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heartilywrites · 5 months ago

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je t'aime, je t'attends ; c. hyunju

request guide | masterlist

summary: where you found your girlfriend participating in a series of deadly games.

cw: angst ; a bit suggestive ; a shit ton of narration and little dialogs, cho hyunju x fem!reader ; reader is a triangle guard 🗣 ; no use of y/n

wc: 2.3k

a/n: i love joining new fandoms, HI GUYS i've been simping for hyunju ever since i saw her and i needed to write for her or i'd die. hope y'all like it <33 feel free to request if you want, i'm a bit behind my rqs now bc of work but i'll do my best to write more for hyunju !!

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ Player 450

The robotic voice order, with your scope you looked for the poor soul, shooting without a second thought. When looking at the rest of the players, a familiar face was recognized by your orbs.

You knew that profile like the palm of your hand, you’ve spent way too many hours looking at it that it was burnt into your memory like your life depended on it. You had to be dreaming, licking your lips after a shaky sigh made the only sound in the small room you focused again on the woman. The number 120 was distinguishable on the back of her sweater as you made sure to memorize it, she was covering people behind her and a small sour smile painted on your lips, Hyunju didn’t change.

Your mind couldn’t concentrate anymore, what was she doing there? You’ve asked her time to get the money she needed, did you take too long? Did the salesman find her after you left? You were sure that was the case, if you knew she had been invited you’d done everything in your power to stop her from participating. A last gunshot was heard, you were quick to look over your scope; your heart stopped for a moment when you saw blood staining Hyunju’s face, but when your eyes concentrated on her and the kill was confirmed to be another player, you allowed yourself to relax a little bit.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ Soldiers who have completed your mission, please line up outside the sniper rooms.

As if your own hearts were able to feel the presence of the other blindly, while you were putting away the gun given to you, your body began to tremble just like Hyunju was down at the play arena. Both scared for the woman’s life now, you didn’t know what to do moving forward.

You thought back to when the Masked Officer had recruited you offering a generous sum of money that could solve all your problems if you did a couple of tasks and your first thought was your girlfriend, on the future that could be forged for the two of you after receiving the money, you had imagined the two of you living a quiet life in Thailand as per request from Hyunju, you didn’t care what the job could be about or if it meant blotch your hands in blood. You’ve done it before, you were a very well trained defense guard who was struggling to find a stable job, most people didn’t care about your time in the korean military force or if you were one of the best snipers from your battalion they all ‘needed a man for the job’. You couldn’t rely on Hyunju either as she had been facing unemployment too for quite some time now, you had reassured her that you’d take care of the bills however you could.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I’ll go back to being a guard for clubs if I have to,” you said to the woman while preparing dinner, a small sigh was heard from her that made you turn. You walked over to where she was sitting and took her face in your warm hands thanks to the fire of the stove. “It’s okay, Hyune, I got this. We’ll make it out of here, trust me.”

One of her hands looked to rest on your wrist, a sad grimace painted on her face. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone. I should be able to help you, to help myself… I want to contribute too.”

‍Your lips left a small kiss on her forehead. “We’ll be fine, my love, I promise.”

The mere memory made your heart ache with anguish, you had to get her out of there, you had to make sure she wins these games. You had to… You had to let her know you were there, didn't you? Maybe in that way she could feel more protected… Or maybe she would hate you for being there, maybe she’d break up with you, call you a monster, question how could you do that to innocent people?

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hey, twenty-three, can you believe what eleven is doing?” a distorted voice asked behind you.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Couldn’t care less,” you said back, your voice sounded completely different too. After leaving the briefcase you were carrying back into place and taking a different gun you walked over the entrance. “I’m not part of the business and I don’t care what happens with it, I told you.”

‘I have more important things to worry about’ you thought to yourself while following one of the square soldiers and accommodating the strap of the gun on your shoulders.

You saw all the players grouped at the back of the big bedroom, you thanked the gods you were wearing a mask as your eyes looked desperately for Hyunju while the soldier was speaking, you didn’t care what was being discussed at all. Even when the so famous player 456 was talking you couldn’t force yourself to pay attention until a specific line that came from his mouth caught your thoughts.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Let us take our vote right now.” your eyes looked at the man with hope, your heart filled with gratitude, at least someone was sane enough.

Without turning your head upwards, you saw the prize being announced and a sigh left your mouth, your full attention was now on the room and each player as well as your superior.

You were asked to be beside the podium, you walked a little too quick for your taste. You positioned yourself while looking forward at each player and counting on your head the x’s, hoping they would win. And then Hyunju was called over, when you noticed your hands shaking you held tighter to your gun, you noticed she doubted for a second and then voted the circle. Your eyes shut and a shaky breath came out your mouth, you had to stay composed, you couldn’t break down there.

And when the circles won the poll, the players were told they needed to rest and feast for tomorrow’s games. The group walked out leaving a couple of triangles and the circle soldiers who were handing the food. After being instructed to leave for the night, you walked over to your small room and allowed yourself to break down once the door closed behind you. Leaning against the door you let your tears roll down on your face, how could life be so cruel to you? You just wanted to make your girlfriend happy and now she was condemned to die on an island away from home, you wouldn’t be able to even take her home with you.

No, you couldn’t think like that, you wouldn’t release that energy into the universe, you had to take care of her now. It didn’t matter if it cost you your own life, you would ensure Hyunju won the games. You would be like a hawk, watching over her as much as you could. The officer was more than pleased to see you ask for more responsibility, you tried to be where the players were at all times. Behind the triangle mask you were constantly watching Hyunju, following her discreetly on the six-legs game arena and cursing people who looked at her bad under your breath. You found yourself almost celebrating your girlfriend’s win with her group, thankfully you stopped before. After seeing Hyunju win, hope began to occupy your heart fully, convincing yourself there was a chance she could win this games, that she would be free.

At night you stayed to cover for a little, after all, you weren’t that sleepy now. Leaning your back on the wall you saw your colleague deny a permission to go to the bathroom and at first you weren’t against it, you knew the rules too, but when the older woman began to ramble about her bladder issues, you stood up again.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I got this, I’ll take them.” you said to your company before they opened the door, a small thank you was said from the other guard.

When the door was opened and you saw the woman smile a giggle almost escaped your mouth, but any trace of a smile faded when Hyunju let herself show asking to go too. Your breath got stuck on your lungs as you watched closer now, forcing yourself to guide them to the bathroom, that was your time, you had to talk to her now.

You stayed outside for a few minutes to allow them to do their business and after a couple of minutes you turned to look everywhere hoping not to see anyone approaching, you knew the bathrooms didn’t have cameras so you took advantage of it to walk in.

Hyunju was watching her own reflection, it made your heart pound hard against your chest, she was as beautiful as ever. Brown eyes turned to look at you with a confused frown on her.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Do we need to-” she began to speak, being interrupted by your distorted voice.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “At ease, sergeant.” you said making her freeze on the spot, blinking a couple of times, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

You two had met back when she was in the military forces, before she came out as the Hyunju you’ve been loving for some time now. At first you were just really good friends, but as time passed you couldn’t help falling in love with each other. You were there for her at every step, inviting her to live with you when everything was just going from bad to worse for her, losing her job, gaining debts one after the other, having everyone turn on her… But you, oh you were her rock, her place to rest from the crude world and now there you were, in a pink suit with that horrible symbol on your face that has been taunting her dreams for the last couple of nights.

Your name fell from her lips on a small whisper that could almost go unnoticed if you weren’t paying your full attention to her, you released your gun and took the mask from your face, tears wetting your cheeks and she held the bathroom sink tighter under her hands.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Hyunju…” you whispered back, breathing in deep to calm yourself.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “What are you doing here?” the two of you asked at the same time, she shook her head. “You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be in that suit… What are you doing?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Trying to get the money to flee this shitty place.” you answered, taking a step towards her that she took back. “Hyunju, please.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Why would you accept to do this?” she asked now, you bit your lower lip for a moment.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Because I want you to be happy, I want us to start from zero, to have the life we deserve.” you started to answer, walking slowly her way to not scare her away. “We deserve to be happy, don’t you think, my love?”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You shouldn’t have come here, you shouldn’t have accepted it, we shouldn’t be here.” she began to speak a little faster and when you let your hands rest on her face she looked directly into your eyes.

Warm hands thanks to the gloves you were required to use made her feel at ease, made her feel like home. Troubled eyes were looking at each other, but you can sense the love and strong connection in them. Even in such a dangerous place with death itself roaming in every room, the love Hyunju and you shared had such power that could make any other emotion drown.

A silent discussion was held and not even a second later, your lips met each other with such hunger like you’ve been starving for so long, like you were far from the other for years. Without distancing from Hyunju you pushed the gun to your back so you could get as close as humanly possible with her, your right hand pulled her closer by the neck making Hyunju whimper for a small second, you smiled over her lips.

Aching hands looked to sneak under her shirt while her own hands clumsily tried to undo your suit, it was the sound of a flushing toilet that made the both of you jump and stopped grudgingly. Hungry eyes just looked at her as she was composing herself, Hyunju left a small sigh sound before looking again your way.

‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We have to get out of here,” she whispered, now Hyunju was the one holding your face in her own hands, you closed your eyes for a moment. “The two of us, safe and sound.”

‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You need to win the games.” you said back, opening your eyes again. “Do you remember our signal?”

Hyunju thought for a moment before taking away one of her hands to show you the sign you two had come up with back in your military days, you giggled and nodded.

‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I’ll be in every game watching over you, okay? When you see a guard doing it, know it’s me.” you whispered, she nodded too and stole another kiss from you. “We need to go back before the other guard comes to check, tell them, I’ll wait outside.”

The woman nodded again and as you were rearranging your suit, Hyunju pulled you in for a last kiss making you giggle like a teenager, almost giving in, but lastly stepping away and pulling your mask back on. You didn’t know how you’d make her win, but you had to go back home with her alive, you’ll figure it out in the way, but for now the only thing you could do was protect her.

#cho hyunju #cho hyunju x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #cho hyunju fanfic #squid game season 2 #one shot #cho hyun ju #cho hyun ju x reader #hyun ju x reader #hyun ju x you #cho hyun ju x you #player 120 #player 120 x reader

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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The catfish price things is giving me vibes of “I’ll make her pay for daring to play with me like that, I’m a god damn respected man” and then just stalking her for a few days until he finds the perfect opportunity to make the pretty little thing pay, maybe take *real* pictures of her, after he messed her up pretty cute, filled up holes.

"Oh, you're fine," John clucks, verging on dismissive when she tries to twist out of his grasp again. He yanks her back by her hips before she's managed to wriggle even an inch away, relishing in the sound of her ensuing yip.

She squeals from where she's bent over the back of the couch, little feet kicking out, her painted toes barely grazing the floor. Her pleas come out garbled, muffled by the ring gag in her mouth. It's more than fair after what she's put him through. As much as John enjoys the sound of her pleasure, he prefers this, only the squelching sound of her pussy every time he fills it up and her pathetic little mewls.

He likes the way she looks like this. Hands bound at the wrist, toes curling and flexing every time he bottoms out, still a bit too tight to take him to the root. She clenches deliciously around his length, tighter than sin, hotter than hell. Everything he'd imagined she'd be like in the weeks since they started chatting online. The only thing he's thought about since the first time she messaged him unprompted and he laid eyes on the sweet thing smiling back at him from the photo next to her name.

"Miserable little thing," he murmurs, fingers squeezing into her hips hard enough to bruise. He'll have to tend to those later when they bloom. "After everything I've done."

John likes to think that he's a good man, but even his patience has its limits. He can handle being blown off once or twice, but five times in a month? While still brazenly asking him to send her another month's worth of rent? If he's going to be taken for a sucker, then he thinks some taking of his own is well deserved. Earned, even. He's paid three times over for the wet peach between her legs.

No one would call him the most technologically adept, but what he lacks in know how, he makes up for in resources. It hadn't taken him long to find her - or, more accurately, it hadn't taken the intelligence analyst whose shoulders John had held in an ever intensifying grip long to find her. After that, all he'd had to do was put in for his leave and pack an overnight bag before plugging her coordinates into phone.

"C'mon, 'nough of that. Can't push a man this much without expecting him to snap."

She wails something unintelligible behind the gag, but he's long learned to tune her protests out. She'd been full of them when he'd barged into her apartment earlier, steamrolling past her. The display of innocence would've been more impressive if he weren't in such a foul mood, in no right mind to hear the woman that'd been bleeding him dry for weeks claim to have never so much as heard his name before.

He lets go of her hip just long enough to pull his phone from his back pocket, sliding the camera open and framing everything from the line of her back to the soft curve of her ass. The soft shutter of his camera is loud enough for her to crane her neck back, eyes going wide at the sight.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," John tuts, tossing his phone away and bearing down over her until he can run his nose down the sweaty line of her neck. She shakes when he widens his stance, seconds from letting his mind go blank while he thrusts into her like a rutting bull. "You'll get yours too."

#john price/reader #price/reader #john price x reader #price x reader #price x you #ceil writing

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inkedinshadows · 7 months ago

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A Place Called Home

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Follow Azriel as he recalls all the places where he's lived but never belonged, until he finds the one where he finally does.

Warnings: a bit of Inner Circle slander, I guess? But not really tbh. Mentions of wing clipping

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: I don't know what I think of this one tbh. It's not exactly what I had in mind, but I've made my peace with it. @azrielappreciationweek

Azriel had never belonged in his father's mansion. He never once believed he did. But he didn't belong in Illyria, either.

Though he was Illyrian, he always disapproved of their backward traditions, especially regarding females.

He had seen how his mother was treated; he knew what had happened to Cassian’s, and too many times during his training in Windhaven, he had to witness brutal clippings without being able to stop them.

How could he belong in such a place? A place where females were treated as little more than objects and breeding mares, where children were taught to fight as soon as they could walk and left to care for themselves in the mud and cold?

He had done horrible things—most of which to protect his family and court—and they still haunted him in his sleep at times. But he liked to think that he was at least better than the Illyrian brutes he had grown up among. That there were certain lines even he wouldn't cross.

Illyria was a beautiful land, with its snow-capped mountains and frozen lakes. It could be merciless and harsh, but that was nature. Its inhabitants, however, chose to be that way, and Azriel had long since lost faith in any change.

~~~~~~

He didn't belong in Rosehall, either.

He was always welcome there and visited as often as he could, but that was his mother’s house. He had bought it for her as soon as he had enough money.

It was her safe place, her haven, where she didn't have to worry about anything and where she wasn't anyone's servant. Azriel remembered the tears shining in her eyes the first time he brought her there, when the house was still empty and cold.

It had taken him a long time to convince her that she didn't need to worry about money. He worked directly for the High Lord now, and he was paid well enough for her to furnish the house however she liked.

She had still tried not to spend too much, but she had chosen each piece of furniture and decoration with attentive care. It was the first time she had a place she could call her own after centuries of living, and Azriel liked what she had done with it. The place was simple yet elegant, with cream-colored walls and wooden furniture. Colorful flowers bloomed on the windowsills, and paintings hung in the hallway and the living room. She had even made sure to have a bedroom for him, so he could stay as long as he wished.

But Azriel's favorite part of Rosehall was probably the delicious smell of food wafting through the rooms. Now that she no longer had to cook for domineering males, she had rediscovered her passion for cooking. Whether it was spices, freshly baked bread, or roasted meat, the smell never failed to make his mouth water.

Yes, Azriel enjoyed his time in Rosehall and tried to visit as often as he could, but it was still his mother’s house—not his.

~~~~~~

He belonged in the Inner Circle, he guessed. Though sometimes he felt like he didn't.

Azriel cared about Amren; after all, he had known her for centuries. But it was still Amren. How many times had it been just the two of them, spending time like normal friends? Once, maybe twice, and even then, their conversations had mostly revolved around Court matters. Sometimes he wondered if they would have ever approached each other at all if it hadn't been for Rhys bringing them together.

And then there was Mor. He had spent centuries quietly loving her, longing for something he could never have. He had long since stopped believing that her concerned glances and gentle touches meant anything beyond deep affection—sisterly affection. Yet he'd held on to those feelings even when they started to fade, because he had never known anything different. It was a twisted form of both protection and punishment: if he still loved her, then he wouldn't risk his heart being broken by another rejection. Yet knowing Mor would never feel the same, that she had her own lovers and relationships, was like being stabbed in the chest. He wasn't sure when it started to hurt a little less each time he thought about it.

With that pain easing, the resentment he'd carried buried deep down for most of his life began to fade as well. He never once held it against Cassian. He knew it wasn't his fault Mor had chosen him. Who would have chosen Azriel anyway? He wished things were different, but he didn't blame either of them. It still chafed, though. It was something he couldn't shake, like a shadow lingered on the edges of his heart, and it resurfaced whenever he saw Mor and Cassian together.

And his brother… Azriel loved him deeply, and he was grateful to have him in his life. But there was no denying how different they were, and sometimes it felt as if Cassian didn't really understand him. There was a rage inside Azriel, rarely rising to the surface but it was there, born the moment he'd seen his mother's fear in the presence of his father. That rage never left. It grew until Azriel had to learn how to contain it, to live with it, for the sake of the people around him and his own.

Cassian never really understood it. Rhys did, though. Azriel knew that if he pushed, Rhysand would match him. Yet his brother still tried to thaw and tame that icy rage he had grown so accustomed to, which was probably an honorable aim—if Azriel hadn't lived with it so long that he wasn't sure who he would be without it.

He loved his family deeply, and he knew they loved him back. But they didn't always understand him, and he often felt out of place among them.

~~~~~~

Velaris was his home, and he'd do anything to protect it. He tortured and killed for that very reason many times. But at the end of the day, the City of Starlight was just that—a city. No matter how beautiful or welcoming, it was too vast a place to call home.

He had never bothered buying an apartment or a town house for himself. Maybe he should have. But the House of Wind had always been enough, with its views and endless rooms. It was practical living there—there was the training ring, the hall where Rhys held court, and the library for when he wanted some quiet.

But the House of Wind belonged to Rhys. Now that he had given it as a mating present to Nesta and Cassian, it was theirs. They assured him he could still live there, that his room would always be his, but Azriel had preferred to move out. He had no interest in living there during their mating frenzy.

The townhouse and the river house belonged, once again, to Rhys and Feyre. They never made him feel like he owed them anything for staying there—Elain lived there too, after all—but Azriel longed for a place he could call his own. Yet the idea of buying an apartment had still felt too definitive. He had tried, but none of the places he'd seen made him want to own them.

He had almost given up hope of finding a place he could call home, but then he met you. And he realized, after five hundred years, that maybe home wasn't a place at all.

“Az?”

Your voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present, to the feel of you in his arms and your big eyes staring up at him.

“Baby, are you listening to me?”

Azriel blinked, slightly shaking his head to chase away the remnants of his past. He looked down at you, and his heart fluttered at the love shining in your eyes.

“Hi,” you said with a soft smile. Your hand came up to cup his face, the touch warm and familiar. “I lost you. Where did you go?”

“Sorry,” he breathed. “I was just thinking.”

You waited patiently, giving him the freedom to continue or return to your conversion. Embarrassment flooded Azriel as he realized he couldn't remember what you were talking about.

He held you imperceptibly tighter, trying to find the right words to convey what he felt.

“I never felt like I fit in anywhere,” he said eventually. His voice was quiet even in the silence of the room, and he struggled to keep his eyes open when all he wanted to do was lean into your touch. “I've been looking for where I belong for centuries.”

It came easy to voice those thoughts to you. You never judged. You listened, and then you gave your opinion or simply shared your own thoughts. You saw all of him, and you didn't run from it. You accepted him. You loved him.

Sometimes, Azriel still wondered if it was all a dream or if you were really a part of his life.

“And have you found it?” you murmured, your thumb brushing his cheek just below his eye.

Azriel nodded. “I found it.” He took your hand, gently removing it from his face to bring it closer to his mouth. He pressed a tender kiss to your palm, his lips lingering on your skin before he repeated the gesture with your fingertips. Your smile was soft as he murmured, “I found you.”

Your eyes, which had been following the movements of his lips, shot up to meet his. Even after a year together, he was still mesmerized by how you always wore your heart on your sleeve. It was so easy to read you, and right now, blended with your unconditional love, he could see curiosity and amusement playing on your features.

“Me?” you repeated, your voice a murmur.

Azriel nodded once more, letting go of your hand only to bring his own up to your cheek. “Yes, you, my love.” He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he breathed in your scent. “It doesn’t matter where we are. You’re where I belong. You’re my home.”

Wherever you went, he would follow. If you woke up one day and told him you wanted to move to the Spring Court, or even to Vallahan far east on the continent, he would go with you. He would go with you to the end of the world if you asked.

He could feel your heart beating faster in your chest, and a playful smile appeared on your lips as you pulled back to look into his eyes. “So… is this the right moment to tell you that I wanted to ask you to move in?”

Azriel stared at you, eyes wide, a huge grin slowly spreading across his face. His arms tightened around you, and then you squealed in surprise as his hands found your backside and he picked you up. The sound was quickly swallowed by his lips crashing against yours, and you could do nothing but kiss him back and wrap your legs around his waist, careful not to brush against his wings.

You were both breathing slightly faster when Azriel pulled back, but he didn’t let you go. If anything, he held you tighter, as if worried you might disappear.

“I’ll take it that’s a yes?” you chuckled. Your fingers brushed the hair on the back of his neck, his wings rustling quietly at the sensation.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Of course it’s a yes, love.”

He didn’t care if your apartment wasn’t suited for an Illyrian, if he had to carefully maneuver his wings to avoid knocking things over. He had already spent so much time at your place that he was used to it by now. The thought of staying there permanently—of waking up with you in his arms every morning, of coming back after a long day knowing you’d be there too—filled him with so much joy that his heart could burst.

You beamed, and all Azriel wanted to do was to spin you around and never let you go. And so, he did, because nothing was stopping him. He was going to share a home with his love, and nothing had ever made him this happy before.

As he spun you around, you threw your head back and laughed joyfully, the sound echoing off the walls. Azriel’s laughter joined yours when he stilled, and then you were kissing him again.

After more than five hundred years, he finally knew where he belonged. And it wasn’t a place.

It was with you.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

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blarshwritezz · 1 year ago

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This one was inspired by this post by @suiana <3

Yandere Beauty x Beast Reader

M yan x GN reader

TW - obsessive behavior, mass murder, maybe mild stalking(?), people are meanies

You've grown so tired of this life, but it was all you knew. You've been trapped like this for years with nothing but your own rage to accompany you. Many of the once priceless paintings in your palace were now destroyed. It didn't matter. No one remembered this place. No one remembered you.

And it would stay that way until you die.

Every now and then some adventurers or travellers would find your palace, hoping for a place to stay the night, only to run away in fear. They'd rather take their chances with the wolves than with such a terrifying beast.

You expected another one of those interactions when you heard a knock at the doors. Some didn't even have that much decency. You weren't expecting such a beautiful man to he the one at your door. Nor were you expecting him to get down on one knee and ask to be your husband.

"You are the most stunning creature I've ever seen...please, allow me the honor of marrying you!" Of all things, did he have to call you a creature? You were technically a person! At least, you were a long time ago.

Not wanting to go through with whatever he could possibly be planning, you slammed the door in his face with a firm "No." He was probably trying to make a fool of you, or perhaps even kill you. Even though you hated this life, you didn't want to die. Not quite yet

How you wished that was the end of it.

He started sleeping outside the door of your palace, insisting on marriage if he ever saw you. Whether you we stepping out on the balcony, looking out a window, or tending to the garden he'd beg for your hand in marriage.

Even though his appearance became disheveled after the many days he spent outside your palace, he was still more beautiful than any woman you met as a human. Such a beautiful man surely had plenty of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes lined up at his own door, so why did he insist on a life with you? A life of solitude and silence. A life without a single friend. Even your servants were long gone. Broken mirrors, dusty furniture, spiders and bugs infesting the least visited corners, was that really a l8fe to beg for?

You finally got agitated at all his begging and pleading, of all the surely empty promises. As he followed you through your garden on day, you lost it. You turned back and gripped him firmly by the jaw, smooshing his rosy cheeks together as you demanded an explanation.

"You're amazing, your majesty! You're my greatest dream." He admit, a deep blush growing on his cheeks as your grip tightened. "I'll admit, I wasn't planning to propose, so I failed to bring you a proper ring. But I came out here, curious if the rumors were true...and the second I laid eyes on you, I was in love!"

It sounded more ignorant than you expected.

"I fell to my knees once I beheld you. You were too perfect for me to handle, and I knew it was a sign that I had to marry you!"

You really didn't know what to say. Was this guy all beauty and no brains? You didn't realize those kinds of people really existed.

You dropped him, firmly telling him to get lost and marry someone else. Someone better. But he instantly feel to his knees, gripping your legs and begging with tears in his eyes.

"Please! At least give me a chance, my love!" You never realized someone could be so pathetic.

You dragged him away. First you tried tossing him off the palace grounds, but he came crawling back. Then you dropped him half way through the forest. Again, he refused to leave your side. So you left him the last place you wanted to go.

You dragged him all the way back to the village, and instantly received the backlash you expected. You tossed him to the crowd, and they instantly took him. And as for you? They threw rocks, rotten food, and whatever else they could easily throw. The assault lasted until you were out of their sight.

At least now you could continue your days in peace.

Oh, you thought. You wished, you prayed. Your peace didn't even last a day.

That night, when you went out to you balcony to stare into the night, an unfamiliar sight caught your eye. The bright light of a fire. A large fire, consuming everything in its path. A horrible fire, turning the village to dust.

You gripped your balcony, crushing the metal of the railing. What were you to do? The villagers hated you. They loathed your very existence. They didn't remember you as you once were, only the beast you were today.

You were still supposed to be their ruler.

They were still your people.

You had to protect your people.

Without another second of hesitation you rushed out of your palace and through the forest. Only to find one person on the path there. The beautiful man you gave back to them earlier.

"I got rid of them for you, darling. Those barbarians didn't see how absolutely beautiful you are, and they can't keep us apart any more." He knealt down on one knee, pulling out a black box and revealing a stunning ring.

"Now let me do this properly...will you marry me?"

I WAS INSPIRED, OKAY? I know I have requests to get to 😭

#blarsh writes #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader #male yandere #yandere x you #male x reader #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #male yandere x you #gn reader #gender neutral reader

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eff4freddie · 1 year ago

Text

Free

No Outbreak AU!Joel Miller x AFAB Reader

Words: 7.7k of basically porn lols

You confess to Joel one of your filthiest fantasies, something you've never told anyone before. He's a good man, but you underestimate just how much he will do for you.

Warnings: Minors DNI. Explicit. Free use. Public sex. Praise kink. Beer bottles and dirty dive bars. Tiny lil breeding kink if you squint. Like seriously guys, this is filth. I've gone a little shy of myself? Like wow we are learning some things about Freddie tonight.

Like most wildfires, neither of you were sure where the first ember landed. Joel preferred dive bars, liked the blues on the juke box, the fact that he would wear his flannel and jeans flecked with paint and wood shaving and no one would notice. He knew you preferred the fancier places, occasionally would make an effort, but knew you also didn’t mind sometimes slumming it with him, sometimes just leaning back into a booth and letting the neon red light leech over your skin. You’d never admit it to his face, never give him the power over you, but you didn’t really care where you were so long as it was with him.

You liked it when he lifted the beer to his lips, saw his throat work to swallow it down. It reminded him of the times you’d made him gasp, groan, as he worked his cock into your throat. It felt like an intimate thing, the chords of his muscles working just right there under his skin. Sometimes you reached out, ran your fingertips under his collar, made him shiver. He’d grab your fingers, put them on his lips, press a kiss to them, tell you off for lettin’ ‘em get so cold in the night.

On these nights, when Sarah’s with the sitter and you’re winding down from a long week of work, its these nights when Joel takes you out in a pretty dress or a shirt skirt, waits in his truck while you slip your panties off and puts them in his pocket, helps you down to the street with a hand gripping the back of your thigh. It’s these nights, when Joel’s worked up from the job site, when he’s stressed about Sarah’s teenage rebellious phase, when it’s been a while between drinks, that he’s handsy with you, pushing himself into a booth in a dark corner and pulling you down on top of him, perched in his lap with your legs spread over his so that he can face you out to the bar, open your thighs just as someone walks past, lets you feel the breeze on your cunt while you hide your face in his neck and burn, either from embarrassment or from how wet he’s made you, showing you off like this, you tucking his hands under your bottom to stop him slipping them into you while you try to concentrate on the specials board.

‘Shy, baby?’ he’d tease you, pulling your hair off your neck to bite at your jaw line, whisper dirty nonsense into your ear while you fought for some kind of decency, some way to cover yourself up, at least until you’d finished your first drink.

It was one of those nights, when he’d finally relented and let you eat your meal in peace, that he’d got it out of you, the confession that set the whole thing in motion, the idea taking root in Joel’s mind so swiftly that the tendrils of it spilt into his veins, spiralled down to his cock, made him harder than he ever remembered being.

You knew this about Joel. That it wasn’t a jealousy streak, or an insecurity, that it wasn’t even so much of an exhibitionist streak for him. It was just that he liked showing you off, liked knowing that of all the men in the room who were undressin’ ya, wantin’ ya, he was the one with his fingers buried in your cunt while you struggled to act like nothing untoward was going on. He liked the power of it, the power he had over you, and you wondered sometimes how far he would go with it. What would happen if you were ever found bent over with his cock buried inside you, his hands on your hips pulling you back into him, his teeth bared and his sweat dripping onto your back. You knew without having experienced anything like it that he would probably keep going, that he would like the watching. That he’d probably goad the audience into coming closer, commentate for them, let them see what he, and only he, was wringing from your body as it clamped down around him. The thought of it, the image of it in your mind, kept you awake at night, your cunt throbbing. You felt the pride in it, you supposed, that he desired you so dearly he wanted to show off that he had you.

You knew all of that when you confessed to him what you were thinking about, three beers in and his hand on your knee, rubbing little circles with his thumb, sliding his whole hand over your skin and back down again, not even noticing he was doing it. You watched his pupils blow wide, the far away look come over him as he imagined what you were describing, the way he swallowed, hard.

‘You want that right now?’ he asked, and he looked like a kid on Christmas morning, not quite believing he’d actually been given the bike he’d asked Santa for.

‘No, not right now, probably not ever,’ you said, flopping your head onto his shoulder and listening to his quickening heartbeat in his neck. ‘Just like to think about it, is all.’

‘Baby you can’t say that to me and not…you have to know what you’re doing to me,’ he all but whined, and you giggled.

‘You wouldn’t mind it?’ you asked, pulling up to look at him again, study his eyes, knowing that you were way out on a limb now. You saw not an ounce of hesitation on his face.

He barely got you out of the place before he had you bent over the bed of his truck, your hands clawing for purchase on the chrome as he drilled into you right there in the parking lot, your face buried in your arms in the hope that the darkness of the night was protecting you both from being arrested.

He didn’t bring it up again for another few weeks, both of your jobs getting too busy, Sarah getting too demanding and fourteen, the world conspiring against you to rob you both of your dirty Fridays. Joel was getting pent up, the idea of it bouncing around his mind too often for him to concentrate, but his bones were sore of a nighttime, and he only had the energy to relieve himself in the shower before climbing into bed and switching off the light. You didn’t mind it, had been together a long enough time now to know there would be ebbs and flows. He held you as you slept, he kissed you in the morning even as you tried to shove him off and scold him for his morning breath, promised to take you out when your schedules were clear and knew that he meant it, that he was a man of his sometimes limited words. Sometimes it just went with the territory of wanting him always, you knew, that there would be aching times of not-having.

So you were surprised when you came home from dropping Sarah off at her friend’s for the night and saw his truck in the drive, expecting him much later if the week had been anything to go by. You heard him in the shower and figured he was washing off another stressful day, intending to leave him to it, except that for a man with basically one good ear he was surprisingly adept at knowing where you were at all times, and he emerged, towel wrapped loose around his hips and dripping onto the carpet, to pull you by the arm in with him. You just managed to strip out of your jeans before he was on you, pulling your wet bra off your skin, slipping your underwear down your legs and throwing them into the sink.

‘Won’t need those tonight,’ he said, simply, as you gawped at him, the water running off his shoulders and into your eyes. You leant forward, resting your forehead on his chest. It had been an intense few minutes.

‘Where we going tonight?’ you asked, and he didn’t answer, instead pulling back from you and bending to lift your leg up, hooking it over his elbow. You leant back onto the cold shower tile, the water beating down on your chest, as he dripped your favourite body wash onto a loofah and ran it tightly over your skin, crouching down and slipping your leg over his shoulder to run it up and down the inside of your thighs, each time his fingers sweeping closer to your cunt, the heat and steam of the shower making you light headed as your clit throbbed for him. He was teasing you, working you up and you knew he was going to leave you like this, that this is how the whole night would go unless you did something about it, pushing yourself off the wall and crashing your pussy into his mouth, the sharp angle of his nose landing hard on your clit as he gasped.

It hadn’t been the plan but he wasn’t above improvising. In his head he was just going to tease you a little, make sure that you were up for what he had planned, but this was just as good, just as effective. He was careful not to let you come, careful to keep you right on the edge, the suds and the water running over his mouth and nose as he lathed at your clit, ran his tongue up and down your seam, not letting it dip inside where he knew you wanted him. He looked up your body, watched your hips shudder and the muscles in your tummy roll and contract as you tried to draw him in deeper. He grinned, a huffled little laugh into your pussy. You were furious when he drew back, wet hands trying to grip his hair and keep him there. He held you to him, wrapped you warm up in a towel even as you cussed him out, madder than a barn cat at having had your pleasure interrupted. You were perfect like this, he thought, watching you huff, wild for him. He reminded you to dress for a night out. He made sure your underwear stayed in the sink.

You were still pissed, but your curiosity got the better of you when he missed the turn off for the bar, heading instead over the railway track and further out of town. If you had been speaking to him you would have asked where he was taking you, but you were refusing to let him off the hook for his cruelty in the shower. Twenty minutes later, when he pulled up to a bar you’d never seen before, a couple of dirt bikes parked out the front and a few trucks in the lot out the back, he gave you a little tap on the knee. You turned to him, eyebrows shooting up.

‘Figured we better go where no one knows us, baby,’ he said, and he was grinning at you in a way that made your belly flip, an electric bolt shooting straight between your legs.

‘What are you up to, Miller?’ you asked, as he leant over and undid your seatbelt. He made you jump down out of the truck yourself, striding as he was towards the bar. The bright red OPEN sign buzzed over the door, the sound of it reverberating into the air beneath it where you stood, your nerves jangling in tune. Surely he wouldn’t, you thought. You pulled your short skirt down, worried now that without underwear a strong breeze would expose you to anyone passing by. He held the door open for you, darkness behind him and the sounds of clinking glass, tinny guitar over a shitty sound system, chatter and drunkenness.

‘Trust me, baby,’ he said, and you did, you knew you did. He held his hand out to you. You took it.

Once inside you could see a bit better. The bar itself was quite small, a couple of men sitting around it drinking beers and whiskeys. There was a row of booths under the blacked-out windows, a pool table in one corner. By the bar a hallway led down to the bathrooms. You shivered when you saw it.

He led you by the hand to the corner of the bar right next to the hallway, the single stool.

‘This is where I’ll be,’ he said to you, putting your hand on the bar to feel how solid it was, that it was real and that this was happening, to ground you. He pulled you forward, five or maybe six paces down the hallway, to a piece of wall right by the men’s bathroom. He backed you up against it, letting you glance over his shoulder to the stool where you had just been.

‘This is where you’ll be,’ he said to you, his voice heavy and thick and you recognised the want in it, the need. He spun you around, kicking your feet apart and holding your hands up above your head. You tried to breathe but couldn’t seem to get enough air, tried to expand your lungs but you could only puff and gasp, your stomach doing somersaults as he positioned you. He pushed them into the wall, the two of them held together under his palm.

‘You don’t move them from here,’ he said, stern and calm at the same time. ‘You look over your shoulder you’ll see me, but you don’t move these from here. Nod so I know you heard me, baby,’ he said. You nodded your head, your nose almost grazing the plaster of the filthy wall. He pulled your hips out so that you bowed slightly, your arse sticking back behind you. He ran his hands over the back of your thighs, leant down to cup your bottom as he ran his hands up and over, pulled your skirt over your hips.

Your heart was racing so hard you could feel it in your knees, your whole body thrumming as he exposed you to the room. You heard no shouts or protests, your eyes slammed shut and your face buried in your arm. You could feel cool air on your skin as he moved away from you, and you yelped, a bolt of panic shooting through you. You lifted your head and he was there again, his arms over yours as he covered you, brought his mouth down to your ear.

‘You can do this baby, I’m right here,’ he said, and you felt like you might scream or cry or come, you weren’t sure which or what you preferred, your mind scrambling to keep up with the fact that he was letting you play out one of your dirtiest fantasies, that he trusted you this much, that you knew he would keep you safe, would stop it from going too far if you needed him to, that you wanted this, that you wanted to give it to him.

‘Two rules,’ he said, when he could tell you were coming back into yourself, that you were listening. ‘Hands stay on the wall,’ he said, his voice rough and low as he stopped to chew on your earlobe. You could feel you were wet, could feel you were shivering. You hadn’t had a good look at the men in the bar. You weren’t sure if you were glad of it.

‘Second rule,’ he said, and now he was running his hands over your hips and down your belly to rub little circles into your clit. You shuddered, pushing back against him, felt that he was throbbing. ‘No coming ‘til I say so,’ he said, and then he was gone, your body cold and aching where he had just been.

You lifted your head and turned to watch him over your shoulder, your spine twisting to see without moving your hands, now resting palm-down above your head. You saw him calmly order a beer from the bartender, who didn’t bat an eyelid at you standing, skirt over your arse and bent at the waist, the seam of your pussy exposed to the entire bar, your thighs quivering as you felt the slick start to collect on your skin.

All you could do was try and breathe. Try to keep your knees from shaking, your legs from collapsing underneath you. You turned your face back to the wall, your nose resting on the brick, as you gulped down air and tried to swallow on a bone-dry throat. Maybe nothing would happen if you just stayed completely still, you thought. Wasn’t that how they survived the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park?

You could hear the toilet in the men’s room flushing, the tap running as the dude, mercifully, washed his hands. You knew you were seconds away from being confronted, that he would have to squeeze past you if he wanted to get back to his table, that maybe the others wouldn’t have seen you tucked away as you were down the side of the bar, but not now, not where Joel had positioned you. You closed your eyes, the humiliation of it mixing with heat in your cunt, and you couldn’t decide what you wanted to happen, couldn’t quiet your mind enough other than to count backwards from 10 and try to force your lungs to work.

10. You heard the door swing open, the rush of air ruffling the skirt over your lower back.

9. Footsteps striding out of the bathroom, stopping abruptly.

8. A short, sharp exhale of breath. A ‘what the fuck?’. Surprised, but not angry.

7. A long, heavy second or two of silence.

6. A slower footstep. Another. Towards you.

5. A hand, warm and foreign, on your hip as he moved behind you.

4. The thunderous sound of your voice in your head telling you to just stay still, stay still, stay still.

3. A nervous little laugh as he slid behind you, his hips to yours to get past you on the wall. His hand still on your hip but gripping, fingers squeezing at your flesh.

2. A soft swipe of your cunt as he clears you, his fingers gently fluttering over your seam as you stand, exposed and wet.

1. Your gasp, all of the breath you had been trying to get suddenly sweeping into your lungs, a needy little whine on the exhale, a shiver.

And a few moments later, laughter, a group of men on the other side of the bar, a hint of disbelief in it, a hint of awe. You blinked your eyes open, your body quaking. You couldn’t turn your head, wouldn’t turn your head to Joel, but you knew he was there, knew he was watching you quiver, knew he would stop it if it got too much, that you wouldn’t have to ask him, that he would just know. You felt heat on your cheeks and a twist of something in your gut. For a moment you wanted to skip forward to the aftermath, to Joel holding you in bed and loving on you, recounting the events that hadn’t even unfolded yet as you felt the heat of his skin and the strength of his arms, the muscles ripping under his skin as he kissed the shell of your ear and let you drift to sleep, wrapped up in him.

Joel gripped the neck of his beer bottle harder than he intended, barely registering the cold on his hands. It had been his idea to set this up, he knew that, had rented the whole place out to make a safe space for you to play, had vetted the guys from the job site, had been careful to select the ones he knew would treat you right. Still, though. Still, he could see you were shaking, trying so hard to be good for him with your hands pushed into the wall, and he doubted for just a second, wondered whether he should call it. He could see you were slick between your thighs, could hear that you were breathing heavy. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t feel a surge of something a little like jealousy at the way the eyes of the guys travelled over your delicious curves, curves he had – up until this moment – reserved the sole right to traverse. He wondered if the guys would be able to stick to the limits once they had you under them. He was ready to pull you out of there the moment something got out of hand, but he worried, now and for the first time, that by then it could be too late.

You swallowed over your dry throat. You were trying to stay in your body, to close your eyes and give yourself over to it, but you were still struggling to quiet your mind. This is what you had wanted, and you knew Joel would never push you further than what you had told him you would go. You knew that. But did the other guys? You considered for a moment, the thought occurring to you like a lightning bolt, that Joel had worked you up in the shower precisely so that you would be horny enough not to run for the door the second he tried this. You almost wanted to laugh, except that you were too scared to lest you lose all control.

There were more footsteps, coming towards you from beside the bar, and you swore you heard a group of men cheering the man on. He wasn’t hesitating, whoever this stranger in the bar was, probably having spotted you from across the room. You kept your eyes on the floor, your head hanging low between your shoulders. From this angle you could see your ankles, the heels Joel insisted you wear even though you could barely stand in them, realising now why he wanted you off balance, why he wanted you unable to run for the door. Two pairs of trainers appeared between your ankles, a rough hand coming down to rest on your left butt cheek. It wasn’t a slap, wasn’t even a particularly hard grope, but you whimpered anyway, slammed your eyes shut and immediately wondered if it was better to look or not.

And throughout it all your pussy throbbed. Even if you were in turmoil it knew exactly what it wanted, was hungry for the attention and the desires of all these men, was having a fucking field day knowing Joel was watching you, wanting you, from across the room.

The man behind you slid two fingers over your seam, his breath on the back of your neck as he leaned over you. You shuddered, his skin rougher than Joels, as he prodded at you, eased your lips open and ran his fingers up along the flesh there. You realised he was collecting your slick, felt him pull away and his lips smack around his hand as he, presumably, sucked you off his skin.

‘Jesus, boys,’ he called to his friends over the other side of the room, and you startled. ‘She’s fuckin’ sweeter than honey and dripping onto the floor.’

Under the cheers you swore you heard Joel chuckle, and you shivered. You wanted this man to touch you again, almost whined when he instead moved back to his table. You were sweating, could feel that the small of your back was damp, felt like you had a fever, some kind of delirium, the pulsing of your cunt so intense it almost hurt.

You heard more shuffling footsteps, now, three or four sets, as you realised the table of friends were making their way over to you. You shivered, turned a wild eye over to Joel, who was sipping at his beer and watching you, nodding gently at you to keep you there. You kept your hands on the wall. You wanted to be his good girl.

‘And we can touch her wherever?’ a guy was saying, and you moved your face back to the wall, arching your back slightly, practically waving your cunt in the air.

‘She ain’t protesting,’ a voice said, and you recognised it as the man who had just touched you. To demonstrate his point, he extended his hand to your face and stuck two of his fingers in your mouth, and you sucked them willingly, tasting a hint of yourself on him. You felt your eyes close all by themselves, smiling as the man gasped.

‘Holy shit,’ someone else commented, and you were slapped hard on your arse then, the sting of it making you whine. A finger quickly followed, probing you open again, your copious amounts of slick easing the entry.

‘Like this?’ the voice said, and you realised he was asking you a question, and you nodded your head. ‘Yeah, you like this,’ the voice affirmed, a finger finally sinking into your cunt. You felt yourself spasm, throwing your head back and groaning, your hips rolling all on their own.

‘Tight little thing,’ someone said, and you grunted as another finger was added. You were being pushed into the wall, your face lying on the brick, your hands still planted above your head.

‘Ease it on her a little,’ a third voice said, and you felt another hand snake around you, this one cold on the fingertips, as it slid over your clit.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, the pleasure of it shooting through you. You could feel that you were clamping down on the fingers inside you.

‘She liked that a lot,’ the man beside you said, and he pulled his fingers from your mouth and dropped them to your tit, rubbing the nipple through the barely-there shirt Joel had picked out for you tonight.

You were whimpering, gradually losing control of the sounds you were making, of your little cries into the noise of the bar, and you could hear them snickering, laughing at your pleasurable distress, at the ache and thrum of your cunt, at the way you were so wet you were leaking down your thighs.

You were losing your grip on your thoughts, felt them slipping through you, unable to catch them as they dripped past. From somewhere a memory stirred itself up, sitting on Joel’s lap in the bar you always go to, his hand pushing on your clit from outside your panties as he shielded you from the rest of the patrons, whispering into his ear that you fantasised about being used by strange men, about being set up by him to be groped and fondled, to be watched as men took their pleasure from you, to have to wait for them to be done with you, to be bored of you, before you were released. ‘But they never get bored of me, not really. Sometimes they let me rest for a bit. But they want me that bad, they can’t stop.’

‘How long’s this all take, when you think about it?’ he asked, feeling even through the fabric of your underwear that you were dripping.

‘Sometimes hours,’ you whimpered, breathless just at the thought of it. ‘I’m free for their use, for hours. For hours,’ you said.

Now, with your hands against the wall in just the position you had described to Joel weeks before, you bite your lip. God, how long does he plan on keeping you here? You want to come already, want to push down on the hands behind you and flood them with your spend.

These men, though, these three, are just teasing you, and right when you start to rock your hips they pull away again.

‘Unreal,’ one of them says, as if you’re a work of art hanging on a wall in a museum, and you want to howl at them, want to grab their hands and put them back on your skin. You resist the urge, biting down hard on your bottom lip. Joel said no coming, so maybe you should be grateful. Even if you’re now quivering. Even if you’re not sure your legs will keep you standing.

You take a couple of shaky breaths, coming down enough to notice that your shoulders are starting to ache. You roll them, careful to keep your palms connected to the surface, trying to push the hair out of your eyes by running your face along your forearms.

You’re not sure how long you stand there. You try counting the songs on the jukebox but they all sound the same to you, and it’s hard to decipher when one stops and the next one begins. Every now and again there’s the sound of glasses being dumped into the trough behind the bar, clinking ice and peels of male laughter. Once or twice, someone walks past on the way to the bathroom and pat you on the arse, put a hand on your lower back and bend you further, pushing you until your sweet little cunt is more fully exposed. But no one is bold enough to touch, no one is as forward as the three men from before, and you’re feeling a twinge of disappointment settling in between the arousal and the shock. These scant touches aren’t nearly enough, and you realise that you’re pining for someone to come and tease you, play with your cunt or your tits until you’re gasping.

You chance a look over your shoulder at Joel and see that he’s turned away from you a little, his beer in his hand while he chats to a man beside him, and his casual disregard for your predicament infuriates you as much as it sends bolts of heat to your cunt.

You’re being ignored, you realise, and it makes your tummy do weird flips you don’t fully understand. You start to arch your back again, weave your hips in slow circles in the air. You don’t have a lot of mental capacity in this moment, so it’s only later you will consider that Joel had made sure you would beg for any attention, knew that you would be outraged at not being the centre of attention in this moment, that you would reach a new level of depraved heat just to get the eyes back on you. It had maybe been half an hour and you’d gone from praying no one would see you if you didn’t move, to trying to scent the air around you with your cunt, luring them to you like a siren on a rocky cove.

Now, though, now all you want is for someone to touch you, someone to ease their hands onto your skin and feel the heat of it, coo at how mean your man is, how silly for letting a pretty little thing like you out of his clutches. You realise you allowed to close your legs and you do, wrapping one foot behind your ankle so you can rub your thighs together. The skin slides easily and you sigh, gently.

You’re wrapped up in it, your ears tuning out the noise around you to properly concentrate on the thrum of your cunt, so you don’t realise there’s someone behind you until they’re basically on you, kicking your legs apart and arching you back again.

‘Naughty girl,’ the voice says, and it’s not Joel and you’re marginally disappointed but also it means this isn’t over yet, and you grin back at him.

‘Not sorry,’ you say, and you’re pulled back then, almost bent over in a right angle as your hands slide down the wall but stay on it, your arms now covering your ears.

You just barely hear a grunt, then something cold and hard is pushing at your lips for entry, and you realise that you are being fucked in a strange bar with a beer bottle in front of however many strange men, and you groan at the insanity of it, at the filth. He’s twisting it, his other hand finding your clit, and you’re throwing your head back now, your hair falling down your back as you arch, the glass so smooth and cold inside you that you wonder for a second if you’ve fogged it up. Its thrust into you three, four, five times before the man slips it from you, and you hear him take a swig of it, the taste of your cunt on the glass as he lifts it to his lips. He groans, rests a hand on the small of your back as he sips.

‘Sweet?’ someone calls out, and you hear him laugh.

‘Heaven,’ he says. ‘Come get yours before I ruin her.’

You hear chairs being pushed back, and looking down at the floor you count seven pairs of shoes assembling in a line behind you. You can hear some guys are still playing pool, the crack of the 8 ball as someone breaks. You look for Joel’s along the line of shoes behind you. You don’t see them.

There are fingers in your cunt again, two or maybe three, you’re not sure, and you have moved up a little, your tits pressed to the wall as they grope you from behind. It’s delicious, exactly the right pressure in exactly the right spot, as if someone has given them all a manual to your body. Someone lifts your leg under the knee and twists your hip so that you can rest your foot on his thigh, and then you’re even more open, even more exposed. You close your eyes, your spine twisting to keep both arms on the wall, but in this position one man can get underneath you on his knees and lick up into you and you gasp at the feeling of it, the warmth of his tongue compared to the cold of the bottle, and you’re really sweating now, want to rip your top off and pull the skirt from around your waist just to get it out of the way, but someone is using it to hold you still, the fabric bunched under your tits so that you won’t fall. With one mouth on your cunt someone else is behind you with his fingers inside you, and someone else is holding your tits in his hands, his thumbs squeezing and rubbing at your nipples.

Over your shoulder you can hear someone commentating for his friend. ‘Fuck, you thought she was wet before,’ they’re saying, and the way they’re talking about you like you’re not there, like you’re an object for them to play with, a doll, a toy, has you bucking against the tongue on your clit, against the fingers inside you. They’re setting you on fire, the embers catching on gasoline. It’s heaven and its torture and its so, so much.

Fuck, you’re going to come and you can’t stop it. But you have to, you promised Joel. You’re almost wailing now, trying to get the feeling out in some way so that you won’t tip over the edge, and the guys are laughing.

‘Listen to her hollerin’,’ someone says, and you can’t keep your eyes closed anymore, open them to see a bunch of men standing around you, all of them palming their cocks through their pants, as one man crouches under your form, his shoulder pushed hard into the wall to get under you. You can’t see the man behind you but one is off to the side, his eyes on our cunt as he bounces your tits in his hands.

‘Oh, hey beautiful,’ one of the men watching says when he catches your eye. He’s handsome, they all are, you realise, and they’re all in their early 30s and they’re all incredibly fit, and if you had any presence of mind in this moment you would consider that this was an odd coincidence, but as it is right now you just want their cocks in your mouth, want their come dripping over your tits and your face. The one behind you, with his fingers buried in your cunt, is grinding against you and for a deranged moment you consider freeing him from his pants and slipping him inside you.

‘She’s so fucked out,’ someone laughs, and you’re gasping, crying out as if that will stop you from coming, but it’s not enough, the cliff is right there. You’re rolling your hips, your mouth agape and gasping when you’re not howling for relief.

‘Like a bitch in heat,’ someone says. ‘Hey, tag out.’

All of them stop, hold you steady for a second. You’re panting, your legs weak as you lean your weight on the wall. You can feel yourself receding from the cliff again, can feel the throb in your cunt easing off just enough that you can think. Your leg is dropped back to the floor, and you are jostled back into position as the men rearrange themselves, and you realise they’re taking turns using you. Even without their hands on you, the thought alone could make you come. You want to turn your head to look for Joel but they’re crowding around you, and for a second there’s a drop of panic in your belly before it’s replaced again with wildfire. You know he’s there. Know he’ll stop it if he needs to.

‘Holy shit, she’s still so tight,’ someone says, slipping back into place in your cunt, and another man laughs. ‘Get the bottle again, stretch her out.’ Their hands are probing again, a man finger-fucking you from the front now, another holding you up from behind as they twist you off to the side. They’re all staring at your cunt, at where you’re spreading open to take them, marvelling at the intrusion.

‘How many fingers you reckon she can take?’ someone asks, and you buck your hips away from it, away from how obscene it is, from how irrevocably turned on in makes you.

‘Joel said not to mark her,’ someone says, and much later you will recall this, recognise this as the moment you might have realised he had set all of it up, including who these men were. As it was you were too busy trying to quell the rushing bliss thundering through you, trying to hold back the cracking dam with your pinkie finger and good will.

‘Scoot over, then,’ someone says, and you are moved again, your legs opened up a little further so that two hands can be inside you at once, their fingers moving just out of sequence enough that they rub at different speeds, forming a relentless piston, a wave of pleasure that’s going to drag you under, fill your lungs.

You can’t take it. Your eyes are blurring from unshed tears, the respite from moments ago disappearing under the weight of the bodies covering you. Are your hands still on the wall? You open your eyes a crack to check. You want them to throw you over their shoulders and slip their cocks inside you, one in front and one behind. You want to roll on the floor with them, have them line up and sink yourself down on them one by one like some kind of deranged Goldilocks. You want every last one of them to come on you, in you, to breed you, to make you theirs.

You can feel your back arching, can feel that you’re rearing up again, the pleasure twisting up your spine and elongating it, your head pulling hard up and away from your shoulders. You’re holding your breath, trying to keep the orgasm away, but it’s bolting up on you.

‘I can’t, I can’t,’ you’re saying, and you’re not even sure what you can’t do exactly. Can’t hold it back, can’t take anymore, can’t stop. Can’t come like this, not allowed to. Joel’s good girl.

‘Hey!’ a voice booms from the bar and you recognise it immediately, Joel standing up and moving towards you. He’s seen you struggling, has seen your hips rolling and heard your wails as you tried to hold back for him. ‘I said no comin’!’ he bellows, and you groan. Your knight in shining armour has arrived just to keep fucking torturing you.

‘Joel!’ you cry, whine, nearly in tears for the need of him. Suddenly you don’t want any of these guys, you just want him, want his smell and the sweet softness of his flannel, want his eyes on you and his whispers in your ear. Want his cock inside you, his come claiming you from within. He’s shouldering his way to you, pushing the guys out of the way, and then he’s with you, your heart racing as his hands are on your shoulders, turning you back to the wall.

‘So good f’me, baby, I know, I know,’ he’s soothing you and you realise you’re sobbing, your breaths coming in deep huffs.

‘Please, please,’ you’re calling for him, and you feel his arm around your waist, feel him scrabbling around to undo his belt and pull down his fly, at the same time as he’s lifting you up and pulling you down on his cock, the fit of him so perfect inside you, his skin inside yours. The guys are watching and you don’t care, because finally he’s with you again, finally he’s the right one, and you’re groaning and gasping, calling his name as he whispers filth in your ear.

‘None of these men get your come,’ he’s saying, ‘none of these guys. Just me that makes ya come, ya hear me?’ and you’re nodding.

‘I want you to make me come, Joel. Only you, only you.’

‘Can feel you grippin’ me, baby,’ he’s babbling, and he’s not sure he’s ever been so hard. He was so patient, watching the guys take you apart bit by bit, until your eyes were unfocussed and your mouth was hanging open, gasping and trying so hard to catch your breath. He could see it in the strain of your muscles, in the way you were panting and hollerin’, that you were holding off for him, that you were keeping yourself sweet and well behaved out of love for him, out of desire, and despite all the other men in the room that wanted you he knew in that moment you were his, that you were his good girl, his, his, his.

It hadn’t been his plan to fuck you like this, but he couldn’t help himself when he heard you callin’ for him. He’d thought he’d just let you come on their hands or their faces, or that you would eventually break and he’d get to slap your arse a little as punishment, but not that you would nearly snap every bone in your body, let your sinew scream and strain, just to stay his good girl.

He surges forward, gripping you to him with one arm, and raises his other hand to cover yours, still pushing into the wall of the bar. He can feel that the skin is ragged underneath, that the exposed brick has grazed you from your effort of keeping your hands there, and he resolves to bathe you in warm water and lick every inch of broken skin the moment he gets you home.

But not yet. Right now, he’s pushing himself further inside you, lifting you up a little so that you’re just on your tippy toes on the floor, balancing on his cock so he can get even deeper inside. You’re keening, your whole body shaking, and you’re not sure you’re going to survive this but you really, really don’t mind going out this way.

You don’t even have words. You can barely get air. You just entwine your fingers with Joels’ where he holds your hands to the wall, tuck your chin to your chest and howl, the orgasm crashing over you and rolling almost immediately into another one, Joel behind you and fucking up into you while you know you still have an audience, while they’re coming onto the floor at your feet, jerking it to the idea of them being the ones to be inside you, of their cocks splitting you open and feeling your cunt milk them dry. You don’t care about any of them, don’t care that they want you so much they’ll settle for their own fists, because all you want is this man, this one inside you and coming deep into your cunt, this one who loves you, who carries you now in his arms with warmth and strength, who is holding you up as he ruts his spend into you, as he gasps and cries out for you, in this very fucking public dive bar just off the highway, where you know you can never step foot again.

He doesn’t let you sink to the floor, no matter how badly your legs want to give out on you, but is instead wrapping his hands under your knees, under your arms and lifting you to him.

‘Dirty down there, baby,’ he says, and you open one eye to see the streams of come decorating where you were just standing. The men have all disappeared, knowing that the fun is over, and Joel has wrapped his coat around you at some point, and your muscles are loose and stretched and shaking, suddenly cold from the chill of your sweat in the open air. You tuck your head under his chin, listen to the way he grunts, quietly, when he pushes open the door with his shoulder and carries you to the car. You feel him drop you into the passenger seat of the truck, feel him put the seatbelt on you and turn the heater up as soon as the engine starts.

You can’t move, your whole body spent. You realise by how dark the night is outside the car window that it has been hours. That he has given you everything you asked for, and then just a little bit more. You crack one eye open to watch him as he drives, the streetlights strobing over his face, the scruff on his cheeks, the pointed angle of his nose, the greys appearing by the day in his hair.

You feel your eyes drift shut again, the heat of the car and the warmth of his jacket soothing you down to sleep. He has given you something you only ever dreamed about, something you never even hoped to one day have. You don’t mean the guys in the bar.

Tag list:

@kyloispunk

@604to647

#joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader

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liiixsturniolos · 6 months ago

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" A letter I wish I'd sent. " M.S

angst/fluff MATT STURNIOLO wc:764

| It had been a year now. Since you and Matt had ended things. Well, really, since Matt had ended things...

The night in the car when he'd broken up with you had washed and cascaded through your mind for months like a traumatic wave, coming back to haunt you and tease your brain. The memory of the pouring rain, Matts trembling voice and the tears which then streamed down your face as he told you the news.

A year. A whole year you'd gone without Matt, the man who used to dance with you at 3am, the man who used to push strands of your hair behind your ear when he'd kiss you, the man who used to write you letters about the way you looked, your 'angelic' voice and the adorable way you laughed.

Three hundred and sixty-five days without the man who you had sworn you would be with for the rest of your life. You don't even know how you got through it, it was a hazy year. Your friends helped you get back on your feet. You got a new apartment and focused more on your work. Over the year your wound healed up, and your undying love for Matt, died a little, and faded away, but you would still kill to see his face one more time, to kiss him one more time, that's all you wanted.

You hadn't found anyone new yet, you were just living contentedly. Alone, but peacefully, and sort of happy.

Your new job would bring you to New York. A place you were fond of and excited to go to. Packing your bags of course was a chore you'd put off until the day you had to leave for the airport.

It wasn't convenient but when the morning came you rummaged around your apartment searching for all of the things you had to bring.

Your eyes land on your book collection. Very dear to you, poetry books and romantic stories you knew you'd need to take. Your mind wanders as you flick through the pages of an old poetry book, then pick up another and do the same.

Your eyes halt to a sudden stop when you see a foreign piece of paper lodged into the page of a book.

On page number 58, a neatly folded, lined piece of paper read..

Dear y/n, I hope that whenever you read this, you're well. I hope that you've moved. I hope you're living out in a big city as you've always dreamed of. I hope that whoever you have found now treats you kindly and appreciates your melodic laugh and the intoxicating colour of your deep brown eyes. I hope that whoever you're with now knows that they have the most beautiful, smart, and funny girl to exist. Not everyone who walks into your life will be meant to stay, I certainly wasn't. I wasn't a good enough man for you. I got angry fast, and I hate myself for it. It's a weird feeling having to go from holding your head on my chest every night, and your face nuzzled into the nape of my neck to staring at the blank ceiling of what used to be our bedroom without you here. I can't sleep without you. You were the first person I ever loved Y/n. You will always be the only person I've ever loved. With every bone in my body I wanted to devote my life to you, to grow old with you and only you until my deathbed. You drew memories in my mind I could never erase, you painted colours in my heart I can never replace. I'm afraid I will never be good enough for someone like you, I loved everything about you and maybe that was my fault. You gave me something I had never had before, I found rest in your arms and peace when I looked at your face. I know that I will love you forever y/n. So whenever you read this, tommorow or in years I hope you don't love me back, because I could never deserve someone like you. Tommorow you will come to pick up your things from my house. The house that used to be ours. You'll hate me for a while and I know it. That's why I'm writing this to you. To slip it into our favourite poetry book that I read to you, when I stroke your cheek with my free hand and your eyes flutter asleep. I love you. I'll love you forever and that's my fault.

hey! I hope you liked this tysm for reading, please interact if you enjoyed!! part 2 maybe? [not proofread]

taglist hoes!: @matthewsroses @chrislilcumslvt @pvssychicken @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @sturniolo-fann @matts-myloverboy @emely9274 @sophand4n4 @uncannyguava @chrissweetheart @certifiedstarrr @slut4chris888

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fandom #sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fluff #fluff #fluff fic #matt sturniolo fluff fic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo and y/n #matt sturniolo x y/n #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fic #poetry

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daryltwdixon · 6 months ago

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hey! i have a request :) could you do daryl x fem reader who sings? she has never been too open about her singing but when she’s alone she’s singing all the time/humming to herself around others. she’s had a crush on him for a while but hasn’t been able to do anything about it because she’s not sure if he feels the same. but he hears her singing when she didn’t notice he was there and it sparks something <3

Daryl x Reader fluff

thank you so much for the request! I'm sorry I literally blanked on every cute folk song I've ever heard so I settled for this one that I hold dear to my heart from a trip I took to England. Hope this is kind of what you were hoping for!

here is the song

The sun dips low over the tree line surrounding the Greene farm, painting the sky in hues of deep orange and purple. For the first time since the world turned upside down, you feel something like ease. The farm is undeniably beautiful, a serene homestead somehow tucked away from the horrors beyond its borders.

You’re perched on the porch railing, a pair of knitting needles clicking softly in your hands as you work on a pair of woolen socks. Knitting had started as a hobby but quickly became a necessity when you realized just how unforgiving winter would be without the simple comforts of central heating and the yearly down coat you used to take for granted. Now, it’s your quiet mission to make sure everyone has warm socks before the temperature drops.

Knitting is a simple, repetitive task—one that keeps your hands busy but leaves your mind free to wander. Without even thinking, a soft melody escapes your lips. It’s a tune that’s always been stowed in the back of your mind, rising to the surface when the world around you feels still, or when you’re caught in the rhythm of something as peaceful as this.

mmm I want to linger,

mmm, a little longer

mmm, a little longer here with you

Between the steadiness of your needles and the soft melody humming from your lips, you don’t notice the figure standing on the steps until his boots creak against the top of the porch.

You nearly drop the fabric in your lap when you glance up and see Daryl Dixon, his blue eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place beneath his usual surly expression.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, gripping the knitting needles tighter. “Didn’t hear you comin’.”

He shrugs, a small, nonchalant motion, but his hand lifts to his mouth, the skin of his thumb settling between his teeth. It’s a gesture you’ve seen before, one you’ve come to recognize as his ‘thinking’ face. You hesitate, unsure whether to keep knitting or set it aside.

Daryl’s presence always leaves you off balance. There’s something about the quiet way he moves through the world—intimidating, yes, but also magnetic. You’re never sure how to act around him, but that hasn’t stopped you from wanting to be near him. Despite the brooding air and glowering gaze, you’ve caught glimpses of something softer beneath the surface.

“Don’t gotta stop ‘cause a’me,” he grumbles, his voice low, half-muffled behind his hand.

Your face grows warm under the weight of his gaze, and you quickly avert your eyes, focusing on the fabric in your lap, fumbling with it. “Oh, uh… it’s fine. I was gonna turn in soon anyway,” you mumble.

“You’re always singin’,” he says after a beat, his tone quiet. You can’t tell if it’s meant as a criticism or just an observation, but it catches you off guard all the same.

Your fingers pause over the fabric, smoothing the soft wool as you bite your lip. “I… I didn’t think anyone noticed,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

Daryl exhales sharply through his nose, a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a huff. He shifts on his feet, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him turn and make his way toward the rocking chair by the door.

You glance up, watching as he sets his crossbow down against the wall. Without a word, he settles into the chair with a kind of casual ease that only Daryl Dixon could make look both restless and deliberate. He leans forward, pulling one of his arrows free from the quiver, and begins sharpening the tip with his knife. The rhythmic scrape of metal on wood fills the silence.

“Well,” he grunts after a moment when he sees you still staring, looking up from his work, “go on then.”

Your brows knit together, caught off guard by his words. “Go on with… what?”

He spares you a brief glance, his knife stilling for a second before he returns to his task. “Singin’. Ain’t botherin’ me none.”

The heat in your face deepens, and you laugh softly, more out of nervousness than anything else. “I don’t really sing. Not, like, for people.”

“Ain’t askin’ for a concert,” he mutters, his voice gruff but not unkind. His attention fixes on the arrow in his hands then, but there’s something in the way he said it—something almost… expectant.

You hesitate, your fingers still fidgeting with the wool in your lap. The thought of singing with him sitting so close makes your chest feel tight, but the idea that he noticed, that he cared enough to listen, sparks something warm inside you.

After a long pause, you swallow your nerves and begin to hum a few soft notes, your voice barely audible over the sound of his knife scraping against the arrow. It’s tentative at first, shaky, but when he doesn’t react—just keeps sharpening his arrow with that same quiet intensity—you feel brave enough to let the melody take shape once again.

mmm, it's such a perfect night

mmm, it doesn't seem quite right

mmm, that it should be my last with you

The porch settles into an odd kind of harmony: the soft cadence of your voice mingling with the steady rhythm of his knife, your knitting needles back to work with a deliberate cadence. You steal a glance at him every so often, and for the first time, you notice the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. The world beyond the farm seems to fall away, leaving only the two of you under the fading light of the evening.

You let the melody flow, one note slipping into another, your voice growing steadier. There’s something about having Daryl nearby—his quiet presence—that makes you feel… safe. Like you don’t need to worry about being too loud, or drawing too much attention, because he’s there.

mmm, and as the years go by

mmm, I'll think of you and sigh

mmm, this is goodnight and not goodbye

Eventually, you glance over again, expecting to find him still sharpening his arrow, but instead, you freeze. His knife and arrow rest forgotten in his lap, and he’s sitting back in the chair, his arms crossed loosely in front of him as he chews his lip. His gaze is fixed on you, steady and warm, with a softness you’ve never seen from him before.

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch or fumble for words like he sometimes does when he’s caught off guard. “Nothin’,” he says, his tone low and even. But the way he says it, the way his gaze lingers, it feels like more.

Your fingers tighten around the knitting needles still in your lap as you hold his stare, your heart beating louder than it should.

“You’re starin’,” you manage, a small, nervous laugh escaping you.

“Maybe,” he admits, the corner of his mouth tugging into the faintest hint of a smirk.

The continued warmth in his gaze sparks something in your chest, and for a moment, you feel like the air around you has shifted. You’ve seen Daryl angry, guarded, even awkward—but this? This is different. He’s not looking away, not retreating behind the usual walls you’ve come to expect. He’s just… watching you, like he’s really seeing you for the first time.

Neither of you say anything right away, but the silence doesn’t feel uncomfortable. It’s heavy in a way that makes you hyper-aware of the space between you, of the way his eyes stay on yours, steady and unflinching.

Finally, your lips tug into a small smile, letting out a sigh. He shifts forward, brushing his hand against the arrow he’d set aside. “You’re good at it,” he mutters, his voice low, like he’s not used to saying the words.

“Knitting?” you tease, trying to cut the tension with a little humor.

He lets out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “Singin’,” he says. “Ain’t just hummin’. You sound...nice.”

The sincerity in his tone makes your stomach flip, and your cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks,” you say softly, your voice more even than you expect.

The cool breeze nips at your skin, but you hardly notice, warmth spreading in your chest. There’s a look in his eyes—soft, almost contemplative—that makes your breath catch.

“Guess we should head in ‘fore it gets colder.” he says gruffly, as if remembering himself.

You nod, gathering your half finished socks and needles as you follow him toward the door. As you step inside, you can’t help but feel like something shifted tonight, something small but important. And for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he feels it too.

#ask daryltwdixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl one shot #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #twd #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x reader

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evangelical04 · 1 year ago

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A Single Daffodil || 1

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.7K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut

Author's Note: hello! i'm Eva and this is my first fic on tumblr ever! I've been a reader for so long and I've always wanted to write my own stories, so I figured I finally would. I know it’s kind of short but I promise the other parts will be longer. Please give me any feedback you have and let me know if you'd like there to be a tag list or anything! I hope you guys like it!! p.s. I'm totally posting this instead of doing my morphology homework that's due in 15 minutes

masterlist / next

The door to your childhood home looked artificially welcoming. There were too many flowers lining the walls encasing the looming wooden door. The grass on the lawn just was a bit too green without a blade out of place and the paved walkway was freshly powerwashed and missing even a speck of dirt. You let out the deep breath you were holding and gently took hold of the overly ornate bronze knocker adorning the painted wood of the door. Two loud thuds rang out as you knocked and the door quickly opened afterwards.

“Hello, Miss Y/N, your parents have been expecting you.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Mrs. Oh,” you responded quietly, nodding at the grey-haired woman. She shot you a sympathetic smile before ushering you in, taking your coat and carefully laying it over her arm. After removing your shoes, you followed her past the foyer to the living room where your parents awaited.

You knew what was coming, you knew that this had been decided long before you were born. Yet, you still felt unprepared. You had grown comfortable, living in your simple apartment in Gangnam and your quiet work routine. Biting your lip, you reprimanded yourself internally, You should’ve brought this shit up in therapy before it happened.

“Here we are, Miss Y/N,” Mrs. Oh said, snapping you out of your self-pity session. You nodded gratefully at her, sending a small smile her way. Her eyebrows wove together in her own pity-ridden expression and she quickly whispered, “Good luck,” while exiting swiftly. You steeled your nerves and forced your chin up high, knowing that you’d most likely cower inwards as soon as you faced your parents anyway.

Stepping into the room, you noted the almost intervention-like setup your parents had arranged themselves in, with your father sitting proudly in his reclining, leather armchair, clad in a dark blue quarter zip and khaki pants. Your mother stood facing the fireplace, arms crossed, in a simple and elegant turquoise dress and hair tied up in a tight and neat bun, with her baby hairs smoothed back to prevent any imperfection. You could almost imagine her pinched mouth, forever encased in a stern and unamused expression.

“Hello father, mother,” you started, trying to smooth the slight trembling in your voice. Your mother turned around, eyes narrowing at your form, “Sit down.”

You promptly obeyed.

“Your father and I have decided on your marriage. It’ll be to the Min family, to Min Yoongi.”

“What? To him? But,” you began protesting but your mother quickly cut you off with a steely glare.

“It has already been decided. Your wedding will be in eight months. I’ll forward you the invitation list and you can add three people of your choosing. You’ll be having dinner with us and the Min family on Friday at six. I’ll have Yujin send you an email with further details. Don’t be late.”

You looked to your father in a desperate plea but were only met with stony silence and a passive face. You turned back to your mother and registered the composed expression painting her face. Your fate had been decided, and it had not worked in your favor at all. Rising slowly, you set your hands by your side and bowed towards your parents, “I understand. I’ll be there.”

Your mother swiftly exited the room, evidently deciding the conversation was over. You could hear her dangling earrings tinkling against each other in what felt like a mocking melody. Your father calmly produced a cigar from the table next to him and lit up, no longer acknowledging you either. You let out another slow breath and walked out.

Collecting your coat from Mrs. Oh, who tried to give you a comforting shoulder squeeze but it felt more like condolences than anything, and made your way to your car parked in front of the gate closing off your parents’ home.

That’s it then.

You felt eerily calm yet stressed as you started up your car and carefully reversed out, making sure to avoid hitting the carved statues your parents had in front of the iron gate. As you drove home, your mind started racing with the information you had been relayed.

Min Yoongi as your soon-to-be-husband? What irony.

Does he even know you exist?

Will you be able to survive this?

Hand gripping the steering wheel hard, you quickly dialed the most recent number in your contact list. She answered after only two rings.

“Y/N! Are you still alive? How’d it go?”

“Hi Joohee, not great. I’m completely and totally fucked.”

Joohee chuckled on the other end of the line, “Want to come over?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “I was hoping you’d offer.”

“I’ll get the booze.”

“Min Yoongi? Now that’s ironic,” Joohee chuckled, seemingly at your expense. You shot a glare her way which she shrugged in response to.

“How long have you been crushing on him? This is, like, practically fate. Maybe this’ll be a good thing.”

You scoffed in response, “A good thing? Joohee, be serious. The last thing I want to do is get with my long-time infatuation, not crush, by forcing him to be my husband.” You took another swig of wine. It was a cheap pink Moscato, perfect for nights like these with Joohee.

Joohee shoved a pillow in your direction in an effort to gain more room on the couch you had stuffed yourselves onto. The trash reality dating show you had on in the background was showing a rather dramatic fight but you paid it no attention, “It’s just…I haven’t talked to him in the last, what, five years? He probably doesn’t even remember me. And you’ve heard the rumors, I don’t think he’ll be exactly thrilled at giving up his playboy lifestyle just because he has to marry me.”

“What if he doesn’t give that up?”

You stared at Joohee in slight surprise, “What do you mean?”

“Like, what if he says that he doesn’t want to stop hooking up with other people? What will you do?”

Your brows furrowed as you considered the question, “I don’t know, I guess. I mean, I can’t really stop him. I guess I’d just have to live with it.”

Joohee hummed in response before continuing on, “Well, this is happening whether you like it or not. Just try to make it amicable at the least. Maybe it’ll work out, you never know. Just look at Jin oppa.”

Kim Seokjin, Joohee’s older brother and a friend of Min Yoongi’s, was arranged by Joohee’s parents to marry Song Yeonhee, and the two had seemingly fallen in love after a rocky start to their nuptials. You had seen them recently at Yeonhee’s baby shower and she had been glowing, looking unbelievably happy. You recalled the loving gaze that Seokjin had sent her during the party and the pang of envy you felt, knowing that you would likely never get to experience that.

“Yeah, well,” you responded, “He’s an outlier. Most of these types of marriages don’t work out. I have a feeling I’m going to be a part of that group.”

“You’re too negative, you haven’t even met him for dinner yet. Maybe he’ll surprise you. You just have to give him the chance.”

You mulled over Joohee’s words and nodded, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll see how Friday goes.”

You weren’t technically late.

While you still had about 5 minutes before the dinner officially started, you weren’t early, and that was unacceptable by your mother’s standards. A mini emergency at your job had left you scrambling to leave on time, only noticing the late hour when one of your coworkers asked if they should order take-out for the team. After profusely apologizing to your team, they encouraged you to go, practically shooing you out the door, claiming they could handle the situation for now.

Which left you barely on time to park in the lot outside the ridiculously fancy Japanese restaurant your mother’s assistant, Yujin, had sent to your email earlier that week. You quickly stepped out, smoothing out your dress that you had kept in the backseat of your car and had hastily changed into in the parking lot of your office. Tugging down the hem, you took a moment to look at your reflection in your car window and attempt to look more presentable. Your hair was slightly frizzy but nicely combed back, and you had extremely minimal makeup on from only remembering last minute this morning, and your eyes looked tired.

You felt tired.

Shaking off your nerves, you headed inside the restaurant giving your family name to the hostess who took you back to a private room where your mother and father were waiting. Your father spared you only a cursory glance before returning his gaze to his phone and your mother looked you up and down before uttering a curt, “Hm.” You held in an eye roll and quickly sat next to them, trying to calm your heart rate for the sure-to-be exhilarating dinner ahead. At six on the dot, you spotted the same hostess leading the Min family towards your table. Your mother stood, welcoming them and urging them to sit down. You stood as well, a little less welcoming, a lot more obligated.

Mrs. Min looked like the epitome of a rich older woman with dark black hair combed back and glittering jewels lining her ears and neck, complementing the midnight blue gown she had on. Mr. Min was dressed quite similarly to your father, in a simple suit, the only difference being his starkly greying hair providing quite the contrast to his dark blazer. Close behind them was the person you were the most anxious about meeting, Min Yoongi. His pitch-black hair complemented his slightly tanned skin nicely and his feline eyes remained straightforward and untelling. He was dressed in a simple black suit as well with an expensive-looking watch adoring his wrist. His mouth was closed tightly and he did not smile at your mother when she greeted him, not at your father when they sat down across from your family, and certainly not at you.

Your hands nervously played with each other in your lap as you took your seat again. You listened quietly as the mothers exchanged pleasantries and the fathers gruffly greeted each other. You were trying to avoid looking at Yoongi as much as possible.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Min started, making you startle to attention, “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine, ma’am.”

“Ah, so only a bit younger than Yoongi. That’s good then. How is your work?”

You felt your father stiffen next to you and prayed your discomfort didn’t show on your face, “Good. I’m in the middle of producing a new project with my team.”

“How lovely. Although I’m sure you’ll be leaving that soon after the wedding. You won’t need to work then after all,” Mrs. Min smiled at you. It was hard to read her so you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not, though if you had to guess, it was likely the latter. Your job was a point of contention with your family. Choosing to work in a video game production company did not go over well, and if your older brother, Kyungsoo, hadn’t been in line to inherit Seo Industries, you would’ve never been able to keep it.

You smiled awkwardly in response to Mrs. Min and returned your gaze to the empty plate in front of you.

As the conversation dragged on, you couldn’t help but steal a glance or two at Yoongi, who was periodically checking his phone and looking permanently bored of the conversation. Not that you could blame him. The dull talk of social circle gossip and work was beginning to get grating, and even the introduction of fancy entrees wasn’t enough to stop your stomach from feeling queasy.

Yoongi had yet to say one word to you. To be fair, you hadn’t said anything to him either, but he had barely looked in your direction since he entered the private dining room. How exactly were you supposed to start a conversation with that?

Soon after the desserts came out and were finished, with you politely refusing, feeling like you were going to throw up any second, Mrs. Min suddenly pushed her chair back and stood. She looked down at you and Yoongi and announced, “Well. I think we can leave them to talk on their own for a bit. Why don’t you join us for a drink at our home, Eujin-ssi?”

At the sound of her name, your mother stood, nodding, “Yes, that sounds lovely. Let’s let them get to know each other a bit more.” With that, the parents swiftly gathered their belongings and left, before you could even protest, leaving you staring open-mouthed at the exit.

Slowly, you turned to face Yoongi and were startled, seeing his eyes already boring into yours.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Yoongi stated, his deep and stable voice wrapping around you for the first time that night, “This marriage means nothing to me. It shouldn’t to you either. I’ll do my thing and you do yours. Most importantly, stay out of my life except when necessary. Just because my parents are forcing my hand doesn’t mean I have to adhere to every little thing. Nothing will be changing except for our living situation and a ring on our fingers.”

A little stunned, you could only stutter a passive agreement and watch as he rose and left without sparing you another glance.

Letting out a deep breath, you closed your eyes, trying to understand what had just transpired. Your heart raced as you quickly stacked up the dishes to be a bit easier for the busboy and quickly made your way to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you vaguely registered Min Yoongi’s cold demeanor towards you.

It seems he didn’t remember you after all.

The dress you had on was itchy, but you knew if you complained, you would only end up with a sharp stinging on your cheek and tear-filled eyes. You had escaped the boring party with grown-ups and were sitting outside on a stone bench in the garden, trying to remedy your hurt feelings at the hands of the mean, older boy, Hyunsoo.

He had confidently poked fun at your appearance, saying the dress was a bit too small on you and that your parents should’ve sprung for a size that could fit an elephant instead. He continued on, saying your parents must’ve forgotten to vaccinate you for measles considering all the red spots on your face that were actually acne. Being a tender twelve years of age and going through the worst bits of puberty, his words hit you hard and you quickly ran from the scene into the garden.

Unable to contain your tears, they slipped down your face in large droplets and soaked into the front of your dress.

“Hey, you.”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy a couple of years older than you standing in front of you, black hair shining in the light from the garden lamps. His sharp eyes trailed down your tear-stained face. You quickly turned away in shame, not wanting to undergo any more embarrassment tonight.

“Hey, snot-face.”

You shot him a glare but softened when you saw his hand extended, holding a handkerchief, his face turned slightly away, “Use this. You look ugly while you’re crying.”

You gingerly took the cloth from his hands and blew your nose, noticing him wince out of the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” you managed and he only rolled his eyes in response.

“Yeah, whatever. I think Joohee’s looking for you,” he grumbled before turning on his heel and stalking off back towards the party.

Confused, your eyes followed after him, not knowing how he knew that Joohee would be looking for you. You unfolded the handkerchief and noticed an elegant embroidering of three letters in black near the bottom, MYG.

Oh, you realized, Min Yoongi. Joohee’s older brother was friends with him but you had never seen him before. Joohee had described him as kind of rude and quite closed off, but you disagreed. He certainly didn’t seem that bad.

masterlist / next

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duckirubb3r · 2 months ago

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To Be Hero X theory time

Disclaimer: I'm watching To Be Hero X in Japanese because it was the automatic option for the site I'm watching on. Because of this, anime-specific information will be using Japanese casting and English subtitles paired with the Japanese dubbing.

Okay so I never do this but I've become a deranged, obsessive fangirl who has been overanalysing everything for the past week and I have a major theory I need the world to hear before the second episode airs so it's apparent down the line that I'm either absolutely delusional, a giga genius, or some sort of mix of the two. There's only one episode so far and I want my 4D chess to pay off so I need as little canon evidence to go off of as possible to be more impressive.

I have more than one theory, but I'm going to focus on my biggest one. If you don't want to be spoiled or don't want to do a lot of reading, stop here. This post will be long.

Without further ado, my theory:

Ghostblade is the original Nice. The very first one to ever exist.

We know from episode 1 that anyone can replace a hero so long as people believe in them. Because no one was aware of Nice's suicide, everyone believed that Lin Ling, with his hair styled and painted white, was the real Nice. Thus, he became the real Nice. His hair became naturally white, his eyes turned blue, and his voice adjusted to sound like the former Nice's. Knowing this, it makes sense that even the Nice who killed himself probably wasn't the first Nice. Possibly not even the second or the third or even the tenth. There's a chance that a lot of former-Nices have existed.

After watching episode 1, I was desperate for more content which led me to this Tumblr post with character sheets for the top 10 heroes. When looking through each profile, I noticed something that felt way too strange to be just a coincidence: 4/10 of them, Nice included, have white hair, and all of those white-haired characters are 180cm tall. There's no way that's just a coincidence, right? So I ended up thinking about it more and more. I watched all of the character concept and character story movies (which I will henceforth refer to as CC and CS respectively) to look for more information and, before I knew it, I became a crazy theorist. My theories center around the white-haired heroes, but almost all of what I've thought of so far is exclusively about Nice and Ghostblade.

I saw the following promotional image that pictures the ten heroes focused on during the series.

Aside from the white hair and heights, I took particular notice of how Nice and Ghostblade look awfully similar in this image. This was when things really spiraled out of control for me.

Like dude, come on. Their hairstyle in particular is practically the same. It even parts on the same side.

Ghostblade's Character Concept and Character Story Movies

So I watched every character's CCs and CSs, but I really watched Ghostblades after coming up with this theory—and when I say I watched them, I mean I studied them. I analysed every frame I could, over and over. In doing so, I either became completely delusional or I found some very compelling evidence to support my theory that Ghostblade is the original Nice. I'm not sure how best to explain everything, so I'm just going to run through the videos themselves and do my best.

At the beginning of Ghostblade's CS, it shows him as a child—twelve years old, to be precise—in a dreary room with a mysterious man preparing to perform a surgical procedure on him. We're shown various screens with medical information on them. The text on these screens read:

“The cerebrum is not only the center of senses and voluntary movements, but also the center of mental activities such as memory and judgement. The cerebrum consists of two cerebral hemispheres connected by the corpus collosum, and the connection by the corpus collosum plays an important role in the signal transmission and interaction between the two cerebral hemispheres."

and

"The parietal lobe is located between the central sulcus and parieto-occipital sulcus, above the outer fissure, and contains the motor center that issues motor commands to the [...] somatosensory cortex [...] which are involved in processing [...] sensations such as touch, pressure, and pain, and are responsible for the sensory [...]"

All other text is unfortunately either unimportant or too blurry to read.

Using the text from these images, we can essentially determine that the surgeon was operating on twelve-year-old Ghostblade in an attempt to alter his voluntary movements, memory, judgement, sensations such as touch, pressure, and pain, and probably a lot more we aren't able to see.

Following this, we have a scene of Ghostblade standing in front of a mirror in what appears to be a restroom with smiley faces painted on the stall doors behind him. He takes a knife to the mirror and carves the Chinese character for “smile” before inspecting his teeth, leading us to believe the surgeon operated on them as well as his brain. But his teeth are perfect. Nothing is wrong with them. This means that the surgeon was probably correcting a flaw so that Ghostblade would have a better smile, hence the encouragement to smile with smiley faces painted on the walls.

So it seems to be the case that, whoever this surgeon is or whoever he's working for—whoever ordered these procedures to be conducted on twelve-year-old Ghostblade—was trying to make him a perfect person who's always shining a charming smile. Doesn't that sound familiar?

OH YEAH. IT'S HIM. "Mr. Perfect" a.k.a. Nice.

So, if Ghostblade's upbringing was an effort to turn him into the OG Nice, what other evidence is there for this? What are his parallels to Nice's character? How would Ghostblade fit into the Nice backstory? Don't worry, I've got you covered. Let's switch over to Ghostblade's CC for a bit. It's considerably shorter, but contains valuable insights.

It starts with Ghostblade in some sort of open structure where a field of what looks to be daisies is blossoming and moonlight is spilling through. There's a bit of action, but the sequence of scenes that follow paint a grim picture. First, Ghostblade raises a hand. which transitions into the hand of a man (presumably him) and a woman in wedding attire with the groom slipping a ring onto the bride's finger.

Afterward, Ghostblade is looking up at the moon as its light engulfs him and it enters what appears to be a sequence of memories and daydreams where he's holding out his hand as the scenery changes. It cycles from the current moment

to the image of a girl's hand in his,

rain collecting on his palm,

his bloodied hand in the room of a child,

and his dirty/scratched up hand clenching into a fist above rubble where a single flower grows.

After the sequence, it returns to the flower field where Ghostblade is reaching out to the moon as what appears to be blood splatters begin to obscure the image.

That's basically it in terms of the visuals for his CC. The only thing left to mention is his theme song, because the lyrics are very notably about love which seems bizarre for a character who appears so dark, mysterious, and badass. The lyrics (chopped for the CC) are as follows:

And even if I have to start again It's all because of you If you don't know it by now My love for you will grow Know that this is true

So, what sort of story does his CC seem to tell? I think a good place to start is the flower field. The flowers appear to be daisies. If we assume they were deliberately selected, then if we look at flower language, in most cultures daisies apparently represent innocence, purity, loyal love, cheerfulness, childbirth, and new beginnings. Which lines up a lot with what I've observed so far! Ghostblade wears prayer beads around his wrist, so I'm assuming he's probably a religious man. That could easily align with ideals of purity and innocence. Loyal love/loyalty and love could obviously refer to a lover. Cheerfulness ties back to all the smiley faces and encouragement to smile. Childbirth is rather straightforward and will be relevant in a moment, and new beginnings... we'll come back to that in a bit, but for now, the lyric "and even if I have to start again" sort of speaks for itself.

To me, it seems to be a story about about a future Ghostblade could have had. The girl's hand in his was a lover he dreamed of marrying. The child's bedroom was one he hoped to one day have a child of his own occupy. The rain and the blood and the rubble were a memory, not a dream. His dreams died with his lover.

But who was his lover?

Well, he appears to have a fixation with the moon. When he's staring at the moon, the lyric that plays is "my love for you will grow" so is it possible that the moon might symbolise something? Yeah, sure. I can already think of at least one character who loves a moon—Nice lmao.

Does this mean that Moon died? Yeah. I mean, she died in episode 1 too and we know there's been at least two Nices now—Lin Ling and the Nice before him. There have probably been more Moons too! Whether the Moon I reckon Ghostblade loved in my theory was the OG Moon or not, I'm not sure... but probably? Either way, that detail isn't very important.

So! If we suppose that Ghostblade's CC is about him losing his lover, Moon, and, in turn, the future he dreamed of with her, then how does that tie back in to his CS? Let's pick up where we left off.

After the scene of child-Ghostblade checking his teeth in the mirror, there are various visuals of people smiling and more smiley faces. We're met again with Ghostblade in front of the same mirror he carved on as a child, albeit as an adult now. Looking into the mirror, Ghostblade puts on his signature metallic mask and a frowning face flashes on the screen, contrasting the smile that was so prevalent in his childhood. We then see a sequence of a slaughterhouse. Inside the slaughterhouse, there's a close-up of Ghostblade's eye as he looks at slaughtered animals, followed by a shot of what appears to be a difficult to distinguish image of a cow(?) giving birth. After that, it switches to Ghostblade fighting people in suits rather than your typical villain dressed as uniquely as the heroes are.

A birthing cow seems rather out of place, but we've already encountered the theme of birth. Previously, I mentioned that daisies can represent childbirth. Additionally, Ghostblade appeared to dream of a future where he'd have a child with his lover. This is also where I'd like to come back to the idea of new beginnings. Once again, the lyric that plays during this slaughterhouse/birthing cow/beginning of the fight scene is "and even if I have to start again." From this, it seems as though the birthing cow symbolises a rebirth of sorts when he engages in the slaughter of his enemies, comparing them to animals. This rebirth is also implied by the shot of him putting on his metal mask in front of the mirror with the sad face showing up after. It was likely the first time he donned the mask, as well as the moment he threw away his identity as Nice and was reborn as Ghostblade.

It transitions from the fighting to a scene where Ghostblade is standing by the ocean in civilian clothes without a mask. There are various things littered and washed up on the shore, such as empty soda cans, a shoe, a cigarette, a keyring, and a still-breathing fish. The items left abandoned in the sand, specifically the keyring, could symbolise him discarding things from his life as Nice, and the beached fish—the fish out of water—could represent how he's gone from spending his entire life up to that point playing the role of someone he was forced to be and now being out of his depths as he tries to become someone else, whether it's the real him or not, and start again from scratch.

There's another short fight scene where Ghostblade is curiously wearing sunglasses, a plain cloth face mask, and a normal jacket instead of his hero outfit and metal mask.

It's possible that, in this particular scene, the concept of "Ghostblade" didn't exist yet and this was the OG Nice disguising himself to commit these killings. If people recognised him as Nice doing something like this, his Trust Value would go down and he'd lose power. His reputation would be shattered. But who is he killing, anyway? Who are these people in suits who don't look anything like the villains that show up in the other CCs and CSs, aside from perhaps X's? Well, maybe they're the ones behind the death of his lover, the OG Moon. But what group of shady, well-dressed individuals would want to kill Moon, a hero? Well, how about Spotlight Organisation, the group that, in episode 1, was responsible for attacking Nice/Lin Ling (and Moon because she was there too...)? That checks out, surely.

Finally, at the end of Ghostblade's CS, we see him by the ocean again. A stuffed rabbit is caught in the tide and washes up to him. Maybe it's another one of the things he discarded from his life as Nice. But he reaches down to grab it. Before he can get ahold of it, it's pulled further away again. He begins walking into the water to chase after the rabbit.

Why is this significant? Why is he chasing the stuffed rabbit into the ocean? Well, there's a Chinese folklore story about a rabbit on the moon. Known as the Jade Rabbit, it lives with the moon goddess, Chang-e, and creates elixirs for immortality. During his miserable life being experimented on and forced to smile and be perfect, the only thing that allowed him to keep pushing on was Moon. The only thing that gave him life, just like the Jade Rabbit, was Moon. Perhaps the stuffed rabbit represents Moon, how she was swept away from him, and how he's still chasing after her.

Aw. How sad.

Okay, time for some nitty gritty details! In episode 1, after Nice killed himself and Lin Ling became the new Nice, Lin Ling was the one everyone was seeing and therefore interpreting as being Nice. Because of that, the former Nice was no longer "Nice"—Lin Ling was. Thus, Lin Ling's appearance started to change, physically turning him into the new Nice. Using this same logic, we can reason that it probably works the other way around too! The former Nice probably would have had his appearance start to revert to what he looked like before, had he not died, because he was no longer the person everyone thought was Nice.

We can apply this same sort of logic to Ghostblade with his transition from being Nice to being Ghostblade. We know that Ghostblade already had white hair as a kid so it would make sense for his hair colour and style to stay relatively the same when reverting from being Nice and becoming what is now Ghostblade. After all, if he was the OG Nice, then "Nice"'s appearance probably would have stemmed from his. Nice and Ghostblade have different eye colours and voices, though. This is a little harder to explain away, but eye colour is a feature that's harder to notice without close scrutiny. Even still, both Nice and Ghostblade have light coloured eyes and it's plausible that his Trust Value affected his eye colour either gradually or before anyone actually noticed, because being packaged and advertised as "the perfect hero" immediately evokes a certain image from people. His voice could have potentially undergone a similar sort of process, but we also know that the experiments on Ghostblade started when he was twelve years old. If he became a hero while he was still young, it's plausible that his voice hadn't properly matured yet by the time he publicly became Nice so it was higher and had already made an impression upon his public debut. After abandoning his identity as Nice, someone else probably took over and replaced him. When the replacement became known as the new Nice, it's possible that Ghostblade's eye colour and his voice reverted, but his hair colour never had to change to begin with. Because of him no longer being Nice and his features changing back to what they used to be, he could now be seen as a different person, therefore opening the door for him to become a different hero altogether—Ghostblade.

So, how delusional am I on a scale from 1-10? Did I cook or did this shit come out burned to a crisp? I can't wait for this theory to get ripped apart effortlessly despite all the hours of intense pondering I've spent on it. It's gonna hurt if not one single element of this was even remotely close to being right. If it's wrong? I'll probably just turn it into a fanfiction lmao.

Edit: I forgot to add this, but on his character sheet linked to at the start of this horrendously long post, Ghostblades interests and skills include homemaking and cooking!! Bro was already training to be a housewife, I'm telling you.

#to be hero x #to be hero x spoilers #tbhx #tbhx spoilers #to be hero x nice #to be hero x ghostblade #tbhx nice #tbhx ghostblade #tbhx theories #to be hero x theories

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miwiromantics · 2 months ago

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ST ships and parallels - PART 3

this post is to point out similar parallels and their differences between the canon ships in the show, especially in favor of byler and jancy. this is a pro byler/jancy and anti-mileven/stancy post so if you ship the later dni or read at your own risk

this post includes: - byler/stancy parallel ✔️ - stancy/mileven parallels ✔️ - jancy/mileven parallels✔️ - byler/mileven parallels✔️ - byler/ jancy + canon ships parallels✔️

part 1. part 2.

Byler/Mileven parallels:

3. Conflicting

'life started that day' vs 'best thing i've ever done'

season 4 Mike conflicting himself in season 2 in his monologue scene. Mike tells El that his life started the day they found her in the woods while in season 2, he tells Will that asking him to be his friend was the best thing he'd ever done.

also Mike stating that his life started the day Will's turned upside down in front of him also hurts.

most of the ga take this as it is without understanding that this specific line his brings up a lot of conflict. It asks the question 'which scene is Mike lying in,' because both of this cannot be true at the same time.

as a byler i can say that the second scene is shot in a much more genuine way. there is no music in the background and no other shots at any character while the first scene has blaring music and shots at both jonathan, max and will.

4. Mike

there isn't much to expand on in these scenes but it is still very telling. both will and el are looking out the window, crying and mike is in both shots but he only looks at one of them.

personally, i feel as if this is a take on how well mike is at emotionally reading them just like i expanded on in point 3. even if no words are said, Mike still looks at Will. he still looks for Will.

even in the first scene, the camera pans over to Mike glancing at Will instead of his own girlfriend who was just publicly humiliated. i feel like this more of shows mike is more concerned about his relationship with will after their fight than about el.

------------------------------------------------------------

Byler/jancy (+ canon ships) parallels:

now this is the very obvious parallels used by many bylers to prove that they are endgame. most of these i have gotten from this post by @kittykat940. i won't post all their points, pls go through their original post.

1. Car talk

this car talks that usually happens between canon ships, usually when they have their heart - to - heart conversations.

2. Lies

alright, most obvious jancy/byler parallel is that both jonathan and will lies to nancy/mike regarding to steve/el. jonathan lies to nancy saying that steve is the one that told him to take nancy back home during the night of the party while will lies to mike saying that el is the one that commissioned the painting.

3. more parallels (because i can't name stuff)

4. Lumax/Byler parallels

5. Jopper/Byler

6. Byler/Rovickie

these two clips between will and robin is very important. they are both openly queer characters being portrayed in between their love interest and opposing ship. in the first scene, will is blurred out as the audience is meant to focus on mike and el reuniting but still notice that will somehow plays a big part in this. in the second scene, robin is seen more clearly to show her feelings towards what is happening between vickie and her boyfriend. in this scene, the audience is meant to feel bad for robin and root for her love. and we know for a fact, that both robin and vickie will be canon couple in season 5.

same with will and mike perhaps??

both vickie and mike looking at robin/will.

and in the end scene, both of these couples are seen together at the end of the season.

alright... that's all i got. i have linked the first two parts above and pls look at all the original posts.

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honeyydrunk · 1 year ago

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reasons why i would and wouldn't have sexual relations with the nct ilichil members. and unfortunately majority of the "wouldn't" is just that they're in love with another member.

(just in time for their 8th anniversary).

the one the only mr johnny suh would: - mr big dick daddy johnny suh - unity the link focus + johnny solo stage - he'd take me out to dinner first - created sexy actually bc nct we are so sexy - his father actually so created coffee - he's like 6'4 (i'm like 5'10 on a bad day) - daddy long legs - he's from chicago - ohhh he's got me giggling not just because he's crazy hot but bc he's funny part time idol full time comedian - his tattoo is insanely attractive the design the everything - i want to carry his kids and i'm a guy bro what the flip

💚 !! lee taeyong !! 💚 would: - THE male AI visual - bros big boba 🧋 tea eyes - my wartime navy husband - theres only so many times i can say he's crazy ridiculously hot utterly insane what a face he's the only person i've seen get hotter without makeup actually crazy where's that list of adjectives like beautiful breathtaking gorgeous stunning SEXY SEXY MAN enchanting hypnotising so fine i'm getting whiplash from trying to comprehend him the neost neo to ever neo ethereal angelic the highest of all blessings from aphrodite romanticism personified he is THE muse fitting of all eras his face should be in museums shown to the world i have never seen anyone that competes with his face card face CARD? face global economy face universe economy i am so happy for everything that allows me to witness this that this timeline where he is here i am witnessing his beauty his presence himself he is the beauty of this world a gem that should be praised to the highest esteem i wish nothing for him but true happiness safety and love i've heard of beauty people go to war for but he is beauty i wish peace in this earth for so that he is residing in a world that is beautiful like him for beauty such as his shouldn't be living in a world with hate and horrid things. for me, i don't even wish for anything of him, i wish for happiness and love FOR him. he is beautiful like nature, something that is perfectly created and serene. something so perfect, natural, and stunning, i wish to be a better person for him. wouldn't: - he wants to be bullied and humiliated and idk if i have that in me. i want to shower him with love and affection and he wants to be harassed.

NAKAMOTO YUTA (be warned this list goes on long i wanna fuck this man so badly it's insane mark lee watch out)

what's that the gojo fangirls said about no lube no protection? would: (i would rather die than not) - he's so hot - bros an ultimate foreign swagger - HIS HEALING SMILE - he's a literal rockstar - his dark cherry red wolfcut - chain tattoo - butterfly tattoo ON HIS STOMACH - navel piercing - alleged tongue piercing - kawaita kaze o karanase anata wo tsureteku no sa honey so sweet - his bring me the horizon cover - suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki ryo suzaki - he unbuttoned his jacket then kicked a guy in the head twice - his voice,,, man i wanna hear him talk in my mind constantly - his actual singing voice does crazy things to me though - he always EMBODIES the few lines he does get - his vocal tone is ridiculously clear and stable. genuinely unsure on how he's that mistreated his voice is insane. - i don't like drinking but when he does it, it's hot. - suzaki ryo - he takes selfies a little odd but that's okay bc he's so hot it doesn't even matter - him when he in that one kick it fancam when he just when he - "TOKYO ARE YOU FUCKING READY-?" yes i am so ready to be the baddie in your porsche. - he paints his nails cute little designs - he likes natto (i don't, so i respect this) - he was training to be a professional footballer before he joined sm - he's a scorpio - the xj kabedon incident the peppero game the favourite promotion ear furry rizz game whatever that was - he's ridiculously athletic - his lying is hot - he flirts so well wdym he got mark lee calling him oppa - he kissed that wall too well - no lube no protection all day all night any position any time place location anything he wishes anything he wants he could do anything to be and i'd be thankful on my knees thanking him

wouldn't: - he's in love with mark lee

jeong jaehyun i would because he's a february 14th valentine's 💌 boy. he's a romantic who's silly!! why wouldn't i want to dance around in the night making sure he lives the life of a romance novel even if i'm just someone he'll forget on his journey to find the one he'll truly love. i'm okay with that. please be my forever only, just for one night. why i wouldn't: jeffery jamal "can i please have 3 iced coffees?" he reminds me of handy mandy hes too much of a brother ik he has them high quality gags hidden his goofy aura ruins any sex appeal i have for him he has too many feet pics uploaded on instagram

kim doyoung would: - he's for the employed srry. - there's no way to explain his aura except he's super sexy in like a husband way. - i saw him in perfume and my life changed forever - i want to bring him home to my parents just so i could be successful for once - him when he reveals those mf collarbones and that waist of his - "tighter" yes sir - "i wanna kiss your lips" absolutely - me when he sings goes insane - he's got such a beautiful smile

wouldn't: - i'm not quite sure how sex with him would be like and this post is about sex not marriage,,,,, though let's be real if he proposed YES OFC?! - he sings like he's been through several divorces he seems so heartbreak and i don't want my heart broken (ignore how i'd break my heart into a million pieces for taeyong and yuta)

kim jungwoo

would: - two baddies era jungwoo changed me in ways you can't imagine - he's so tall woah (im the same height) - sugaring candy what's that doja said? - me when he in two baddies - i need fuckboy jungwoo to make a comeback - bro in the dojaejung videos made me go crazy - unity + the link jungwoo solo performance 'lipstick' - he'd play me and i wouldn't care

wouldn't: - how could we have sex when we could gossip

MARK LEE ITS BEEN A MINUTE IM IT RAWRRRRR WHAT IS A BAD VERSE? WHAT IS NO FLOW? WHAT IS NOT SERVING US W HIT AFTER HIT !!? would: - i'll make him pop w head no talk ay like chardonnay mwah cherry bomb - when he rapped his shi off on that glass box (quiet down, kyocera japan performance) - "ladies just wait for me good girl. i got a really big," show me rn no proof otherwise - "diamond. married the kitchen to cook you up," marry me - "topping your faves" i love myself so uh top me. (WHAT DID I SAY?) - when he swears it's crazy hot

wouldn't: - he moans too much but like doing normal everyday things don't think i've forgetting that one live - i'm not nakamoto yuta (i want nakamoto yuta) - he can say some real cringe things sometimes

haechanahceah my bro lee donghyuk the LEE HAECHAN

would - him in poison - him when glowy and tan - him when he sings - him when he dances - him when he raps - him when he does anything - him when he exists - him when he's with that messy eyeliner - him when he's barefaced - him when he flirts - him when moans (he has on live MULTIPLE TIMES)

wouldn't: - if he said anything in his aegyo voice i physically couldn't have sexual relations with him that's not smth i can stomach sorry guys - i'm not mark or yuta

love all my neos but a special shout out to the ilichils who have served us with absolute BANGERS timeless experimental classics. they've sacrificed a lot for us and work extremely hard for this. i want to thank them for 8 years !! and i hope that they can continue to bless us with more for as long as they wish to remain in the industry.

#nct 127 smut #nct smut #taeyong smut #yuta smut #nakamoto yuta smut #mark lee smut #johnny smut #johnny suh smut #johnny nct smut #yuta nct smut #haechan smut #donghyuck smut #jungwoo smut #doyoung smut #it's not even smut i just list why i think they're sexy

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zekyrith · 1 month ago

Text

Chromatic Cabaret [Gay Bar/Club]

Hey, Simblr peps!

Here's a gay bar/club that I created, and wanted to share with you all. I call it the Chromatic Cabaret. It's a 40x30 lot, that I built for 28 Civic Circle in Lucky Palms. I built it with guys in mind because they're my favorite , but feel free to change if you.

This is pretty exciting, as this is the first time I ever shared anything I built, and I've been playing the Sims 3 for 16 years (by the gods, has it really been that long?).

Download: Google Drive | SFS

TOU:

None! Do whatever you want. Just credit me, and maybe don't put it behind a paywall.

Disclaimer: Please, please tell me if something is amiss with it, as the last thing I would want, is to share something that's broken. Also, maybe confirm it's free of bad CC. I ran it through Custard, and it looked fine, but I'm hardly an expert with it. Lastly, you may have to reapply a couple of patterns.

Content Used:

Official Content:

Expansion Packs:

Late Night

Into the Future

World Adventures

Generations

University

Showtime

Ambitions

Stuff Packs:

Town Life Stuff

Master Suite Stuff

70s, 80s & 90s Stuff

Worlds:

Lucky Palms:

Nectar is Necessary Barstool

Casino Column

The Wong Way Bistro Table

The Wong Way Bistro Chair

Yucca Plant with Blossoms

Yucca Plant without Blossoms

Palm Royal

Sectional Cement Fence

Roaring Heights:

Liquid Light Neon Tubes (all pieces)

Store Content:

Mid-Century Modern Dining and Style Set:

Countdown Sconce

Three's a Crowd Ceiling Light

Future Shock Living:

Botanists Nightmare

Ultra Lounge Bedroom:

Mirror-Mirror

Ultra Lounge Dining:

Grove Cone Ceiling Light

Viva Las Vegas Bedroom:

City Never Sleeps

Custom Content:

Custom Content by @aroundthesims:

Neon Lights:

[Link]

Neon Light - Line

Neon Light - Circle

Neon Light - Cocktail

Irish Pub Drinks:

[Link]

Bottle of Syrup

Whisky Bottle (don't remember which one)

Vodka Bottle

Porto Bottle

Martini Bottle

Gin Bottle

Bailey's Bottle

Custom Content by @murfeelee:

C2077 LGBT+ Mini Set:

[Link]

C2077 Male Neon Light

C2077 Love Neon Light

C2077 Misty Inspired Set:

[Link]

C2077 Tube Light - Vertical

Custom Content by @simcredibledesigns:

Teach Me Passion Mirror:

[Link]

Funny Lamps Drink Table:

[Link]

Invisible Dance Floor Rug (5x5) by Superstorm:

[Link]

Serious Bartender (Invisible Bar) by @aa6x7:

[Link]

Useless Hand Dryer by Cyclonesue:

[Link]

The Sims 2 Wall Decor - Part 3/15 by @martassimsbookcc:

[Link]

Sims Must Wash Hands Sign

Recessed Light AF709 by DOT:

[Link]

Rack for Cues by Simalia. Thanks @sims3lostsets:

[Link] (it's in the casino set)

Colorful Horizontal Pics by Lamare:

[Link]

Male Paintings - Part 3 by @venusprincess-ts3:

[Link]

Male Paintings - Part 1

The Perfect Night | Miranda Mocktail Drinks by @artvitalex:

[Link]

Rainbow Geometric Collection by @wanderingsimsfinds:

[Link]

Diamonds 4

Geometric 5

Patterns by @omfgingers:

[Link]

Male Angel Statues by sim_man123:

[Link]

Male Angel Statue 1

Male Angel Statue 2

Male Angel Statue 4

#thesims3 #the sims 3 #sims 3 #sims3 #ts3 #thesims3build #the sims 3 build #sims 3 build #sims3build #ts3 build #ts3build #lgbtq #gay

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rrrrinmaru · 1 year ago

Text

picasso (marius x fem!reader) (nsfw)

wc: 5.7k rating: E warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, handjob, squirting, they're both freaks for each other

“I think it’s pretty,” you say plainly. “I like the look of it. I’ve always had a soft spot for ink wash works.”

The exhibit is held in a famous glass museum in downtown Stellis. There had been a controversy about the full glass walls and privacy issues a few years ago (you had read this case once, out of curiosity, and never again), but that was eventually resolved and now the first floor of the museum was regularly used for art exhibits.

Before you knew Marius’ secret identity, you had invited him to visit one of Z’s exhibits. And Marius, the most shameless man to ever walk this Earth, had agreed.

Fortunately, you learnt about this secret before you bought tickets for the exhibit. Not that you wouldn’t want to see his works displayed in the gallery, but the thought of you gushing over Z’s artwork in front of Marius without knowing the truth…

It’s embarrassing.

Today, however, it’s a different artist’s work on display. Thomas Mikeden, a foreign painter who’s been going on an exhibit world tour. Stellis is his latest stop, and everything just lined up. Both of you had the day off and tickets were on sale. You had invited Marius to the exhibit, excited to hear his artistic insight about the paintings, but Marius has been… a little petulant.

“I can’t believe we’re looking at a Mikeden painting,” he mutters, arms folded across his chest. “The first time you invite me to an art exhibit and it isn’t even mine; I can overlook that, but Mikeden?”

“What do you have against him?”

“We’re friends,” Marius says solemnly, looking like he doesn’t even believe the words coming out his mouth, “but we suffer from creative differences. Severe creative differences. If I ever have to see the way he mixes his oil paints again, I’d end up on the news for criminal activity. And he said if he ever had to see me try to sculpt a pot again, he’d wring my neck himself. He said my clay pots were an abomination against God.”

You blink at him. “You know how to do pottery?”

“According to him, I don’t.”

And suddenly, you get it. Creative differences, more like a bunch of children arguing over who does something right, or who does something better. Like kindergarteners fighting over whose parent made them the better lunchbox.

“What are your thoughts on his ink wash painting?”

Marius gives you an appraising look. “Not his worst work. He’s alright with ink wash. I've personally dabbled in ink wash before. It’s not my preferred medium, but we learnt it as part of our curriculum.”

You turn to look at him, eyes bright. “Really? Do you still have those ink wash paintings hidden away somewhere?”

“Of course. I never throw my works away. I’ll bring you to one of my storage warehouses one day.”

One of his storage warehouses? It never occurred to you that painters would need a lot of space to store their paintings, even more so if they were particularly diligent and practiced different painting techniques often. With how many easels and canvases were strewn about Marius’ house, you suppose you should have made the connection.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

The next few works are insightful, to say the least. Marius gets up close and personal with one of them to sneakily point out to you a place where Mikeden allegedly made a mistake and had spent hours trying to cover it up.

“This is from when he tried to lean into the Baroque style,” Marius says, using his thumb to frame certain parts of the painting to draw your eye to them. “The colors here, see, the stark contrast between the light and the dark? That’s the use of tenebrism, popularised by Caravaggio.”

“Hm,” you note, eyes wandering around the painting. It’s a stunning piece of work, and Mikeden captured the likeness of the male form well. The extreme contrast almost seems to frame the figures with a halo, a light that blooms from their very center to strike at the viewer’s attention. “They’re quite handsome.”

Marius makes a sound at the back of his throat. “You’re more into modern men, jiejie.”

You hide your laugh behind a cough. He’s like a needy kitten pawing at you for attention, and you’re helpless against someone this cute.

“Yes, yes, look at how handsome you are,” you say, turning around to face him head-on. You reach out, smoothing the non-existent creases away from his button-down.

Without really thinking too deeply, your fingers linger on the stretch of the fabric across his chest—the thought that you can see them if you squint hard enough comes unbidden to your mind. The small bumps under the fabric, stiff from the slight chill of the room.

It’s the kind of thought that grips you by the throat, sitting in your mind and taking up space, holding you captive until you do something about it.

You brush your thumb against one of them, just because they’re right there, because you can, because Marius’ hands are on your hips and you’re feeling a little… playful.

Immediately, a hand catches your wrist. It doesn’t stop you from pressing the pad of your thumb lightly against that raised bump, and Marius’ breath hitches. His fingers flex against your wrist, hard enough that you can’t help but smile.

He’s usually the one making you flush in public, so you mark this as a victory. The sight of him, red-faced and pouting, heart pounding so desperately you can feel it through his chest—you pull your hand back, and he lets you go. That hand drops back to your waist as you bring your thumb to your lips, and you hold Marius’ gaze as the tip of your tongue darts out to lick your thumb.

Marius goes still. It’s as if he’s nothing more than one of the paintings hung up on the gallery walls, with how still he is; his pupils are blown wide and he gives you this shaken look, as if you’ve completely disarmed him. Swept him off his feet and left him grasping at straws to find the words to say.

Eventually, you go back to smoothing out his shirt. Properly, this time. No messing around.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Marius murmurs, his breath puffing against the curve of your throat as he leans down. His voice is soft, barely louder than a whisper, but it somehow feels deafening in the quiet of the room.

Your hands tighten around the front of his shirt. “Marius?”

“Be quiet for a moment,” he says. His fingers rest on your hips and you swear you can feel the heat radiating off his palms. It makes you want to shuffle away, pull back and put some space between the both of you—he doesn’t do anything, doesn’t tighten his grip, but his hands somehow get heavier. Like a weighted blanket resting around your waist, shackles holding you in place without really holding you at all.

Your heart kicks in your chest. It isn’t often that Marius gets this way, so quiet and possessive, like he has to cage you in a small corner and watch you to make sure you don’t get away. His forehead rests against your clavicle—it’s not a comfortable position, not when he’s so much taller and he’s pressed up so closely against you that you can feel the way his chest shivers when he drags in a long breath.

“Jiejie,” Marius whispers, voice quiet. “Sometimes, I wish I could wrap you up like a piece of art and hang you on my wall.”

He’s crazy, you think, and you realise even your subconscious thoughts have taken on this air of fondness when thinking of him.

“Is that so?” You reply, voice just as hushed. From the corner of your eye, you can see another patron glance at the both of you—they glance away, then look back, as if doubting their gaze. Yes, you think weakly to yourself, Marius is indeed clinging to you in the middle of a public gallery for expensive artworks that easily go for three times the price of your apartment. “Which wall will you put me up on?”

This time, Marius’ grip tightens imperceptibly on your hips. “Any wall that jiejie wants to be put up on,” he says huskily. His voice has dropped an octave, and the tone he takes is one that you’ve become very familiar with when you tease each other. Never enough to really commit to anything, not yet, but enough that Marius gets that look in his eyes like he’d very much want to stop being a gentleman about things.

Abruptly, you notice the double entendre. “Marius!”

“You asked,” he says smugly, lifting his head so you come face to face with the smirk pulling at his lips. He tugs you in to press your body fully up against his, hip to shoulder. “Is jiejie shy now? I can tell you about which walls I’ve thought about you up on—my bedroom, naturally, but the living room is a strong contender.”

You gape at him, too shocked to say something smart in return. “You—! Not so loud, we’re in public!”

“No one’s listening.” Marius tilts his head, giving the surroundings a cursory once over before catching your gaze. “They’re busy looking at the art on display. I’m looking at a different kind of art on display.”

He’s so shameless that it makes you want to burst out in laughter. A different kind of art on display? Who does he think he is, a host from a host club? Where did he learn these phrases from? The Internet? His brother? Worse, Vyn?

The thought of Marius asking the one and only Vyn Richter for advice on how to pick girls up makes you laugh.

“You think you’re so smooth,” you say helplessly, lips curving up of their own accord as you reach up to loop your arms around Marius’ neck. “You think I’m going to fall for that?”

“I’m not a gambling man,” Marius tells you, a confident glint in his eye, “but I’ve always been lucky.”

He puts up a strong front, but you know better. The back of his neck is hot from embarrassment. The tips of his ears are flushed red. You brush a stray strand of hair past the shell of his ear and pinch the crimson tip along the way.

“Jiejie,” Marius whines, caught in the act. “Come on, let me pretend for a bit. Don’t you want to come home with me and have a better time?”

He gives you this beseeching look, brows furrowed and lips turned down. You’re weak to that look—it’s suckered you into agreeing to far more things than you normally would have agreed to. But how can you say no to a face like that? To a man built like that, shoulders so broad they could dwarf you in a hug, fingers so long they could encircle your wrist, a face like God himself came down to carve it from marble—when Marius looks at you with that pleading gaze, millimeters away from begging, how can you say no to anything he asks for?

Perhaps a stronger man would be able to resist the power of Marius’ visual attack. But you never proclaimed to have a strong willpower, and you fold like a castle of cards in a stiff breeze.

“Let’s finish looking at all the works first. And no, just because you know who the artist is and insist that you could bring me over to his studio to see his other works—that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see the works exhibited here.”

“His art isn’t even that good,” Marius says, just to be contrary. “If you really wanted to see something from him, you should see his sculptures. I’ll admit those are impressive.”

“Finish the gallery, and then we can go home. You get to pick dinner.”

He perks up. “Italian or Chinese?”

“Later,” you insist. “I want to see this painting—” you glance at the title, raising an eyebrow when you catch sight of it, “—Lotus III.”

“Inspired by the same lotus garden that was featured in Lotus 0, Lotus I and Lotus II,” Marius grumbles as he takes one hand off your waist. You slide your hands down his shoulders, his chest, and furtively pat him on the ass before letting him go.

He jumps, eyes wide as he swivels his head around to look at you. You give him an innocent look in return.

“If you insist on being naughty, jiejie, don’t be surprised if I snatch you away and kidnap you back home.” The hand still on your waist squeezes in warning, and heat slithers down your back at the tone in his voice.

You put a hand over the one on your waist, sliding your fingers in between his. “Be good.”

“Good boys get rewards. Is there a reward waiting for me later, jiejie?”

Naughty, you think to yourself, side-eying him. There’s a charming smile on his face, not even bothering to hide the playfulness lurking beneath his eyes. He’s testing you, pushing and pulling at your limits to see how far you can bend over backwards.

“Maybe,” you reply. It’s never a good thing to reveal all your cards too early when dealing with a von Hagen in a playful mood.

Marius laughs, leaning in to press his lips against the side of your head. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

The way he practically attaches himself to your hip, thumb rubbing possessively over your waist—you can’t help the flush crawling up to your cheeks, or the heat that flares between your legs. His hold on you isn’t tight, but it isn’t loose either. It reeks of a promise, and you can’t help but look forward to what that will happen once the two of you get back to his house. Or what will happen once you get into his car, when Marius has you right where he wants you to be and there’s enough privacy for something to happen.

You shift, thighs rubbing together involuntarily at the stray thought. Desire slips through your body like a snake coiling in your veins; if you cling a little tighter to Marius in return, your mind only half-focused on the works displayed on the walls, well, no one will know.

You think Marius might suspect something, though, going by the way his smirk grows larger with every glance he shoots you from the corner of his eye.

Like he’s found something he can’t take his eyes off. Like he’s found something he likes.

You fail to give Mikeden the attention his works deserve for the rest of the time you spend in the gallery, but he’s truly friends with Marius then you think the man won’t mind too much.

To your surprise, Marius doesn’t immediately scoop you into his lap when you get into the car.

He leans over to help you pull the seatbelt, and very conveniently buries his face in your neck for half a second before he pulls back. Long enough for him to press his lips against your collarbone, the tip of his tongue swiping wetly against your skin; short enough for you to wonder if you hallucinated it.

But the smug look in his eyes as he pulls the seatbelt over your chest to click it into place tells you that you most definitely did not hallucinate it.

“Home first,” Marius tells you, pretending to be casual as he leans back in his seat and does his own seatbelt. “If you keep looking at me with those eyes, jiejie, I can’t promise I’ll keep my hands to myself while we’re on the road back.”

Right, you think dazedly. You’d forgotten Marius had decided to drive the both of you here—it wasn’t far from his place, and the both of you typically take a chauffeured car, but Marius wanted to do something special today. You haven’t been on a date in a while due to your unfortunate work schedule, and it definitely surprised you when Marius pulled up to your apartment in the driver’s seat, the window wound down, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he grinned at you.

“What a shame,” you murmur under your breath, watching as he does his own seatbelt before pulling out of the parking lot.

Your words make Marius stiffen. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel as the other finds its way to your knee.

Again with that loose grip that feels like a shackle holding you in place. Marius isn’t doing anything more than just placing his hand over your knee—there’s not even any real pressure behind, no force or flexing or tightening of his grip, but you feel weighed down. You feel held down.

You wonder, a little stupidly, if Marius would do something if you spread your legs apart.

But you’re on the road. Despite the heat flaring insistently in your gut, you’re not actually ready to risk it all while Marius is behind the wheel. It would have been a different story if the both of you were in the back seat with the partition drawn up. The ride back is what, ten, fifteen minutes? There’s a lot you can get done in that period of time.

Right as you resign yourself to a normal, quick ride back home, Marius’ hand slips a little.

Just a little. It’s so subtle that if it weren’t for the heat practically bleeding through his palms, you think you wouldn’t have noticed.

His hand goes from right above your knee to cupping the inside of your knee.

You eye him speculatively. Was it inertia? The car made a turn and his hand simply slipped with the centrifugal force?

His lips quirk up. “I’ll get shy if you keep looking at me, jiejie. I need to focus on the road.”

“Hm,” you say, feeling your cunt clench involuntarily when Marius’ hand moves further up your thigh. It’s not in direct contact with your skin, not when there’s your silk dress in between, but the material is thin and you swear you can feel the calluses from Marius’ fingers rubbing gently against the sensitive inside of your thigh.

Fifteen minutes, you think. Surely you can’t die from a little fun on the road.

“Your hand’s on the wrong place,” you murmur, gently placing your hand over his.

Marius hums at the back of his throat. “Ah? Sorry, I—jiejie.”

You lift his hand off your thigh for a quick moment, draw apart the slit of your dress, and slide his hand under the fabric.

Directly on your thigh. You even curve his fingers back down so he can maintain that grip on you.

You can see his fingers flex. They’re stiff, knuckles tense as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. When you peek at him, his ears are flushed a bright red and his Adam’s Apple bobs furiously, like he’s swallowing desperately.

And right between his thighs, you can see a tent in his trousers. You kind of want to reach out to touch it, but you hold yourself back.

“Jiejie,” he whines, and chances a glance at you before reluctantly dragging his eyes back to the road. “I was joking—you can’t distract me while I’m driving.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you say mildly, burying the laugh that threatens to escape when his fingers squeeze pointedly around your thigh. The grave you dug is for both of you; his hand is higher now, on your thigh, so close to your core that one road bump would probably be reason enough for his fingers to slide right home.

You almost want to pretend to jerk forward. But you have enough of your wits about you to recognise that if Marius felt the heat of your pussy through your panties press up against his fingertips at this moment, he would probably drive the car into the nearest building.

“I’m trying to be good,” Marius complains. His fingers keep twitching against your skin, as if he’s really, physically holding himself back from doing something.

“Good boys get rewards,” you echo, patting the back of his palm. “We’re almost home, see the gates up in front?”

He clicks his tongue. “As if I can focus on anything right now.” To prove his point, he speeds up, leg bouncing impatiently as he turns into the driveway. “Park, I have to park…”

The whole time, his hand doesn’t leave your thigh. And there’s something really sexy about it, you can’t help but realise—the slant of his jaw from the side, the way driving comes so easily to him, where he only needs one hand to maneuver the wheel. Even the way he looks over his shoulder as he eases into his parking spot makes you want to press your thighs together in a useless attempt to stave off the heat building in your core.

“Good enough,” Marius declares, switching the engine off. “Out, out, come on—”

He snaps the seatbelt off and practically flies out the car. You’re so taken aback that you’re still in your seat when he comes to your side and yanks the door open, petulance written all over his face when he finds you still strapped in.

“C’mon,” he whines, reaching over to unbuckle your seatbelt. “Jiejie, come on, come on—”

“Impatient,” you chide, even as you reach out to steady yourself while you exit the car. “Hold on, my heels—”

“Jiejie,” Marius says, and he seriously sounds like he’s about to burst.

In that split second, you make a decision. Your panties are ruined as is, and you really, really want to be filled right now. You’re not sure if you can make the distance from the car to the lift, especially when the garage is so fucking huge—

“Backseat,” you murmur, and Marius reacts much faster than you expect. He pulls you up and into his chest, making you let out a sound of surprise at how aggressive he is, but he’s surprisingly gentle when he cups your jaw and slants his lips over yours.

It’s a desperate kiss. Marius licks into your mouth, hands tight around your waist as he pulls you in close. The bulge in his slacks feels like it’s burning a brand into your hip—you want to skate your hands down, cup that swollen cock and rub your thumb over the tip. You’ve never seen it, not yet, but the two of you have fooled around every now and then so you’re somewhat familiar with the curve of his cock through his pants.

It’s a hefty weight in your fingers, and Marius always makes the most delicious sounds when you rock your hips against him, squeezing around his thigh between your legs as you trace over the outline of his cock.

“Fuck,” Marius curses. His fingers dig greedily into the sides of your body—the grip now is entirely different from the one at the museum. The positions are roughly the same, but this time he holds you like he’s trying to burn his brand into you, leave an imprint of bruises around your waist so you ache every time you move tomorrow morning. “Fuck, jiejie, your mouth—”

“Mmhmm,” you hum into his mouth, shoving one thigh between his legs so you can get a good seat on Marius’ thigh. It’s as if Marius has a direct line of sight into your mind—he hikes you up on his thigh so the hard line of his muscle presses right into the swell of your clit, and you groan out loud as you start rocking against his thigh.

Fuck, you think you could cum like this. Marius’ hands have dropped lower, cupping the curve of your ass and every squeeze he makes goes straight to your cunt like there’s a livewire connection. He pulls you so high up that you’re struggling to keep your toes on the ground, and Marius is practically pulling you back and forth on his leg, helping you rut against him.

His breath is hot. His kisses are searing, and it feels like there’s a nonstop feedback loop where your arousal pours into each other over and over again. It’s a fire in your gut, threatening to eat you alive, and when he pulls back to catch his breath, he immediately bows down to lick against your jaw.

Marius sucks at your skin, bullying a bruise into the underside of your jaw. He isn’t satisfied with just one, and he just keeps going down the expanse of your neck, biting at any patch of unblemished skin.

“Baby,” you whisper, one hand trailing down to press your palm over the tight bulge begging for attention. The lightest touch is enough to make Marius groan, hips stuttering as he chases your touch. “Can I—can I touch?”

Marius freezes for a heartbeat. Before you can second guess yourself, he moans into your neck, hips jerking as he pushes his clothed cock into your palm. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, nodding while avoiding eye contact with you.

His ears are crimson. So cute, you can’t help but think through the fever in your mind. It’s almost too easy to find your way around the button in his pants, and there’s some trouble with getting the zipper down from how hard he is. His briefs get caught for a moment, long enough to make Marius groan from frustration, but you shush him with another slide of your hips, cunt wet enough to drench his slacks, and Marius shuts up.

“Good boy,” you murmur breathlessly, arching your back so you get a better angle to grind your clit against his thigh. “Be good, come on, let me—”

Unfortunately, there are no flaps in briefs for you to pull his cock out from. You reach in instead, shivering at the proper weight of it in your palm—skin on skin, you think deliriously to yourself, cunt clenching at the feeling of Marius’ cock in your hand. His cock, so thick that you can’t even really wrap your fingers around it properly, and the head is dripping.

Marius sucks in a tight breath, cursing as he cants his hips up, almost bouncing you on his lap from the force.

“Jiejie,” he begs, plaintive and desperate. “Nngh, please, the tip, you need to—fuck, I’m not going to—I’m going to cum, jiejie…”

And you stop thinking. You grab one of his hands and drag it to your front, so commandingly that Marius’ head flies up. His eyes are red, lips parted as he sucks in a shaky breath every time you swipe your thumb across the sensitive slit at the head of his cock.

“In, inside,” you whine, rising as high as you can go on your toes. It’s not very high, given how far up Marius has pulled you onto his thigh, but it’s enough for your to drag his long fingers under your skirt and press them up against your cunt.

Marius’ eyes are blown wide. “In-inside?” He stammers, fingers crooking automatically to press against the throbbing bud of your clit. Such clever fucking fingers, already familiar with the shape of your cunt to know where your clit is.

Without needing much direction, he uses two fingers to drag your soaked panties to the side and rubs the knuckle of his index finger against your pussy.

“A-ah,” you cry out, hips jerking. Fuck, you understand now why Marius reacted like that when you got your hand on his cock—there’s something about the texture of his skin, the calluses on his fingers that’s stroking the sides of your pussy, the sheer heat radiating off him—and the knowledge, the knowledge that it’s his hands on your cunt. After months of frotting, the most you’ve done being Marius’s palm flat against your cunt while you held eye contact and grinded against his shaking palm until you cummed—

“Inside, baby, come on,” you plead, rocking your hips insistently against his curious fingers.

Again, it’s like Marius gets you. He sinks his index finger in; you think he wanted to go slow, because he tentatively pressed up into your cunt, but you’re greedy and you’ve been thinking of being filled since Marius made that joke about putting you up against a wall and you whine, rocking forward until you sink down, down, all the way down to the base and Marius’ breath is hitching in his throat.

“You’re—” his finger bends, the tip brushing against this spot inside you that makes your entire body shiver, threatening to bend in half from the electricity that surges through you. “Shit, you’re—fuck, jiejie, you feel fucking incredible.”

“One more,” you beg, holding his wrist in place while you clench around his finger. Christ, you didn’t think it could feel this good. It’s so foreign, so much longer and thicker than your fingers—and again, the knowledge that it’s Marius’ hand, Marius’ finger is enough to make your gut tighten and sparks burst at the very end of your fingertips. “One more and my—”

You break off, thighs trembling when he swipes against your swollen clit with his thumb.

Marius groans at the sight of you, leaning in to bite at your lips. “One more and my thumb on your clit? Is that what you want, jiejie? Is that what you need?”

“Mmhmm—ahhhhhn, fuck, Marius—please, please, I’m so fucking close—!”

You’re not even sure if you’re still stroking the length of his cock. All your senses have narrowed down to your cunt, the pressure on your clit and the way his fingers have gained confidence with every stroke—he fucks up into you with such surety, so certain that he knows exactly where to hit to get that same, body shivering reaction from you.

The worst part is, he does. It barely takes one, two, three strokes while he whispers filthy things about how hot and wet and slick your cunt is, about how it’s soaked through just for him, about how he wants to bury his face in it, please jiejie, please let him put your thighs around his ears and eat you out, and you’re gone.

It hits you so hard you think you almost pass out. The ascent comes too quickly; it almost feels like the orgasm is ripped from you from clever hands that know you better than you know yourself. It leaves you breathless, your entire body jerking uncontrollably as you whine, pussy clenching around those two thick fingers buried in your cunt. You’re mumbling nonsense, not even sure what you’re saying as your cunt gushes around Marius’ ruined pants and when you resurface, Marius looks at you like you’re the second coming of Christ.

It takes you both a while to get your breathing under control. Marius recovers first, gently sliding his fingers out of your cunt. You’re a little embarrassed at the absolute mess you’ve made, but Marius eyes the wetness dripping over his palm, down his wrist, and decides to drag his tongue along his skin to lick it all up.

He even looks right as you as he does it. The sight is enough to make your clit throb, as if gearing up for a second round. Oh, you could definitely do a second round, but you think you’d prefer for it to be in a room with a bed and not a garage.

Almost absentmindedly, you start to rub your thumb against the cockhead in your grip.

“F-fuck,” Marius groans lowly, free hand reaching out to grab your wrist. “Wait, wait—nnngh, sensitive. Give me a moment.”

You pause. You look down.

His briefs are stained. There’s a massive wet spot at the front, and when you drag your fingers out, they’re coated in a sticky, white fluid.

You look Marius in the eye as you, too, lift your fingers to your lips. You stick your tongue out, wiping the threads of cum on your tongue so Marius can see how white looks in your mouth—and he flushes even redder than he already is, eyes darting away before darting back, as if he can’t decide whether he wants to look or not—and then you swallow.

Marius is speechless for a while.

“That was really hot,” he says eventually, voice hoarse. “I—fuck, jiejie, I can go again. I’m serious, just give me a minute.”

You suck on your fingertips for a moment. You’re clearly ready for a second round, but you know he gets more desperate when you keep him hanging. And a desperate Marius is always a delight to work with.

“Bedroom?” You suggest, and your cunt tightens at the way his eyes immediately go dark with desire.

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