"
One of the men screamed at the young kitten already on the floor crying, clutching his stomach. The 2 youngest curled up in the corner shaking from fear from the sight.
Thomas saw red. Lunging himself at the man and making deep scratched cross his face. The other two startled by the sudden attack went for their guns when suddenly both fell to the ground with a pool of blood forming under their heads. Thomas was so hellbent in protecting his younger siblings he didn't notice what had happened.
He also didn't notice when a strange, tall, third figure walked to that street and shot the man he was fighting in the middle of his head.
Everything then went quiet.
Too much adrenaline in his veins and now the blood splattered on his face made it hard to think straight. He looked up thinking he'd have to fight someone else but instead he saw you.
Word on the street said that one of the local gangs had recently gained a new leader after the last one was assassinated. A young new boss. Who ruled with an iron thumb and now caused fear in the heart of the others in the city, who was slowly taking out any competition and who was bribing the cops to take a blind eye.
And who was currently looking down at him right now.
He stood in front of his siblings, in a futile attempt to shield them from the new mysterious man.
You however, weren't interested in a fight. Simply hiding the gun back in your coat and lightly kicking one of the men on the ground.
"These men were causing me trouble for quite a while. 'bout time they met their end"
You then looked directly into his eyes. He had that fire in him you could really use in your organization, plus, judging by his clothes he clearly could use the money. He looked young, sure, but nothing some training couldn't fix. Plus you could use someone younger than you, given everyone else was in their 30-40 and you barely in your 20s.
"I like you, we could use someone with your fire in my gang, plus-" you pointed to his siblings "-they could use a warm home"
He was suspicious, WHY WOULD HE NOT, humans are not to be trusted, specially with hybrids, but his mind was too fuzzy to think straight and he just wanted to keep them safe. and warm. warm is safe.
"Work for me and in exchange I'll train you and feed you and your family."
His siblings latched onto him and held onto his legs and torso, not trusting you one bit.
You noticed, of course, thankfully you had one last trick up your sleeve. You called some of your fellow men, all wearing hats just like you. They quickly arrived and upon a quick snap of your fingers they took off their hats, revealing that, all of them were hybrids as well, all different species of cat.
"I don't get why your type is only sold as sex slaves, you have too much potential for fighting for that"
You snapped your fingers again and they put their hats back, then, you extended your hand for him to take.
Thomas was…surprised, while its not rare for a human to own many cat hybrids, it WAS rare for them to hold important roles, specially as henchman.
He looked at his siblings, fragile and skinny, then he looked at you, the light from the pole hiding your face. But deep down, maybe, he knew this was the best opportunity for them to live a better life that isn't stealing.
"Will my siblings need to work for you as well?"
You chuckled, this boy really cared about them.
"No. I can tell you don't want them to." You then leaned closer "I just want you."
his breath hitched, too close too soon. But, the offer was good.
So he took your hand and officially joined your organization.
…
28 years had passed ever since that encounter.
And he truly believed he couldn't have made a better decision in life. He grew almost double in size and was as strong as a tank.
But of course it was a long journey to get where he was. On that night after that first meeting, upon getting in your car he could finally see your face and was surprised to see you were barely older than him. Your smile warm and comforting and he swears that if he had just seen that in that street he would've accepted sooner.
You trained together, ate together, basically grew this organization together so it was no surprised when you assigned him as your right hand man.
28 years since he joined.
17 years since he became your main bodyguard.
15 years since he became your right hand man.
and 5 years since he became your lover.
You were well acquainted with his younger siblings as well, seeing them as your own children, all grew well with self sustained jobs thanks to the support you provided.
Well you HAD money why not use it?
Your gang was notorious for having more hybrids than humans in its roster, those who underestimated you were quickly met with horrible ends. Usually by Thomas' hands.
Today was one of those days, same day of your dating anniversary. You were waiting for him in your office, sitting in the leather chair while staring at the closed door.
He came back to your mansion covered head to toe in blood, cigar in mouth.
"Ey boss, I got you a gift"
He smirked at you and threw an eyeball on your table. What a cute gift. You took it and placed it in the jar with the others.
"Shame I had paperwork to do, I would've loved to have watched it"
You stood, towering over him and scratching his neck.
"Good kitty"
45 years old grown ass man being called kitty. he adored it.
He began purring very loudly and leaning towards you, resting his face in your chest while you still cradled his neck, putting blood all over your suit, you didn't mind it of course, just another excuse to get undressed.
"C'mon, let's get cleaned up I don't want you smelling like iron"
You took his hand and brought him to your private bathroom, a nice bath already prepared for the two of you.
You had many other surprises for him im this special day but he would have to wait to see.
...
Author's note: since this is his intro there isn't much yet but TRUST ME things will get steamyyyyy
masochist! victim! catboy(man)! character x snuff director! sadistic! dom! male! reader
Image by me (the author)
>>Synopsis: Trevor meets a a snuff maker on the internet and takes interest in him, not realizing this would change his life forever.
>>Cw/Tw: pet names (baby), Gore and Torture (only mentioned), kidnapping, glorification of self harm, overall some fucked up themes lmao. No smut. Reader lines are like this. Nothing too graphic yet this is just his intro.
>>1.3 k words
...
Trevor had lived a relatively normal life, okay parents, okay school, okay-ish friends, he just happened to have some niche interests but honestly that's not really his fault. He also just happened to "accidentally" stumble into the wrong side of the internet at his ripe age of 16.
His computer was slowly but surely becoming an archive for gore of any and all kinds, from open self harm wounds to beheadings and torture, while all he could think of when looking at them were "god I wish that were me".
Don't get him wrong he's not suicidal and he does actually enjoy living but he'd be lying if he said his n°1 goal in life wasn't to find someone who'd be willing to snuff him and upload it on the internet as well, maybe he'd even become popular like some videos out there. He was young, pretty, and he also happened to notice plenty of victims were hybrids like him, specifically catboys, so surely, SURELY it wouldn't be hard to find someone.
...
Yeah that never happened. No matter how many "strangers" on the internet he talked to, most of them were either just roleplaying or lived too far away for it to be a realistic goal.
And then he became just too old to be calling himself a cat"boy" anymore, 36 and working as an errand boy in some random low profile company, he was even starting to have a hard time in the REGULAR dating pool.
He settled for just watching others get mauled in red rooms online while cutting himself, that's basically just masturbation for freaks. Becoming a frequent viewer in this new up and coming "streamer", there was something about this new one that just captivated him, he was oddly chatty, and flirty with his viewers.
Trevor never missed a new stream until after a particularly bad date left him too sad to join in.
He thought that might be the one, he really did. Charming, tall, sweet, he was everything he could've asked for…until…he saw the scars on Trevor's arm and immediately freaked out, feeling disgusted, bile growing in the back of his throat, as he called him names almost knocking the table in the process, then leaving him stranding and alone in that little bar.
Trevor cried himself to sleep, that man was perfect, of course he wouldn't want something damaged like him.
He logged back in the red room website the following day, thanking god it was a Saturday and he wouldn't have to go to work, hoping to find some distraction from the horrid date he had, when suddenly, he noticed that he had a notification in his inbox, a message request.
"Hey, you didn't show up yesterday. I missed you"
from you. his favorite streamer.
He was starstruck, really couldn't believe his eyes, he couldn't help but feel a bit flustered at that, you remembered him. you missed him.
Act cool act cool, he thought, couldn't miss this opportunity to talk to you.
"Sorry, I was a bit too tired to appear yesterday."
"It's fine, just wondered why my chat was more quiet yesterday lol"
"It's alright, I'm really excited for today's stream tho"
"Nah, I dont feel like streaming today. Your pfp is cute tho, I like that movie too"
And just like that the two of you started to chat. and chat. and chat. Almost everyday.
First, movies. You revealed to him you were quite fond of certain extreme movies and even took some as inspiration for some of your torture sections. He, of course, was the only one who noticed it.
Second, cutting. Trevor one day casually mentioned he sometimes cuts himself, not for any reason in particular he just sometimes does it.
"It feels nice honestly, always a hassle to clean up the blood but yk, its worth it hehe"
He figured, since you literally torture people for a living, you would be okay with it.
"Next time you do it show me a picture baby <3"
Oh. Oh! Yeah you were the one. He hurriedly make a long, fat reaching cut across his thigh and even scratched your name on the other, sending you a picture with a little too many filters.
God he was beautiful, his sickly pale skin in contrast to the beautiful red of his blood was really the highlight of your day, despite the filters you could still clearly see the many, MANY other scars he has across his thighs. You really just wanted to reopen all those scars yourself.
Third, video calls, on days you didn't stream you decided to chat with him, of course you still kept your face hidden but now you could finally see his face in its all glory. Sad eyes, cat ears, blonde short hair, god he was perfect you just couldn't wait to finally have him.
…
You decided to meet up in a café, just to chat, as you have told him. He ended up showing up 30 minutes earlier out of nervousness, and its a miracle he even was able to get there this early given how many outfits changes he had, how many times he fixed his hair, and how long he spend pondering what gift he should bring. He settled for a new hunting knife.
He shifted nervously in that chair as he stayed alone, his mind conjuring every bad possible thing that could happen during the date. The worst one being u just never showing up at all.
"Hey there, you came early"
Thankfully, right on time your showed up. Face somewhat covered by a cap and a face mask but he could notice the smile thanks to the crinkle of your eyes.
"I don't like being late" he giggled nervously, face red and flushed.
You sat down across from him "I honestly expected to wait here an hour, people your age aren't exactly punctual"
Oh. Right. He forgot he lied about his age. You blindly believed he was a 24 year old who just happened to age a bit poorly, you didn't mind it of course, he was still gorgeous in your eyes, with the white shirt and light brown cardigan perfectly fitting his smaller frame.
You listened to him, you saw him, you indulged in similar thing as him and even complemented each other with the sadist/masochist relationship. He really couldn't think he could fall any harder for you.
"Hey, it's getting a bit late isn't it? I heard there's a pretty park nearby, I could take you there if you wa-"
"YES! uh-yes.. yes please"
You smiled, perfect.
"Let's just order one last drink to go and then we'll walk there"
He nodded and briefly excused himself to the bathroom while you added an extra little ingredient to his coffee.
As you two walked, you watched as his movements slowed down, getting sloppy.
"You're probably just tired" You offered with a smile, oh so kindly offering to guide him back to your car to drive him home.
He looked better tied up and in your trunk anyways.
…
When he woke up his head was pounding, he was confused, last thing he remembered was walking with you before everything went dark.
He looked around, he saw that he was on top of a dirty old mattress with many…mysterious fluids on there. He tried leaving it but noticed his ankle was shackled to a pretty decent looking pipe.
Then, he finally recognized the room he was in.
He was in the same room your used to torture people in your movies.
And god.
He truly was in love now.
...
Author's notes: You can look at his concept design in my blog lol. He will be called The Victim
kittypet
yandere reader x catboy hybrid
this is inspired a catboy asmr i didnt finish listening to
cw;; dehumanization, abuse, cuntboy, nsfw, fingering, impact play
"wh... where am i?"
your eyes flicked to the 4 or so screens of CCTV footage. eyes catching on the sight of the black haired catboy sitting up in his makeshift bed. you put down your book and decided to make your way to greet your new guest.
as soon as the door slid open with a loud thunk much like a prison cell, you heard the sound of claws scrambling followed by the satisfying clink of metal restraints. you looked down at the pathetic and scrappy cat already scratching at the floor and you met his angry red eyes.
"who are you?!"
you knelt down in front of him, hand missing his head and going to pet up his long sleek black tail. He couldn't help but arch his back into the sensation, eyes almost closing for a moment. you chuckled darkly.
"so lovely... my precious kitten."
"wh-who do you-"
"shhh, kitty." your fingers moved from his tail to press firmly against his lips. "I'm your new owner."
the catboy's face turned to pure rage and he tried to bite at your finger but you pulled away too quickly.
"the hell you are! i don't fucking belong to anyone!"
you chuckled again. "i love when your type really believes in all the talk of peace and love."
you glared down at him. "you're an animal. your place is to be owned."
you stood up, figure towering over the small pathetic cat. "you should be honored, honestly. i think you're cute and lovely, such soft fur, such pretty eyes. you're worth my time domesticating."
his face quivered as his rage began to overtake him. he started to scream at you, yelling obscenities and rude words. but you just turned from him, the large metal door clinking closed as you left.
———
the next time you decided to see him in person was almost a week later. you enjoyed watching him slowly losing his mind every day as the only thing he was given was food. his screaming and yelling had started to finally subside as his reality dawned on him. and only then did you decide to start his training proper.
when he woke up he was in a new room, arms tied above his head and body dangling from a meat hook. before he even got here you made sure to give him something special, a drug for hybrids that increases their sensitivity. now he was torn between trying to be angry and wiggling against the ropes that made his skin burn and itch.
"good morning, kitty." you cooed at the cute sight of your kitten playing with his yarn.
he glared down at you, tears already pricking in his eyes. "fuck off."
you sighed. "well if you'd rather be alone, that's fine. i have-"
"no! no. no..... please." he already sounded so pathetic.
you walked closer to him, setting a gloved hand against his cheek. the poor little thing tried to rub his head against your hand, searching for pets and comfort. it warmed your heart to see him being a good pet.
"my pretty kitty..."
you grabbed an instrument he couldn't see from a table he didn't know was there. you hooked one of his legs over your shoulder exposing the cute cunt hidden between. a mess of black hair tried to protect his most sensitive place from your hungry eyes but you only found it more adorable. your free hand pushed through his messy bush and to his squishy pussy lips. the kitty full body shivered as you spread him and exposed his clit to the open air.
you used one of your fingers to rub teasingly against the sensitive nub causing him to let out a pathetic mewl. you hummed thoughtfully, watching his pussy grow slick and slippery from the slight touches. every little movement was like fire in his veins, a hot burning heat that shot straight to his brain. his tail and toes curled and his mouth held limp. it was so cute.
then you passed the toy to your other hand. he was already too blissed to really notice what was happening. even his excellent hearing ignored the loud buzz of the hitachi wand coming to life in favor of the pounding of his own heart. and then like a violent electric shock had just run through his body he screamed and writhed. the wand was held firmly against his poor swollen clit, strong vibrations rubbing the bundle of nerves so hard his legs were shaking. his first orgasm didn't take long, the powerful vibrations forcing him to scream as he squirted a sticky mess all over you and the floor.
his pussy was now absolutely soaking wet with his slick and cream. it was an absolutely delicious sight but you refrained from diving into the lovely meal in front of you. instead, even as his body burned so hot his brain was melting, your fingers found their way to that tight untouched entrance of his.
everything was on fire, his body was so hot and his brain was melting. the wand both hurt like hell and felt like heaven, trapped in a limbo of overstimulation and intense pleasure. just when he thought he had enough, your fingers pressed against his tight cunt. he tried to scream, to call out no or wrench his body away from this torment but it was useless. you had him in your hands and he had no power.
your gloved fingers prodded against his hole until they were soaked enough from the constant dripping from his filthy cunt. one finger, then quickly two. he screamed and writhed and squirted again. so cute, you made sure the wand kept nice and firm in its abuse of his clit. then you pushed your fingers as deep as his tight velvety walls would allow. even with his pathetic crying and screaming his pussy still sucked your fingers in, not wanting to let you even stretch him out. greedy kitty.
fingers fighting against his tight walls, wand hammering his abused clit, his pussy squirting and dripping like a water faucet. what more could you do to break him? you made a signal, and in walked an assistant pet tamer you hired. you would love to do all of this yourself but you only have so many hands and luckily some people enjoy hybrid breaking. the man silently grabbed the whip off the table, your kitty had no idea he was here.
the euphoria you felt hearing that first broken scream of pain was incredible, you could have cum from that alone. his pussy tightened which felt impossible but you struggled even more to move your fingers. the haze of pleasure that hurt was broken through by the raw hot pain of the whip cracking loudly against his back. like a fog lifted off of him he started to scream and fight against you even more. it was useless, you held him still as you continued your assault.
it was absolutely magical when he squirted with the pain, soaking you even more in his filthy love juices. his cunt was so cute and tight, and his clit was going numb from the constant vibration. then like lightning the whip would crack against his back and make everything worse. he could actively feel his brain being rewired no matter how much he fought against it. it was starting to feel good, the horrible pain that burned his back was melting into the heat of pleasure. he was sobbing, he didn't want to be rewritten, he didn't want to break.
as his pussy convulsed and squirted for the umpteenth time already his hoarse throat abused by his own screaming broke. he was sobbing and pleading in a crackly voice.
"please... im sorry. im sorry im sorry- i don't want break i don't wanna- please-"
the pathetic sobbing was enough to make your heart melt. you gave the man behind him another signal and the whipping stopped. you pulled the wand away from his red and puffy clit.
"cum on my fingers one more time, kitty."
you gave the order and then began your violent leg shaking attack. you fucked him hard ignoring how his sticky walls tried to cling to you. his legs stretched and his eyes rolled back in his head. and then it crashed over him again, his pussy had no more left to give and he came quietly.
his body was shaking as you gently let him down.
———
he came back to consciousness in his room later. as soon as he saw you he lunged to attack you but his body was still sore, not to mention he was chained to the bed.
"you bastard-"
"shh"
you sat next to his legs, playing with his tail.
"why are you -"
"shhh."
you sighed.
"you're a pet. you were never supposed to be human."
sinful senses
pairings: Sangwoo/Reader, Yoon Bum & Reader
the reader is masculine-intended; race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.
summary: Even through the pain and exhaustion, the dizziness and shadows swarming across your eyes, you can hear a voice. “You kept saying you wanted company, didn’t you?” your assailant scoffs from the top of the stairs, addressing the shadowed figure next to you. “Well, there you fucking go.”
word count: 5.8k | ao3 version
I've rated this fic as Teen & Up on ao3, but the source material (the comic) is *very much explicit.* I don't want to be held responsible for the content younger audiences may consume. Detailed content warnings are below this.
author's notes: Hi hi! This is a Killing Stalking reader-insert piece! Heeheeeeee. It's mostly Sangwoo/Reader implied, but there's definitely some tension between Yoon Bum & the reader, and Yoon Bum is in love with Sangwoo.
The reader’s race is ambiguous; physical descriptors are used. The reader is intended to be male—there’s a brief scene where he’s shirtless, but nothing in the way of descriptors for his chest area. And there are no pronouns used for him. Sooo yeah!
The title of this fic is from Using You by Mars Argo.
warnings: canon-typical violence, gore, blood, and injury. broken bones (and some sounds that come with, sorry y’all), loss of consciousness, shackles, mind games & emotional manipulation, dehumanization (of Yoon Bum), suggestive themes. spoilers to Killing Stalking, ig.
please read these warnings carefully! ^^^
It happens in the blink of an eye.
You’re walking down the street late at night, returning home after an emergency visit to a friend’s house. They’re doing better now, but you didn’t want to stress them out further by making them worry about a house guest. So, you’re left to the somewhat unsettling bus ride—and the very unsettling walk home. It’s only a few minutes, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s going to go wrong. It’s just paranoia. Your finger jitters along the edge of your pepper spray. You look over your shoulder frequently. The night is quiet. Someone passes you going the opposite direction. You speed up a bit.
In your rush to get home—and your wariness of the stranger who walked past—you fail to notice the person right in front of you. You promptly crash into them. And before you can even begin to apologize, to turn and keep walking, to do anything, your jaw is exploding in pain. Your vision greys out and you swear you actually see stars, the world suddenly upending around you. You fall to the ground unceremoniously.
From there, you get glimpses. Sensations. You feel arms under your knees. You hear the harsh slam of a door shutting, and a car engine starting. Then you drift off.
When you return to consciousness, blinking through a seemingly endless slough of fatigue, you find yourself being half-lifted, half-dragged down an unfamiliar hallway.
“Oh, good,” a voice says nonchalantly, his figure blurry and disjointed. “You’re awake.”
You try to push the foreign grip off, digging your heels into the ground as this stranger mercilessly drags you along. But your jaw is aching and the guy is strong, practically manhandling you down the hall. You feel like a stray cat, his hand fisted in your shirt collar while you scrabble uselessly at his grip.
He’s leading you towards a door. Your struggle intensifies; you’re almost clawing at him now. The guy lets out an annoyed sound, opening the door and shoving you through it.
The space is dark, the only source of light bleeding in from the hall. Your assailant stands in the doorway, slowly shrinking. You’re falling, you realize.
You think you would scream, if you had the time. And while it seems to freeze as you’re suspended in mid-air, your ensuing collision with the ground is all too real. Your foot catches on a step before you’re twisting in a futile attempt to break the fall.
The fall is not broken. Too much of your weight is placed on your wrist and it snaps; you think you hear an audible crunch when your ankle lands next. You crumple to the ground.
Your ears are ringing. There’s something dripping down your cheek. The cement beneath you is cold and warm all at once. Your right ankle and left wrist burn with indescribable pain. You think you choke on a hiss, a loud ringing sound tearing through your ears and sending fresh tears to your eyes. You feel like a broken puppet, disregarded in a pile of crudely made limbs.
Even through the pain and exhaustion, the dizziness and shadows swarming across your eyes, you can hear a voice. “You kept saying you wanted company, didn’t you?” your assailant scoffs from the top of the stairs. He’s not speaking to you. “Well, there you fucking go.”
A shadow passes across your eyes just before they slip shut.
You wake to find someone leaning over you far too close. Within kissing distance. Naturally, you flinch hard. The guy scrambles away, cheeks flushing red. You don’t really have time to focus on whatever that was—not when there’s an incessant throbbing pain in your ankle and something dripping down the side of your face.
You hesitantly bring a hand to your cheek, only to recoil upon feeling the dull ache of a bruise forming. Your temple is aching, a pain that trickles across your jaw and cheekbone. Your opposite wrist stings with each minor movement.
What the hell is happening? And, more importantly, where are you? As your surroundings slowly clarify, you find yourself situated on the floor of a modest bedroom. Or, more accurately, on a futon on the floor. The surface is unforgiving regardless. Your head aches, your throat is dry, and your vision almost seems to swim each time you blink. Your panic increases exponentially when you notice the chain secured to your good ankle, severely limiting your range of movement.
You’re reminded of the other presence in the room when you hear a shuffling sound. The guy is moving closer to you again. You groan and try to push yourself up, only managing to sit up awkwardly. Even that slight movement hurts.
“Where am I?” you ask, your voice raspy and nearly foreign to your ears. You’re so thirsty.
The guy from before stares back at you, straight black hair bracketing his face. He’s wearing a striped shirt and a long flowy skirt; his ankles and wrists are bandaged. There are deep dark circles under his eyes and he looks at you timidly, almost as if afraid of you lashing out at him.
“Where am I?” you try to ask again. You manage to sit all the way up, the slight shift in posture sending a harsh pain through your ankle. You look down at it and hiss, finding the skin bruised and swollen. Your ankle must be broken. Your wrist isn’t any better, at least fractured (if not broken). There’s a small protruding bump that definitely wasn’t there before.
The guy from before still isn’t responding. “Hey,” you say again, more insistently this time. “Come on, where am I?” you ask desperately. He’s just quiet.
“He won’t answer,” a familiar voice says. “He knows not to.”
You drag your eyes up from the silent guy to find another man standing in the doorway: your captor, the man from earlier. He has messy light brown hair with a dark undercut; eyes that look nearly pitch black; and a malicious smirk on his lips. His shoulders are broad and he almost leers down at you from the doorway.
“Who are you?” you ask slowly, not quite sure if you want to know the answer. “And what is this?” You tug at the chain on your ankle pointedly.
“My name is Sangwoo,” he responds patiently, his hand rising to grasp the door frame. “This is my home.”
You inhale sharply, struggling to keep calm. It’s hard to think past your headache. You can only hope you don’t have a concussion. “Why am I here?” you ask.
“You, my friend,” Sangwoo begins, “have what I like to call rotten luck. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’m afraid.”
The wrong place at the wrong time? You’ve never even seen this guy before. You rack your memory for when you would’ve seen him. What were you doing before this? …Right, you were heading home after visiting your friend. You’d been walking back, glancing over your shoulder, when you crashed into someone. It must’ve been this guy.
“Just let me go,” you say quickly, promptly abandoning all pretense. “I don’t even know who you are, I don’t care—” you insist, cut off by his hand harshly grabbing your jaw. You promptly fall silent, your heart hammering in your chest as Sangwoo looks down at you. You hadn’t even noticed him stalk over; he’s practically rendered the distance between you nonexistent.
“Too late,” Sangwoo just says mockingly. His fingers dig into your cheeks hard enough to bruise.
“Come on, man,” you try, looking around helplessly. “This seems—”
“Extreme?” he offers. You nod slowly. Sangwoo is eerily silent for a few moments, before laughing. “Yes. Exactly.”
“This is a bit extreme, isn’t it, Bum?” he hums. The dark-haired guy nods emphatically. “Isn’t it?” Sangwoo continues, looking back to you and proceeding to enunciate your name carefully. Your blood runs cold. A shiver digs into your spine. Your next words aren’t nearly as measured as you want them to be.
“How do you know my name?” you say slowly, the words almost burning through your tongue. You want to be sick.
“Your wallet,” Sangwoo responds, his hand still on your face, “and phone.”
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
“If you saw those things,” you continue slowly, struggling to make sense of the situation, “you’d know I have nothing to offer you.” You’re not exactly rich.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Sangwoo hums. In that moment, you think your mask of relative composure slips—as pure, bone-chilling fear rolls across your skin. Sangwoo tilts his head slightly, his sharp grin almost looking inhuman. “Ahaha, there it is! See that, Bum? That’s how you do it, pervert,” he spits. The second your captor’s attention turns back to you, it’s like he’s a different person. There’s no sign of that vicious malice or contempt.
He’s just staring down at you. “You look awful,” he says dismissively, as if he hasn’t been holding you for this entire conversation.
“Thanks,” you say wryly, the words slipping out before you can stop them, “some asshole threw me down the stairs.”
“Oh, I like you,” he declares.
The taste of iron lingers on your tongue. You don’t like the way Sangwoo is looking at you, as if you’re some sort of object for his entertainment. A coppery taste fills your mouth. His hand remains on your cheek. And you do something uncharacteristically reckless: you spit blood at him.
It’s almost funny how fast the guy’s peaceful expression disappears. Then, of course, you’re quickly coming to terms with the danger you’ve just put yourself in. Sangwoo’s hand finally falls from your face; before you can begin to feel grateful, his arm reels back and he promptly punches you in the jaw.
“That was fucking stupid of you,” he hisses, glaring down at you.
You just choke on a delirious laugh, that metallic tang filling your mouth once more. You grin up at him, a hysterical sort of joy running through you. You definitely hit your head pretty hard when he threw you earlier. This should not be that funny. But, somehow, it is.
“Worth it,” you respond shamelessly.
You’re expecting Sangwoo to punch you again, to slam you into the ground and choke the life out of you. Hell, you’re expecting anything from a dry scoff to a knife in the ribs.
You aren’t expecting him to grin. His grip on your jaw returns, his hand almost cradling your cheek. Sangwoo crouches down and leans closer. You flinch, instinctually shutting your eyes as you wait for him to rip your eyeballs out, or bite your nose off—
Instead, there’s nothing. You open your eyes hesitantly, only to choke on a breath as you learn he’s even closer than last time. There’s blood slipping from your nose and down your lips; you’re sure you look afraid for your life; and the fucker is smiling at you.
You’re not sure what he would’ve done, if ‘Bum’ hadn’t let out a strangled noise. Sangwoo freezes, turning to your present company. You’re mercifully spared from his attention as he scoffs at the guy.
“Cockblock,” Sangwoo says.
That ugly feeling in your stomach only grows, even long after Sangwoo leaves the room.
You’ve come to the conclusion that you don’t trust Yoon Bum as far as you can throw him. And you do think you could throw him, so maybe that’s not the best analogy. Either way, you don’t trust him at all. When Sangwoo tries to warn you off days later, your suspicions only intensify.
“Don’t trust Bum,” Sangwoo says, watching as you eat the food he’s provided. He’s evidently learned that you can die of malnourishment. For the first few days, you hadn’t been given anything. It had gotten to the point where he entered the room, gripping your upper arms hard and shaking you roughly, and you didn’t even notice.
For some reason, Sangwoo started giving you food after that.
“He’s a creep,” Sangwoo continues, dragging you back to the present moment. You just tuck into your food and keep quiet. You’ve learned it’s better to be silent—Sangwoo tends to keep talking regardless. Idly, you have to wonder just how lonely the guy is. From what you’ve seen, he leaves in the mornings to go to work and returns in the evening. A normal life, some might say. But he never deviates from these hours. Never a short departure to grab coffee, never a grocery run or a few hours spent with friends. And while you don’t monitor his habits consistently, unless he’s nocturnal, Sangwoo genuinely isn’t leaving.
You must’ve been quiet for too long, because Sangwoo’s soon crouching down before you and poking your temple. It would be a playful gesture, in a different situation. You only flinch at the movement, your mind unable to associate Sangwoo with a harmless, innocent movement.
“Anyone home in there?” Sangwoo asks, miming a knocking motion as he peers at your temple.
“Yes,” you say dryly, after sensing that he wants a response.
“What’s so important that you’re zoning out on me?” he asks, a glimmer in his eyes. “I’d love to know.”
Oh shit. Fuck. “Just… thinking,” you answer unconvincingly.
“Right,” he says warily. “Sure. About what?”
“Yoon Bum,” you answer. That’s the first excuse you can think of. You’re hoping he just lets it go.
“Wrong,” Sangwoo argues immediately, swiftly dashing your hopes, “you’re lying.”
The air almost seems to curdle in an ugly anticipation.
“Tell me,” Sangwoo demands tersely. “Now.”
“You—” you try to say.
He doesn’t let you finish speaking. “You were thinking about me,” Sangwoo interjects, somewhat disbelievingly.
You’re unreasonably annoyed by the interruption. “I was going to say, ‘you won’t want to hear it’,” you correct him, “but, yeah, it was about you.”
“What about me?” Sangwoo questions, leaning closer in evident interest. The low table between you suddenly feels far too small. Your hand wraps around your plastic fork. You’re painfully aware of how you’re forced to sit, your legs outstretched to avoid jostling your injured ankle. Unfortunately, that puts it within Sangwoo’s reach. You try to pull it back a bit, but the movement is far too painful. “Well?”
“You’re going to punch me if I say it,” you reply warily.
“I won’t punch you,” he asserts. Right. Like you’re supposed to believe that.
“You’ll kick me, then,” you continue. It’s all about the semantics. Sure, he won’t punch you. But he’ll probably throw you down the stairs again, or rip your arms and legs off, or—
“I won’t hurt you,” he sighs, as if this is a particularly burdensome promise. “Happy?”
“Sure,” you say flatly. Of course you’re not happy. Nothing about this situation makes you happy.
“Now, tell me,” Sangwoo persists.
Damn it. You hoped that circular conversation just then would’ve made him forget. But of course Sangwoo remembered. You did just say that you were thinking about him. Through his twisted logic, he probably finds that flattering. Unfortunately, your thoughts were just the opposite.
“Fine,” you say, already digging your own grave. You may as well just lie in it, at this point. You’ll die either way. That’s one thing you’re struggling to come to terms with: the likely fact that you will die in this house.
“Get on with it,” he says impatiently.
“I was thinking about you,” you repeat. You take a moment to breathe, still anticipating a blow despite his promise not to hurt you. “You don’t leave the house, except for work.”
“And?” Sangwoo continues. “There’s more. Finish your thought.”
You hiss as his hand finds your injured ankle, his fingers digging into the tender skin. “You never leave the house,” you gasp, immediately reaching to pry his hand off. His grip is still there, still painful. He wants more. His knuckles dig into the bone. “Not for— for anything but work.”
Sangwoo still won’t let go. Tears are slipping down your face now, your breaths stuttering in your chest. You bend your head down briefly, the pain nearly intense enough to blacken your vision. “You’re lonely,” you finally choke out, your voice breaking. “You’re lonely,” you repeat frantically. “That’s it—!” You try to tug your ankle back, and this time he lets you.
“There,” Sangwoo remarks lightly. “Was that really so difficult?”
His bravado doesn’t fool you. Beneath that joking remark, beneath the teasing smirk, he’s rattled. Unfortunately, you don’t notice—instead too busy trying to keep yourself from passing out. You wipe a shaking hand across your eyes.
Your ankle burns.
You attempt to speak with Yoon Bum in the coming days, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. It’s abundantly clear he doesn’t like you—hell, he barely even seems to tolerate your presence. You try asking him why he’s in the house, and he just responds with Sangwoo’s name. How is that supposed to help you understand what’s happening here?
It’s Sangwoo who eventually reveals that information to you, standing over Yoon Bum’s crouching form and placing a hand on his head like he’s a dog. Disgust rolls through your stomach, and it only increases when you see the blissful expression flickering across Yoon Bum’s face.
What you hear next, though… It’s even worse than you had imagined. You thought Yoon Bum was another innocent bystander like you. But that’s not very close to the reality of the situation. Supposedly, Yoon Bum was stalking Sangwoo. He snuck into his house and explored the basement, where he found one of Sangwoo’s victims. Then Sangwoo shattered his legs and ensured he couldn’t escape to inform the authorities.
Sangwoo details all of this as he is standing over Yoon Bum. You don’t even want to believe it, but Yoon Bum hasn’t said a single word since your captor started explaining the situation—surely he would’ve argued if it were false.
So, safe to say, Yoon Bum isn’t the same type of victim as you are. Sure, you can distantly feel bad for him. But for the most part, it sounds like he got himself into this situation—hell, he even seems happy as he sits there, his knees drawn up to his chest and exposing his bandaged ankles. Jesus Christ. This is all so fucked up.
After that revelation, you’re pretty much silent. Sangwoo tries talking to you more, but you just hold your ground and keep quiet. He soon leaves you alone with Yoon Bum. And you can’t help but ask for clarification. Because, yes, Yoon Bum looks like he wants to stay here forever. But he could just be a particularly good actor. Sangwoo could’ve lied, Yoon Bum could be playing along to save himself—
“He was telling the truth.” You’re so startled by Yoon Bum’s voice that you nearly flinch. This may be the first time you’ve heard him actually speak independently. Typically, he’s content to remain a silent presence at Sangwoo’s side (or, more accurately, at his feet).
You try to process that remark, looking at the man. “Sangwoo?” you ask, despite already knowing the answer. Who else would he be talking about? There’s no one else in the house.
Yoon Bum nods.
“You stalked him?” you question.
Another nod.
“Why?” you ask. Your ears are ringing again, but it has nothing to do with your aching temple and jaw.
“I love him,” Yoon Bum responds matter-of-factly.
“Does… he know that?” you ask carefully.
“Yes,” he confirms. “He loves me too.”
Fuck. This is getting messier by the second. You don’t want any part of this twisted game they seem to be playing. You’re briefly assaulted with an intense irritation and loathing for Yoon Bum, who clearly wants to be here.
You’re reminded of what you heard Sangwoo say after he threw you down the stairs: You wanted company, didn’t you? Is Yoon Bum the reason why you’re here in the first place?
You want nothing more than to lash out at him, but unprovoked violence isn’t really your style. And it doesn’t seem to matter that Yoon Bum is clearly far from innocent in this—he’s never lifted a finger to hurt you.
That will soon change, of course.
“He likes you.”
You blink away traces of sleep as the room slowly sharpens around you. It feels like it’s early in the morning—you’re too groggy to make much sense of what you just heard. Yoon Bum is wide-awake, staring at you expectantly.
“Hm?” you mumble, rubbing a hand over your eyes. You push yourself up to a sitting position slowly, unable to resist the chance to actually talk to Yoon Bum. He’s never been the one to initiate conversation. This must be important. You try to shake off any remnants of slumber.
“He likes you,” Yoon Bum repeats slowly. “Sangwoo.”
It’s too early for this. You try to ignore the dull pain thrumming in your wrist and ankle. They’re both getting better, but you suspect it’ll take them more time to heal.
Yoon Bum is staring at you expectantly. He wants you to say something. You try to recall what he just said. “I don’t think he does,” you then say with a frown.
“He does,” Yoon Bum states with frightening certainty. He looks upset by this.
What are you even supposed to say to that? Are you supposed to reassure him that Sangwoo likes him more? Perhaps confirm his delusions that Sangwoo is in love with him? Should you just ignore him? Apologize?
You settle for staring at him helplessly, which quickly proves to be the wrong choice. Yoon Bum stares right back at you, his eye contact intense and unflinching. Then, before you can truly comprehend what’s happening, he’s throwing himself at you.
And despite his thin frame, despite the fact that he can’t weigh more than ten pounds soaking wet, Yoon Bum is somehow shoving you into the ground with frightening force. His hand digs into your injured wrist and you’re trying to shove him off, almost frantically. The guy’s nearly clawing at you now, his jagged long nails raking across your face and drawing blood. You shove him away hard enough to send him toppling. Yoon Bum’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting yours. There’s nothing but fury in them. Your chest stews as nausea rises up your throat. You almost scramble away in your haste, your back hitting the wall. You’re made brutally aware of the chain on your ankle, keeping you trapped in this tense moment.
Yoon Bum just sits there for a second, almost like a dog licking its wounds. He seems close to lunging at you again when the bedroom door creaks open.
Sangwoo stands over him, your savior and nightmare all at once. You swallow hard, the movement feeling loud enough to reverberate in your ears. Sangwoo surveys the scene, his gaze finding Yoon Bum first before focusing on you. You can pinpoint the exact moment he sees the fresh marks across your face, because he frowns in distaste. You just stare back, feeling hot blood dripping down your cheek.
“What did I tell you?” Sangwoo says to you. You stare at him, your heart hammering in your chest. Your captor lets out a frustrated sound, kicking Yoon Bum out of the way before walking towards you. “He’s a creep. Come on.”
Sangwoo gives you no choice in the matter, promptly reaching down to unlock your shackle and tugging you to your feet. You wobble and almost immediately fall over again, the weight on your injured ankle proving to be too much. Sangwoo just sighs, walking over silently. Before you can comprehend what’s happening, he’s wrapping your arm around his shoulders and guiding you into the hall. You pay a glance back at the closed door. While you suspected that Yoon Bum didn’t like you, you foolishly hoped things wouldn’t go that far.
Sangwoo continues to lead you through the hall and you realize you have absolutely no idea where you’re going: this is the first time you’ve left that bedroom suite since he brought you here, excluding your brief meals in one of the other rooms. You try your best to make note of your surroundings and the general layout of the house, but it’s hard to focus on those things with the insistent pain in your ankle.
Sangwoo closes the toilet seat and guides you to sit, before he starts rifling through the medicine cabinet. He’s whistling to himself, you realize.
“Bum is a fucking mess,” Sangwoo says. You’re not even sure if he’s talking to you or himself anymore. But you hear yourself responding before you can think better of it.
“He keeps watching me when I sleep,” you admit, the words clinging to the damp air. Sangwoo’s eyes snap to you with something close to alarm. “I wake up and he’s on top of me.” Then he scampers away like a frightened animal.
“What?” Sangwoo exclaims, almost sounding indignant. Honestly, you thought he would’ve already known about that. Apparently not. “Jesus Christ.”
Sangwoo dabs your cuts with an alcohol wipe. He looks concentrated, standing far too close to you. His movements are methodical but stilted—he keeps pausing for a few seconds before continuing on.
As he does this, you try to think about everything that has happened. You’ve learned that Sangwoo’s cruelty is predictable, calculated. You know what to say to make him lash out, just as you know when to keep quiet and save your words. Yoon Bum, on the other hand… You have no idea what he wants from you. He seems to be provoked by virtually nothing; then, other times, he’ll take insults from Sangwoo almost peacefully. Yoon Bum is a whole different beast.
Monsters, the both of them. One a blatant predator, another covertly disguised as prey. Dangerous either way.
“You’re like pets, you and Bum,” Sangwoo sighs, breaking you out of your thoughts. You reluctantly tune back into the conversation. “Stray cats that have to get used to each other’s scents.”
“I’m not a pet,” you immediately argue.
“No,” Sangwoo agrees after a moment, “but you may want to start acting like it soon. Things would go a lot better for you.”
“Would they?” you ask dryly. Even through the haze of your pain and the fear thudding through your chest, you’re able to recognize the futility of it all. “Would things really be better?” You already know the answer.
Sangwoo’s eyes flit about your face. You just stare back tiredly. In the blinding fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, as you sit on the toilet seat and remain unmoving as he tends to your wounds, there is no room for pretense.
There’s still a beat of silence. Then, inexplicably, Sangwoo laughs.
“A skeptic,” he says, reaching over and patting your cheek a bit harshly. You flinch at the gesture, as the movement reminds you of the fresh scratches—hell, gashes—on your cheek. “You can stay in my room tonight.”
He’s making that sound like a reward. But it only seems like a punishment. Sharing a bed with your captor, who has confined you to this house for the foreseeable future… You’d rather sleep in a hornets’ nest.
“Do you have an office or something?” you say weakly, trying your best to word things delicately. “A couch?”
“Don’t tell me you’re denying a real bed,” Sangwoo says with a slight smile. It’s an empty gesture; it doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s offended.
“You’d let me sleep in your bed?” you just squint at him disbelievingly, deciding to change tactics. That is a good question, you think: why on earth would he let you sleep in his bed, unless he wanted you there? And that provokes a whole other host of issues.
There’s so much you want to say at that moment. Somehow, what comes out instead is: “Yoon Bum will kill me.”
“He won’t,” Sangwoo states. He raises an eyebrow. “You think he’s capable of murder?”
Yes, you want to say. You think Sangwoo is underestimating the guy. But your exhausted mind can’t seem to find fault with his confidence, so you just keep quiet. You’d almost rather die than give him the satisfaction of a verbal agreement. Sangwoo, sensing this, just laughs before tugging you to your feet. You stumble a bit, grasping at the bathroom counter. It takes you a few seconds to regain your balance, at which point Sangwoo is harshly yanking you after him—his previous compassion completely gone. Your injured ankle flares with every step and you bite down an anguished sound, not wanting to set Sangwoo off further.
Somehow, you make it to Sangwoo’s bedroom without passing out. But you’re nearly at that point—on the brink of unconsciousness, the world grainy and distorted around you. Your body stiffens and freezes, almost seeming caught in the doorway.
You topple over. Sangwoo is quick enough to save you from hitting your head—and you’re not sure if you should feel irritated or grateful. His hand on your waist distracts you from those feelings, and this time you can’t stop the pained hiss that leaves your lips as he helps you to the bed.
You’re almost there, so close to collapsing in fatigue, when Sangwoo pauses. He frowns, turning towards you. “You smell like shit,” he says eloquently.
“Whose fault is that?” you huff, completely annoyed. It’s not like Sangwoo has allowed you anything other than food or water. You’ve been in the same clothes since he kidnapped you.
“You need a shower,” Sangwoo declares.
You don’t have the energy to argue: both because it’s true, and because you’re going to need any remaining energy to get all the way back to the bathroom. Why Sangwoo hadn’t just said that in the bathroom, you have no idea. It’s like he’s enjoying this: carting you around and forcing you to lean on him.
Actually… he probably does.
“Got these for you,” Sangwoo says at some point, when you’ve finally made it to the bathroom. You look over to find him holding a pile of folded clothing.
You’re not saying thank you, although that is the instinctual response. Besides, why would you thank him? He kidnapped you. So what if he’s giving you fresh clothes? So what if he’s looking at you like that?
Sangwoo seems to sense your internal conflict, because there’s a restrained amusement gleaming in his eyes as he places the clothing on the seat of the toilet.
“Don’t drown yourself,” he commands you. Then he freezes. You can almost see him contemplating something. “Actually. I’m staying right here.”
“What?!” you exclaim. “No, go away—” No way in hell are you bathing in front of him.
Sangwoo just silently walks past you, bending down to turn the water on. He stays there for a few moments, evidently fixing it to a warm temperature before stepping away. Sangwoo still lingers in the doorway, his presence here making you incredibly nervous.
“Come on, I can’t drown myself in the shower,” you say, a bit of helpless frustration seeping into your voice.
There’s a pause. “Fine,” Sangwoo then sighs, making a show of turning his back on you and retreating from the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him and you finally feel like you can breathe again. Still, you stand there for several minutes—fully clothed and waiting for him to sneak in. But against all odds, your temporary privacy remains unbroken.
Taking off your clothes is a bit more difficult than it normally is, with your broken ankle and wrist. You manage to strip, but each time the fabric catches on your skin, you have to suppress a pained sound.
After your shower, you take the proffered towel and dry off, putting on the provided boxers and sweatpants very quickly. You’re halfway through putting the shirt on when the door swings open. There wasn’t a lock on the door. You have to wonder if Sangwoo planned for that, so he could just come barging in when he got impatient.
“I wasn’t done,” you say with annoyance.
“You were taking too long,” Sangwoo says flatly, his arms crossed across his chest. His forearms are muscular. You just huff, trying to put the provided shirt on quickly. Of course, the universe decides to spite you and send pain shooting through your wrist, making the movement all the more difficult.
Eventually, Sangwoo lets out an impatient huff and takes the shirt from your hands. You can’t even protest before he’s stepping into your space, guiding one of the sleeves up your injured wrist. Sangwoo repeats this with the other arm, before he yanks the neckline over your head. You have to suppress a flinch when his fingers graze your side as he tugs the fabric down over you.
Even as you’re fully dressed, the feeling of being intently watched doesn’t go away.
At this point, though, you’re pretty fucking tired. Your ankle still hurts, and so does your wrist. You’re too exhausted to argue when Sangwoo’s hand slips across your waist, tugging you into him as he walks you to the bed. Too exhausted to argue when he takes your uninjured wrist and shackles it to the bedpost. You immediately sink into the mattress instead, nearly sighing in relief at the comfort it provides. Sleeping on the hard floor has been unforgiving and difficult on your injuries.
Sangwoo is silent, for what must be the first time. You can sense him staring, but your burning eyelids prove a good distraction from that. You hardly even notice as he rounds the bed and stops at the side, looking down at you. You want to tense up—hell, you try—but your fatigue is just too strong. It’s taking all of your effort to just stay awake, let alone try to push him away. And Sangwoo takes advantage, of course. His hand falls to your shoulder, slipping across your collarbone before settling at the nape of your neck. It remains there, heavy and scalding hot as a brand.
You’re not sure what he’s doing or why he’s doing it. Sangwoo doesn’t seem to know either, because he blinks as if thrown from a trance and removes his hand. “Be good,” he then says to you pointedly, turning to leave the room.
“Shut up,” you mumble, your words almost slurring together. You’re half-expecting to get punched for a remark like that, but Sangwoo only chuckles. As if you’ve just done something particularly amusing. Hell, he looks almost fond. (You’re a bit too delirious to make sense of that, but your waking mind certainly will.)
You fall asleep far too quickly. Your sleep is deep and uninterrupted; you’re too far gone to notice the harsh thuds of something hitting the floor, anguished screams followed by the unmistakable sound of bones snapping and cracking.
endnotes: mwAHHAHAHAHAAAA ohohohoh i love this. not sorry about it either.
Sangwoo likes the reader more, Yoon Bum likes Sangwoo more, and the reader just wants to fucking leave. Poor guy.
©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.
thanks for reading! <3
check out my other works, sorted by fandom.
general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat @always-lying-to-you @moss4ev3r @hottskull
friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!
Catboys❌
CatMen✅
All for YOUR entertainment!
Happy free comic book day ! For anyone interested in reading splatter platter
Wow such a nice askbox
I hope you enjoy your stay here hehehe 😝😝😝🤭🤭🤭🤭
Hey
Yoooo hey sexy 👀👀👀👀
Mr Morgue reference sheet for snuff puppy
STUILLY ART DUMPPPPP hey guys I like them
Kokomo (The Beach Boys)
A tropical contact high
loser wimp yandere. dom male reader...
hiii. kidnapped. groped. dubcon...
what a funny thought it is to be demanded you touch your captor,,,
threatened even... even more funny - allowing the flimsy nerd loser who stalks you to drug you and capture you – just because you were bored as fuck and wanted to see where it would go.
— "touch me back, or i'll hurt you." he seethed raspily, arms wrapping around your neck,,, far from hurting... h-he just says things in the moment, don't take it to heart-! "limp... small dick. d-doesn't know when to take a hint, i-i'll - i'm about to shove my fist down your throat, do you hear me?!" he shrieks, yanking on your shirt. like. he thinks he's all powerful just because he managed to lug you here, sucessfully 'kidnap' you... weak, frail thing.
;; "i-i'll kill you,,,!" the sweet thing snarled; glaring up at you with glassy doe eyes,,, as it was your fault entirely he's upset,,,
but how could you ever take him seriously with that pretty, innocent little face? he's so adorable, a real perverted angel in disguise. "touch me,,, touch me, please...." he implored; suddenly soft. strong, dainty hands crawling up your neck, threatening to close. he feels so small, so insignificant as you ignore him so blatantly on ur lap,,, . like a kitten, fluffed up and hissing,,,
watching with pursed lips, amused at the little creep writhing in ur lap,,, hey now... a little too hasty this little freak is. he doesnt do well with rejection, how sweet is that? begging for you to touch him with the threat of violence... but heyyy you didnt ask for any of this... he can't force you to do anything. maybe. especially with the way you're tied up. loosely. shaking the ropes off with ease...
,,, your hands hover over his hips, and he squirms with a needy gasp escaping his plump, pouty lips glossy with his own saliva,,, ; cleary so very eager for whatever graze you were about to grace him with, all tensed up for what was about to descend him-!
;; "maybe if you were a good boy, i'd do what you want no questions asked. but you dont know how to ask nicely... y'fucking brat. i should strangle you for talking to me like that... see what color your face turns."
- no? nothing? he slumps against your front, defeated. its time he takes it for his own. wanting to show you whos in charge here! youre kidnapped and half-restrained, youre his, you should do whatever he wants, you should be giving him want he wants right off the bat-! reaching to palm your groin—this is how it should go, but you arent playing by the rules - you're ruining everything!
urk—"you know better than that,," you murmur, nose twitching as you scowl irritably. the gall this man had - grinding and obviously looking for a reaction, and you fall for it. "fucking little freak. you're fucking nasty, getting my pants all wet - touching me, and you want me to touch you?" is this truly your main concern here?
pursing your lips as the teary eyed visage of this darling hater of a freak. sensitive brat. the disgust in your tone really gets to him,,,
and you give in,,, because he's so pathetic; snot and all. he's such a pisspoor kidnapper - he can't even intimidate you right,,,, wrapping a strong arm around his waist and pulling him close, pressed fllushed against your front. Trying to catch his breath as hes startled at the sudden affection - you've been so standoffish and so damn mean, this is new to him and he doesn't know how to act when he finally gets what he wants.
Snuff puppy pages 13-15
Snuff puppy pages 9-12
