#salesmen

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Summary: You claw for control, but with every breath, every choice, you’re pulled deeper into his world… and further from your own.

Warnings: smut, violence, death, kidnapping, power imbalance, possessiveness, manipulation, emotional tension, stalking, implied violence, murder planning, toxic relationship dynamics, yandere

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋⁺˚⋆｡

“I do now.”

The words hit you like another slap.

Your chest tightens. Your throat burns.

No.

Your hands curl into fists at your sides.

How dare he say that like he understands you. Like he owns you. Like he’s done you some fucking favor.

Before you can stop yourself, your voice cracks open. Louder than you meant. Fiercer than you’ve ever heard yourself.

“Shut up!”

It’s a snarl. A scream. A last breath before the fall.

God, you don’t even recognize yourself.

The words hit the air like a slap. His smile doesn’t drop, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore.

“You keep saying you saved me, like I should be grateful. Like I should be—what? Thanking you? For kidnapping me? For killing someone and calling it protection?”

He blinks slowly.

“You don’t even know me,” you say, voice cracking. “You saw me on a fucking screen and decided we were—what—dating?! That’s not love. That’s obsession. You’re a fucking psycho.”

Still, he says nothing.

Just watches.

And somehow? That’s worse than yelling back.

“Say something!” you demand.

Without saying a word, he rises from his chair like it’s choreographed. Smooth, controlled.

Terrifying.

“You think love comes from time?” he asks softly. “From talking, dating, pretending? That’s what the world told you, isn’t it?”

He steps closer. You back away.

He follows.

His voice lowers, gentle yet deadly. “You’ve been begging to be kept your whole life.”

Your back hits the wall. He stops in front of you. Not touching… but too close.

“You don’t have to ask anymore.”

Your heart’s pounding. Your skin’s on fire.

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

He gives you a cheeky smile. So soft. So loving. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I want to go home.”

“You are home.”

Without even thinking, you slap him.

Hard.

His head turns with the force of it.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Shit.

He stands still for a long moment.

Then slowly turns his face back toward you.

And he’s… smiling again?

But not wider.

Just darker.

“Feel better?” he asks gently.

You stare at him, horrified. His fingers reach up and lightly brush the corner of his mouth, where a trace of your touch still lingers. He leans in, voice like silk wrapping around your throat.

“You can hate me,” he murmurs. “You can fight me. Curse me. Make me bleed if you want. Make me suffer.”

His hand slides into your hair, soft and slow and careful.

“And I’ll still take care of you.”

He kisses your forehead—tender, reverent.

Silence lingers, but you find your voice again.

“You’re sick. You’re delusional. You think this is love? You think this—” you gesture wildly to the walls, the locked-away cliffside, the pristine kitchen “—is what I wanted?”

He watches you quietly. Such a good observer.

“You drugged me. You undressed me. You touched me without asking. That’s not protection. That’s control.”

You take a shaky step toward him, hoping you can hit something that cracks whatever delusion he’s built in his head.

“You didn’t save me,” you spit. “You just wanted to own something pretty before someone else got to it. Am I wrong?”

And that’s when he moves.

Suddenly, his hand grabs your jaw. Not hard enough to bruise, just enough to shut you up. His fingers press into your skin with quiet, practiced pressure. You freeze.

His eyes meet yours.

Gone is the softness.

What’s left is glass.

“You’re not special because I saw you.”

He leans in, breath hot against your face.

“You’re special because I chose you.”

His jaw twitches once.

“You think I haven’t watched girls like you before? You’re not the first one to cry and curse and tell me how cruel I am.”

He smiles now, small and brutal.

“But you’ll be the last.”

You can’t breathe. He presses his body closer, pinning you completely. He leans in until your noses almost touch. His voice is a whisper, but it’s razor sharp.

“And the cute thing is, you think this is control.” he murmurs. “Baby, if I wanted control, you wouldn’t be standing.”

His eyes flick over your face. Down to your lips, your chest. The bandages he wrapped himself.

“You’d be on your knees eating from my fucking hand.”

His hand drops to your waist, then lower, fingers curling possessively around your hip.

“I’ve been kind,” he says through his teeth. “Patient. Gentle. I let you scream. I let you run. I even let you hit me.”

He tilts his head.

“But let’s be clear.”

His voice dips lower, darker.

“You belong to me now. That body you keep trying to guard? Already mine. That fire in your voice? Mine. I’ll break it down, kiss it better, and make you beg for the pieces back.”

You turn your face away, but he follows.

“Don’t look away,” he growls. “Look at me when I tell you the truth.”

You do.

You’re not sure he’ll let you live if you don’t.

“You want to hate me?” he whispers. “Then hate me in my bed. Hate me while I pull your hair and make you beg for it. Hate me then. Not now.”

Your breath hitches.

He smiles.

“See?” he murmurs. “Even now, you listen better when I touch you.”

His hand brushes your face. Soft again, but cruel in its tenderness.

“You’ll understand soon. All this anger… it’s just the part of you that hasn’t accepted what the rest already knows.”

He leans in. His lips ghost over yours, but they don’t touch.

“You were fucking made for me.”

Then he steps back, leaving you breathless and trembling against the wall. And with a maddening smile, he says:

“Now sit down and eat, or I’ll feed you myself.”

You can only stare back—still pressed to the wall, hands clenched at your sides. Chest rising fast with every shallow breath.

He waits.

One second.

Two.

Three.

You don’t sit.

You don’t even speak.

So he sighs, long and theatrical, like a man disappointed with a child.

“I gave you a choice,” he says quietly.

His hand wraps around your wrist, not rough, but tight enough that you feel it. He walks you back to the table. You try to resist, just enough to say you did, but your feet still follow. There’s nowhere else to go, after all.

He pulls out the chair.

You still don’t sit.

So he does it for you.

You’re dropped into the seat like you weigh nothing. And before you can get your bearings, he’s already moving behind you.

You feel his hand brush your hair aside. He leans down, lips close to your ear:

“I told you I’d feed you myself,” he whispers. “You didn’t believe me?”

He picks up the fork, casual, elegant. Spears a piece of soft, golden egg and lifts it toward your lips.

“Open,” he says.

You don’t.

His other hand cups your chin firmly, guiding your face toward the bite.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he murmurs. “I hate repeating myself.”

You finally part your lips, just slightly.

He hums, pleased.

The fork slips past your teeth. You taste butter. Salt. Warmth. But nothing tastes real when his eyes are on you like this.

He watches your every movement. Watches you chew. Swallow. Watches your throat work like it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

“Good girl,” he breathes.

He cuts another bite. Brings it to your mouth.

“Again.”

You hesitate, but obey.

You’ve seen what happens when you don’t.

“You see?” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles across your cheek. “I know what’s best for you.”

A third bite.

Then a fourth.

His fingers trail down the back of your neck as he feeds you, slow and methodical. Almost like he’s priming something delicate to be devoured later.

“I’ll teach you how to accept care,” he whispers. “Even if I have to spoon-feed you every fucking day until it sticks.”

And something about the way he says it — so low, so certain — makes you realize he’s not bluffing.

The fifth bite slips past your lips with a quiet scrape of silver. You chew slowly. You hate how easily your body accepts it. How your hunger betrays you.

He watches every swallow like it’s proof of something. Proof he’s winning, perhaps.

And then, just as you start to reach for the water—

His hand catches your chin.

“Messy,” he murmurs, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth.

You start to pull away on instinct, but he doesn’t let you.

His grip is soft, but unmovable. Thumb still pressing to the spot just at the corner of your lip, dragging slow, like he’s savoring the act more than the cleanup.

Then, still holding your face in place, he slips that same thumb into your mouth. Not deep. Just enough to press to your tongue.

Just enough to make your breath stutter.

“Clean it,” he says.

Your stomach flips.

Huh?

His eyes darken.

“I said,” he breathes, “clean it.”

You close your lips around his thumb. He watches the way your mouth moves, lashes lowering slightly, chest rising with a quiet inhale like it’s affecting him, too.

You hate that your skin is burning under his touch. You hate the way your body responds.

He pulls his thumb out with a soft, wet sound and wipes the last trace of saliva against your lower lip.

“Good,” he says. “Much better.”

His hand lingers a moment longer. His eyes dragging down your face, over your mouth. You want to scream. Throw something. Bite him, for fuck sake.

But you sit still instead.

Then, without a word:

He steps back.

Turns.

And walks away.

No warning. No softness. No smug look over his shoulder.

Just the casual scrape of the chair as it’s pushed in, the steady rhythm of his footsteps fading into the hall.

He doesn’t even look at you. The silence he leaves behind is worse than his voice. Worse than his hands. Because now?

You’re alone.

Your breath comes in shaky bursts.

He didn’t lock you up.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t force anything.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because he didn’t need to.

You sit there.

You wait.

Five seconds.

Ten.

A minute.

Ten.

Twenty.

He doesn’t come back.

You expect a door to slam. A lock to click. A punishment to start.

But there’s nothing.

Just you.

He touched you. He fed you. He put his fingers in your mouth and smiled like he owned you. And now he’s gone, like it meant nothing.

You shoot up from the chair so fast it topples over. The legs hit the tile with a crash.

Your breath is ragged, too loud in the stillness. Your hands shake as you grab the plate and hurl it across the room. It hits the wall and shatters, scrambled eggs and ceramic exploding like a warning shot.

Then the water glass.

Then the second plate he set aside for himself.

You don’t stop.

You can’t.

You grab the chair and shove it down. You kick the edge of the table. Something inside you breaks loud, and you want him to hear it.

COME BACK.

No, you don’t say it out loud.

But your body does.

You want him to react. To yell. To hit. To do something.

Can he just come back?

Because the silence is worse.

You stand there, panting, fists clenched, the kitchen a war zone of broken glass and ruined control.

No footsteps.

No voice.

No “good girl”.

Just the sound of waves outside and the echo of your own breathing.

Your legs finally give, and you slide to the floor, curling into yourself. The glass crunches beneath your folded knees, sharp against your skin. Your palms are sticky from something—water? Juice? Blood?

Who knows.

You cry until your body stops fighting back.

Until your breathing slows.

Until your limbs go heavy, and your lashes flutter closed, and the floor becomes the only place you exist.

You fall asleep in the wreckage of your own fury.

All that’s left is you.

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋⁺˚⋆｡

The Squid Game Guards - deadly, brutal and…the world's best babysitters. You hate it when your Father has to deal with something important (again)….but so you get to help the Circle Guards with an important task….and you are the world's best assistant!

"I understand… this Problem requires immediate Action. I'm on my way"

As you hear these Words, you immediately drop the purple pen in your hand to the Floor. Luckily it wasn't a felt-tip pen, otherwise the floor would have had a few unsightly marks… not that it would have been noticeable in all the black.

You look up abruptly and watch as Hwang In-ho makes the technological device disappear into his jacket pocket.

You don't understand much of the boring adult language… but the tone and the seriousness that Hwang In-ho displays, oh, that sounds all too familiar.

And you hate it when your father speaks in this tone to other adults over the telecommunications connection. It means that he has to leave again urgently.

But this time you're not going to let him get away with it.

You only arrived on the island a few days ago and you wanted to help him find new guards! (Actually, In-Ho sits in the VIP lounge of the complex with an expensive tablet and just swipes from right to left to look at potential candidates, whose probable location he then passes on to the salesman and you are sometimes allowed to press the power button on the tablet or swipe on the display and of course you are really helping your father with that!) - aaaand he wanted to braid your hair after all! Like Elsa! Because this is an island and you are the unofficial princess!

And you really had to be soooo patient, because your father wasn't so good at braiding and styling your hair from the start….well, someone like the frontman who is suddenly confronted with a female toddler in his life has to learn too….and with learning came a lot of time, setbacks and frustration. Yet you absolutely don't like the fact that he's on the move again.

So you stand up and walk towards your father with clumsy steps and try to cling to his right leg , like a little koala and give him a loving hug….but unfortunately In-Ho knows you very well by now and in a rehearsed movement, he stops your attempt and takes you by the hand instead, while he addresses the following words to you in a stern but still determined tone.

"You´re going to spent some Time with the.....", your Father started to explain but you now tried to grab his left hand little finger, to convince him to not go away....at least not withouth you....and to cut him off during his words.

"Daddah no by by! Stay!" - you said sad and carefully In-Ho picked you up and hold you close to his chest.

"We've had this conversation several times now and it always ends the same way, hm? It won't take long and in the meantime you're in good hands….."

"Help Daddah? me by by island too?"

"No, dear…it's better if you stay here, the guards will look after you well…a business meeting would be boring"

"…Play with Circleleys?"

The stern, cold mask that In-Ho wore, was replaced for a moment by a brief, amused smile.

The few guards , who came back year after year and were almost a basic staff of the games…had received this…more cuteness like names from you.

You got along with almost every Guard...you were not scard of the Mask or the Weapons they carried with them...your Father said they wouldn´t hurt you....they are....like your Friends....Friends that knew not to mess with the Frontmans Daugther.

So you are used to this....maybe strange Island with all this colorful rooms and of course the Guards were your friends. And the Circleleys are the most funniest ones ever!

"Don't let the others hear that you favor the Circle Guards… otherwise I'll have to send more new recruits to the salesmen....and that will be a whole nother game to deal with"

"No no! Tree-Angel and Squary Friends too" - you say with a serious expression on your face.

The Triangle and Square Guardians are just as much your friends as the Circles… but maybe you like the Circle Guardians a little bit more than the rest? They always make you laugh.

"Then it won't be a problem if you spend some time with the circles, hm?"

"Yes, playing with Circleleys!"

"And you'll keep your composure and not cause any trouble?"

You giggle and nod, your father gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your head before he takes you to the control room, where his second in command, a high-ranking square guard, takes you, holds you in his arms and after you wave goodbye to your father, the square guard takes you to the playing field for the second game.

You feel safe in the adult's arms, he doesn't hold you as tightly as if you were an expensive vase or a cat that could get angry at any movement - there are some of the new guards that your father entrusts you to… you can definitely tell , that they have already held a small child in their arms and then there are the newbies who are… clumsy.

Sometimes when you're having a bad day and you're being picked up like a piece of wood or something, it doesn't take three seconds before you start to whine and cry. Sometimes the experienced quads find it amusing how panicked the new recruits react.

As you pass the colorful stairs and get closer to the room where game number 2 will be played in a few weeks, you chat euphorically to the adult who is carrying you, about what you have already experienced today and that you also took your afternoon nap well, even though you had a little tantrum beforehand and were not tired at all, and you tell the square guard that your father said purple crayons are not for eating and are not a good snack.

While you continue to be carried, from staircase to staircase in the adult's arm, you do not notice how he gives the instruction over the walkie talkie, to keep the colorful Gong-gi figures out of reach… better safe than sorry.

You soon reach the room that will definitely be one of your favorites, you like the bright rainbow colors on the floor and it's really wonderful to run around in here, play catch or just take a nap on the floor.

And when you recognize three of the circle guards, you wave to them and bounce impatiently up and down in the adult's arms.

"We have a special task that you can help us with, OK? Come with guard number 32 and we'll be right there," said one of the circle guards as you were passed from one arm to the other and finally led by guard number 32's hand to the back of the room.

"Will we get the number of players back to 456 this year?"

"Positive. The boss wants a complete run through of the standard protocols before arrival"

"Setting it up…"

"And…"

"Yeeeeees…..no sugar after 6 p.m. otherwise we'll have the same incident as two weeks ago"

You didn't hear any of the other short conversations because the Circleley guard let go of your hand when you reached a table and a chair.

"Okay, princess…..can you roll the little ball there so that it touches the stone?"

You nod and try your best…of course you are not aware that the little ball does not have the effect that is expected in the Flying Stone game…but that is not the point…the guard just wants to practice the reaction when someone has passed a task together with his colleagues who also went to you.

And after you have rolled the ball and it comes to rest in front of the small stone , without anything major happening, you look up at your Circle friends and a computer-generated voice says - Passed -

The Circle Guards make a circular hand gesture that is reminiscent of an O.

And just moments later the playing field, is filled with bright children's laughter and clapping - the Circleleys seem to be practicing their reaction to - Passed - well.

But in just a few weeks, this playing field would be coverd in blood, dead bodies, fear and the more often reaction - Failure - with the corresponding reaction from the Circle Guards.

And there would be no toddler laughter , echoing across the field…it would be a crazy mix of euphoric adult cheers and fear-filled screams.

So many fear-filled and panicked Screams.

Heart Stealer (by @melodyanqel )

What if...? a little girl entered the games (by @wtfaniii )

A gentle heart in a cruel world (by @n1daehodefender )

Shadow of Loyalty (by @charmedimsure )

Paternal Instinct (by @wtfaniii )

Fairness (by @melodyanqel )

Art decor (by @voxslays )

Little Cheater (by @wtfaniii )

Shrinking Violet (by @igorluvr )

Squid game male characters x little girl reader (by @wtfaniii )

Baby Fever (by @organic-bloodbath )

Appas musik (by @cuddlecloser )

In safe hands (by @meadowfics )

Sea trip (by @meadowfics )

Like my lost uncle (by @userluhna )

The Doll (by @userluhna )

My Tv-Head Salesmen oc from the 90s!

He is actually a Oc from 2023, who I finally took the time to redesign (with the help of my friend @telew0rm , go check them out :D)