jongseong’s calloused hands brush past the doll’s porcelain cheeks, lifeless and cold. the round eyes staring back into him as if the little thing could even try to grasp his heavy heart. jongseong sighs, a deep sigh, before allowing his darkened heart to swell up and spill out of his own, betraying lips, “i really do love you, you know— you’re reserved and soft, you’re fragile and sweet, you’re mine, perfectly mine”. his eyes water as the empty figurine stares back at him, his chewed-on lips spilling a grammar, almost as if his insides were hollow. hollow like a doll.

your breathing stills as the large, caring man places you back in your small house. the insides cozy and cotton, soft incase of bruising, and insulated so you never feel the coldness ache in your joints, even though you’re unable to recognize temperatures. your wrists ache from being stilled in one position all day— or, what feels like all day. the fragile plastic and clay in your limbs scratch at you, itching for a hint of release, rest, lubrication even. the silica gel, which he gently uses to free your balls of joints, too far out of reach for your short and tired plasticity. your body can move, ever so often, but only when you’re alone, surrounded by darkness, isolated.

jongseong should be sleep by now, your cavity of a brain believes, so you sit your limbs down and rest, painted eyes closing for a brief— yet solemn moment. you rest your eyes and disappear into what you’ve heard is ‘sleep’, even though it is more of a human thing rather than for dolls. yet, you feel the slumber, you feel the fatigue, so why can’t dolls feel human too, feel attainable to life, why can’t you have a purpose and love and care? you ponder and ponder and let the bubbled thoughts leave your dry-rose hair, as your frail body begins to relax.

thwap. you hear the large, human door open, jongseong leaning through it. his hair disheveled, and lips muttering utter nonsense, repeating phrases like a prayer on his swollen tongue, “i love you, i love you, i truly love you, i love you…”, the same phrase over and over again. you freeze out of fear he may realize you’re able to move. but before you can close the fake eyes which gleam under light, his large hand is wrapped around your porcelain body. your linen garments crumpled and digging into the plastic mold of your skin.

his breathing is jagged, hands shaky and nervous, pupils dilated and foreign moisture drips down his forehead. your inanimate heart beats out of the silicon mold of your chest. his fingers grip you with an almost frightening tightness, a grip you haven’t felt before. jay sets you down carefully, as if you were a broken petal, cracked and bleeding out. his tenderness desecrating your rosemary skin. you hear a click, a ting, a flip and a piece of thick leather hit the ground. your imaginary brain tries to find a reason for all this, until he mutter once more— this time desperately, “i love you”.

love?

an excruciating push and a grunt knocks you from any forming thoughts, something.. something is .. inside of you?? this feels odd, yet intriguing, jongseongs face twists and turns, facial expressions you’ve never seen before. this is love? yet you don’t feel anything, at-least not physically. your body is small, but large enough for him to coincide in. his body, his limbs, his soul— apart of you. love. you try to speak, try to move, but your nerves stay still, your joints stiff.

jongseong pistons in and out of you, he pushes into a hole you never knew you had. not that you’ve ever needed to use it, you’re not physically capable to. “fucking sat there like a mute, dumb dolly”, he whispers. “fucking stupid figurine, fuck”, he groans and groans. your wrists tied by the ribbon which was once a bow on the back of your nightgown. jongseong leaves what seems to be kisses along your glass skin, soft and intricate, thoughtful. his hot breath full of.. love. but, can a human really be in love with an object like you.

but, you’re human too, in a way, you feel emotions, you recognize patterns, you’re alive. your eyes stay glancing into his, a look of love, you ponder. “i love you”, he repeats once again, his prayers never ending. you feel jongseong tense, before a rush of warm liquid discovers your empty insides, hollow and dry insides. “i love you”, again, and again..

the silence is thick and heavy in the stale air of jay’s car, tension so thick you could it with a knife. his eyes are narrowed to the road, hands gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white. jay ignores your presence completely, seeming solely focused on the road.

his jaw clenches, and you catch it, the way you can feel his teeth gritting so hard against each other that he may as-well have chipped pieces on his tongue. but, you don’t look away from his face, the way his glasses sit sweetly on his sharp nose, how his lips are cracked in emotion, the cracks like spiderwebs around his mouth.

your head spins at the confusion taking over you, the man who’d just beat you to a pulp is the same one that you’re admiring. jay, the to-be-fiancé of yours, who hit you like it was as easy as breathing, not a hint of guilt behind his empty eyes… “you’re so fucking stupid.” his words spit at you like venom, eyes seething at your limp state on the floor. the fragile state of your relationship slipping from your fingers as his boot comes into contact with your soft stomache once more.

the car halts to a complete stop, the red light framing jay’s face sickeningly well. his angel face basked in a devils light, the light where angels fuck and corrupt innocent devils. his narrow eyes glance once towards you, which sets off his fur again. “do you wanna get fucking humiliated again?”, he hisses, not looking at your glassy eyes.

you feel a lump tighten deep in your throat, looking out of your window to distract you from crying— as that would spark his hand to wind your mind again, spin your head, twist the bolts in your back to be his silent porcelain doll.

you’ve always felt different with jay, especially in these past couple of weeks. in the beginning he was like a breathe of fresh spring air, now he’s stale, sadistic, his belief that bruises are back in style. jay was always so gentle with you, sweet and sugary, until he snapped.

you spoke against his demands, “i don’t wanna stay home today, jay” you whispered, barely. “oh, you think that you’re big enough to make decisions now?” he rasped, stepping closer to you.

usually this would excite you, as he didn’t seem to have a high sex drive at all, only fucking once every few months. but now it was different, he was sharper, controlled. you felt fuzzy, like you didn’t know who he was, confused until it hit you— literally, until his heavy hand came into contact with your soft skin. your dolly skin, clean and neat, now cracked from his own hands. that day— you saw a spark in his eyes that never went away, as if he had held that in for months, all of the years you had been together for.

the car door unlocks, the click shattering your ear drums, cutting the silence unapologetically. jay leaves, the slam of his door jitters you awake, thighs shaking in instinct. today—tonight is going to be worse, it feels, different. you scramble out of the stuffy air of the car, the fresh air slapping your face condescendingly. your shaky legs follow behind jay clumsily, closing the door quietly behind you, careful to not make any loud sounds that may irk him.

jay rips his blazer off, tie loose around his neck, his forearm muscles twitching. he turns to you, months of bottled emotions, weeks of impatience vomiting out onto you. his vermilion eyes bore into you, ‘on the floor. now’, his voice loud but monotone, vocal chords not faltering in the slightest. your finger twitches, fear and adrenaline now engulfing you, never have you once felt unsafe within jay’s presence. sure, he fucks your body up to a pulp, but you didn’t feel unsafe per-se.

your knees buckle, dropping to the floor beneath you before he can scream at you once more. your teary eyes gaze up to him; now you’re beneath him, compliant and crying, just how he wants his doll.

his heavy hand smoothes over the skin of your teary cheek, painted with faux softness, his thumb caressing the skin in small circles. your cheeks bloomed a pinky hue from the amount of gentleness he had given, before turning to a crimson red when you feel a sting. the sting reaches the back of your eyes as the sound throbs in your sensitive ears, thwap. his hand comes into contact with your face, hit after hit. and you deserve it, you’ll take it, because a slap is better than being ignored.

his large hands smack your face, turning it beetroot red, blooming the prettiest colours onto your cheek. the slaps ring in your ears like cocaine, getting him high purely off of the sound of your submission. being beat to a pulp is his favorite thing to do to you. your knees feel shaky, sore, bones crushing together, like kneeling on uncooked rice. you look up at him, for some form of affirmation, that you’re being good for him. taking it well, like his good girl. even though it hurts, even though, deep down, you know he doesn’t love you— you still take it, you’d take anything.

his slaps become lighter as his shoes come into contact with your stomach. the harsh leather kissing purple bruises onto your skin, his kicks degrading and sharp. lazily breaking your ribs piece by piece, his veins eat the shattered, eroded bones. he runs his thick fingers through your hair, lacing through the strands and gripping your head tight. a kick. and another. his love, physical, completely and wholly physical. he unbuckles his belt, eyes boring into your teary ones as you hold back vomiting out blood.

the heavy clanks of his belt rattles in your ears as he pulls boxers and pants down to his thigh, his hard cock leaking in your face. his dick hard and leaky from beating you— to a pulp. jay slaps his tip on your cheek, before slamming his hips into your sore mouth. holding a rock of tears in your throat, it tightens unapologetically around his cock. jay keeps a foot on your knee, pushing down ever so slightly to make you squirm. his cock slams against your lips, relentless, not giving you even a second to breathe. jay groans when he sees you struggling to breathe, turning him on further. jay puts pressure on your knee when he feels your arms scratching at him for release.

he chuckles before pushing his cock completely into you, forcing you to deep throat him. “you wanna be mine forever baby?”, he asks, condescendingly. jay knows you can’t reply, to busy on trying to push him away to keep your life. but, if your alive, you can’t be forever. jay continues to bruise the inside of your throat as he kicks your stomach once more, this time harder. definitely crushing a rib, when he hears a crackle, before a gag, before he feels liquid pool on his cock. jay feels his balls tighten, hot spurts rushing to coat your cold tongue. he thrusts shallowly, riding out his climax before looking at the limp state of you.

your eyes stuck, staring at nothing, unfocused. arms limp at your sides, body being held up by jay. your jaw, slack, blood pooling around his hard cock, mixing in with his cum. your stomache putting a broken rib on display as it sticks out of the place it should be in your skin. your knees bruised, prettily. jay pulls back, leaving you to drop on the floor, head banging on the laminate as the blood pools around your head, like a halo. now, you’d be in love with him forever, and he’d preserve your dead body forever, your life taken. late, in blossoming spring.

the thick, foggy air sticks to riki’s skin, wet and welcoming. his blood boils with need, desire. his euphoric heat taking over his devilish self, his soulless mind in a fallen angel’s body, face sculpted by god himself, which is why he walks towards the glistening church— in blasphemy.

purgatory, riki’s second home, sent down to this so-called hell every time he ‘sins’, with the prettiest, daintiest angels begging god to forgive his inexplicable deeds, getting on their knees for him to be spared. so here he is sent, for a second chance, but who’s even counting how many times he’s been here. he licks his lips, eager to see what he’s tested with this time. his curiosity sinister as he walks through the sickly thick fog.

he hopes it’s worth being here for hours, he prays —inadvertently, that he’s given an innocent little thing he can corrupt. with everyone above watching, all the angels whom he gave faux praise to, and even the upper himself. he wants them to see how he fucks and uses a frail little thing for himself, his selfish desires, because in theory- it would be god’s fault for sending a fragile girl to become riki’s sexual destiny.

his long fingers twitch at his pocket, the sneaky, betraying knife in his pocket pulses beneath his flesh. riki bites back a smirk, his cock already throbbing in his pants at the thought of there being a frail girl laying there for him to break. a test, is what they’re trying to set him up with, but he doesn’t care— because riki can’t die, he will exist, breath, feel, taste forever. he’ll fail this test in full, gluttonous confidence as he knows he’ll fulfill his desires today.

his shoes clank at the pavement beneath him, the dizzying fog blurring his determined eyes. riki allows the cold air to cut his skin, listening to the wind to give him your direction. he lets his deafening clanks fill the empty void of the fogged street, overgrown with decaying vines and thorns, to scare you. he hopes his presence irks you, terrifies you, makes you run. that makes it fun for him, to be able to catch his little prey.

after minutes of silence and impatience, riki comes across a shaking frame. a small, weeping thing, by a blossom tree, the pinks so bright within the darkness around, the pink petals— an eye sore. riki licks his sharp canines before leaning down in front of your petrified face, confusion written all over your tear-stained cheeks. he catches the way your lips quiver before speaking up, “hi doll, what’re you doing here, hm?”, he asks oh-so gently, tone laced with powdered sugar. you sniffle before shaking your head, trying and failing to not start weeping once more. your tears rush out land on your lap as your breathing becomes manic. riki chuckles head dropping down, before putting on a faux look of sympathy and engulfing you in what seems like a hug.

his large arms wrap around you, meaty and thick, his fingers feel like thorns on your spine, dragging up and down— cutting your skin open and feeding the wounds with venom. riki looks up to the grey sky, looking up at the angels who prayed for his redemption with a wink before his fangs enlarge in his wet mouth. riki pulls back when he hears a sniffle, “shh baby”, he whispers sweetly, wiping your drying tears. his eyes bore into yours, palms around your cheeks as the wind beats against the church behind you, the cross planted up, looking down at him in distress. riki sucks in a sinister breath, “don’t worry baby, im here, and so is god”, he murmurs, glancing up at the cross.

a sinister smirk itches his lips into a smile, the vaporized blood from his cut lips leaks into the soft, mushy muscle of your brain. riki glances down at your quivering lips, eyes glossy and shaking, so pretty when you’re vulnerable and beneath him. riki feels his cock harden in his boxers when he remembers the knife in his pocket, even though he won’t need it— with his sharp claws and your compliance.

he gives the foggy, empty sky one last look; he gives the angels one last look, before indulging in his natural pleasure. the soft palms around your face turn rough and sharp, his grip tightening around you, to keep you in place for him— perfectly. riki smashes his chapped lips onto yours, tongue thrusting in, needy, with thirst. your heart drops into your contaminated stomach, the linings of your insides molded and rotten. you were sent here for redemption, not corruption, so why are you being treated as such?

you squeal and thrush in his grasp, begging to be released. not to him, no, to god— begging for the angels, the ones who banished you here as a sacrifice to set you free from this sin. your thin, lamb skin being condescendingly sacrificial, unwillingly sacrificial. his tongue, piping hot, sucks the insides of your wet mouth, his demonic muscle plaguing your innocent, fresh wounds. your mouth stings as your breathe is stolen from your lungs, pushed onto the cold and hard concrete beneath you. with no weapons and no ability to fight back, your sugary soul is stolen from you. riki’s hands move from the gushing slashes on your cheeks, to your frail arms, wrists held down as bruises bloom and flourish on the weak skin.

you feel his lips move your mouth, although it doesn’t seem as if you feel it, but you do feel the pain when his lips suck the trickling blood from the slashes on your face. you try to scream, you really do. you try and try, throat aching and pulsating, but no sound comes out. you feel everything he’s doing to you, but you’re not there, you feel insanely, intimately close to him. the monster before you, the demon before you, the antichrist before you who stole you. you feel him, every inch. the paralysis of his pleasure, his gluttony, his selfish desire begins to lay a sweet, whole seed in your succubus. and you feel it, all of it, every part. laid there, taking everything— because you were sent here, silent hill, and this is your punishment to keep.

riki feels his fingers twitch into sharp metal, his arm rubbing against the fabric of his sleeves with metallic dust slipping off of him. his true self, purely monstrous, coming to life. he chuckles, thickly, before ripping your throat, slitting the iridescent skin that lay before him. he knows you feel the pain, you’re with him, but still feel the agonizing gush of blood leak from your neck, your throat spilling out every sin you’ve committed— right onto his erratic hands. he dives in, mouth lapping at the blood, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the rush, the pure, demonic rush of fulfillment. he feels his cock thumping in his boxers, hard and heavy, growing larger by the second. he teases himself for just a little longer as he gnaws at your oesophagus, biting and licking each ridge, every rim, every crook. the blood spurting onto his face just irks him on further, makes the agitating tent in his pants larger.

riki waits until you no longer feel apart of your body, until you have been devoured by him, apart of his demonic body, to pull his monster cock out. he travels his sharp, axe-shaped arm down your body, leaving massive cuts and deep gashes across your torso as he reaches your flora. riki glances at your eyes while slicing your skirt and panties off, the ripping of fabric like silky cotton in his earlobes, your eyes completely white, pupils and bloody veins— gone. “mm, now you’re gonna be a pretty flower for me, hm?”, he murmurs into your cold pelvis, leaving a scarring kiss before slamming his huge shaft into your tight, soft pussy. your cushiony folds rubbing and squeezing his shaft so sweetly. riki grunts at how small your pussy is, wrapped around him so tight like you never want him to let go, not that you could even decide that now.

his cock so huge and paining that he already reaches your gummy cervix, his dick four inches more deep than it should be, unnerving and inhumane. his lips kiss the cherry blossoms which grow from your leaking neck, slashed open at just the right angle to be used as fertile compost for the flowers, pink and innocent. riki wonders what the holy spirit would think of him now, gazing at the cross above him whilst fucking your pussy, raw and unforgiving. his movements become ragged and fast, his canines growing at the vital, the sheer need to knock you up. to give you his monster pups, his demon babies which would never grow into full flowers.

“fuck, gonna knock you up so good, gonna fill and breed you to the brim baby”, he groans, hips slapping into your wet pussy, leaking degradingly from his agonizing thrusts. the sounds of sticky skin slapping fills the empty roads, fills the void of the silent hill as riki mutters achingly sweet nothing into your deaf ears; ears filled with rosy petals. he thrusts until his tip reaches past your belly button, kissing the bottom of your stomach lining. the massive bulge print of his cock thumping through your blossoming insides tips him over the edge of your dead, decomposing body.

he feels his balls tighten with the innate desire to breed as he picks up his pace, lifting your body off the ground before slamming it back down. his eyes roll to the back of his head, mouth lolling open and his axe-arm slamming down to decapitate your arm when releases him cum. his seed spills and spills into you, filling you up kindly and breeding you with sin. his knot so deep he swears you’d be able to taste it in your brains if you were alive. riki licks his lips before looking up to the foggy sky, looking up from purgatory, from his silent hill. looking up god his thrusts once more, before chuckling at how much of his milk seeps out from your small body, to little to take his knot.